#but why is it always ME? why is it me that always gets left behind? why have i never been anyone's first thought?

[reignpage]

T h e D r e a m

In which Toji has a nightmare.

He tosses and turns, brows furrowing and lips downturned, scar stretching with the tension in his face. His whole body is tense, twitching, and flinching as he sleeps. If one were to dive into his brain as it works double time right now, they’d see something terrifying. 

Indeed, he is terrified. 

So, when he awakes with a jolt, no one would be surprised to hear his heavy breathing, panicked panting, and jerky shuffling. If you pressed your palm to his chest, you’d feel his heart galloping, threatening to burst right out of his damn body and run off. He's goddamn sweating, for God's sake.

His hand flies to your side of the bed. All he feels is the soft and cold sheet. You’re out of bed. Toji jumps out, dressed only in his boxers, and runs a palm down his face, flexing his jaw. He calls your name out. The only reply he receives in return is an eerie silence that makes him gulp. Hard. 

Fuck, he thinks. Where are you? 

The worst scenarios come to mind: someone broke in and took you, murdered you in cold blood; you’re out buying something, a white van comes from behind you, snatches you right from the street; you’re gagged and bound, killed, violated, thrown out into a ditch; and just as painful, you left him. 

All these potential circumstances sends a cold panic running through him. It’s as if the floor is suddenly moving, promising to throw his balance off and knock him down until he’s reduced to nothing. He can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. He’ll never admit to being afraid, but he is. He’s so deathly fucking scared that whatever he sees when he ventures out will devastate him beyond repair. 

Get a damn grip, he curses. 

What if you need him? 

Padding out of the room and into the hallway, light almost blinds his bleary eyes and it's coming from the open bathroom door. In a rush, he shoves the door open and lets out a breath of relief. 

“Fuck, ma. Fuck are you doing up so late?”

You’re clearly peeing, and he’s not sure why he’s swearing at you, but at the rise of your brow, he shakes off the heaviness in his shoulders and leans against the door, forcing a calmness to his demeanour. Toji doesn’t ever want you to see his hands shake so he folds them under his armpits, arms crossed and tongue wetting his lip. 

“I’m peeing, obviously. The better question is, why are you up?”

Shrugging, he replies, “No reason. Just was wondering where you were.”

“You missed me?”

The cheesy grin on your face as you clean up sends his eyes rolling. You flush and wash your hands. He approaches you, wrapping his arms around your stomach and pressing his nose to your hair. You smell good. Always so damn good. You’re also unbelievably warm and soft. God, he can’t ever lose you. 

He just can’t. 

“Toji? Baby? You’re holding on a little tight there.”

Unable to muster a response, he buries his face in your neck and inhales again. He fights your attempts to shake him off as long as he can, but he can’t ever hold you off, so you shift around until you’re facing him and attempt to get a good look at his face. The way you cradle his face is full of love, and it sends him reeling. Whatever he did to deserve this he’d like to know so he can keep doing it, in this life and in the next.

“What’s going on?”

He can’t explain. If he tries to describe what his stupid fucking brain conjured up, his lips will wobble like a damn child, and then he’ll never recover from the shame. A big man like him scared shitless by some shitty nightmare. What’s next? He’ll wet himself and ask for his blanky?

You gasp. Fuck. He knows you can see the wetness coating his lashes. Must be the same wetness he saw coating your lashes in his dream. Blood. Chill. Loss. Flashes of his vision come to the forefront of his mind, mocking and taunting, and he swears for a second, as you shuffle, it’s like he loses his grip on you for good. His heart drops. Fucking drops. 

So does his entire body. 

Falling onto his knees, he hides his face into your stomach, taking comfort in the softness there. You’re so frail. He knows it every time he lands a hard smack on your ass and before you even yelp, he already knows it was too hard — he curses the heaviness of his hand. He knows it when he lays on top of you and you croak out how you can’t breathe. When you can’t reach for the top shelf, when you walk into poles and doors, when a car comes speeding past, and he just about makes it, snatching you back into the safety of his embrace. 

“We need to get you the gym,” he mutters into your shirt. 

You slap his head. “Excuse me?”

Huffing a laugh, he explains, “Nah, not like that. Y’know how perfect y'r body is to me. Just meant, let’s get you some self-defence lessons. Can teach ya myself here and there, but better a professional teaches you. I can’t teach for shit.”

“This is kinda random, Toji. Wanna talk to me about why you’re being weird?”

“Not weird.”

Your lack of a response sends the message: ‘You’re not acting like it.’

So, clearing his throat, he stands up and carries you in his arms, ignoring your complaints. You’re taken to the bedroom where you’re thrown down onto the bed, bouncing before he climbs on top of you, tickling your sides a little, just ‘cause he can, before he rolls you both around so you’re on top of him.

Once the giggling and mock-complaints ceases and you both fall into a comfortable silence, sleep knocking at the door once more, he finds it in him to let you in a little.“Just had a shitty dream. Don’t worry about it.”

Head on his chest, you ask, “You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

Brushing your hair back, he pecks your forehead and clasps your hand. The covers keep you both hidden from the rest of the world, the distant hum of cars passing by, filling the gentle quiet. “No. Don’t wanna speak it into existence, y’know?"

Then, as if the thought just occurs to him, he adds, "Just do one thing for me, ma.”

“What, baby?”

He holds your face, hopefully with just as much tenderness as you hold him, and whispers, “Wake me up before you go, okay?” 

“Before I go?” You ask, thoroughly confused. He grunts in confirmation, which doesn’t really answer any of the questions circling in your head but that tends to be as much as he ever gives you on a typical day anyways. Nodding, you play along, not really getting it but somewhat too tired to chase up this odd turn in conversation. “Alright. Yeah, I’ll let you know. Why?”

“Because I want to come with.”

“To the bathroom or something?”

Sure and firm, he asserts with all the conviction in the observable universe, “Wherever you are, I want to be.”

He needs to know someone can give you their clothes for warmth, that someone can hold your hand when you’re afraid, that they can brush your hair out of your face, and carry you when your legs can no longer. Even if the place you’re going to is too nice for him, all pretty and white and cloudy and shit. Even if they don’t let him in, he’ll just sit outside at the gate and listen to your voice. 

Whether it's the bathroom, or the living room, or further out. Whether it's to the store, midday or midnight. Or so far away you call some new place home. Wherever it is, wherever you go, wherever you set your eyes on, he wants to follow. And if he can, he wants to be there to welcome you into his open arms.

There's no place too dangerous, too hot, too cold, too big, too small, too lonely, too crowded and whatever the fuck else. He's never let himself want for more than he deserved, but just this once, he dares to.

After all, Toji knows well that there’s no place worth going to if you’re not there. 

So, fuck his stupid nightmare. 

He’s already living the dream.

[scribblemesylus]

What they need to hear from you

The one where you comfort him : Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier

Hello! This is my first official writing of the LaDS characters; I hope you enjoy it! comments and reposts and love are most appreciated! 💕 The reader is the MC in this one! Angsty (but happy endings) No other warnings.Thank you to my friend who helped me find some inspiration for this post <3

Caleb

Caleb always tried to be the Caleb you remembered, even if he could not remember it that well, he searched through the little memory he had left to piece himself together. Because it was for you. He saw your face that day, the day you told him you didn't need him. That look in your eye, he didn't know exactly what it was; disgust? Pity? Terror? He couldn't recognise it. So, instead of acting like it never happened, he tried to make himself better, just so you would never leave his side again... you liked him before, right? So, it shouldn't be too hard... right?

Turns out, it was harder than he had ever imagined, after all the time he had not seen you since you were released from his fleet, everything between the two of you became suffocatingly awkward. Neither of you knew what to do, what to say, he was beginning to believe that even with the silly coupon (he didn't find it silly... not really), there was no salvaging what the two of you had.

He had destroyed it all in desperation to have you.

So, even though whenever he was near you, he felt like as if is chest was caved in from shame; he stayed by your side. Letting himself silently suffocate because that is what he deserved for letting you down -- or so he believed. It wasn't until you came back injured from a mission, where he ran to you, but he didn't dare touch you, his hands just sort of... hovered over your injuries, his eyes darting around, his brain trying desperately to find a way he could help you without terrifying you again. You sighed and watched him before slowly reaching toward his hand, your fingers brushing against the top of his hand "Caleb..." You whisper, your now strained relationship was hurting a lot more than your physical injuries "Caleb, I am not scared of you... I need you to help me." You push and look at him "Please.." It was true, what happened in Skyhaven was behind you and even though it was killing you with how different the two of you were compared to before, you aren't able to clean all these wounds yourself.

Caleb's eyes softened immediately, and he nodded. "Of course, Pipsqueak, you must be hurting a lot; I'm sorry." He quickly got up and grabbed the first aid kit as he slowly sat you down gently and began to look at your injuries, taking a deep breath before he peeled your sleeves away. "Pips... where did you go to... to get these types of injuries?" He asked gently, but when he was met with nothing but silence, he let out a sigh. "Please, prioritise your safety..." He muttered before continuing to help you as you focused on other wounds. You turn to him and nod "I do, it's just-" He didn't need you to explain, "I know." Was all he said before finishing up and packing the first aid kit "Do you... uh.." He scratched the back of his neck. "Need help with anything else?" He asks gently, but when you shake your head, he just gives you a soft smile and lets you be.

He stood in the kitchen and sighed gently as he slipped the first aid kit back into the cupboard. It wasn't easy to see you like this, in pain and uncomfortable. He just wanted to fix everything; he was good at it whilst he was younger, so why wasn't he good at it now?

He knew you had to do this; you had to save the people the way that you and he weren't in that catastrophe, but he wondered if you were trying to prove something to yourself, too. Caleb wanted to push them, tell you that saving the world wasn't your responsibility, but he has just got you back; you're finally not scared of him anymore; he couldn't ruin that. All he could be is glad that you were here now, that you came to him after all.

He closed the cupboard and prepared a small cup of hot chocolate for the two of you, and sat in the sitting room, waiting for your return.

After getting changed into comfier clothing, you nestled into Caleb, your heart racing slightly in fear he would reject this form of affection after so long... after what you said to him. But, he welcomed it and wrapped his arm around you. "I want to go back to how we used to be.." You say softly, looking up at his big purple eyes. "A-At least, start working towards it... You're my home, Caleb... I don't want this... awkwardness anymore."

You swore you could almost see him levitate off the couch as he practically shone with happiness as if those were the only words he ever needed to hear. "Anything you want, Pipsqueak, I am yours to command."

Rafayel

Rafayel was not an insecure man. At least, that is what everyone else thought. Rafayel, on the other hand, was not so sure. It is not that he felt insecure; it's more he felt this emptiness inside of him, and he had no clue what to fill it with. After all these years, he had you in his grasp once more, so close, yet so far. Because he remembered everything, he even knew what was to come, but you? You're so clueless. He knew how he lost you, how he would lose you and how he could lose you. And he had to deal with this pain and anger all alone.

His past failures jabbed into him as if he were Prometheus, constantly being pecked by a bird. He lived between what was his life and the life he had before, dealing with the betrayal he caused, all for the one he loved, for you, but you didn't know. You will never know.

A part of him did not want you to ever find out what kind of monster he was, afraid he would scare you away, like the otherworldly beast he is, but the other part of him was so tired of carrying this alone.

He wasn't insecure in himself, but insecure for what he could do for you, insecure in his love for you. Would it be enough for you to stay? For the two of you to finally have an entire lifetime together? Would it be worth plunging his people into darkness?

It was a constant spiral he had since you came back into his life, like a rollercoaster, but forever stuck on the loop, the happiness that he finally has you and the pain of what he was - it was a never-ending cycle. That a part of him didn't want to escape; he deserved this pain after all, didn't he? For what is a God who does not live in shame for causing suffering to his people?

But, deep down, he was just afraid he would become unloveable in your eyes. That was his deepest, darkest fear, the one that drowned him in darkness once the night time hit.

You knew something was wrong. It seems silly but when your world was a bit duller, when the grey clouds seemed more prominent or when the lakes and seas swayed as if it was heavy, you knew Rafayel was not himself. So, with a spare bag of seashells in hand and some of the rare materials you knew he liked, you headed over to his place.

The plastic bag twisted against your fingers, almost cutting off circulation entirely as you made your way through the streets and to the beach, slipping your spare key out of your pocket and into the keyhole of the gate, twisting it a few times to unlock the gate.

You gently swished the bag beside you as you made the way to the door, and you imagined your boyfriend's smile when he saw you. However, your heart fell to your stomach as Rafayel's 'organised' mess was scattered and ruined across the floor. The studio was a mess and unkempt; it was almost like an abandoned building.

"Rafayel?" You called out and looked around the place before you saw him sitting on the balcony.

He turned to you, his eyes screaming emotions at you that you had never seen on him before "Cutie..." He whispered meekly.

You fell to your knees by his side once you approached his side and cupped his face "Darling? What has happened? Are you struggling to paint?" You ask as you caress his cheek, your heart fluttering as he leans in as if he hadn't been touched by you in weeks (he saw you yesterday)

"Will you still love me, no matter what I become?" He asked you suddenly, and you froze as you looked at him; the two of you had silently loved each other until now, finding other ways to highlight your love rather than saying it.

"Of course you wouldn't." He muttered bitterly and turned from you, missing how your brows scrunched together with a mix of confusion and anger

"What-?"

"How could an angel like you love a monster like-" "I love you." You blurt out and make him face you, "I wanted to say it in a more romantic way, in a way that you will always remember.... but I love you, Rafayel, no matter what you become.." You smile softly and place a kiss on his cheek and caress it into his skin as if to heal him.

Rafayel's hand slipped down from above yours to your wrist as he searched your eyes for any deceit.

"Promise?" He asks, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he anticipates your answer.

"I promise, my heart has always been yours and always will be.

Rafayel may have a piece of him missing, but he was sure it was to be filled by you.

Zayne

Zayne is a man who craves control, not over anyone else, just over himself. He had to, because if he was void of control, there would be cracks and the cracks he could not let you see. If you saw his cracks, how could you trust him as your doctor?

He had let you down once, all those years ago when he left you, abandoned you, even if it was not his choice. But he had a choice now and he would use it to make sure he never let you down again.

So, every single crack he kept to himself, stayed up later, worked later until he could fill them all up again before he could see you. However, as he scribbled down notes on his research, the memories of his nightmares played in his mind, taunting him, punishing him, and he came to accept he deserved it. He shouldn't have let all those people come to die, he was a doctor, and a doctor's role was to save a life, not to let it fade away, yet with every year, the list of his letdowns grew.

Everyone told him that it was expected: that to save a life, you were bound to lose a few; it was how life worked. But not for Zayne, not at all, because with every name that appeared on that list, he was afraid it was a name closer to yours.

He couldn't have that, not when he gave up the life he wanted for yours to prevail.

You, on the other hand, were becoming increasingly worried and slightly frustrated with your doctor because this was the third time you tried to coax him out of his office. You have tried everything; cake, macaroons, sweets... all came to a disappointing ending. You thought that trying something as harmless as sweets wouldn't highlight your increasing worry, and it was small enough so you could get a small look at him.

It had almost been two weeks now, and so you made your way to the hospital. You just wanted to know that he was okay and maybe scold him slightly for shutting you out... again.

Once the doors slid open, you gently greeted Yvonne and walked to Zayne's office after making sure he had no more patients to see. You looked down at the box, a small muffin for Zayne, before inhaling and knocking on the door.

Gosh, you hope he doesn't reject you because as your knuckles collide with the door, It dawns on you that he might be avoiding you because you might have done something wrong.

"Come in."

You gulp down and hold the small box a little tighter in your hand, causing it to crease slightly before opening the door. You shifted on your feet as he was too immersed in his work to even look up at you.

"Hi." You greet him gently and slip the muffin on the table, and his eyes instantly break away from the paper at the sound of your voice

"I thought that since you wouldn't come to me for the sweet treats, I would just come to you because I know you cannot go too long without them." You say lightly and place yourself on the chair opposite his desk.

"Thank you." He says softly and looks between you and his work a couple of times before bunching the papers together in a neat pile and slipping them away. "Did you just come from a mission?" You raise a brow. "Are you not going to explain why I haven't seen you in two weeks? I know being a doctor is exhausting, Zayne, but you normally tell me ahead of time-"

"I didn't want to worry you over something foolish. I have it under control."

"Under control? What is under control? Why aren't you talking to me? You know that I am here." The words fall out, conveying your desperation. You had felt empty without him, alone, and you didn't want to feel that again. "It does not concern you, Y/N." He retorts, "If I thought you needed to know, I would have told you." You bite back your words and nod "Alright.." You sit there silently. You would've typically left, but something told you that this time, you needed to stay, that he needed you.

After a few beats of silence, you try again. "You don't have to keep it all to yourself... I know it may not concern me, but that doesn't mean you have to lock it away."

He tensed up. He hated how you could still see through him, even after all this time. He pulled away from his computer, which he was only looking at to control his anxiety for nearly scaring you away. He released the tension in his shoulders and took the muffin. "I lost a patient... two weeks ago."

Sylus

'What a fool' is all he could think as he sat in his office, piles of vinyl scattered across his usually clean office. No tune or genre was calming him. After all this time, after sensing you like he did, after preparing this life for you, he had scared you away.

He couldn't bear to think that because of who he was, his reputation, and who you believed he was made him lose you, not after all this time, not after the promise the two of you shared, not after what you went through.

He was a fool for pushing you too quick, too hard; his excitement and desperation had blinded him; why was he so hellbent on making you remember if he could just build new memories with you? Foolish.

You not remembering a thing, he could get behind, it made sense, but your hatred, your disgust. That he could not get behind, no matter what you believed about him. All he wanted to do was to have you in his arms and to show you what he had made. It might not be the cave you had a lifetime ago, but it was spectacular in this lifetime. A lifetime he built for you, and you didn't even want it.

He supposed he could understand. You did think he killed your family, even though he would never. All he would do would be to keep you safe. It pained him to understand your point of view, to see him as a monster. He was in his last life, so it only made sense that he was in this one.

But he had made you fall in love with him once, and back then, he was truly a monster, so he could make you fall for him again. He just had to give you the choice to choose him.

So, over the next few weeks, he let you choose him, come back to him. Not pushing or pulling, he didn't need to; the door was always open, and you knew that.

That didn't stop his heart from doing flips in his chest each time he saw you walk through the base's doors.

Tonight, you were also expected to come through the doors; he had the twins make sure the base was clean and tidy, that your room was prepared, and that security was at its highest. It was something he always did when you were coming over.

However, you never showed; you were on a mission, so maybe you went home and forgot; that would be reasonable... except come rain or shine, injury or no injury, if you said you were coming, you were always there.

He knew there was something more to your tardiness; without another thought, he sent Mephisto to look for you, and when he came back, the air was knocked out from Sylus' lungs.

You were found passed out, just outside of the base; it didn't take him a second to cross the base and have you in his arms "Oh, kitten.." He brushed the hair from your face, his heart breaking as you weakly opened your eyes.

"Sylus, I am sorry, I tried to call, but..."

"Shh, it's okay. You're safe now." He tried to use his usual tone with you, but his voice was softer, almost as if he was trying his hardest not to let it break.

He worked quickly to get you patched up, swallowing down his worries and quite possibly his tears as he did so, not even letting the twins near you. He sat with you, putting on your favourite vinyl softly in the background as he waited for you to wake up, not leaving your side, his hand placed on yours, afraid that if he let you go, he would lose you like he almost did tonight and the guilt was eating him alive.

"Stop looking at me like that." You mutter and glance toward him. "You're looking at me like your cat just died." You smirk slightly, and he lets out a chuckle "Kitten, why didn't you ask me to pick you up?"

"I assumed you had business to attend to-" "You should've called me. What happened if you never made it here, if we never found you, if you never came back to me, do you think I could live with myself."

