⌕ Solo Leveling - Ep 5.

↳Logan and Ororo in X-Men(2000)

GIFTOBER 2022 | Day 1: Close Up

HUGH JACKMAN as Wolverine in X-men (2000)

TEEN WOLF MEME [1/5] PACK MOMENTS ⟹ SENIOR SCRIBE

HUGH JACKMAN AS STANLEY JOBSON Swordfish (2001) - dir. Dominic Sena

Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth → Vincent Valentine

by CLICKING THE SOURCE LINK of this post, you will be redirected to #593 gifs of SOPHIE THATCHER (2000) in the television series, YELLOWJACKETS SEASON THREE as nat scatorccio. these gifs were made entirely made by me from scratch and were made for rp purposes, but you are welcome to use these gifs for however you see fit. if you alter/share them anywhere that aren’t for personal use then please link back to the original post and/or credit me on the post​. ​LIKES and REBLOGS are not required, but encouraged! DO NOT: use my gifs for taboo roleplays, to portray minors, to portray sophie herself, racebend, or edit the gifs without crediting me and/or asking permission.

THIS IS AN INCOMPLETE PACK AND WILL BE UPDATED ACCORDINGLY AS EPISODES ARE RELEASED!

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤUGLY LOVEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Reader Part 2

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : You didn't love him. You couldn't. No matter how much you try. And yet you didn't leave. It's toxic. It's bad. But it's all you have...

☆⁠ WARNINGS : Explicit sexual content (consensual but emotionally heavy), emotional distress during intimacy, crying during sex, guilt, toxic relationship dynamics, unhealthy love. This is not a happy love story.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

"I don’t love him."

You say it easily. Like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s just a fact.

You were too honest with your friends.

Maybe because you knew they wouldn’t judge you. Maybe because you wanted someone to tell you that what you were doing was fucked up.

Maybe because you just wanted to say it out loud.

Your friends looked at you.

"You mean like… you’re falling out of love?" one of them asked hesitantly.

You huffed a dry laugh. "No, because I was never in love."

They exchanged glances, unsure what to say.

"I can’t stand the sight of him sometimes," you continued, feeling your own words sink like stones in your chest. "I mean, he’s cute, I guess. But everything else? Nah."

One of your friends frowned. "Then why are you still with him?"

You don’t answer right away.

Because you don’t want to.

Because you don’t want to say "because no one else will love me like that."

Because you need it.

"He’s obsessed with me," you say instead, voice dry. "Might as well let him be."

Another laugh. Another joke. The conversation moves on.

But then—

A shadow.

A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, you turned—

And there he was.

Mark.

Standing just a few feet away, looking right at you.

For a second, everything froze.

You stared at him. He stared at you.

He had heard. He had to have heard. You were so sure of it, your heart hammering in your chest, a sick knot forming in your stomach.

And then—

He smiled.

Like he hadn’t just heard you rip him apart.

Like nothing had happened.

"Hey, babe!"

Then he walked up to you, all smiles and warmth, hands casually in his pockets. His dumb jacket was unzipped, his hair still a mess from whatever bullshit he had been doing.

You were shaking.

Because there was no way he hadn’t heard.

But he was already kissing your cheek, leaning in close, like nothing was wrong.

"Sorry I’m late," he said, pulling out the chair next to you. "Got caught up with something."

You stared at him.

Nothing in his face gave him away.

Maybe… maybe he hadn’t heard.

Maybe—

"So, what were you guys talking about?" he asked, grinning, grabbing the menu.

Your throat felt tight.

One of your friends cleared their throat. "Uh, just… school stuff."

Mark nodded, seemingly unbothered. Then he turned to you, eyes bright, warm. "You ready to go? I made reservations."

And before you could react, before you could even breathe, he took your hand and pulled you out of your seat.

Took you out the door.

Took you on your fucking date.

Like nothing had happened.

Like you hadn’t just ripped his heart out and stomped on it.

You sat stiffly in the car, eyes flicking to him, trying to gauge anything.

Had he really not heard? Had he somehow walked up after—

No. No way. He have super hearing.

So why?

Why was he acting like this?

You opened your mouth—

Then closed it.

Because for once, you had no idea what to say.

You should’ve ended it.

You tried to end it.

It was late. Mark was in your room, lying on your bed like he always did, scrolling through his phone, waiting for you to come sit with him.

You stood near the door, gripping the hem of your shirt so tightly your fingers ached.

This wasn’t healthy. For either of you.

He was a good person. You weren’t.

You weren’t going to magically wake up one day and love him.

You took a deep breath. "Mark."

He turned immediately.

And then—

That smile.

That fucking smile.

Eyes wide. Face bright.

Like you had just said the most wonderful thing in the world.

"Yeah?" he asked, hopeful.

You hesitated.

The words sat on the tip of your tongue—I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t love you. I never have.

But you couldn’t say them.

Because he was looking at you like that.

Like you were the center of his universe. Like there was no world without you in it.

That was all it took.

Your throat closed.

Your heart sank.

And instead of saying what you needed to say, you just smiled.

"Never mind," you muttered.

Mark grinned, opening his arms for you. "C’mere."

And you went. Because it was easier to just let him hold you.

It started the way it always did.

Mark touched you like you were his.

Because in his mind, you were.

His hands, warm and careful, traced over your skin with something close to reverence. Like you were something precious, delicate—something he didn’t deserve but was grateful to have anyway.

His lips were soft as they pressed against your neck, down to your shoulder, lingering, inhaling deeply, like he wanted to memorize you.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against your skin.

You stiffened.

Because you weren’t.

Not in the way he saw you. Not in the way that mattered.

But Mark never saw the truth.