You slowly sit up and look toward him "Sylus, I will always come back to you, always. I will always find myself here. You need to trust me on that."

"I do. It's just tonight seeing you like that made me feel-" "Scared?"

He huffed through his nose and pinched the bridge of it "Something like that..." He brushed the hair out of your face "Call me next time." You nod and smile "I will."

A few days later you were back fighting wanderers, but this time Sylus was by your side, his evol swirling around his arm and his hand "You sure about this, Sweetie?"

You nod "I'm Sure, I am safe by your side."

Sylus smiled; you were safe with him; you chose him, and fighting beside you was the greatest honour to have, so he made sure you left the mission without a scratch.

Xavier

It wasn't unusual for you to not see or hear from Xavier for days; you were sure he would pop up at one of the most convenient moments to be by your side. Or, pop up just before you were assigned another partner by Captian Jenna.

This is what happened; before you, the captain, could even mutter another person's name, Xavier appeared, literally faster than the speed of light beside you. Jenna sighed and cleared her throat. "Y/N, your partner will be Xavier for today's mission.

You didn't even look at him before you went to collect what you needed from the information room, and Xavier didn't seem to mind this. He just followed you obediently and read through the information quickly.

You were brought out of your focus when you suddenly heard his voice.

"Aren't you even going to ask where I was for the past few days?" He questioned and tilted his head, unsure why you're not interrogating him like you usually do.

You shrug and turn back to the tablet sitting in your hands. "Why should I? I trust you. If you want to let me know, you will when you need to."

To you, it was just a simple establishment of trust that you assumed you both knew of, but to Xavier, it was everything, and quite clearly, as little lights started to float around him, there was a slight smile on his face.

Trust was a big deal to him; after meeting you for the second time, he almost felt guilty about how angry you were at him for leaving you behind like he did. Not only that, but he failed his planet and the people on it, as well as the people he dragged here, to try and save you... He had failed them all and probably even you to the point where he believed he wasn't even worthy of trust.

You two didn't make a comment about it from that point. It was almost like, 'What is said in the information room stays in the information room.'

You watched him stand there and fiddle with the protocore between his fingers before, like always, crushing it into oblivion.

"Why do you always do that?" You ask, but he does not answer; he just walks you home. "Xavier, are you feeling okay? You've been silent the whole walk home.."

"I'm alright." He shot you a small smile like he always did and went inside. It was yet another protocore that was a waste, another step further from home, another disappointment to the people relying on him... but, at least, you trusted him.

So, he walked down the stairs and to your apartment and knocked on the door. He didn't even have to say a word, you just let him walk in and sit down, plating up some food for him.

You sit opposite and begin to eat, speaking about trivial things with him before he speaks up, "I don't expect you to understand me fully, but I need to find something, and I can't find it, and it's driving me mad."

"I can help-" you pipe in, but he just shakes his head, causing you to deflate, but you understood him in a way; you had things to do, personal missions to complete that you wouldn't want anyone to touch either. You clear your throat. "Well, if you ever need someone to help cheer you up or clear your mind, you can come here. If I can't help you with your mission, I want to at least help you after them." He smiles and looks at you, placing a star-shaped dumpling into your bowl and nods. "That'll be nice..."

Taglist: @61chai-tea @lueurjun @thebangtancloud @nawysstuff @phantom-astra

[serensho]

୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧ ୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧

୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧ ୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧

she

in which you and mark have drifted apart...but that doesn't mean he's left your life for good.

warnings: SMUT, coochie eating, angst, surprisingly soft/fluffy, variant!mark, kind of creepy vibes but not too much imo, not canon compliant, fem!reader

wc: 2766

inspired by tyler the creator's she, sycamore tree by kali uchis

a/n: ayy doing something different by having my note at the beginning; thank you sm for the love on my last two posts! i hope you all love this one and reblog, like, reply, request, etc!! this could be imagined with any mark variant imo, but let me know who you think fits this best! also it is pretty light despite its inspo, and i hope you all like it! i had fun writing it and getting out of my comfort zone. enjoy

You and Mark Grayson have lost touch.

 It wasn’t surprising at first. Having grown up with him and watching his transformation from ordinary high schooler to superhero from only a few doors down– it seemed only natural that he would act differently, make new friends and find new hobbies. 

The two of you drifted apart as he began fighting crime, talking to girls, and the friendship that was once so strong between you fizzled out. There wasn’t any animosity– at least you tried not to harbor any– but it was only natural that a sense of bitterness began to fester as he stopped trying. 

He stopped coming over late at night after a fight with a petty villain, stopped walking you home, simply stopped. And you tried to reach out to him, to let him know you would always be there but he found comfort elsewhere. Which was fine. He was following a different path, one that was extraordinary compared to your ordinary experience going to the nearby college sometimes crossing paths with William and Amber. 

Last you heard she and Mark had broken up and he was now with Atom Eve. But a lot had been happening to Mark recently with the arrival of different versions of him wreaking havoc on Earth, and his subsequent fight with some sort of super strong hero from a completely different planet. You couldn’t help but worry for him, worry for Debbie and his little brother, Oliver. 

You still cared despite the loss of contact and that was what prompted you to try to write a text to him, hoping that his number hadn’t changed. However, it sat in your messages, too scared to send it. You stewed over it, reread it probably a hundred times, before giving up on it. Weeks passed by and you hadn’t read or watched anything in the news about Invincible, deeming that that was probably a good thing. 

Which was why when you saw him waiting on the sidewalk in front of your house after dark one night was so weird. At least you were pretty sure it was him. Deciding to investigate further, you padded downstairs from your bedroom to the front door, slipping on a pair of shoes and walking outside, turning on the flashlight of your phone while approaching the pavement. Only to find that Mark– whoever had been waiting outside had left without a trace. You called out into the night, looking around before going inside, but you couldn’t shake the feeling as though something, someone had been watching you. You walked back upstairs and decided to try to relax, pamper yourself for tonight to rid yourself of the sensation.

From far above in the sky, Mark held a hand over his mouth as he chuckled. Your cute chirp and frightened look on your face excited him. Back in his home universe, you hadn’t been so close to him– it was a wonder why this world’s Mark hadn’t taken advantage of your proximity but after days of observation, weeks, Mark realized that you two weren’t together, weren’t even friends. That was something he would be sure to remedy. But he couldn’t rush it no, that would be too suspicious. He tapped his chin in thought as he flew to your bedroom window. Your light was still on, blinds open to let the moonlight in, and he quickly flew to hide behind a nearby tree as you approached the window– only to open it to let the cool night air flow into your room. He could hear your sweet humming and watched as you sat down on your bed to brush your hair. He imagined running his hands through it, brushing it himself, pulling it– but it got so much better when you began undressing right before his very eyes. 

You hummed along to a soft tune as you applied velvety lotion along your body, massaging your thighs, hips, before moving up to your chest. You plopped down on your bed again, putting some on your arms before redressing into a silky pajama set and turning your lights off. 

Mark was hoping for you to do more. To touch yourself, rub and pinch your nipples, play with your clit until he could hear you mewling and crying out in pleasure– but he supposed he would have to be the one to pull those sweet sounds from you instead.

In the days that followed Mark began to slowly insert himself back into your life. He began leaving signs, walking throughout your house leaving doors and windows open so he could watch you later that day. He followed you around as you drove to work, college, to the grocery store–meanwhile you had been noticing these things, realizing that you hadn’t left your bedroom window open all day…Had you? 

Mark continued to stay hidden, biding his time for the perfect moment to approach you but he wanted to learn more about you in this world, and found himself falling for you all over again. As luck would have it, that perfect moment arose the same day this world’s Invincible made headlines after having been in a particularly nasty fight with another villain. 

You paced your room, contemplating sending that text to Mark. It certainly couldn’t hurt, could it? It was simple and to the point–Saw what happened, hope you’re doing alright. I’m always here if you need to talk. You took a deep breath as you collapsed onto your bed afterwards, the night hours becoming later as you tried to distract yourself in anticipation of a response. You were reading a book as your phone suddenly buzzed, the screen lighting. Your heart jumped as you scrambled to grab it, the message reading, I’m alright. Just been dealing with a lot, hope you’re okay, too. 

Well, at least it was something. A sense of relief washed over you–quickly being followed with panic as a knock came from your window. You got up and opened it, only to see–

“Mark!? Holy shit, how are you–what are you doing here right now?” You gasped as he hovered into your room and landed.

Something was up…you had just seen him fighting for his life on television and now he was wearing a new suit and visiting your bedroom after so many years?

“I had to see you,” he said as he looked you up and down. God, you looked even better up close.

“I thought you were hurt? How did you heal so fast?” you shook your head as you grabbed his arm, assessing him for injuries. None. You turned him around, seeing there wasn’t even a rip in this new suit. But he looked different in it, somehow. More muscular, like he filled it out more but maybe it was just the difference seeing him in person and on a screen. Your hands trailed along his body as you grabbed both of his hands in yours. Realizing what you were doing, checking him out and gawking, you dropped them as you turned around and cleared your throat, embarrassed. 

“It’s my powers. I’m good as new, now,” he said as he stretched, missing your soft hands on his body already. 

You frowned as you turned back to face him. “Mark, what are you doing in my room? We haven’t spoken in years. I mean, just because I sent you that text doesn’t mean I was expecting you to visit or–or that we can suddenly go back to what we used to be.”

Mark walked toward you as you backed away from him. Seriously, what was up with him? 

Noticing your apprehension he began taking off the face piece of his suit, grabbing your hands. “I’ve missed you. And that text…” he trailed off. What the fuck could he say that wouldn’t alert you to the fact that he wasn’t your Mark? “I–I realized that I wanna make up for the time we’ve lost together. It’s you I should’ve been giving my time and attention to, not anything else,” he reasoned, looking into your eyes deeply. 

You looked down to your hands, intertwined in his. You shook your head, thoughts running wild. You had harbored a crush on him when you two were friends. But he was with Eve, was he not? This all seemed to be some sort of dream, a fantasy. 

You sighed before meeting his longing gaze. “Mark, you have a girlfriend. I’m not some sort of boyfriend-stealer. I don’t know who you think you’re fooling right now, but you need to stop. It isn’t fair.”

His brows raised as he scowled. “I don’t care about her, we’re done. Her, those other girls, they were just distractions, I thought that I wanted them but my judgment was clouded. Now, I see what’s been in front of me this whole time,” he pulled you closer to him, still holding hands. He rubbed comforting circles as you looked at his face, carefully examining his features. 

His body was definitely more muscular in person– but his face was the same Mark you had been missing, yearning for. He seemed aged somehow, eyes sad but still holding that same depth you remembered. Which was what prompted you to lean into him, breaking your hands apart to rest one on his chest as you looked up at him. 

Everything was falling into place, perfectly.

“Mark, I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to think right now. Maybe this is stupid, but I…I believe you.”

You could feel his heartbeat quicken, from your touch or words you were unsure, as his hand which had been rubbing those comforting circles, stilled, tightening before releasing entirely. 

Mark’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his voice huskier now, lower. There was something dangerous, electric, in the way he spoke, as though he was holding back.

Your chest tightened as you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “I missed you too,” you whispered, barely audible, feeling the weight of everything you hadn’t said in years. It all came crashing down now, in this moment—every longing glance, every unspoken word. 

Without thinking, you rose up on your toes, closing the gap between you, your lips brushing his in the lightest of touches. For a second, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your ears as you pulled back just enough to see his face, wondering if you’d gone too far.

But Mark’s reaction was immediate. His hand slid up, cradling the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. His lips crashed against yours with a kind of desperation, like he’d been starving for this for as long as you had. The kiss was firm, claiming, his other hand slipping down to rest on your waist, fingers curling possessively around your side.

You gasped against his mouth as his body pressed closer, his heat enveloping you. Every touch, every sensation felt amplified—the brush of his lips, the way his hand tugged lightly at your hair as he kissed you harder. Your fingers dug into his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath, and you could feel the tension in his body, something tight and wanting, waiting to be released.

“Mark…” you breathed, breaking the kiss for a moment as you leaned your forehead against his, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of it all. His eyes were clouded with desire as he stared down at you, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your body responding in ways you couldn’t control. His hands slid down your waist, pulling you against him, and you could feel the hardness of his body pressed firmly against yours. The air between you felt thick with desire, each breath you took seemed to pull you closer.

The line between wanting and restraint blurred as his lips found your neck, leaving slow, heated kisses along your skin, each one sending a shock of pleasure through you. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he nipped lightly at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, his hands roaming lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hips.

Your pulse quickened, your body arching instinctively against him as his hands found the hem of your shirt, teasingly sliding beneath the fabric to touch your bare skin. His touch was warm, firm, but careful, like he was savoring every second of this moment. He helped you out of your top as he took in the sight of your breasts. 

You moved to cover yourself before Mark grabbed you bridal style, placing you on your bed as he quickly rid himself of the rest of his suit, completely bare before you. 

“Don’t be shy, baby. Lemme show you how much I want you,” he said as he climbed on top of you, pulling you into a long kiss. While your lips were locked, his hands came down to palm your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples. Mark pulled away from you, moving lower, sucking and kissing as he fondled one of your tits, bringing the other between his warm, wet mouth as he began suckling. 

You arched your back in pleasure as you brought a hand to pull at his hair as you moaned. 

“Oh, Mark–Please!”

He pulled away from you and tilted his head coyly. “Tell me what you want,” he said in a low tone as he moved his mouth to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. “I-I don’t know I want–want more,” you whimpered as the hand that was in his hair came to grab at the pillow under your head.

Mark stopped his efforts on your chest and moved lower, using both hands to spread your legs as he appraised the heat between your thighs. “Poor thing. She’s begging for some attention, you know that?” 

Mark’s strong arms kept your legs apart as you squirmed under his touch. He placed light kisses along your inner thighs before he brought his mouth against your clit and sucked. Hard. You cried out in bliss as Mark continued licking, and sucking, swallowing your essence as you writhed under his touch. 

Mark's tongue worked expertly, flicking against your sensitive clit with a rhythm that made your body tense and shiver with every stroke. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place as you bucked against him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, your head falling back as the intense sensation built inside you, a fire spreading through your core. "M-Mark..." you gasped, your voice trembling as his mouth moved faster, the wet sounds of his tongue sending electric jolts through your body. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending you even closer to the edge.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, his hand slid up, teasing your entrance with his fingers before thrusting them inside, curling just right. The sudden fullness made you cry out louder, your hips lifting off the bed as the pleasure crested. His tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, pushing you higher, deeper, until the pressure inside you finally broke.

You shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as your body shook uncontrollably. Your cries echoed through the room, your thighs trembling around his head as he continued, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were spent, breathless, and completely undone.

Slowly, he pulled away, kissing your inner thighs tenderly as you tried to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Mark looked up at you, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he crawled back up to hover over you.

"That," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face, "was only the beginning." But the intensity of his gaze softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, leaving you breathless all over again.

You registered the sound of your phone buzzing, but with Mark on top of you, loving you, the edges of your mind fuzzy and melting, you willfully ignored it. 

For now, you were his, and the world outside didn’t matter anymore. Mark was different–but did it really matter to you all that much if it gave you the chance to be his? 

tags: @weeb-simp-11

[mintyys-blog]

CLAIMED BY A VILTRUMITE — viltrumite! mark grayson

PART ONE

PART TWO

WARNINGS: doubts, shaming/bullying, pregnancy, fighting.

The tension in the air was palpable when Mark left for a mission once again. Y/N had tried to steady herself, focusing on her children and giving them the care they deserved. But with Mark gone, she knew that things would be different. She had been getting used to the idea of having some space, of allowing herself to breathe and heal. But she never anticipated the storm that Anissa would bring with her.

It was a quiet afternoon when Anissa walked into the nursery, a smug expression playing on her face. Roselyna, who usually remained so still and detached from Y/N, immediately perked up at the sight of her. She giggled, reaching her arms toward Anissa, her small fingers grasping for her. Y/N’s heart twisted at the sight. Why couldn’t her daughter do that for her? Why was it always Mark or Anissa?

Anissa picked Roselyna up with ease, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She rocked the baby in her arms as if it were second nature. “I see this one has a preference for me,” she said, poking at Roselyna’s chubby cheek as the baby laughed, a sound that sent a pang of jealousy straight through Y/N.

Y/N stood frozen, her chest tight. Anissa, the one who had always shown disdain for her, was now handling her daughter with a familiarity she could never have. “She’s always so… attached to him,” Anissa continued, her voice mocking. “Isn’t it sad? Your own baby doesn’t like you.” She glanced at Y/N, her words slicing through the silence. “It’s because she can sense your weakness. And you’re infecting Mark. He is growing weak too.” Anissa clicked her tongue as if she was disgusted by the very thought.

Y/N felt her stomach churn. The words stung, but she couldn’t bring herself to defend herself, not with the cruel edge in Anissa’s voice. She just stood there, watching as Anissa set Roselyna back into her crib, her daughter reaching after her, an innocent request for attention that only fueled Y/N’s growing frustration.

Anissa looked over at Elijah next, the boy who had always clung to Y/N more than Roselyna ever had. Her gaze turned to disdain. “Your son— just like you,” Anissa sneered. “He’s weak. I can tell. He’ll never be the warrior his sister will be.”

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, her anger rising. Anissa was trying to tear apart everything she had worked for with her children. It wasn’t just about weakness; it was about control. Anissa wanted to be the one to decide who was strong, who was worthy. Y/N knew she could never compete with that.

Before Y/N could say anything, Anissa placed her hands on her hips and turned to face her fully, her eyes gleaming with superiority. “You… get out,” Y/N stammered, trying to find her voice. “Mark wouldn’t want you here.”

Anissa’s lips curled into a wicked smile, her eyes narrowing. In an instant, she was in front of Y/N, standing so close that Y/N could feel the coldness radiating off her. “Oh yeah?” Anissa’s voice was sharp, every word dripping with venom. “And what will you do about it, human?” Her tone was mocking, her eyes cold. “A mere flick of my finger and you’ll be thrown through that wall. You don’t hold the power here. You’re just a human, remember that next time you think we are equals.”

Y/N’s legs wobbled, and her breath caught in her throat. She was no match for Anissa, no match for the strength of the Viltrumites who were always so far above her. But she was a mother, and that fierce protectiveness for her children made her stand her ground.

Anissa stepped back with a scoff, looking at Y/N in disgust. “Mark has poor taste in women,” she muttered, her voice dripping with condescension. She glanced at Y/N one last time, as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience, and then left the room, leaving Y/N standing alone, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and helplessness.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Y/N stood there, shaking, trying to fight off the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy.

Anissa was a Viltrumite. She was strong. She was everything Y/N was not. But Y/N would not let her take her children from her. She wouldn’t let anyone undermine her, no matter how cruel and condescending they were.

But what could she do? She wasn’t like them. She didn’t have their power, their strength, their superiority. And yet, here she was, holding onto the one thing that made her stand apart from the rest of them—her love for her children. She would never let them grow up without knowing that, without knowing that she was their mother, and that she loved them with everything she had.

The idea that Anissa would try to take over as a mother figure for Roselyna, especially when she resembled Mark so much, only fueled Y/N’s determination. Roselyna wasn’t just Mark’s daughter. She was hers too. She would protect them both, even if it meant going up against the very Viltrumites who ruled over her life.

Y/N’s resolve grew stronger, her anger at Anissa’s interference only adding fuel to the fire. She would fight for her children, even if it meant standing up to Mark himself. No one, not even Anissa, would take them away from her.

The days passed, and with every absence of Mark, Anissa seemed to grow more and more present. Every time Mark left on a mission, she came. No matter how hard Y/N tried to resist, Anissa slipped into her life with ease, taking control over the twins in a way that made Y/N feel powerless. It was like a constant reminder that she was nothing more than a human, a fragile woman who couldn’t even keep her own children to herself.

Anissa was there to “help,” of course. But help meant controlling everything. She took Roselyna in her arms without asking, despite the baby’s clear preference for her father. She would feed her, change her, even rock her to sleep, her hands firm and possessive. She would lecture Y/N in her cold, condescending tone whenever Y/N tried to intervene, pointing out how much stronger she was, how much more competent she was as a Viltrumite.

Every time Anissa stood between her and her children, Y/N felt a knot of helplessness tighten in her chest. She had no strength to fight back, no power to defy her. Anissa’s presence was an ever-looming shadow, suffocating everything Y/N had tried to build with her children.

She refused to run to Mark for help, though. She couldn’t. Part of her knew she could, but the other part—the part that was still clinging to some semblance of dignity—wanted to prove she didn’t need his protection. She had always been told that she was weak, a mere human, but she wanted to show she could be strong on her own. She wanted to be able to protect herself, her children, without relying on Mark’s authority to fix everything.

But the truth was, she was wrong. So wrong.

The moment Anissa took Roselyna in her arms again, laughing at how the baby was so quiet for her, Y/N’s heart broke. Her daughter, who had always been distant and reluctant in Y/N’s presence, was now smiling for Anissa, reaching for her with eagerness. Y/N had tried for months to bond with her, to get her to warm up to her, but nothing ever worked.

The anger bubbled up inside of her, but it wasn’t just anger at Anissa—it was at herself. She should have known better. She wasn’t equipped to fight the Viltrumites. She was a mother, yes, but she was also a woman in a world dominated by power, by strength, by a race that saw humans as nothing more than tools or trophies. She wasn’t meant to fight this battle alone.

But she refused to back down. She couldn’t let Anissa win, couldn’t let her become the mother figure for Roselyna. She was the one who had carried these children. She was the one who had bled for them, fought for them, and, even now, cared for them. She couldn’t let someone like Anissa take that away from her.

Every time Anissa left with Roselyna, Y/N would stand in the doorway, watching helplessly. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pull Roselyna out of her arms and run. But instead, she just clenched her fists, tears brimming in her eyes, as Anissa’s footsteps echoed down the hallway.

She should have been stronger. She should have been able to fight for them, for herself.

But the more she tried to convince herself she could handle it, the more she realized how impossible it all felt. And the more Mark remained gone, the more she understood that maybe she was too small in a world so vast and dangerous.

That night, when Anissa had finally left, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, clutching her knees to her chest, Elijah asleep in the crib beside her. She had tried to be strong, but her resolve was crumbling. She had failed.

She could feel the weight of the guilt pressing down on her chest. Mark was gone, but he had made it clear—she needed to take care of the children, to protect them. But she couldn’t do it alone.

For the first time, she felt truly defeated. She had wanted to prove she could stand on her own, but in the end, all she had done was expose her weakness. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed Mark. She needed him to protect her, to protect them, because she couldn’t do it herself.

But she wouldn’t let that fact destroy her. She wasn’t ready to give up, even if it meant asking for help. Even if it meant running to Mark for help, for the first time. She needed to protect her children, and if asking for his protection was the only way to do that, then so be it.

As much as it hurt her pride to acknowledge, she couldn’t do this without him.

Y/N sat quietly in the dim light of the room, the sounds of Elijah’s soft breathing and the occasional rustle from Roselyna’s crib filling the silence. She had tried so hard to stand tall, to prove she could do this without relying on Mark or anyone else. But as the days passed and Anissa’s presence grew more dominant, Y/N couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

Her hands, trembling as she gripped the sides of the bed, reflected the internal conflict that raged within her. She had always believed that being strong meant standing on her own, never showing vulnerability. But now, as her children slept peacefully in their cribs, she realized that true strength wasn’t about pushing through it alone—it was about having the courage to ask for help when it was needed most.

She looked at Elijah, his tiny face so much like hers. His soft whimpers when Anissa had tried to take him earlier that day still lingered in her mind. It was a small comfort, one that told her that perhaps, despite everything, she had still managed to bond with him in ways Anissa couldn’t take from her.

But Roselyna… her daughter’s face twisted her heart in knots. Roselyna’s smile at Anissa earlier had been too much to bear. The baby who had once only reached for her now reached for Anissa with an eagerness that cut deeper than any physical pain could. Y/N’s chest tightened, her breath shaky as she tried to steady herself. She loved her children so much, but with every passing day, she feared she was losing them to a world that didn’t see her as worthy of being their mother.

Anissa was not only taking her children, but she was also chipping away at her sense of self, making her question everything she thought she knew about strength, motherhood, and even love.

With a sigh, Y/N finally stood up, a sudden burst of determination filling her chest. No more.

She couldn’t let Anissa win. She couldn’t let herself be powerless any longer. But she also couldn’t ignore the fact that she needed help. If she wanted to protect her children, she couldn’t do it alone. And Mark—whether she liked it or not—was the only one who could give her the strength she lacked.

The decision was hard to make. Her pride told her to fight alone, to prove that she could stand on her own two feet. But love for her children, the need to keep them safe, outweighed everything else. She had already tried to protect them without him, and the results had been painful to watch.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up straight, her legs no longer shaking as she moved towards the door. She hesitated, her hand lingering on the handle, but then she opened it. The walk to Mark’s quarters felt long, the weight of the moment pressing on her chest with each step.

When she arrived, she didn’t wait for a signal to enter, just pushed the door open. Mark was standing at the far end of the room, looking over some documents, but when he turned to look at her, his gaze softened.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice steady but filled with concern.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just stood there, her heart pounding in her chest as she took in the sight of him—strong, confident, the very image of the Viltrumite leader she had both feared and loved. The man who had taken her from her home and given her a life she never wanted, but also the father of her children.

Finally, she found her voice, though it trembled. “I… need you.” Her voice cracked, the words harder to say than she’d imagined. “I need your help, Mark.”

His expression shifted immediately, all signs of his previous sternness melting away as he walked toward her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone soft, genuine.

“I… I can’t do this on my own,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Anissa… she keeps taking them from me. I can’t protect them from her, and I can’t protect myself from her. She’s too strong, and I… I can’t keep pretending I don’t need help.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, a protective rage flickering in them for a brief moment, but when he spoke, it was calm, steady. “You should have come to me sooner.”

Y/N flinched at the disappointment in his tone, but she couldn’t hold it against him. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wanted to do it myself. I thought I could.”

“You’re not meant to do this alone,” he said gently, cupping her face in his hands. “You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.”

She looked up into his eyes, the conflict still swirling in her chest, but for the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of hope.

Mark wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his embrace strong and steady. For the first time, she let herself lean into it, let herself feel the comfort of being held. Her tears came slowly, but this time, she didn’t feel weak for shedding them. She felt relieved.

“You’re not alone,” he repeated, kissing the top of her head. “And I’ll make sure Anissa knows that.”

Anissa returned the next morning with an air of superiority, the sharpness of her presence cutting through the quiet of the house. Mark was in the kitchen, his back turned, but he could sense her before he even looked up. She entered with Roselyna in her arms, her expression smug as she strode into the room, holding the baby like she owned her.

“I was taking her for a walk,” Anissa said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “She enjoys seeing the stars at night. Isn’t that right, Rose? You like spending time with Auntie Anissa?”

Roselyna’s giggles filled the room, her tiny hands reaching up to Anissa’s face, and Y/N, standing frozen in the hallway, felt her heart sink into her stomach. Her eyes locked onto her daughter, her chest tightening with a mixture of jealousy and helplessness. The baby didn’t fuss; in fact, she seemed content, even happy in Anissa’s arms.

Anissa’s smile deepened as she met Y/N’s gaze, her eyes gleaming with a knowing satisfaction. “Or as Rose prefers to call me…”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her body tensing as dread washed over her. No…

“Mama!” Roselyna’s voice, sweet and innocent, echoed in the room. And with those two words, Y/N felt the ground slip from beneath her feet. Her world shattered in an instant.

Her eyes stung with tears, her throat tightening as she swallowed the lump forming there. Mama. Not her. Another woman.

Mark’s head whipped around, his eyes widening in disbelief as he reached for Roselyna, pulling her from Anissa’s arms with urgency.

“No, no, she’s not your mama,” he said, his voice trembling as he looked at Anissa, as if desperate to undo the damage. But it was too late. The words had already been spoken. The damage was irreversible.

Anissa merely raised an eyebrow, the smugness on her face never faltering as she casually touched Roselyna’s cheek. “Oh, don’t worry, Mark. She’ll learn eventually. Babies say all sorts of things.”

Y/N stood frozen in the doorway, her heart beating violently against her ribs. The tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. mama. Those words echoed like a nightmare. Her own daughter, her flesh and blood, had already bonded with someone else.

Mark’s tone hardened as he faced Anissa, his jaw clenched. “Anissa. You will not return here, or interact with my children, nor my wife. Do you understand?” His voice was cold, an unmistakable edge of finality to it.

Anissa stared at him, arms crossed in defiance. “Fine,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “But don’t be so quick to defend her. She’s not fit for the task. None of this will end well for you, Mark. And you know it.” Her eyes flicked toward Y/N, before she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she went.

Mark turned back to Y/N, his expression softening. “Y/N…” he started, but Y/N was already moving, her legs unsteady, her emotions threatening to break her. She couldn’t look at him. Not now. Not when everything felt so broken.

Without a word, she walked quickly down the hall, feeling the tears blur her vision. She reached the nursery and slammed the door behind her, locking herself in.

Elijah was bouncing in his crib, his chubby little arms reaching out toward her, and she scooped him up instinctively. The warmth of his body against hers only amplified the emptiness inside. She sat down on the floor, cradling him close, her hands trembling as she rocked him gently. His little giggles echoed in her ears, unaware of the weight that threatened to suffocate her.

“My sweet baby boy,” she whispered softly, pressing him to her chest. “At least you still love me.”

She let the tears fall freely now, her chest heaving with the sobs that wracked her body. She could barely breathe through the pain in her heart. She had failed. She had tried so hard to be a mother to Roselyna, but her daughter had already chosen another. And it wasn’t her. It was Anissa.

The words Mama repeated in her mind like a cruel refrain. How could she fight that? How could she undo the bond that had already formed between them?

A knock came at the door, and her breath caught in her throat. “Y/N…” Mark’s voice cracked through the quiet, full of regret and desperation.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not when her heart felt so hollow, when she was drowning in the suffocating realization that her daughter might never look at her the same way again. That Anissa had already taken that from her.

Mark’s voice came again, softer this time, pleading. “Please… I know this hurts. But you’re the mother, Y/N. Don’t let this tear you apart.”

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear the idea of her daughter looking at her with that same indifference. She couldn’t bear knowing that Anissa had already started to claim what was hers.

“I can’t do this,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “I need to be alone.”

She felt Mark hesitate on the other side of the door, his presence heavy in the air, but he didn’t push. The silence stretched between them, and then she heard him leave, his footsteps retreating.

And in the quiet of the nursery, the only sounds were her broken sobs, and Elijah’s innocent cooing in her arms, blissfully unaware of the damage that had been done.

The pain of losing Roselyna—of never being able to bond with her the way she had hoped—was too much to bear. But more than that, she felt powerless. Helpless. The one thing she had tried so desperately to protect—the bond with her children—was slipping through her fingers, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Anissa stayed true to her word—she didn’t come back, nor did she interact with Y/N or her children again. At first, it was a relief to Y/N, a brief moment of peace, but the silence that followed was anything but comforting. The absence of Anissa’s presence left a vacuum, but it also amplified the emptiness Y/N felt.

Despite her anger and hurt from the encounter, a small part of her had hoped that Mark would be able to protect her, that he would be able to push Anissa away for good. Yet, even with that fleeting sense of relief, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that her bond with her children—particularly Roselyna—was already slipping beyond her reach.

She tried her best to move forward, focusing on her recovery and caring for her children. Elijah, always the clingy one, had become a source of comfort. He was more affectionate toward her, his little hands reaching for her, his cries quieting when she held him close. It was easy to love him, easy to let him remind her that she wasn’t entirely alone.

But then there was Roselyna.

Y/N watched her daughter, her heart aching as the little girl grew more distant. Despite her best efforts, Roselyna seemed to gravitate toward others, and every time Y/N reached for her, she saw the lack of recognition, the detachment. It hurt so deeply—especially when Roselyna would giggle and reach for Mark when he came home.

How could she love him more than me? Y/N often thought. How could she be so cold?

The worst part was that Roselyna looked so much like him—her eyes, her smile, the same striking features that made her a perfect replica of Mark. Y/N tried not to feel resentful, but it was impossible not to. Every time Roselyna smiled at him, it was as if she were giving a piece of her heart to Mark and none to Y/N.

And the harder she tried to reach her, the more distant Roselyna seemed. She couldn’t help but wonder: Was it too late? Had Anissa already taken that bond from me?

Though Anissa had stayed away, Y/N couldn’t shake the fear that her children—especially Roselyna—were slipping further from her grasp. It was an internal struggle she kept hidden, not wanting to let Mark see how much it affected her. Still, the weight of her doubts pressed on her heart every time she looked at Roselyna, and it was starting to feel like a loss she couldn’t reverse.

Mark, for all his strength and control, had no idea how much Y/N was suffering in silence. He remained focused on his mission, his goals, while Y/N faced the quiet pain of feeling like an outsider in her own family. The fear that she would never be enough—never be the mother her children needed—gnawed at her every day. She wasn’t sure how much more of it she could take.

Days passed, and Y/N continued to try her best for her children, but the distance between her and Roselyna became more unbearable with each passing moment. Elijah, her sweet boy, remained her comfort, but the hollow ache in her chest never ceased. She’d watch her daughter and wonder if it was too late—if the small moments of connection she had with her would ever return. Could I ever be the mother she needs?

Despite her growing despair, Y/N found herself still attempting to bond with Roselyna. She spent hours trying to engage with her daughter, playing, singing, even just talking to her as she held her. But every time she reached out, Roselyna pulled away, her little hands grabbing for others, always turning her gaze toward Mark whenever he walked into the room. It was as if the very sight of her mother had become a source of indifference, while her father was her beacon, her source of warmth.

Y/N’s heart shattered a little more each time.

One afternoon, Mark came in after a mission, weary but smiling. He reached for Roselyna, and she immediately extended her tiny arms toward him, giggling as he scooped her up. Y/N stood in the doorway, her chest tight. She wanted to be happy for Mark, but the sight of her daughter smiling so brightly at him and not at her felt like a dagger to her soul.

As if sensing her presence, Mark looked up at her, his smile faltering for a brief moment. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, just… tired.”

Mark nodded, but the concern didn’t leave his face as he walked over to her, Roselyna in his arms. “You know, you don’t have to do this all alone,” he said softly, his eyes scanning her face. “I’m here. You know that, right?”

Y/N nodded, though the words she longed to say—the things she felt—were caught in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she felt, how much it hurt to watch Roselyna turn away from her. She couldn’t tell him how desperately she wanted to be enough for her children, especially when it felt like she was losing them to him.

Instead, she merely nodded, avoiding his gaze. “I know. I just… I just need some time. I’ll be fine.”

Mark watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering. He was still holding Roselyna, but his attention was now fully on Y/N. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but filled with a tenderness she hadn’t heard in a while.

Y/N forced a smile. “I just need some time,” she repeated, her voice soft, almost apologetic.

Mark’s expression darkened slightly, but he didn’t press further. “Okay,” he said, though his tone betrayed his unease. He leaned in to kiss her forehead but stopped just before his lips touched her skin. “You know I’m here if you need me.”

Y/N closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. She couldn’t let him see how much this hurt, how much it tore her apart inside. She just nodded again, forcing her emotions down into the pit of her stomach.

“Get some rest,” he added, his voice soft but firm, as if trying to make her understand that he cared, that he wanted to help. But the distance between them felt so vast. She couldn’t find the words to make him understand.

As he turned to leave, carrying Roselyna in his arms, Y/N stayed behind, her chest tight with unshed tears. I’m losing her, she thought, her heart breaking. I’m losing my own daughter.

The baby who didn’t need her. The child who had come from her, but seemed to love him more. The fear of failing as a mother weighed heavy on her chest. How do I fix this? How do I make her love me?

She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg for things to change, but she kept it all inside, her hands shaking as she stared at the door. When Mark was gone, and she was left in the silence of their room, it felt like the quiet suffocated her.

She couldn’t help but feel the growing divide between her and her daughter. It was as if everything she had done, everything she had fought for, had been in vain. She was no longer just a mother trying to bond with her child—she was a woman losing her place in her own family.

And as she stood there, staring at the empty space where Mark had just been, the full weight of it hit her: She was afraid—afraid that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be enough. Not for him, not for Roselyna. Not for anyone. And what if it’s true? she wondered, her throat tight. What if I really can’t be the mother she needs?

As the months passed, Y/N found herself watching her children with a mixture of pride and fear. Elijah, her son who looked so much like her, was beginning to show the first signs of his Viltrumite heritage. He was stronger than any normal child his age, but he also struggled with the pull of his human side. Unlike Roselyna, who had quickly adopted a quiet, calculating calmness that mirrored her father’s, Elijah was more volatile. He could be sweet one moment, reaching for her with a smile, and the next, he would lash out in frustration, his strength pushing his mother aside in moments of anger he couldn’t fully control.

Y/N feared what this might mean for him as he grew older. Could he live with both sides of his nature? Or would his Viltrumite strength eventually overpower his human vulnerabilities?

She noticed, too, how Elijah would sometimes turn his gaze to Roselyna—who was always so calm, always so controlled, with her eyes like her father’s—almost as if he were seeking approval. Roselyna, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the world around her. There were times when Y/N would catch her staring off into the distance, as if she was already assessing the world in a way far beyond her years. It was disturbing. Y/N couldn’t put her finger on why, but something about the way Roselyna held herself reminded her too much of Mark. It was as if she had already begun to slip into the same cold, detached demeanor that her father carried, and it unsettled Y/N to her core.

One afternoon, Y/N tried once again to engage with Roselyna, trying to get her to respond in a way that felt human. She pulled her daughter into her arms, cooing softly, trying to coax a smile out of her. But instead of the giggle or laugh she longed to hear, Roselyna simply stared at her, her little face expressionless.

Y/N’s heart clenched in her chest. Was this really her daughter? Or was she becoming someone else entirely? A Viltrumite?

Her mind spiraled into darker thoughts as she looked at her daughter’s unblinking eyes, feeling an increasing alienation from her. Roselyna was changing, growing stronger by the day. She had already developed the strength to pull herself up on her own, something Elijah couldn’t do yet. Mark, of course, was proud of his daughter’s progress. He saw it as a sign that she was developing into a true Viltrumite warrior. But to Y/N, it felt like a sign of something more frightening.

It wasn’t just the strength. It was the way Roselyna seemed indifferent to the world around her, as though emotions—love, compassion, empathy—meant nothing. She would reach for Mark whenever he entered the room, always with a smile, her little hands outstretched. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, but worse, fear. Was her daughter becoming someone she couldn’t reach? Someone who wouldn’t need her?

Meanwhile, Elijah seemed to be developing the opposite reaction. The more Roselyna grew into this new version of herself, the more he clung to Y/N. When he saw his sister getting attention, he would throw tantrums—loud, violent outbursts that marked a growing frustration with himself, with his place in the world, and with the way he was torn between two natures. He was jealous of his sister’s calmness, of the ease with which she was molded into her father’s image.

In those moments, Y/N could see the internal battle Elijah was facing. He wanted to be strong like Roselyna. He wanted to be the child who could do no wrong in Mark’s eyes, the one who would make him proud. But the human part of him—his soft, emotional side—kept him from embracing that. And so, he rebelled.