Or maybe he did, and he just refused to acknowledge it.

You let him undress you slowly. Let his hands roam, let his mouth worship. You didn’t push him away, didn’t roll your eyes, didn’t sneer at him like you wanted to.

You just let him.

He hovered over you, his breath shaky, pupils blown wide as he looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky.

You swallowed, your throat dry. You shouldn’t be doing this.

You didn’t love him.

You never would.

But you had already given so much of yourself to this stupid relationship, so what was one more thing?

So you smiled, because that’s what you were supposed to do.

Mark’s breath hitched, and his lips were on yours again. His touch was desperate but restrained, like he wanted more but was afraid to take too much.

"It’s okay," you murmured, and that was all he needed.

The weight of him pressed down against you, warm, solid, real. His skin against yours, his hands mapping out every inch of you like he needed to memorize you, like this was the only proof he had that you were his.

And then—

Pain.

A sharp, tearing ache as he pushed inside you, slow, careful, almost reverent. Mark was shaking, his forehead pressed against yours, whispering apologies against your skin.

"You okay?" His voice was strained, breathless. "I—fuck, I can stop—"

You shook your head. "No. Just… keep going."

Mark groaned softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. He moved slowly, like he wanted to savor every second, like this was something holy to him.

It wasn’t holy to you.

It was just another thing you had given away.

But to him, this was love.

For him this was enough.

And so in the dim light of his bedroom, with his body pressed against yours, you pretended.

Pretended you wanted this.

Pretended you could love him.

Maybe if you acted well enough, you could convince yourself.

Maybe if you closed your eyes, you could imagine someone else.

But then—

"I love you."

Your eyes snapped open.

And it hit like a slap.

Mark was inside you, forehead pressed against yours, hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.

His eyes—God, his eyes.

They were soft, devoted, desperate.

Like he would burn the entire world down just to make you love him back.

And that’s when it happened.

The dam broke.

Your chest tightened, your stomach twisted, and before you could stop it—

You started crying.

Not quiet, delicate tears.

But ugly, broken sobs.

Mark froze immediately. "Hey, hey— what’s wrong?" His voice was pure panic, hands cupping your face, eyes wide. "Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head violently, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

Because no, Mark hadn’t hurt you.

You had hurt yourself.

You had hurt him.

And now there was no taking it back.

Mark kissed the tears off your cheeks, his hands running soothingly down your sides, whispering, "It’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, I love you so much," over and over again like some kind of prayer.

And that just made it worse.

Because he meant it.

Because he would always mean it.

Even when he shouldn’t.

Even when you didn’t deserve it.

You curled into him, pressing your face against his chest, letting his arms wrap around you, letting his warmth swallow you whole.

And for the first time—

You didn’t push him away.

Because you were tired.

Tired of fighting him.

Tired of fighting yourself.

So you stayed.

And Mark held you like you meant it.

Like you would never leave.

You sat there, wrapped in the sheets, knees pulled to your chest.

You weren’t crying anymore.

But the tears still lingered, drying on your skin, the occasional sniffle betraying the fact that you had completely fallen apart just moments ago.

Mark was moving around the room.

Not chaotically, not frantically—just with purpose.

Like making sure you were okay was the most important thing in the world.

You watched from the corner of your eye as he grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over your shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His touch was so gentle—as if he was afraid you might break.

Then, he left the room.

You heard the sink running. A cabinet opening. Footsteps.

He came back with a glass of water.

"Here, drink something," he said softly, kneeling in front of you.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for the glass.

Didn’t even look at him.

Mark hesitated, then gently took your hand and placed the cup in it, his fingers lingering over yours before he pulled away.

"You should drink," he urged again.

So you did.

Not because you wanted to.

But because you knew he wouldn’t stop worrying unless you did.

You took a few sips, enough to satisfy him, and set the glass on the nightstand.

Mark smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear before standing up again. "I’ll be right back, okay? Just… just sit tight."

You stayed curled up under the sheets, staring at the wall, deep in thought.

Because this was it.

You had crossed the final line.

It was your first time.

It was his first time.

And yet, all you could feel was emptiness.

Not because it had been bad.

It hadn’t.

Mark had been perfect. So careful. So gentle. So impossibly sweet.

And that just made it so much worse.

You had nothing to give him. No love. No devotion. Not even the barest hint of affection.

You had just let him have you.

And in return, he had given you everything.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

But it was too late now.

You swallowed hard, tightening the sheets around your shoulders as Mark returned, holding a small plate of food.

"I made you something," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t just given himself to someone who didn’t love him back.

You glanced at the plate.

A simple sandwich.

Your throat tightened.

Because of course he would do something like this.

Of course he would take care of you.

Even when you didn’t deserve it.

"You should eat," Mark encouraged, nudging the plate closer to you.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

You couldn't even look at him in the eyes.

You just sat there, curled up in the sheets, sinking further into yourself.

Mark’s smile faltered slightly.

"...Was it bad?" he asked suddenly, hesitantly.

Your eyes snapped to him.

He looked so unsure, like the thought had just crossed his mind, like maybe you had regretted it.

Which you had.

Just not for the reasons he thought.

You forced yourself to shake your head. "No. It wasn’t bad."

Mark studied your face for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out, brushing his fingers against your cheek.

"You’re still shaking," he murmured.

You hadn’t even realized.

Before you could respond, he was already moving—pulling the sheets tighter around you, rubbing slow circles against your back, trying to soothe you.

"It’s okay," he whispered. "You’re okay."

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t react.

Just let him love you.

Because you had no idea what else to do.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 1.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

#the tummy outline is something that can be so personal [pt. 1]

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