Y/N did her best to comfort him during those tantrums, holding him tightly as his tiny fists punched against her. She whispered calming words to him, though part of her wondered if they were reaching him. Was she even doing the right thing by comforting him like this? Should she be preparing him for what was coming, for the way he was going to have to face his Viltrumite side?

As for Roselyna, it felt like there was nothing Y/N could do. The more she tried to bond, the more she felt like an outsider. She would catch herself looking at her daughter, wondering if she was truly a part of her, or if she was just another extension of Mark’s vision of the perfect Viltrumite.

In the quiet moments, when Mark was away on a mission, Y/N would hold both children close, her tears slipping unnoticed down her cheeks. This isn’t what I imagined when I wanted to be a mother, she would think. This isn’t the family I wanted. But what can I do?

It was during one of these moments of quiet vulnerability that Mark returned. He had been gone longer than usual, and when he stepped into the room, it was clear that something was different. His eyes immediately searched for Roselyna. He scooped her up without hesitation, but then his gaze shifted to Y/N.

He was tired, but something else lingered in his eyes. Something almost… uncertain.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his tone gentle. “Are you alright?”

Y/N paused, swallowing back her emotions. She had learned to hide them from him, learned to wear the mask of the dutiful mother. She didn’t want to burden him with her struggles, not when he was so focused on the Viltrumite way of life.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice steady.

Mark didn’t believe her, though. He stared at her for a moment, the concern in his eyes deepening. “If you’re not, we can talk. You know that, right?” he said, his voice quiet.

But Y/N didn’t have the strength to confront him. The divide between them had grown so wide, and she couldn’t bear to admit to him how much it hurt to feel like she was losing her children to him—losing herself to this life that she had never chosen. She just nodded, offering a faint smile.

Mark didn’t push further, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, a subtle crack in his perfect façade. As he turned his attention back to Roselyna, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like they were both slipping further away from her.

In that moment, she realized that her worst fear was already coming true: She was losing them. Slowly but surely, she was losing them both.

Y/N had just finished putting the twins down for their afternoon nap when she felt a wave of nausea hit her. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but this time, it felt different. Her body had been feeling off for a while now—tired, sluggish—but she had dismissed it as the usual exhaustion from caring for two young children.

But this nausea… it hit her like a wave crashing over her, and she staggered to the bathroom. She ran the cold water over her face, trying to shake off the overwhelming dizziness. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror—still pale, still drained—but there was something else too, something she couldn’t ignore.

The thought crept into her mind, but she tried to push it away. She couldn’t possibly be pregnant again, could she?

Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for the small vial Mark had left behind in their bathroom, something the Viltrumites used to track pregnancy signs. It wasn’t a full-proof method, but it worked. She had used it before when they had first discovered the twins, so she knew the procedure.

Minutes passed, and when she finally saw the result, her breath caught in her throat. It was confirmed. She was pregnant again.

A sense of dread settled over her like a weight on her chest. She felt the room close in on her, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Another child. Another baby to carry.

She sank to her knees on the bathroom floor, hands trembling. Her mind raced with a thousand different thoughts—her body wasn’t ready for this, her heart wasn’t ready. She had just started to find a sense of stability with the twins, and now—now this. Could she even handle another child? And if she was being honest with herself, how would she explain this to Mark? Would he see this as another victory? Another conquest in his relentless drive to build the Viltrumite race?

Tears welled up in her eyes as she held her stomach, feeling the weight of the news settle deeper into her. She had barely come to terms with her relationship with her children, let alone the future she was supposed to have with them. She had been struggling to bond with Roselyna, the growing distance between them suffocating her. And Elijah—her sweet, sensitive Elijah—had been growing more and more difficult to manage. The thought of adding another child to the mix was almost too much to bear.

But she couldn’t just leave it unspoken. She knew Mark would find out eventually. It wasn’t like she could hide a pregnancy from him, especially not with his heightened senses. And she knew he would be thrilled, excited at the prospect of continuing his legacy, adding another heir to their growing family.

The thought of it made her feel nauseous again.

Y/N stood up slowly, wiping her eyes. She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t let this show. Not yet. Not until she figured out how to navigate this new reality.

She took a deep breath and walked back to the nursery, trying to steady herself. The twins were both asleep, their little chests rising and falling in peaceful slumber. But the weight of the secret she now carried seemed heavier than ever. Another child. She didn’t know if she could handle it, and she didn’t know if she wanted to.

But what choice did she have? She was already bound to Mark in ways she had never anticipated. She couldn’t back out now, not when everything had already spiraled so far beyond her control.

As she stood over the crib, staring down at her sleeping children, she felt a deep sorrow seep into her bones. Her life was no longer her own. It hadn’t been for a long time. And now, with another child on the way, the small sliver of freedom she had been clinging to seemed even farther out of reach.

Mark would be pleased, of course. But what about her? Would she ever be able to find peace in this life? Would she ever be able to look at her children without feeling the weight of what they represented?

Y/N had just begun to relax into Mark’s touch when his lips brushed against her neck, sending a wave of warmth and tension across her skin. She didn’t fight it this time. The kiss lingered, his hands sliding down her sides, as they always did, coaxing her into a state of vulnerability she wasn’t sure she was ready for. His warmth, his scent—everything about him felt both familiar and foreign to her now.

She closed her eyes, letting herself fall into the sensation of being held. For a moment, she tried to forget about everything—the burden of her pregnancy, the struggles with the twins, and the fear that seemed to constantly gnaw at her. Mark’s touch was a strange comfort, but it didn’t erase the lingering doubts that plagued her heart.

But then, as his hand moved lower, brushing against her stomach, something felt different. She froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

Mark’s fingers stilled, then pressed more firmly against her abdomen. His brows furrowed slightly, and she could feel the tension in his body shift. His gaze moved to her face, and he tilted his head, confusion swirling in his eyes.

“What is it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin as he pressed his ear to her stomach. He closed his eyes, listening intently.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest. She knew he could hear it—the soft, rhythmic thud of a heartbeat. But it wasn’t just hers. It couldn’t be.

His expression shifted, the understanding dawning too quickly in his eyes. He pulled away slightly, his gaze never leaving her stomach, now recognizing the small, subtle bump that had grown over the last few weeks. The very same bump that she had tried so hard to ignore.

“Two?” Mark murmured under his breath, his voice low and full of quiet shock. “There’s… two heartbeats?”

Y/N could feel the knot in her chest tightening, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Instead, she stared at the floor, trying to hold herself together, trying not to fall apart at the weight of the words she had been dreading.

“Y/N…” His voice was different now, softer, more cautious. He lifted his hand to her chin, gently tilting her face to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes welled up with tears, the overwhelming weight of the situation crashing down on her all at once. How could she explain? How could she tell him that she was afraid, that she felt trapped, that the thought of having another child terrified her more than she could admit?

“I… I didn’t know how to,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t think I could handle it. I didn’t think I could handle another one, especially after everything…”

Mark’s expression softened, though his eyes still held a trace of disbelief. His gaze traveled back down to her stomach, as if he were seeing it for the first time, then back to her. He didn’t speak for a long moment, as if weighing his own thoughts.

He exhaled slowly, his tone steady but tinged with something deeper, something she couldn’t quite place. “You should have told me sooner,” he said, his voice firm. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, Y/N. You don’t have to carry this burden on your own.”

She could feel his words sink into her like a balm, but it did little to ease the storm inside of her. How could she be part of something so much bigger than herself? How could she accept this life that was being forced upon her, when she wasn’t even sure she had a place in it?

Mark’s fingers brushed against her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. His thumb swiped across the tears that had begun to fall, and for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to lean into his touch.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m scared of what this means. I don’t know if I can do this again, Mark. I’m not sure I’m strong enough.”

Mark’s gaze softened, his hand gently cupping the side of her face. “You are stronger than you think,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. “And I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

For a brief moment, Y/N almost believed him. She closed her eyes, letting the weight of his words wash over her. But deep down, she knew this wasn’t just about being strong enough. It was about the life she had never wanted, a life she never chose. And no matter how much Mark assured her, she couldn’t help but feel the heavy chains of her reality tightening around her once again.

“Mark, I—” Her words faltered as the tears continued to fall. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He held her close then, enveloping her in his warmth. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m here.”

But the fear in her heart didn’t fade. If anything, it grew stronger. She was bound to him, to this world, to a life she never asked for. And now, with two heartbeats growing inside of her, the pressure was only increasing.

Mark kissed the top of her head, pulling her tighter into his embrace. “We’ll figure this out together,” he promised.

Y/N lay there in Mark’s arms, his warmth surrounding her, but the unease inside her only deepened. The weight of his words—of the promises—did little to ease the storm in her heart. How could she reconcile the life she wanted with the life that was now laid out before her? How could she pretend everything was fine when every instinct screamed that it wasn’t?

“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Mark, you don’t understand. It’s not just about being strong. It’s… everything. Everything about this… this life.”

Mark’s fingers traced circles on her back, the gesture calming, but it did little to quiet the rising tide of panic inside her. She could feel the subtle weight of her pregnancy—of the two lives growing within her—reminding her that there was no turning back, that this was now her reality.

“You don’t have to face this alone,” Mark said softly, his voice as firm as it always was, though his words were tinged with concern. “I’ll support you, Y/N. Whatever you need.”

But Y/N didn’t feel supported—not really. She wasn’t sure what it was that she needed, or how she could even begin to explain the depths of her fear to him. How could she explain the panic that gripped her chest when she thought about raising two more Viltrumite children, when she wasn’t even sure she could be the mother they needed?

“I’m not like you, Mark,” she murmured. “I never will be.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I’m not built like you. I’m not a Viltrumite. I can’t just push through everything like you can. I’m… I’m weak.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, the weight of her own self-doubt settling over her. “I can’t do this… not like you expect.”

Mark’s gaze softened, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that had fallen down her cheek. “You don’t need to be like me. You never have. You are strong in your own way, Y/N. You always have been.”

But the words didn’t reach her. She had heard them before, and while she desperately wanted to believe them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was failing at something far greater than she could understand.

Her heart ached as she glanced at the small bump on her stomach again. “I don’t even know who I am anymore, Mark. All I see is someone who’s… stuck. Stuck in a life I didn’t choose, with children I don’t even know how to love. Not the way they need to be loved.”

Mark looked pained, but he held her tighter, as though trying to absorb her pain. “Y/N… I don’t want to see you suffer. If this is too much—”

“Too much?” she interrupted, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Mark, I don’t even know what to feel anymore. Every time I look at them, at Roselyna especially, I wonder if I’m even her mother. She’s so… different. So cold.”

Her voice cracked as she continued, the words spilling out without her control. “And Elijah… he’s not like her. He’s human, Mark. He’s not going to be like her. He’s going to need me, and I can barely even be there for him. How can I be there for both of them when I can’t even stand the sight of one?”

Mark didn’t answer immediately. His silence hung in the air between them, thick with the weight of their unspoken truths. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain. “You don’t have to love them the way you think you should, Y/N. You just have to be there for them. They’re your children—your flesh and blood. They will understand. They will love you.”

But Y/N shook her head, the tears falling freely now. “I don’t even know how to love them, Mark. I don’t know how to love this life. How can I love something that was forced on me? How can I love something when I’m constantly afraid of what they might become?”

Mark reached out, cupping her face gently, forcing her to look at him. “They’re not like me, Y/N. They’re not like the Viltrumites. They have their own path to walk. And you’re their mother. You don’t need to be perfect—you just need to be there. They need you.”

But Y/N didn’t feel like she was enough. She didn’t feel like she could ever be enough for them.

Mark kissed her forehead softly, as though trying to reassure her, but she could feel the divide between them growing wider. He was confident in his Viltrumite heritage, in his purpose, but she was still trying to piece herself together, still lost in the sea of doubt and fear.

“I’ll be here,” Mark whispered, his hand sliding down to rest gently on her stomach, feeling the two tiny heartbeats. “I’ll be here for you. I’ll be here for them. And we’ll get through this together. All of us.”

But Y/N wasn’t sure anymore. She wasn’t sure if she could trust those words, or if she even had the strength to try anymore.

The future felt like a storm cloud hanging over her, a future filled with questions and doubts she wasn’t sure she could answer. The weight of her pregnancy, the unknowns of her children’s futures, the constant presence of fear that gnawed at her—none of it was something she could escape.

She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of her own heart beneath her fingers, a constant reminder of the life inside of her. And despite everything, despite the fear, the uncertainty, and the overwhelming weight of it all, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of something else.

Hope.

Maybe it wasn’t much. Maybe it wasn’t enough to erase the fear. But as long as there was a flicker of hope, maybe she could fight through this—one step at a time.

Mark’s lips met yours again, slow and deliberate, as if trying to imprint his reassurance onto you. His hand lingered on your stomach, his thumb tracing soft circles over the growing bump. Despite everything—your doubts, your fears—there was something grounding about his touch. Something that made the panic ease, if only for a moment.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. “You never will be.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt something other than fear. Maybe it wasn’t trust—not completely—but it was something close.

Mark kissed you again, deeper this time, coaxing you closer, pulling you further into his warmth. His fingers slid up your arms, then to your face, cradling you as though you were something fragile, something he didn’t want to break. He kissed away the remnants of your tears, his lips lingering against your skin.

You sighed against him, letting yourself lean into the comfort he offered. Even if you didn’t fully believe his words yet, even if the storm inside you still raged, you wanted to. You needed to.

His hands moved lower, resting on your hips, fingers splayed over your skin. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered against your lips. “You need to rest.”

A small, shaky breath left you as you nodded. “Stay with me?”

“Always,” he promised.

Mark pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself relax. You let yourself believe, even if just for tonight, that maybe things could be okay. Maybe you could be okay And maybe—just maybe—you could find a way to love this life after all.

TEN YEARS LATER

Roselyna was relentless. Every time Mark knocked her down, she got back up without hesitation. Every time she failed, she demanded to try again. Her strikes were sharp, precise—refined beyond her years. She moved with the same ruthless efficiency as her father, her body already conditioned to endure pain, to embrace it as a lesson rather than a setback.

Elijah, however, struggled. He had the strength, the speed, the power, but his hesitation held him back. His movements weren’t as aggressive, his strikes lacked the sheer force that Roselyna delivered so naturally. He didn’t want to hurt his father, even in training—didn’t want to fight with the same brutality that his sister relished in.

Mark frowned as he deflected Elijah’s latest attack, sending him stumbling back. “You’re holding back,” he stated, his tone neutral but firm. “That hesitation will get you killed.”

Elijah clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mark sighed, stepping closer, resting a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. “You think your enemies will care about that?” His voice softened, but only slightly. “You can’t afford to be weak, Elijah.”

Y/N watched from the sidelines, her fingers curled tightly into Olivia’s soft hair. Her youngest sat beside her, legs folded, wide eyes fixated on her siblings. “Why is Rosie so much better than Elijah?” she asked innocently, tilting her head.

Y/N’s heart clenched.

Because Roselyna was more like Mark. Because Roselyna had no fear of hurting others. Because Roselyna never hesitated.

“She trains harder,” Y/N murmured, keeping her voice even. “She wants to be the strongest.”

Olivia pouted, resting her chin on her knees. “I want to train too.”

Y/N turned to her, brushing strands of dark hair behind her ear. “You will, when you get your powers.”

Olivia huffed. “I don’t want to wait that long.”

Across the field, Roselyna had landed another hit on Mark, and for the first time, he staggered back slightly. A brief flicker of satisfaction flashed across his face before he smothered it, nodding in approval.

“Again,” he commanded.

Roselyna smirked. Elijah exhaled sharply, stepping back into position. Y/N could see the conflict in his eyes—the weight of expectation, the frustration of not being enough. She wanted to call out to him, to tell him he didn’t have to prove anything, but she knew it would only make things worse.

This was Mark’s way. The Viltrumite way. And like it or not, their children were being shaped by it. Y/N just prayed they wouldn’t lose themselves in the process.

You sat beside Mark, watching from a distance as the twins trained, their movements precise and powerful under his strict guidance. Olivia sat beside you, legs swinging as she watched her older siblings in awe, eager for the day she’d get to join them.

You turned to Mark, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, your fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of his suit. “How are they doing?” you asked.

Mark didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained locked on Roselyna and Elijah, studying every move, every punch, every moment of hesitation. Finally, he sighed. “Roselyna is excelling. She pushes herself harder than I even ask her to. She wants to be stronger. To be better.” His voice held a note of pride, but there was something else beneath it—something heavier.

You swallowed. “And Elijah?”

Mark exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s… slower. His progress isn’t where it should be for a Viltrumite. He holds back. He hesitates.”

Your brows furrowed. You knew Elijah had always been different—softer, more thoughtful. He didn’t crave power like Roselyna did. He never had. “Mark, he’s still strong—”

A thunderous crack cut you off, and you jumped, whipping your head toward the field. The ground trembled from the impact of Roselyna’s fists colliding with a massive boulder, sending splinters of rock flying.

“Mark—”

Before you could finish, he pulled you close, his grip protective around your waist. “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice low and firm. Then, in an instant, he was gone.

You clutched Olivia closer as you watched him appear beside Roselyna, catching her bloodied hands before she could land another devastating punch.

“Enough,” Mark said sharply, gripping her wrists.

Roselyna’s breathing was steady, her face unreadable despite the raw redness of her knuckles. “I can keep going,” she said stubbornly, attempting to yank her arms free, but Mark didn’t let her go.

“You’re hurting yourself,” he told her, his tone firm yet edged with something rare—concern.

Roselyna’s jaw clenched. “Pain is weakness leaving the body. I need to be stronger.”

Mark’s grip tightened just slightly before he let out a slow exhale. “You’re already strong, Roselyna. But this?” He nodded toward the cracked boulder, the blood smeared across the jagged stone. “This isn’t strength. This is self-destruction.”

She swallowed hard, looking away. “You always say I need to be the best.”

“You do,” he agreed. “But being the best doesn’t mean tearing yourself apart.”

A tense silence followed. Then, without another word, Roselyna wiped her bloody hands on her training suit, leaving smears of crimson in the dark fabric. “Fine,” she muttered, turning toward the house.

Mark watched her retreat, his expression unreadable. Only when she disappeared inside did he glance back at the shattered remains of the boulder. You knew that look. He was thinking. Worrying. You took a slow breath, stepping toward him. “Mark…?”

He didn’t look at you. His jaw was tight, his fists curling at his sides. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured. You hesitated, glancing back toward the house. Your stomach twisted. Roselyna had always been strong—determined. But this… this was different. And you both knew it.

That night, after the house had settled into silence and the children were asleep, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the scene over and over in your head. Mark was beside you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—you could feel it in the stiffness of his posture, the way his arms weren’t wrapped around you like they usually were.

“Mark,” you finally whispered.

He didn’t answer at first, just continued staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled. “She’s different.”

You turned onto your side, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “She’s always been different.”

“Not like this.” His voice was low, strained. “She’s pushing herself too far. She’s relentless. Even Viltrumites know their limits, but she… she doesn’t stop.”

You swallowed, fingers lightly tracing over his skin. “Do you think it’s because of—”

“Me?” He finished the thought for you. His chest rose and fell with a slow breath. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just who she is.”

You hesitated before asking the question that had been clawing at your mind for weeks. “Do you think she has a human side at all?”

Mark finally turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “She’s my daughter,” he said simply, but there was something in his voice that made your stomach twist.

That wasn’t an answer.

You lowered your gaze. “Elijah is struggling,” you murmured. “He’s afraid he’s not strong enough. And Roselyna… she doesn’t seem afraid of anything.”

Mark was silent.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “She barely reacts to pain, Mark. She doesn’t laugh like Elijah does, doesn’t cry, doesn’t get scared. Even when she was a baby… she never clung to me, never sought comfort. But when she’s with you, it’s different.” You swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes. “She looks up to you. She worships you.”

Mark let out a quiet sigh, rolling onto his side to face you fully. “I know.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

Mark studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his fingers brushed against your cheek. “Does it scare you?”

You hesitated. You thought about the way Roselyna had shattered that boulder with her fists, the way she kept going even when her hands were raw and bloody. The way she never cried, never wavered. The way she looked at Mark like he was the only person in the universe who mattered.

You thought about how, even now, after twelve years, she still wouldn’t call you “Mama.” You swallowed, forcing a small, tight smile. “No,” you lied.

Mark didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he finally pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you like he always did.

You buried your face in his chest, listening to the steady sound of his breathing, trying to ignore the growing sense of unease curling in your stomach. Because the truth was… it did scare you. And you didn’t know what to do about it.

Mark made a decision the next day.

The twins were strong, but Roselyna—she was relentless. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

So he scaled back their training. Not completely, but enough to give them time to focus on other things—things that weren’t just about strength, power, and combat.

“We’ll continue training,” he told them that morning, his voice firm. “But not at this level. You need to develop in other ways, not just physically.”

Elijah, who had always struggled to keep up, looked relieved. He nodded quickly, clearly eager to please his father.

Roselyna, however, stared at him, expression unreadable. “Why?” Mark met her gaze. “Because you’re more than just your strength.”

Roselyna’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t argue, but you could see it—the barely contained frustration, the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She didn’t want to focus on anything else. But she didn’t fight him. Not yet.

You watched the shift happen over the next few weeks.

Elijah seemed happier, more at ease. Without the overwhelming pressure to prove himself, he flourished. He spent more time with you and Olivia, more time just being a kid. He still trained, but he wasn’t breaking himself trying to catch up to his sister anymore. Roselyna, however… she grew colder.

She wasn’t outwardly defiant, but you could see the storm brewing inside her. She withdrew more, speaking less, observing everything in that eerily calculated way she had since she was a child. And she still worshipped Mark.

If he walked into a room, she gravitated toward him, watching his every move, studying his every decision. It was different from the way Elijah loved his father—Elijah sought Mark’s approval, wanted his guidance.

Roselyna? She wanted to be him. And as the days passed, a sick feeling began to settle in your stomach.

Because while Mark had limited her training, she hadn’t stopped. She was still pushing herself—still finding ways to test her limits. You caught her one night, standing in the dark outside, her hands balled into fists, her body covered in fresh bruises.

“Roselyna,” you whispered, stepping forward cautiously. “What are you doing?” She turned her head slightly, just enough to acknowledge your presence. “I’m training.” You swallowed. “Your father told you to rest.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose. “Father doesn’t understand. He doesn’t see what I see.” You frowned. “And what do you see?” She turned to you fully then, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something cold creep up your spine.

“Weakness,” she said simply.

Your breath caught in your throat. She wasn’t talking about herself. She was talking about everyone else. Mark. Elijah. You. And for the first time since she was born, you realized something terrifying. Roselyna wasn’t just different. She was dangerous.

Mark was gone again. A mission? A meeting? You weren’t entirely sure. He hadn’t told you much before he left, just that he’d be back soon.

You sat with Elijah and Olivia in the living area, your youngest clinging to your side as she scribbled in a notebook, while Elijah leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly tossing a small ball into the air.

Roselyna was gone.

“Where is she?” you asked after noticing the time. She had been gone for a while now.

Elijah glanced up. “She said she was going for a walk.”

That didn’t sit right with you. Rose never just walked anywhere.

A sense of unease settled in your stomach. You stood, Olivia watching you with wide eyes as you made your way to the door.

“I’m going to check on her,” you said.

Elijah sighed, stretching before standing as well. “I’ll come with you.”

Together, you stepped outside. The cool night air greeted you, but something else did too—something far worse.

The sound of fighting.

Then you saw it.

Roselyna, flying at full speed toward Anissa.

Your breath caught in your throat as the older Viltrumite effortlessly grabbed Rose’s wrist, stopping her mid-flight before hurling her into a nearby wall. The impact shook the ground, sending dust and debris flying.

“Rose!” you screamed, your blood running cold.

Elijah didn’t hesitate. He shot past you in an instant, his voice filled with fury. “Stay away from my sister!”

He swung at Anissa with all his strength—only for her to catch his fist with ease.

She barely flinched.

Then she slammed her other fist down on his head.

The ground shook from the force of it.

You gasped in horror as Elijah crashed into the dirt, the impact leaving a deep crater beneath him. He didn’t move for a few seconds, and your stomach dropped.

Roselyna—bloodied but determined—was already moving again. She launched herself at Anissa, sending a kick toward her face.

Anissa blocked it effortlessly, her expression unreadable. Then she grabbed Rose by the ankle and threw her back again. A strangled breath left your lips. Your heart pounded. This wasn’t a fight—this was a slaughter.

“Mom…” Olivia whispered beside you, her small hand tightening around yours. She was trembling. You had to do something. But what? You were powerless against Anissa. Your children weren’t. And yet, they were losing.

Your heart pounded in your chest, panic seizing your lungs as you watched your children—your babies—being tossed around like rag dolls.

Elijah groaned from the crater he had been slammed into, struggling to push himself up, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. Roselyna, despite being battered, refused to stay down, wiping the blood from her lip as she grinned.

Grinned. Like she was enjoying this.

You felt Olivia squeeze your hand, her tiny fingers trembling. “Mom,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “What do we do?” What could you do?

Anissa was too strong. You knew that. Mark knew that. Even Roselyna—stubborn as she was—had to know that. And yet, she kept fighting. Roselyna launched herself at Anissa again, fists flying. The older Viltrumite blocked effortlessly, catching Roselyna’s wrist mid-swing before twisting her arm behind her back with a sickening pop.

Roselyna let out a strangled gasp but laughed through the pain.

Anissa tsked, shoving her roughly to the ground. “You’re not ready,” she said simply, looking down at her with mild amusement. “You’re strong, but you’re reckless.” Elijah, still struggling to his feet, clenched his fists. “Leave her alone!”

Anissa smirked, raising a brow. “Oh? And what will you do, little boy?”

Your breath hitched when Elijah flew at her again, raw anger in his eyes—only for Anissa to sidestep effortlessly, grabbing him by the throat mid-air.

“Elijah!!” you screamed, stepping forward instinctively. Anissa turned her gaze on you then, smirking. “Stay out of this,” she warned. “This is Viltrumite business.”

She squeezed, and Elijah choked, his legs kicking helplessly as he clawed at her arm. You couldn’t just stand there. You acted without thinking. Grabbing the nearest rock, you hurled it at Anissa with everything you had.

It hit her square in the face. It didn’t hurt her, obviously—it probably felt like a mere tap—but it got her attention. She turned to you, slowly.

Your stomach dropped. “…Did you just throw a rock at me?” Her voice was eerily calm, but her gaze was dangerous. Olivia whimpered, clutching your arm in fear. Anissa tossed Elijah aside like a rag doll. He hit the ground hard, coughing violently, struggling for air.

Then she started walking toward you. Your breath quickened. You took a step back. Then another. She was toying with you, taking her time, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You have a lot of nerve, human.”

Roselyna—bloodied but still grinning—propped herself up on her elbows, watching with keen interest. Elijah groaned in pain. Olivia clung to you desperately.

And Anissa? Anissa was going to kill you.

Every step she took felt like an eternity, the distance between you growing smaller, her eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “You have a lot of nerve, human,” she said, her voice almost too soft, too calm. Too dangerous.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You felt paralyzed as she neared you, Olivia’s grip tightening around your arm.

But then—

Mark.

He appeared in a blur, his form shifting faster than you could track. In an instant, his hand was on Anissa’s neck, pinning her effortlessly. His eyes burned with fury, his jaw clenched tight.

“Wait, Dad! Stop!” Roselyna called out, her voice high-pitched with panic. She ran to Mark, grabbing his arm. “I invited her here!”

Mark froze, his eyes shifting to Roselyna in disbelief. “What?”

Anissa stood up, cracking her neck as though the entire confrontation was nothing more than an inconvenience. “The kid wanted me to train her,” she said nonchalantly, her voice dripping with disdain. “You stopped, so she asked me to help.”

Roselyna nodded eagerly, her bloodied face still carrying that strange, unsettling grin. “I wanted to be stronger,” she said, looking at Mark with wide eyes. “You weren’t training me enough.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, and you could see the conflict written across his face. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped as Elijah stood shakily to his feet, blood staining his shirt.

“So you willingly wanted a beatdown?” Elijah’s voice was raw with pain, his body still trembling from Anissa’s assault.

You watched Mark’s gaze shift from Roselyna to Elijah, then to you, before his eyes finally narrowed on Anissa. The tension in the air was thick with a question—What now?

The tension in the air thickened, hanging like a suffocating fog. Mark stood frozen for a moment, his gaze flickering between Roselyna, Elijah, and Anissa, as if trying to piece together the fractured reality of what was happening. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening, and for a moment, you could see the internal battle playing out in his eyes.

“Is this really what you want?” Mark’s voice was low, tight with anger but tinged with concern. He looked at Roselyna, then to Elijah, both of them bruised and battered, yet somehow standing their ground.

Roselyna met his gaze, still wearing that unsettling grin. She looked… proud of herself. Despite the blood, the bruises, there was an almost violent joy in her eyes as if the pain didn’t matter—winning did. She’d been so eager for this, and it was clear that she didn’t fully understand the consequences of her actions.

“I want to be stronger,” Roselyna said again, her voice far too casual for someone who had just been fighting for their life. “Anissa knows how to train me.”

Anissa stepped forward, smirking at the scene, her arms crossed casually. “Your daughter has potential. But she needs to learn how to harness it properly, not waste it on childish squabbles.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed at Anissa, and his grip on her neck tightened. “I didn’t ask you to train my children, Anissa.” His voice was growing colder by the second. “You’ve overstepped, and now you’ve made them believe that they need to be ruthless to succeed. You’ve put ideas in their heads that I don’t want. You’ve hurt them.”

Anissa didn’t flinch, only tilted her head in mock contemplation. “You say that, Mark, but it’s the truth. You’ve been soft with them. They’ll never be ready for the real world, never be ready for what they’re meant to become if you coddle them.” Her eyes flicked over to Roselyna, her voice darkening. “She’s already so much more than your weak son.”

That hit like a slap in the face. You could see the way Elijah flinched, hurt flashing across his face. Roselyna didn’t seem to care, still caught in her twisted desire to be stronger. She stepped up to Anissa, her bruised fists clenched at her sides. “I refuse to be weak,” she spat, glaring at Elijah. “I’m stronger than you.”

Mark didn’t respond to Anissa’s insult immediately. His gaze shifted to Elijah, who was standing tall despite the injury, and to Roselyna, who seemed far too obsessed with power for her age. He looked pained, caught between his duty to raise them as a Viltrumite and his growing understanding of what humanity was and what he wanted for his children.

“I don’t want you fighting anymore,” Mark said suddenly, his voice softer now, more measured. His eyes locked with Roselyna’s and Elijah’s, and there was a finality in his words. “This… this isn’t the path I want for you.”

But Roselyna only scowled. “You’re just trying to protect us from what we need to be. You’re soft, Dad. You’re weak.”

Mark looked at her, his expression a mix of frustration and sadness. He didn’t say anything else for a moment. Then, his eyes softened, his voice a whisper, almost as if speaking to himself. “I don’t want you to lose yourself, Roselyna. I don’t want you to become like them. Not like Anissa. Not like… me.”

Anissa scoffed at his words. “You think you can stop this? The future of the Viltrumites will not wait. She’ll grow stronger whether you like it or not.”

Elijah’s voice broke through the tension, trembling but strong. “I don’t want to be like you. Or her.” He pointed at Anissa. “We don’t have to do this. We can find another way. A way that doesn’t destroy us.”

The words seemed to pierce through the charged atmosphere, and for a moment, Mark just stared at his son, as though he were hearing Elijah’s plea for the first time. The reality of what his children had become in his absence, and the choices they were making, finally seemed to sink in.

Roselyna, though, was unshaken. “You’re not stopping me, Dad.” Her words were firm, resolute, and cold. “I’ll be stronger than you ever were. I need to be.”

Mark’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched, but there was something else in his gaze. A glimpse of fear. Fear that his daughter was already too far gone. The silence was unbearable as the weight of Mark’s decision hung in the air. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low, resigned. “Enough. This ends now.” He turned to you, eyes heavy with regret. “I’ll take care of this. You and the kids need to be safe.”

Anissa sneered but said nothing, clearly displeased with the turn of events. “You can’t protect them forever, Mark,” she warned before vanishing in an instant, her form a blur of motion.

Mark then turned his attention to the twins, his demeanor shifting as he addressed them with a rare sense of urgency. “Roselyna, Elijah… I know you both want to prove yourselves. But this isn’t how you do it. You need to understand that strength isn’t just about fighting, about hurting others. It’s about control. Discipline.”

You stepped forward, hands trembling, your voice trembling as you called out to your children, “Please, I want you to understand… this isn’t you. You don’t have to turn into that. You don’t have to let anger control you.”

Mark looked at you, his gaze conflicted. He had never seemed more lost. “I never wanted them to turn out this way, Y/N.”

Roselyna, still defiant, stood tall despite the blood streaking her face, her fists clenched tightly by her sides. “You’re not stopping me, Mom. I’ll be better than both of you.”

Elijah’s eyes were full of pain, but he stayed silent, his small fists still shaking. He was torn, caught between his sister’s drive and his desire to avoid the path she was heading down.

Mark’s eyes softened as he looked at you, the weight of his actions—and inaction—finally weighing on him. “I need to fix this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Y/N’s voice was shaky, her arms trembling as she clung to Mark, seeking comfort in his embrace. Her eyes were wide, full of fear and confusion, the weight of everything that had just happened crashing down on her all at once. The sight of her children—her babies—fighting, tearing each other apart, had torn her apart. Anissa’s influence, the anger in Roselyna’s eyes, the defiance in Elijah’s stance—everything had unraveled so quickly, and she felt powerless to stop it.

“Mark, what do we do?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper, but it felt like a scream inside her.

Mark held her tighter, his hands steady but his own chest heavy with an unspoken grief. His mind raced, torn between his Viltrumite instincts and the human emotions he was trying so hard to grasp. He could feel the panic rising in her, and he felt it too, but he couldn’t let it consume them. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, his voice filled with uncertainty. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Y/N.”

The words were like a dagger to her heart. The man who had always seemed so certain, so strong—was now lost, just like her. He had tried to raise them the Viltrumite way, but in doing so, he had pushed them further away. Could it be fixed? she wondered, her thoughts spiraling. Could they return to a semblance of the family they once were? Could she reach her children before they were swallowed up by this new world they were living in?

She pulled away from him slightly, her eyes meeting his, filled with unshed tears. “I’m scared, Mark,” she admitted, the vulnerability in her voice raw and exposed. “I don’t want to lose her. But… she’s slipping away from me. From us.”

Mark’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering between Roselyna and Elijah, who were still recovering from the brutal fight. He could see the damage in their eyes—the hunger for power that had been instilled in them, the call to embrace the Viltrumite way. And worse, he could see the distance growing between them and their humanity. The cracks in their family, the fractures in his own belief system, were becoming impossible to ignore.

He wiped a tear from her cheek, his thumb grazing her skin gently. “We’re not losing her. We can’t. I won’t let that happen.”

But even as he said the words, he knew that something was changing. His family was changing, and he didn’t know if he could stop it. Not if he continued down the same path.

Y/N shook her head, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to save them anymore. How do we fix this, Mark? How do we stop them from becoming like—her?” She motioned toward the direction Anissa had disappeared. “How do we stop Roselyna from becoming that… cold?” Her heart broke at the thought of her daughter losing everything that made her human.

Mark’s face softened, and he sighed, pulling her back into his chest, his embrace strong and firm, yet filled with a quiet sorrow. “I don’t have all the answers, Y/N. I can’t fix this on my own.” He paused, his voice becoming more somber. “But I will try. I’ll fight for them—for you. I won’t let this family fall apart.”

Tears spilled from Y/N’s eyes, and she buried her face in his chest, her body shaking with silent sobs. “I don’t want to fight anymore, Mark. I don’t want to fight with our children. I just want to hold them, and love them, and see them grow without this… this darkness.”

Mark held her tighter, his own heart heavy with guilt. He knew she was right. He had been so focused on preparing them for a future that he had ignored the present—ignored the emotional connection they all needed. He had allowed his Viltrumite ideals to cloud his judgment, pushing them into a battle they weren’t ready for.

“Then we’ll figure this out,” he whispered, his voice firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at his insides. “I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. For you. For the kids. We’ll figure it out together.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes. “I don’t want them to hate us,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose them.”

Mark cupped her face, his gaze locking onto hers, filled with determination and regret. “We won’t lose them. Not if we change things now.” He nodded slowly. “It’s not too late.”

But deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had already shifted. Roselyna’s pride, Elijah’s confusion, the way they had been drawn into this Viltrumite world—it was all a dangerous game, one that neither of them were truly prepared for.

Mark exhaled deeply, glancing at their children. His thoughts raced. I have to do better. I have to protect them.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Let’s talk to them together. We’ll make them understand.”

Y/N nodded, though the fear still lingered in her eyes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter how hard they tried, their children were slipping further away from them, pulled by the darkness of their Viltrumite heritage. The tension between them was undeniable, but she couldn’t give up—not yet.

Not until she had fought with everything she had. For them.

Mark kissed the top of her head gently, wrapping his arms around her again. “We’ll fix this, Y/N,” he repeated, his words a vow. And yet, in the silence that followed, the doubt still gnawed at both of them. Could they really fix it? Could they save their children from the path they were already on? The fight for their family—for their humanity—was far from over.

Mark knew that the situation couldn’t be ignored any longer. He had to speak with Roselyna. He had to make her see reason before she was too far gone, before her pride and Viltrumite instincts consumed her entirely. The battle earlier had only served to highlight how much control she was losing, how easily she had slipped into a mindset of violence and dominance. It terrified him, but he knew that if he was to fix this, it had to start with her.

After taking a moment to collect himself, he made his way to her room, where he found her sitting on her bed, her head down, staring at her hands. Her knuckles were bruised, a reminder of the fight she’d just been in—of how easily she had fallen into the same brutal tendencies that he had worked so hard to keep under control in her.

Mark stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her in silence. She had always been strong-willed, determined, but this? This was something different.

“Rose,” he said softly, stepping into the room. She didn’t look up, but he could see her shoulders stiffen, the subtle tension in her body giving away her awareness of him. “We need to talk.”

She didn’t respond, but her lips tightened. He could tell she was angry, maybe at him, maybe at herself—maybe at the whole situation.

He walked over to her and sat down beside her on the bed, his voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re not like this, Rose. This isn’t you.”

She finally looked up at him, her eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and frustration. “You don’t get it, Dad. You never get it.” Her tone was sharp, cutting. “You keep holding me back. You’ve been holding me back my whole life.” She stood up suddenly, pacing in front of him, her hands clenched into fists. “You keep telling me that I have to feel more, be more human, but that’s not who I am. I’m Viltrumite. And I’m stronger than you’ll ever understand.”

Mark’s heart tightened at her words. He could feel the anger in her, the pain behind them. He had always known that raising her as a Viltrumite would be complicated, but he had hoped—he had hoped that she would find a balance between her heritage and her humanity.

“Roselyna,” he said, his voice soft but firm, trying to reach her, trying to make her see. “You are strong. I know that. But strength isn’t just about power. It’s about control. It’s about knowing when to fight, when to protect, when to show mercy. You can’t just keep pushing forward, thinking that violence is the answer to everything. You’re better than that.”

She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Mercy? Control? You’ve been weak for so long, Dad. You want me to hold back? You want me to be like her?” She pointed to the door, as if to emphasize the presence of Y/N outside, probably waiting in the hall, or perhaps lingering in the shadows, just as helpless as she felt.

Mark’s expression hardened at the mention of her mother, but his voice remained steady. “I’m not asking you to be like your mother. I’m asking you to remember that there’s more to this than just power. That’s the mistake I made. I tried to raise you to be something you’re not—to be something you didn’t want to be. But I won’t make that mistake with you anymore, Rose. I just want you to understand—we just want you to understand—that you can be strong, without losing yourself.”

Roselyna stood still for a long moment, her breath coming fast, her fists still clenched. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes—a doubt, a crack in the armor she had built around herself. For just a moment, Mark thought he might have reached her. But then she closed off again, her expression hardening.

“You don’t understand,” she muttered, looking away, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not you, Dad. I can’t be. I won’t be. And I won’t let you keep me from being what I was born to be.” Mark felt the sting of her words, but he couldn’t back down. He had to push, even if it hurt. Even if it meant losing her for a while.

“I am you,” he said quietly, his voice full of regret and pain. “I am just like you, Rose. You’re my daughter. I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong, to feel like you have to prove something to everyone, to yourself. But this isn’t about proving strength. It’s about knowing when to be strong for the right reasons. For the ones you love. For your family.”

She turned sharply, eyes flashing with a mixture of rage and something else—something vulnerable, but she wouldn’t let it show. “You’re wrong,” she spat. “You’re just afraid that I’ll be better than you. That I’ll be better than any of you.” Mark felt the bitterness in her words, and it hit him harder than any blow Anissa could have dealt. But he wasn’t going to back down.

“I’m not afraid of you, Rose,” he said, his tone firm. “But I am afraid of what you’re becoming. And I don’t want to lose you to this.” She met his gaze, her eyes challenging. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence.

“I’m not going to lose you, Rose,” he repeated, his voice quieter now. “I’m not going to let you go down this path alone.” She didn’t answer right away, but the way she looked at him softened ever so slightly. It was a brief flicker, but it was there.

Mark stood slowly, his hand resting on her shoulder. “I’ll always be here, you know that. No matter what.” Roselyna didn’t speak, but she didn’t pull away either. For the first time in a long while, Mark felt like maybe—just maybe—they were starting to find their way back to each other.

Y/N paused as she gently wrapped the bandage around Elijah’s arm, her heart aching at his question. Her eyes softened with concern as she looked up at him, her hands pausing in their work. Elijah’s small, innocent face was creased with confusion and hurt, and for a moment, Y/N felt a rush of protectiveness wash over her. She wanted to shield him from all the pain, from all the things he shouldn’t have to understand.

“No, baby,” she whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead as she finished securing the bandage. “Your dad doesn’t love Roselyna more than you.”

Elijah’s eyes were wide, searching her face for any sign of the truth. “But… he spends so much time with her. She’s stronger, and she’s always with him when he trains. I can’t do what she does. Maybe I’m not as good as she is.” His voice trembled, but he tried to hold it together. Y/N’s heart twisted, and she gently cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Elijah, listen to me,” she said softly, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “Your dad loves you both equally. I know it may not always seem like it, but he does. You’re both so special to him, in different ways.”

She let out a small, shaky sigh, trying to find the right words, trying to make him see that he wasn’t any less important than Roselyna, no matter how different they were or how much time Mark spent with her. “Your dad… sometimes he gets caught up in things. He’s Viltrumite, Elijah, and he’s trying to teach Roselyna how to handle the power she’s starting to develop. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less of a priority to him.”

Elijah blinked, clearly still unsure, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not like her. I’m not strong like her. Maybe… maybe I’m not cut out to be like Dad.”

Y/N’s heart broke for him. She could see the self-doubt written all over his face, the fear that he would never live up to the impossible standard set by his sister, and by Mark’s own legacy. She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

“You are so strong, Elijah,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “In ways that you might not even realize yet. You don’t have to be like anyone else. You don’t have to be like Roselyna, or like your dad. You are you, and that’s more than enough.”

Elijah clung to her, his small frame trembling in her arms. “But what if I’m not strong enough?” he whispered, his voice full of fear and uncertainty.

“You are,” she said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You are stronger than you think. And I’ll always be here to remind you of that. Your dad might focus on Roselyna’s strength right now because she’s pushing herself in ways that are harder for you, but that doesn’t mean you’re not strong in your own way. You’re special, Elijah, don’t you forget that.”

He nodded against her chest, but there was still a sadness in his eyes, a vulnerability that made her want to protect him even more fiercely.

“I love you, Elijah,” she whispered, holding him a little tighter. “And your dad loves you too. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He didn’t respond at first, but after a moment, he leaned back just enough to look up at her, his eyes a little less clouded with doubt. “I love you too, Mom,” he whispered.

Elijah shifted slightly, his face still uncertain, but something in his eyes softened. “But… What if I never get as strong as her? As ruthless?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Y/N tilted his head up gently, her hand cradling his face as she looked him in the eyes. “Then that’s okay. You’re you. And that’s more than enough for me, for your dad, and for Roselyna. You bring something unique to this family. You don’t have to carry the weight of everyone else’s expectations on your shoulders. Don’t let anyone—especially yourself—make you feel less than you are. You have a different strength, and that’s something to be proud of.”

His lip quivered slightly, but he nodded, as if processing her words. Y/N could feel the weight in his chest, the burden of self-doubt that had settled there, and it made her heart ache. She just wanted him to believe in himself the way she believed in him.

“I’m proud of you, Elijah,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “So proud.”

Elijah finally gave a small, tentative smile, though it was still full of uncertainty. “Thanks, Mom.” She smiled back, brushing a tear from her cheek before it could fall. “You’re my brave boy,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “And nothing will change that.”

As she finished adjusting his bandages, she found herself glancing toward the window, her mind wandering to Roselyna. She couldn’t help but wonder what her daughter was thinking, why she was pushing herself so hard to be like Mark, so eager to be strong. It was clear Roselyna had a natural ability, one that came from her Viltrumite heritage, but there was something troubling in the way she was so determined to gain her father’s approval.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Y/N turned, and to her surprise, Roselyna was standing in the doorway, watching them both silently. Her face was streaked with dirt and blood, the remnants of their earlier conflict still evident, though her expression was calm, almost detached.

“Roselyna,” Y/N said softly, feeling a pang of sorrow for her daughter as she took in the sight of her—so much like Mark, yet so different. “You’re okay?”

Roselyna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she glanced at Elijah, who was sitting up now, his bandages secure. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—maybe regret? Y/N couldn’t quite tell.

“I’m fine,” Roselyna said flatly, her voice distant. “Just… just tired.”

Y/N frowned, standing up slowly. “Roselyna, why are you pushing yourself so hard? You don’t have to be like your father, you know. You don’t have to prove anything to him, or to anyone.”

Roselyna didn’t meet her gaze. “I want to be strong,” she said, almost mechanically. “I want to be like him. I don’t want to be weak.”

“Roselyna,” Y/N said gently, walking over to her, “you’re not weak. You don’t have to be like anyone else to be valuable, to be important. You already are. Just because you’re different doesn’t mean you’re not enough.”

The girl finally looked at her, her eyes slightly softening but still filled with that same determination. “I need to be strong, Mom. For everyone. For you. For Dad.”

Y/N reached out, cupping Roselyna’s cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to be anyone but you. Your dad loves you just as you are.”

“But he loves the strong ones,” Roselyna muttered, looking away.

The words stung more than Y/N expected, and for a moment, she was silent, unsure of what to say. She had never imagined that her own daughter—her flesh and blood—would feel this way, feel that the only way to earn Mark’s love was by being like him.

“You’re already strong,” Y/N said softly. “You’ve always been strong in ways I can’t even understand yet. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re not enough. You’re my daughter, and that’s all that matters.”

Roselyna didn’t answer immediately, but the quiet ache in her eyes seemed to soften, just a little.

For a moment, the weight of the family’s struggles, their divided hearts, seemed to hang in the air, and Y/N realized that there was no easy fix. There were no simple answers to the complexities of being caught between two worlds, two legacies. But there was love. There was always love.

Mark sat on the edge of the cliff overlooking the vast expanse of sky, the stars twinkling above them. Elijah sat beside him, his legs dangling over the edge. The night air was cool, crisp, and quiet—except for the soft rustling of leaves in the distance. It was peaceful, but Mark could sense the unease in his son, the way he fidgeted with the fabric of his sleeve, avoiding eye contact.

They sat in silence for a moment before Elijah finally spoke.

“Dad… what am I?”

Mark turned to him, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Elijah hesitated, his gaze focused downward. “I mean… I know I’m half Viltrumite, half human. But… I don’t feel like either.” His voice was quiet, uncertain. “Roselyna—she’s strong. She’s fast. She’s… like you. And Mom says I don’t have to be like her, that I’m perfect the way I am, but…” He sighed, his hands clenching into fists. “I can’t help but have my doubts.”

Mark exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable as he studied his son. Elijah had always been different from Roselyna—softer, more thoughtful, less reckless. He wasn’t weak, not in the slightest, but he was still finding his place.

“You’re my son,” Mark said firmly. “That’s what you are.”

Elijah frowned. “But—”

“No buts,” Mark cut in, his tone gentle but unwavering. “I know it’s hard. You and Roselyna are different, yeah. She has my strength, my drive. But that doesn’t mean you’re less than her. Power doesn’t make someone better. Strength isn’t just about how hard you can hit something.”

Elijah was quiet, his fingers curling in his lap. “…Then what is it about?”

Mark looked up at the stars for a moment before answering. “It’s about what you do with what you have. You think I only care about Roselyna because she’s strong?”

Elijah hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod.

Mark sighed. “Elijah, I love you. You’re my son. I don’t care if you can punch a hole through a mountain or if you never throw a single punch in your life. I care about who you are.”

Elijah swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… what if who I am isn’t enough?”

Mark’s chest tightened at the words. He reached out, placing a firm hand on his son’s shoulder.

“You are enough,” he said, his voice steady, unwavering. “You don’t have to be like me. You don’t have to be like Roselyna. You just have to be you. And I swear to you, that’s more than enough for me.”

Elijah blinked up at him, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “But what if I never get as strong as you?”

Mark chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Then you’ll be strong in your own way. And I’ll be proud of you no matter what.”

Elijah looked down, processing his father’s words. Then, slowly, he nodded. “…Thanks, Dad.”

Mark smiled, pulling his son into a brief but strong embrace. “Anytime, kid.” It was different hearing it from his father, but he knew he meant every word.

Mark sat beside Elijah for a while, gazing up at the stars. The boy seemed calmer, but Mark could still see the lingering uncertainty in his eyes. It reminded him of himself at that age—the doubt, the struggle to understand who he was supposed to be. And it reminded him of him. His father. Nolan.

Mark clenched his jaw at the thought. He had spent so much of his life trying not to be like him, to raise his family differently, to prove that love mattered more than strength. But there were moments—like now—where he couldn’t ignore the memories. The way Nolan had taken him into space, tossing a baseball back and forth between the stars, trying to give him something normal amidst the chaos of their reality.

Mark inhaled sharply. “Elijah.” His son turned toward him, curious. “Yeah?” Mark gave him a small smile. “How about we play some catch?” Elijah tilted his head, “catch?”

“Yeah.” Mark stood up, stretching his arms. “You, me, a baseball. Just us. What do you say?” Elijah hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Okay… yeah, sure.” Mark grinned. “alright then. Go grab a ball.”

A few minutes later, they stood in an open field, the sky stretching wide above them. Mark held a baseball in his hand, weighing it for a moment before tossing it lightly to Elijah. Elijah caught it with ease, his fingers curling around the leather. He looked up at his father, a small smile creeping onto his face. Mark stepped back, motioning for Elijah to throw it. “Go on. Show me what you got.”

Elijah hesitated, then threw the ball. It was a little weak—hesitant, uncertain—but it reached Mark’s hands. Mark caught it with ease, smiling. “Not bad. Try again, but this time, really throw it.”

Elijah nodded, adjusting his stance before throwing again—this time with more force. The ball sailed through the air, faster, stronger. Mark caught it easily, nodding in approval. “There you go. Keep going.” They kept at it, tossing the ball back and forth, getting faster, stronger, throwing higher, farther. Elijah started laughing, genuinely enjoying himself, his doubts momentarily forgotten.

And Mark? For a brief moment, he let himself remember the good in his past. Not the betrayal, not the pain, but the simple moments—before everything changed. He was here. With his son. Giving him something normal. Something good.

[giuli4nna]

BACK TO THE BASICS | PT 2

no matter how hard you try - you always let hamzah back in

contains : ex bf hamzah !! approx 2.5k word count

your phone screen glares back at you, bright and punishing against the dark parking lot.

9:48 PM.

no messages, no missed calls. you simply stare at the last text of the empty conversation that took place earlier between you and the man you weren’t even that interested in to begin with.

you tug open your car door, sliding yourself into the driver’s seat. you sit there, feeling stupid.

you’d spent hours getting ready. did your hair, your makeup, you even slipped into your favorite dress that clings to your body in all the right places.

all for what?

to be left sitting alone at the overpriced restaurant your date had suggested, sipping on the wine you ordered as a distraction - only for the dark red blend to somehow make the humiliation settle deeper?

you could go home. wash the makeup off, change into your pajamas, wrap yourself in the comfortable familiarity of your bed, and pretend this never happened.

instead of going in the direction of your home when you pull out of the parking lot, you make a sharp turn at the last minute - and drive straight to hamzah’s.

you don’t even hesitate when you reach his door, even though you really should. you should take a second to think, at least, to remind yourself why this is a bad idea, to remember that nothing good ever occurs as a result of being around him for too long.

you don’t think. you just knock.

a few beats pass before the door swings open, revealing hamzah in sweatpants and a hoodie. his curls are messy, and he’s slightly squinting his eyes like he’d just woken up.

he blinks. then, his gaze drags over you. slowly.

so slow, it feels like his line of view is the blade of a knife dragging down your skin.

your dress, your hair - the way you look standing in his doorway at almost 10 PM, with something utterly agitated yet vulnerable brewing behind your eyes.

his lips twitch into a smug, lazy grin. “damn,” he murmurs, leaning against the doorframe, just like last time, when he was in your position, at your doorstep. “you look good.”

you exhale sharply, pushing past him into his apartment before you can second-guess yourself. “shut up.”

hamzah watches as you storm into his apartment, his smirk deepening.

“oh, i already know something happened.” he muses, shutting the door and turning toward you. he crosses his arms over his chest, looking thoroughly entertained. “what was it? date didn’t go well? was there even a date at all?”

your jaw tightens.

hamzah laughs. “ohhh,” he drags out, his voice sounding smug. “that’s it, huh? y’got stood up?”

you glare at him, frustration bubbling up within your body. “i swear, if you say one more thing, i-”

“what?” he interrupts, stepping closer. he tilts his head, almost like he’s taunting you. “you’ll leave?”

you won’t. you both know that you won’t.

after a moment, his voice dips, softer now. “tell me why you’re really here.”

you clench your fists. you should lie - tell him you needed a drive to clear your head, and this just happened to be the first place you thought of.

hamzah steps even closer, close enough that you can smell him, warm and familiar. his fingers begin grazing the hem of your dress. his gaze slowly drops down to your body before flicking back up to your eyes.

“y’got all dressed up for another guy,” he murmurs, his thumb barely brushing against your leg. “but now you’re here.” he says it like he’s mulling over a new fact he’s just learned. he’s trying to make the situation more clear to him, contemplating how he should deal with you.

your pulse pounds.

you don’t say anything, you don’t need to - because his fingers are already slipping upwards under your dress, dragging slow and lazy circles into your bare thigh.

hamzah scrutinizes you. his eyes drag over your face. he notices the way your breath hitches, even though you swear you’re keeping it steady.

“c’mere.” he murmurs, sounding awfully sure of himself.

you take that singular step forward. his hands are on you immediately - gripping your hips, pulling you in and pressing you flush against him.

your hands slide up his chest, curling into the fabric. “you’re annoying.”

hamzah exhales a quiet laugh, his fingers flexing into your skin. “but you still came over.”

you don’t get the chance to reply - his mouth is on yours before you can even take a breath.

the kiss is deep instantly, no build-up, no hesitation. not this time.

his lips capture you while his hands slide the straps of your dress off your shoulders, tugging the fabric down and letting it pool on the floor.

his fingers trail across your skin, gripping the backs of your thighs, and before you can even process it, he’s lifting you and carrying you toward the couch.

your back barely hits the cushions before he’s on you again, his weight pressing you down, his breath fanning out against your jaw.

“you ever gonna tell me why you actually came?” he asks smugly, his mouth grazing your skin.

“shut up,” you mutter, cheeks flushed as you try to deny him the satisfaction of knowing you just had to see him. after getting upset, your mind and body instinctively threw you headfirst back into his grasp.

you’ve let him back in. again. you crawled right back to him, actually. you should feel pathetic, ashamed, but.. hamzah’s hands are already pushing your thighs apart, sliding up beneath your dress, already setting the pace like he knows how this ends.

and you let him. you let him drag his lips down your neck, let him press his weight against you, let his fingers skim higher and higher.

why? because you got stood up. because you spent hours getting ready just to be left waiting. because no one has ever known exactly how to handle you. not like he does.

and, because this was always going to happen, anyway. it was inevitable from the moment you two broke up; it was always clear that it wouldn’t be the end.

hamzah groans as his fingers find you, pressing against the heat between your legs, the thin fabric of your thong useless against his touch. “shit,” he mutters, exhaling sharply. “you’re already so-”

you don’t let him finish that sentence. you’re humiliated enough. you grip his hoodie and yank it over his head, tossing it aside before reaching for his sweatpants.

he lets out a low, breathless laugh. “impatient, huh?”

you don’t answer. you just shove his sweats down, his boxers with them, and - fuck.

it’s been so long since you’ve had him like this.

the sight of him, hard and ready for you, makes all kinds of memories come rushing back into your mind.

hamzah watches your expression shift. “say it,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now. “say you want it.”

your jaw clenches. you know he loves this - he always loves making you admit things, loves forcing the words out of your mouth like he needs to hear it to believe it.

your fingers trail up his stomach, slow and teasing. “you already know i do.”

before you can get another word out, his hands grip the backs of your knees, pushing them up, spreading you open beneath him.

“fuck,” he mutters. “i shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

his actions wholeheartedly contradict his words when he begins lining himself up, dragging the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, teasing, pressing against you.

the same words echo around in your brain, repeating like a mantra. you shouldn’t be doing this. he shouldn’t be doing this. we shouldn’t be doing this.

you don’t care if it’s a bad idea. not in the moment, at least. you might - no, you’ll definitely regret this later.

but for now, you don’t care if it isn’t the right choice, because your soul is screaming his name.

“i know,” you breathe out. “but - please do it anyway.”

that’s all he needs to hear. with a quick tug on your underwear to rip the fabric down and off your legs, he sinks in.

your whole body tenses as he fills you, stretching you open, settling so deep it knocks the air from your lungs. your ankles hook around his waist, pulling him in.

hamzah groans, gripping your thighs tighter, tipping forward to press his forehead against yours. “fuckin’..” he swears under his breath. “you feel - shit.”

your nails dig into his arms, a whiny plea escaping your lips. “move.”

he exhales sharply, his lips dragging against your cheek. “you sure?” his voice is teasing, but his grip is trembling with pent up desire.

you roll your hips, forcing him deeper, and he chokes on his next breath.

something changes in his demeanor.

hamzah’s fingers tighten around your thighs, and before you can even catch your breath, he pulls back and slams in, forcing a broken gasp from your lips.

“s’that what you wanted?” he taunts. his voice is rough, thick with something dangerous. his blunt nails dig into your skin as he begins to fuck into you, hard, like he’s trying to stamp himself back onto you - on your body, your memory, your soul.

your head falls back, a desperate moan tumbling from your mouth. “hamzah..”

“nah, don’t - don’t fuckin’ say my name like that..” he chokes out, his hands grabbing at your waist, your ribs, your throat. anywhere he can touch.

the sound of his name, in your beautiful and breathless voice, makes his pace turn brutal, like he just can’t handle this anymore.

like this is breaking him just as much as it’s breaking you.

“you.. you’re drivin’ me insane here,” he grits out between clenched teeth, his forehead pressing to yours, sweat sticking your skin together.

you don’t even have it in you to respond, not when he’s fucking you like this, pounding into you like he’s trying to fix something inside himself.

your moans pitch higher, your legs trembling where they’re wrapped around him. “f-fuck, hamzah, m’gonna-”

hamzah’s hand clamps over your mouth. “shh,” he hushes you, his cock twitching inside you. “just shut the fuck up and take it. i know you can.”

the way he says it, harsh and commanding - it’s just a sign that he’s grappling with the situation already. your body is taking a toll as well, you can feel your built-up orgasm tugging at your insides, pushing to the brink of something ruining.

he thrusts slow, deep, making you feel every inch of him. “knew we’d end up like this. always do.” he whispers shakily, and you can’t quite tell what emotion he’s tucking away behind those words.

hamzah moves harder, deeper, keeping his hand firm over your mouth, muffling the broken sounds being torn from your throat. his other hand pins your hips down, making sure you take every devastating thrust in its entirety.

“y’feel that?” he asks breathily. he drags his cock out, slow, until just the tip is pressing into you - then slams back in, burying himself to the hilt. “that’s what you fuckin’ came here for, huh?”

your nails scrape down his back, leaving angry red lines, a moan breaking out from his throat. a filthy, shameless sound. he starts trembling from the way your walls tighten around him.

you’re both spiraling. your body writhes and twists beneath him. heat crawls up your spine and coils in your stomach.

hamzah’s hand slides off your mouth, but before you can even take a breath, he’s gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“y’gonna cum for me, baby?” he rasps, eyes his eyes carrying a dark and somewhat desperate look. his thumb swipes over your swollen lips, watching the way your mouth parts around a helpless whimper.

you nod, nearly sobbing. your hips lift, chasing him, but his hands grab your waist, pushing you back down. your body is begging for release, every nerve is burning.

“good girl,” he breathes. “fuckin’.. god, just give it to me.”

he’s quickly pounding into you again, chasing his own high, dragging you down with him.

everything absolutely shatters. your orgasm rips through you, and hamzah’s right there to fuck you through it. his thrusts turn sloppy and erratic, his jaw hanging slack as he finally lets go, spilling inside you with a guttural moan.

for just a few seconds, things are quiet. peaceful and still. almost like you’re understanding each other, connected with one another, just like how you used to be.

right before reality crashes down on both of you.

hamzah pulls out too fast. you shudder at the loss, at the way his cum drips out of you, humiliatingly warm against your thighs. he sits back on his heels, running a hand through his messy curls.

you don’t move. you just watch as his expression shifts, like every realization is hitting him all at once.

his hands drag down his face. “this is so fucked up.”

your stomach churns. you knew this was coming, of course you did - and you still let it run its course anyway.

“then why do you keep letting it happen?” you voice is quiet, raw and tired from all the moaning and whining you did for him.

hamzah snaps his gaze to yours, and it’s different now. the lust is gone.

“i don’t fucking know,” he mutters. “guess i’m just as pathetic as you.”

pathetic.

there it is. the type of words that lit the first flame of the dumpster fire of a dynamic you two have created. the way of speaking that began to split your relationship up in the first place.

you push yourself up on shaky arms, blinking at him, trying to ignore the sting behind your eyes. “you’re such an asshole,” you whisper.

hamzah just laughs, humorlessly. “but you’re still the one who showed up at my fuckin’ door.”

a silence hangs in the air. hamzah’s lips twitch like he’s debating his next words.

you know what he wants to say, and you beat him to it.

“i hate you.”

it comes out too soft, too breathless, too wrong for what it’s supposed to mean. you don’t sound like you hate him, because you don’t. not at all.

it’s a lie. a cruel and desperate one at that. but, maybe if you say it enough, you’ll start to believe it to be true.

just maybe, if you keep lying to him and yourself like that - one day it’ll actually mean something.

a slow, lazy smirk spreads across hamzah’s lips.

“no, you don’t.” he murmurs.

you should say something back. you should correct him, roll your eyes, push him away, anything.

but you can’t. because you don’t hate him, you hate this. the entire situation. you hate how good it feels, you hate that it keeps happening.

you hate that you already know it’ll happen again.

hamzah knows it, too.

a/n: i hope this is a fulfilling part two, thank you to everyone who requested it (: also i hope it’s not too long and / or boring. love u !!

xoxo giulia

[rowdydevs]

+18 -> smut | after throwing you under the bus with his coach, rafe has to make it right, and you're not going to make it easy.

*spoilers* c/w: mean rafe, sub!rafe, possessiveness, dom!reader, dark!reader, swearing, name-calling, pet names, gaslighting (by the reader), walking into his room uninvited, begging, degradation, teasing, rubbing him over his jeans at the library, cum tasting, slapping, unsolicited nudes, rafe is down bad *cross-posted on my nhl account

𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝔂 𝓢𝓾𝓫𝓑𝓾𝓵𝓵𝔂!𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓓𝓸𝓶𝓣𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓻!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Rafe’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

I knew I was screwed the second I walked into Coach’s office. The way he was sitting—arms crossed, jaw tight—that look usually came before a sharp whistle and a no-pucks practice. But today wasn’t about my performance on the ice. No, this was about the damn accounting test I’d bombed. Again.

And sitting beside me, looking as composed as ever, was her. Your Name. My tutor. My painfully bright, always-on-time, way-too-fuckin’-hot-for-her-own-good tutor.

She was brilliant. And yeah, okay—maybe I had a massive, inconvenient, completely unrequited crush on her. But I was also failing, and now we were both in deep shit.

“Rafe.” Coach’s voice was low and controlled, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “This is your third failed test. And it’s not just embarrassing for you—it’s embarrassing for this program.”

“I know, Coach—”

“Then why the hell am I sittin’ here havin’ this conversation? You have a tutor. A good one. One who’s never had a student fail like this. So what’s the problem?”

I glanced at Your Name—her posture stiff, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked ready to fight, but she wouldn’t. She never lost her cool.

Coach sighed, turning to her. “I don’t get it, Your Name. You’ve got a perfect track record with these boys. My players always pass. But now, suddenly, Rafe’s grades are tanking. What changed?”

She cleared her throat, sitting straighter. “Nothing, sir. I’ve been doing my job. I promise—”

“Then why isn’t it working?”

There was a beat of silence. She shot me a side-eye. I knew she wanted me to take the hit.

“Maybe she’s just not into it anymore,” I said with a shrug. “Could be personal. Or maybe she’s not working as hard as she used to.” The second the words left my mouth, I knew I’d fucked up. I felt the heat of her glare without even looking.

Coach exhaled sharply. “Well, Cameron, if she’s not into this, maybe we should find you a new tutor.”

My stomach dropped. I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable—but I kept my face neutral. I didn’t want a new tutor. Not because I actually cared about passing accounting but because I liked sitting next to her during those torturous sessions. I liked the way she barely tolerated my jokes. I liked being around her. I wasn’t about to admit any of that, though.

So I just said, “I’m sure she’ll do better.”

The air in the room thickened. I didn��t dare look at her, but I could feel her anger radiating off her—controlled, contained, ready to boil over.

Coach sighed, rubbing his temple. “Fine. The accounting professor is letting you redo the test. Your Name, this is your last chance to prove yourself. If he fails again, you’re done.”

She nodded, lips pressed into a tight line. “Understood, sir.”

Coach dismissed us, and the second we stepped into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind us, she turned on me.

Whack.

My head snapped to the side as the sting seared across my cheek. I blinked, stunned.

She slapped me.

She smacked the hell out of me in the middle of the athletic department hallway… And God help me, I had never been more turned on in my life.

I stared at her—chest rising, cheek burning in the best way. She was fuming, her eyes ablaze, breath short and tight.

“Are you kidding me, Rafe?” she hissed. “You’re failing because of you. Because you don’t fucking care. And you sat there and threw me under the bus? In front of Coach? You’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

I licked my lips, heart hammering. “Yeah,” I murmured. “That was pretty messed up.”

Her eyes narrowed, clearly unamused. “Messed up? Rafe, I need this job. And if you fail that test again, I’m screwed.”

“Guess you’ll just have to make sure I pass, then.”

She let out a frustrated noise, fists clenched, and I couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at my lips. God, she was hot when she was mad.

“Fuck you,” she snapped. I lowered my bag, trying to hide the hard-on, tenting my sweats. “Library. One PM.”

I rolled my eyes and sucked my teeth before turning my attention back to her. “Yes, ma’am.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that day…

Reader’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

Fuck…

I’d never hit anyone before. But the moment he threw me under the bus in Coach’s office—like I hadn’t been bending over backward trying to drag his sorry-ass GPA above a D—something in me snapped.

And now I was doing something just as impulsive: marching up to the damn hockey house at 1:30 because he stood me up.

After all that… Rafe Cameron dared to try me.

I climbed the stairs, the heavy scent of Dior Sauvage and sweaty hockey equipment already leaking from under the door. The second I knocked, JJ answered.

He leaned into the doorframe with a lazy, cocky grin, hair still damp from a shower, towel slung over his shoulders, wearing nothing but sweats and slides.

“Well, shit,” he drawled. “How are you, tutor girl?”

“Good,” I smiled, stepping inside, feeling his eyes rake over me.

“Rafe’s upstairs, sunshine. You better not slap him again,” he laughed, half-teasing, half-genuinely impressed. “You’re never gonna get rid of him.”

“—Hey, Your Name,” Kelce met me at the steps, before I could even process the embarrassment of Rafe telling JJ.

I sighed and smiled, stepping past him on my way up. “Rafe missed our session. Again.”

“Figures,” he said through a yawn. “Are we surprised?”

I rolled my eyes, chuckling tiredly. “Nothing surprises me with him.”

“You coming to our game tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said with a soft smile.

“Good,” he called after me. “We play better when you’re watchin’.” He flirted and winked, and I shook my head, trying to hide the dizzy grin tugging at my lips. But it was useless as Pope passed by and agreed with the captain.

I walked to the end of the hallway, my footsteps soft against the worn hardwood, my heart pounding harder with each step. I stopped before Rafe’s door—faint music leaked from the other side. I knocked twice. No answer. That anger from earlier started to swell again.

Creak.

The old floorboards shifted. He was definitely in there.

“Rafe,” I snapped. “I know you’re in there. You missed your session, and this is important. I’m coming in.”

I gave him one final second, then twisted the handle and opened the door. Nothing. Then I heard it. Soft and breathless. My name? Not just whispered—but whined.

The room was dim, the curtains mostly drawn. I stepped forward, slow, trying to process what I’d just heard. My name again. Quieter this time, but unmistakable. And just as unmistakable—his deep, fucked-out moans.

I froze, fingers grazing the edge of the half-open door. His voice was hoarse and low, spilling from his lips like he was talking to me. “Fuck, Your Name, always lookin’ at me like that… You don’t know what you’re doing to me…”

My lips parted as I listened to the sloppy, rhythmic sounds, making it painfully clear what he was doing. His voice was thick with need and desperation. “Gonna bend you over, pretty—this perfect fuckin’ ass. This fuckin’ pussy… All for me? Mmphh… I know it is. Atta baby…”

Knock.

I smacked the door, sharp and hard. The air in the room shifted. Rafe sucked in a breath so fast it sounded like it hurt, no doubt scrambling for clothes.

“What the hell, Your Name?” His voice was weak—defensive in a way I’d never heard before. And I couldn’t help it—I smiled. Because Rafe Cameron—cocky, insufferable, wildly infuriating Rafe Cameron—was just jerking off to me. Confirmed. No more guessing. No more wondering. And maybe, just maybe… I loved it.

Rafe’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

“Fuck…” I rolled out my neck and took a deep breath. She was so angry. So righteous. So fuckin’ sexy. And I was losing my mind over it.

Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead to the door that separated us. “Your Name…” I mumbled. “I deserved it, alright,” I muttered under my breath. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that why you’re barging into my room? That fuckin’ slap—I needed it, okay.”

“What were you doing?” Her voice was soft and innocent—almost sweet. A voice I’d rarely heard her use. But it hit like a gut punch. Because laced in that tonel was her way of saying: I heard everything. Blood drained from my face so fast I felt dizzy. There was no coming back from this. “May I?”

I didn’t even think—just mumbled, “Yeah,” under my breath. Weak and defensive. Like a guy who’d just been caught doin’ precisely what I was doin’.

The handle twisted. The door creaked open. Then—she stepped inside. She smiled at me like this wasn’t the most humiliating moment of my entire fuckin’ life.

But my eyes couldn’t help it. They dropped instantly—to her glossy lips, then lower, catching the way her shirt clung to her tits. The way her jeans sat just right on her hips. She was glowing, so soft and sexy. I licked my lips before I could stop myself, the fire under my skin reigniting like she’d flipped a damn switch. “What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, voice sharper than I meant. “What—making house calls now? Gonna start poppin’ in every time one of your screw-up athletes misses a session?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She just smiled again and stepped closer, and the second she did, so did I, drawn to her like a goddamn magnet. My breath caught. She stayed quiet, and I couldn’t take the silence—the waiting. I felt like I was crawling out of my skin.

“Say somethin’,” I huffed, voice low and desperate. “Please.”

She tilted her head—all fake innocence and lethal calm. “So…” she said, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Do you wanna tell me what you were doin’ in here—” She took another step closer, eyes glinting. “Or do you want me to guess?”

My whole body was locked up. Cheeks burning. Skin on fire. Shame and heat colliding. I’d never blushed harder in my life. “Tell me,” I whispered. And I hated how needy it sounded. I didn’t even know what I was asking for. Maybe I did. I just wanted to hear her say it. I wanted the words from her mouth.

She looked up at me, that same maddening smile tugging at her lips—like she knew exactly what I needed. And she was going to make me suffer for it. “You want me to say it? Okay—” She leaned in slightly, chin tilted, voice just this side of mocking. “You were in here,” she said slowly, voice dripping with condescension, “moaning my name with your hand wrapped around your cock, thinking about how I slapped you. How I put you in your place.”

Every word hit like a blow: hot, sharp, and precise. I couldn’t even look at her. She tilted her head, eyes sweeping over me with slow, deliberate amusement. Then her lips curled, and she delivered another strike.

“You really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” she murmured. “All that discipline on the ice and none of it where it counts. You’re just a pathetic, horny mess in the bathroom over a girl who slapped the shit out of you.”

I moved before I could think. Surged forward. But she stepped back with a laugh—light, sharp—dodging me easily before she walked deeper into my room.

“What was that?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, brow arched in disgust—like the idea of me touching her was laughable. “Seriously, Rafe? After today? After that?”

It was cruel. It was perfect. She was baiting me—dangling herself just out of reach, pretending I was the one crossing a line when she was the one playing the game like a fuckin’ pro. It made me want her more. My voice cracked as I followed her. Heat crawling up my neck. “You want me to beg?” I asked, my voice stuttering in my throat.

She turned slowly, smiling like she’d already won. “Yeah,” she said sweetly. “I think that’s a good start.”

“Please…”

She laughed. Her arms folded as she looked me up and down as if I were a toy she was still deciding whether or not to play with. “Unless there’s a puck and a stick, you really don’t give a fuck, do you?” Her smile darkened. “I heard you in the bathroom, Rafe. I heard how desperate you can be.” She stepped closer, her voice turning to a blade. “Fucking beg.”

And as soon as those beautiful, brutal words left her lips—I sank. I dropped to my knees on the cold hardwood, my chest rising and falling rapidly. She looked down at me with a glint in her eyes—and I couldn’t tell if she wanted to ruin me or kiss me. I wanted both.

“Please, Your Name,” I whispered. The words barely hold together. “I’m sorry—about everything. I didn’t mean to be an asshole earlier, I just—God, I don’t even know. I can’t think straight around you. You’re so smart and pretty, and I’m such a fuckin’ mess, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I want you.” My hands rested on her thighs, my eyes locked on hers, desperate and pleading.

She was starting to melt—I saw it. In the flicker of her lips. In the shift of her stance. The way her breathing changed. I leaned in, crawling a little closer.

“Tell me what to do,” I begged again, softer now, hoarse. “Make me earn it. I’ll do a good job for you, I swear. I’ll tell Coach what’s goin’ on… I’ll take the hit I should’ve taken from the start. You can trust me. I just want to make you feel good. I want to apologize—”

“Meet me at the library at seven,” she cut me off, cool and final, brushing my hands off her thighs with a touch that shattered something inside me. “Don’t be late.”

“Your Name, wait—” I scrambled up, voice cracking, stumbling slightly as I reached out, catching her wrist before she could leave. “You’re—Shit. Uh… You’re leaving? Why? Don’t go. Please. Just—Just stay. You wanna stay, don’t you? C’mon…”

“Calm down, Rafe…” she purred. “If you’re that desperate, you can finish what you were doin’ in the bathroom… Like a good boy.”

Oh, shit.

And just like that, she walked out—leaving me hard, flushed, and aching.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that day…

I showed up at 6:30, Thirty minutes early—with flowers in hand. Not just any flowers, either. Romantic shit. Her favorite color in a desperate attempt to score a few points. The kind that said ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I want you’ all at once. Or at least that’s what JJ said. I don’t fuckin’ know. I was panicking.

I’d actually put on an outfit: a button-up that wasn’t wrinkled or my gameday attire. No sweats, no hoodie. She’d once complimented my clothes—some random day when I had a meeting and wore something halfway decent. But it had stuck with me for weeks.

Now I sat at the table pretending to read, eyes locked on the entrance like a hawk, anticipation crawling up my spine. And then she walked in. Her little skirt swayed with each step, catching the breeze from the ancient AC unit. Her hair shifted over her shoulders, phone in hand, thumb gliding across the screen, lip tucked between her teeth as she read something. My jaw clenched as jealousy surged out of nowhere. Who the hell was she texting? Fuck, I was in trouble.

She took the seat across from me without even glancing up. Set her water bottle down, popped the lid, and took a sip from the straw. And suddenly, all I could think about was her mouth. Her lips, soft and perfect, wrapping around that straw—and what it would feel like on me.

“So,” she said casually, sliding a notebook out of her bag, “after that meeting in Coach’s office, we’ve got work to do.”

Not a flicker of acknowledgment. Nothing about the slap. Nothing about the bathroom. Nothing about the begging or about her telling me to finish in the sink like a ‘good boy’. Nothing. I blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “Wait—seriously?”

She glanced at me, confused. “What?” she asked, brows raised, perfectly innocent.

My heart stuttered. Was she gaslighting me? Fuck, she was. I adjusted my jeans slightly, feeling myself already starting to stiffen. “I, uh—I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Pretty flowers,” she murmured. “Thank you… It’s water under the bridge.”

And I couldn’t help it—my voice dropped, quiet like I wasn’t even sure what happened anymore. “When you stopped by my place earlier—”

“Stopped by?” Her head tilted. That same slow, devastating smile spread across her lips. “Wow,” she said lightly, feigning surprise. “That doesn’t really sound like somethin’ I’d do.”

I just stared at her speechless. Too far gone to pull myself out. I laughed, breathlessly, trying to play it cool even as my pulse pounded. “Yeah, you did,” I said, watching her closely. “You stopped by and asked why I didn’t show up for our session.”

Her expression shifted. That teasing sparkle flashed behind her eyes. But her voice dropped—sharp and precise. “Well,” she said instantly, “I don’t make house calls, Rafe.”

My eyes widened. She threw my own words back at me, twisting the knife. God, she was good. I leaned forward slightly, heat pooling in my cheeks. “You told me to meet you here at seven. How would I know if you didn't tell me?”

She shrugged, twirling her pen between her fingers. “That is a mystery,” she said, sweet and curious all at once, “but good on you, Rafe. You showed up like a…” She paused and waited for me to finish her sentence. My heart slammed in my chest, sweat beading on my neck. I knew what she wanted me to say. She knew I knew. It tumbled out before I could stop it.

“…A good boy.”

Her head snapped toward me with a look of mock disgust, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. “Well, I was gonna say good student,” she drawled. “Jesus Christ, Rafe. Calm down.” And I swore my brain short-circuited trying to survive her. “So,” she said with a bright, innocent smile, “accounting?”

She reached into her backpack like nothing had happened—like I hadn’t begged her on my knees like she hadn’t ruined my ability to think about anything but her.

She slid one of the books across the table to me and clicked her pen a few times. The sound echoed, sharp in the quiet library.

Then she crossed her legs, skirt riding up just enough to kill my last two functioning brain cells. She leaned forward slightly to turn on the little table lamp, and the way her tits shifted under her shirt made me throw my empty head back, staring at the ceiling like it could save me. I shut my eyes. Drew a deep, jagged breath.

“Page 99,” she said casually, tapping the book in front of me. I looked down at the textbook—the weathered cover. The word Accounting staring back at me like a dare. I grabbed the lid, fumbling with the book. I tried to breathe like a normal fuckin’ human—and flipped it open. Then I stopped.

Dead.

My heart slammed against my ribs because a Polaroid sat between the pages. Her. In my hockey jersey. Nothing on underneath. Sprawled across, what I could only dream was her bed—her hair was perfection, lips parted, one hand curled in the hem of the jersey like she was seconds away from showing me more.

I forgot how to blink. I forgot how to breathe. “Wait—”

“Well,” she cut off my panic with faux curiosity, reaching over and calmly plucking the photo from the pages before slipping it back into her bag like it was just another sticky note. “How did that get in there?”

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. Because all I could think about was how I’d do absolutely anything to see that picture again. So I did the only thing I could do. I sat there like a good student. I didn’t say a word. I barely breathed—I just followed her lead, turned the pages when she told me to and scribbled down notes willingly for the first time in three and a half years here, feeding off her praise like it was air. I couldn’t get enough.

I watched her closely, soaking in every detail. How her eyes lit up when she explained something. How her lips moved when she mouthed equations under her breath. How her ankle swung where her legs were crossed, skirt barely covering her thighs.

And it wasn’t just about how hot she was or how she looked in that picture that was now burned into my brain—it was everything. I could see her being mine. I could picture her in the stands, wearing my name, making her proud every fucking night. I could imagine her in my room. In my life. My everything. What the fuck is happening to me?

I was mid-sentence—trying to explain something I barely understood—when my voice caught. I stumbled over the words, and it wasn’t because the concept was hard. It was because her fingers had just brushed my thigh.

She walked them slowly over the denim of my jeans, right to the inside of my leg, making my heart race and my head spin. I tried to pretend I was okay. That I wasn’t seconds away from falling apart. I adjusted in my chair, but it was useless. Her hand moved higher.

My jaw tightened as she traced the seam of my jeans—light and teasing. I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it. I looked at her, but she wasn’t even looking at me. She was pretending to read one of my notes like she wasn’t currently turning me into a fucking mess.

Then she went further. Her hand landed on my thigh—a soft squeeze. “Good job,” she said warmly. A deep, involuntary groan left my throat. Her palm flattened over my crotch, slow and firm, cupping me through my jeans. My lips parted. Breath caught.

I flexed my thighs, trying to ground myself—trying not to jerk forward into her hand like I wanted to. She stroked me through the denim—soft, steady pressure—and I was already half-gone.

My blood was rushing low, fast. My cock pressed against the zipper so hard it ached.

I blinked down at the textbook and tried to read the words—any of them—but they were all fuzzy. I clenched my jaw to keep from moaning. I tipped my head back, eyes shut, fighting the urge to press my mouth to her skin or bury myself in her neck.

She smirked, wicked, and kept her hand moving. Slow. Unrelenting. I shifted in my seat, fingers curling against the underside of the table. My thighs trembled. My stomach tightened. Every nerve in my body was focused on her touch, the rhythm of it, and how goddamn close I was to losing it.

She leaned in, flipped a page in my notes like nothing was happening, and said— “So… what’s your final answer for number six?”

I could barely remember my own name. “A—A hundred and fuck,” I stammered, my tone nothing short of pathetic. “A hundred and five.”

She grinned, eyes flicking to my face. “Good choice… Good fucking boy.” I ran a hand through my hair, my forehead damp, and I couldn’t take it anymore. My orgasm hit me so hard I saw white.

I reached down and grabbed her wrist tight under the table as I came in my jeans—hot and heavy—every pulse dragging a deep, broken breath from my lungs. My head bowed. My mouth stayed open, panting, still locked in her grasp.

She didn’t move. Let me ride it out. Then, like it was nothing, she brushed her fingers over the wet patch on my thigh—spreading it slightly. I shuddered, completely overstimulated.

She pulled her hand back and, eyes still locked on mine, sucked the tip of her middle and pointer fingers clean. My fists clenched, and my jaw locked. My cock still twitched in the mess she’d made.

Then she reached over and closed the book like she hadn’t just ruined me. “Good job tonight,” she said casually, standing, her smile warm. Easy. Like she didn’t just blow my mind in the middle of the fuckin’ library. My breathing was still heavy, my hands still gripping the table.

I looked down at my stained jeans, still trying to catch up and understand what had just happened—when she walked away. I stared after her, paralyzed. The second she disappeared from view, I fumbled for my phone—my heart still hammering—and it buzzed just as I got it out.

Tutor Girl: My place. 10 PM. Don’t be late.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that night…

I stepped out of my car, adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was 9:57. I wasn’t about to be late.

I jogged to the door of the college house and knocked once—sharp and quick.

One of her roommates answered, giving me an uncertain smile.

“Hi,” she said hesitantly.

“I, uh… Is Your Name here?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, slightly confused. “She went to bed an hour ago—”

“She’s expecting me,” I cut her off before she could even finish. Your Name was fuckin’ with me. Again. And fuck… she was perfect. “Up the hall, to the left, yeah?” I asked, already stepping inside.

She nodded, and I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding harder with every step. Her door was closed. A thin sliver of light crept out from beneath it.

I knocked once. Then, I pressed my ear to the wood.

Silence.

Then I heard it. “Fuck, Rafe…” She whimpered. My cock twitched instantly at the sound. It was soft. Desperate. Like she’d been waiting all day to say it.

“Just like that—” She praised me, her tone so needy that I couldn’t help but push the door open, and then my heart stopped.

There she was, in the center of her bed: skin glowing, dewy, lips parted, eyes shut, that same satisfied little smile tugging at her mouth. She was wearing my jersey and nothing else.

Her fingers were buried deep inside herself. Her head tipped back against the pillow. Chest rising and falling in slow, heavy waves.

Her eyes met mine with a wicked sparkle that told me this was all for me. Unlike me, she wanted to get caught, and she wanted me to finish it.

tags: @rafesthroatbaby | @hughessweetheart | @slut-4-rafey | @blair-bears-blog | @iikximii | @akobx | @gri959 | @misatxox | @ch4rrykisses | @st8rkey | @laniirackssss | @barnesboo1967 | @justdamnpeachy | @dylsdaily | @rafesapprentice | @rafesheaven | @my-name-is-baby | @wtfisastiles | @skye-44 @romaescapes | @anothershorthuman | @rafeslovergirly | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @v3n1ce-bxtch | @maybankslover | theater-bitch | @frankoceanluvr11 | rcameronlova1 | @lhhlver | @yourmomdotcom42069 | @cameronsprincess | @kdoll-7 | @angelicameron | @imsiriuslyreal | @alphabetically-deranged | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @hyperfixationgirl | @faephoria | @wtfdudesblog | @rafesdoll | @yasmin-oviedo | @lizzysmith110 | @ietss | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @lilithblackkk | @premiumshitt | @littlelamy | @prettybabyyyy | @star017 | @hannieskzzz | @biascriptum

[batfsm]

I hope you enjoy @ky-landfill

Protest

Summary: Damian protests a party thrown for him in a unique way.

Gripping Alfred tightly, but not to tightly, Damian glared as he balanced on the roof. “I’m not coming down.”

“Damian-” Bruce started.

“No father. Until this charade stops, I’m staying up here.”

“It’s going to rain soon.”

Damian just raised a brow as Jason and Duke joined him. Dick was right behind them, carrying a heavier jacket for both him and the youngest.

“Don't worry B. We’ll be fine.” Dick told their mentor as Cass and Tim handed out other jackets and then plopped beside the others.

Haley barked her agreement and was joined by Ace and Titus’s howls as the dogs trotted to sit in front of their humans, looking up at them from the ground.

Bruce groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine! Stay up there for all I care!”

Even as he stomped away Bruce knew he be back to check on all of them.

(It would just be after he got rid of the guests Selina invited for Damian’s party that he never wanted in the first place.)

Selina gave Bruce a tense smile as he rejoined her and some other guests. “Did you find him?”

“I apologize but I need to end this party early. I just had something come up that is going to take the rest of the night.” Bruce spoke to the guests, ignoring Selina’s question.

“I hope the children are okay,” one guest said worriedly, “I saw them slip out of here like something was on fire.”

“They’re fine. They just went to help me look for Damian. Again, I apologize for cutting this short but as I said, something came up.”

The guests were aware that Bruce wasn’t telling them something but they soon left, only asking Bruce to give their regards to the children, which he agreed to do.

Selina waited until the guests were gone before rounding on Bruce. “Why did you get rid of them? And where is Damian? He should have been here because this was for him.”

“Which he didn’t want, as we all told you, but you still went ahead with the party,” Bruce walked away from his girlfriend, “Go home Selina. I don’t want you around my children tonight.”

“Excuse me?” Selina gaped at the man, “They will be mine also soon and they need to learn that they will not always get what they want.”

“Which they know. But they also know that I’m not making them have a party when they don’t like them. Anyone of the guests could have told you that MY children, like others, do not have to be anyplace they don’t want to be. Now go home for the night.” Bruce held open the door for Selina.

The woman glared but finally left. Bruce locked the front door and activated the alarms that would hopefully keep her from sneaking back in before moving to the back of the house once more.

It started to rain as he stepped into the backyard. Bruce put a hand to his eyes and looked up at the roof. “Everyone’s gone, including Selina. Please come inside now. I don’t want all of you getting sick at once if it’s possible.”

Dick glanced at the others before he agreed and slipped off the roof.

Damian was the last one off and he took Alfred back with a nod of thanks from Duke before turning and strolling inside the house.

Bruce followed with a soft smile knowing that it would be fine now.

As long as no one got sick.

(He was not that lucky. Jason and Damian both got colds. Tim didn’t, thank Zeus, but stayed away just to be safe.)

End Notes: I couldn’t figure out why a party would be thrown for Damian and he wouldn’t like it so I hope what I did write works.

”Damian-“

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter eight: carnations & chisels

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. soooo sorry for the long wait but originally I had only 11 chapters planned and already wrote some of them. then decided to change things and make joel grovel/like show his feelings more.

Joel deserved this.

Hell, he deserved worse. If you had screamed at him, thrown something, cursed his name until your voice broke—maybe then, the guilt wouldn’t be sitting so heavy in his chest. But you hadn’t. You just looked at him, eyes filled with something quiet and aching, before calmly asking him to leave.

That hurt the most, how you could care so much and so little at the same time.

He left like you wanted, but that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about you. In fact, he couldn’t stop. It gnawed at him, kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and prevented him from eating anything more than a few bites before his stomach twisted. The memory of your face, the way your voice stayed so steady even while your eyes gave you away—it haunted him.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew why he had pushed you away. It was the same reason he always did.

Loving someone meant losing them.

Maybe not right away, but eventually. One way or another, life had a way of taking. Joel had learned that lesson the hard way, learned it the day he held Sarah’s lifeless body in his arms, her blood soaking into his hands, his shirt, his skin—like if he just held on tight enough, maybe he could keep her here. Perhaps she wouldn’t slip through his fingers like everything else.

But she did, and he had never really let go of her.

Sarah had been his whole damn world. The center of everything. Sure, he had Tommy. And yeah, he loved his brother—would take a bullet for him without hesitation. But Sarah? She was different. She was his little girl, his reason for waking up every morning, the best thing he’d ever done.

Until he blinked, and she wasn’t so little anymore.

Time had slipped through his fingers too fast, moving in ways he couldn’t control. One minute, he was teaching her how to ride a bike, his hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to catch her. The next, she was sixteen, holding her brand-new driver's license with that big, proud grin, which made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

He could still hear her voice sometimes. Dad, can I drive? C’mon, you gotta let me practice. She was terrible at first, stopping too hard at red lights, overcorrecting on turns. But she got better. He always knew she would.

Now she’d never drive again.

It hit him like a punch to the gut every time he thought about the things she never got to do. The things she’d been looking forward to. The things he’d been looking forward to.

He wondered what kind of woman she would’ve become. Would she have gone off to college like she’d always talked about? Would she have stayed close to home, still calling him every day just to check in?

Would she have liked you?

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his hands against his tired eyes.

Sarah would’ve liked you. Hell, she probably would’ve loved you. She would’ve teased him about how soft he’d gotten, about how much he smiled when you were around.

Maybe that’s why this all hurt so much.

Because as much as he fought it, as much as he tried to keep people at arm’s length, he had started to imagine a future again. A life that wasn’t just about surviving but living. And now, thanks to his own damn stubbornness, he was watching it slip away.

Just like he had with Sarah.

The grief sat heavy in his chest, familiar and suffocating. It never really left him. He just got better at carrying it. But right now, it was pressing down on him with full force, reminding him of everything he’d lost—and everything he was about to lose again if he didn’t do something about it.

That loss had settled into his bones, making a home inside him, whispering in the back of his mind whenever something good came into his life. It told him to keep people at a distance. It told him that caring too much, letting himself get comfortable, was just asking for it to be ripped away.

But then you came along with Ellie. Suddenly, he had something to lose again.

That scared the hell out of him.

So he did what he always did: He pushed, built up walls, and chose the comfort of old habits over the terrifying unknown of letting himself be happy.

Now he was alone.

Joel had spent years surviving, convincing himself that was enough. But now he wasn’t so sure. Because as much as he wanted to believe that losing you would be easier than loving you, his empty bed, his sleepless nights, and the hollowness in his chest told him otherwise.

____________

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Tommy’s voice carried through the dimly lit room as he leaned back against Joel’s worn-out couch, a beer resting lazily in his grip. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was full of exasperation, like he’d finally been waiting for the right moment to say what needed to be told.

Joel didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back with some sarcastic remark like he usually would. He just sat there, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held all the answers he’d been too damn scared to find.

Tommy took a sip of his beer, watching him. When Joel still said nothing, he exhaled and shook his head. “No witty remark? Nothin’?”

Joel just gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders slumped, his whole damn body looking tired.

And that’s when Tommy sat up a little straighter, his teasing edge fading.

“Shit, man.” He ran a hand over his beard, eyes narrowing as he studied his older brother. “I knew you liked her, but this is worse than I realized.”

Joel let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t about what I feel.”

Tommy scoffed. “Like hell it ain’t. You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here? You think I don’t know you, Joel? You’re pushin’ her away ‘cause you’re scared.”

Joel’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it.

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Man, I know you. I know how you get. You think if you keep people at arm’s length, it’ll hurt less when they leave. But you’re wrong. It just means you end up alone.”

Joel exhaled slowly, gripping his beer tighter. He hated that Tommy was right.

“I lost Sarah.” His voice was quieter now, rough, like the words were scraping his throat on their way out. “And I—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t want to finish the thought.

Tommy sighed, setting his beer down on the coffee table with a small thud. “I know you did, Joel.” His voice softened. “And I know that kinda loss—it doesn’t ever go away. But she’s not Sarah. Neither is Ellie. They ain’t replacin’ her.”

Joel swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

Tommy sighed again, but he wasn’t as frustrated this time. “Listen, man… You think you’re protectin’ yourself. Maybe even protectin’ them. But all you’re doin’ is makin’ everyone miserable—including yourself.” He shook his head. “She likes you, Joel. And if you don’t do somethin’ about it, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep, trying to keep himself together.

Tommy leaned back again, taking another sip of his beer before muttering under his breath, “Dumbass.”

Joel let out a small, bitter chuckle. “Yeah.”

Tommy glanced at him. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel didn’t have an answer. Hell, he wasn’t sure there was an answer.

It had been two days since you asked him to leave your shop—two days of silence, of walking around with a weight in his chest that wouldn’t let up. He’d thought giving you space was the right thing to do, but all it had done was leave him stewing in his own regrets.

What was there to do?

Showing up unannounced felt wrong. He didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready to talk to him. Didn’t want to make you feel like he was forcing himself back into your life when you’d been so damn clear about needing him out of it.

But at the same time…

The thought of doing nothing was unbearable.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I dunno, Tommy.” His voice came out rough, tired. “She doesn’t wanna see me. Ain’t like I can just waltz in and—” He gestured vaguely. “Fix it.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Joel, I know this is hard for you, but you gotta quit makin’ excuses.”

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy wasn’t wrong.

“I ain’t makin’ excuses.” He clenched his jaw, looking away. “Just don’t wanna make it worse.”

Tommy scoffed. “Worse than sittin’ around feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Because, yeah. Maybe Tommy had a point.

Maybe he hadn’t gone to you yet because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face you. Wasn’t sure he could handle whatever look you’d give him—whether it was anger, disappointment, or worse… indifference.

He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

“Look, man.” Tommy’s voice softened. “I ain’t sayin’ you gotta show up at her door with a grand speech or some shit. But you love her, don’t you?”

Joel’s grip on his beer tightened. The word made his chest ache. Love.

Like it was something he could have again. Something he deserved.

Tommy saw the hesitation in his brother’s eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “You ain’t gotta say it. I already know. But if you sit around waitin’ for the perfect moment, you’re gonna miss your chance.”

Joel stayed quiet, his thoughts a tangled mess.

Tommy sighed again, standing up and clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Think about it, man.”

____________

Three days.

Three days since you told Joel to leave.

You had needed to do it. It was the right thing.

So why did it feel so goddamn awful?

The first day, you told yourself you were fine. You pushed through work, kept your head down, and ignored how your chest ached every time the door opened, but it wasn’t him. By the second day, Ellie had noticed something was wrong. She asked why Joel hadn’t stopped by, why you kept staring at your phone like you were expecting a message you’d never actually get. You made up an excuse about him being busy with work, but she wasn’t stupid.

By day three, the ache had settled in, deep and constant, and you hated it. Hated that despite everything, part of you missed him.

Because you shouldn’t.

Joel had spent years making it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. He glowered at you from across the room, spoke in clipped, dismissive sentences, and acted like your kindness was something he had to tolerate. You didn’t owe him anything.

Yet…

You curled your fingers around the counter, gripping it like it could anchor you and prevent you from sinking into this mess of feelings you didn’t want to deal with.

The truth was, you’d always liked Joel even when he was gruff, even when every conversation felt like pulling teeth. Even when you told yourself you didn’t.

There was something about him. Something steady. He had that quiet kind of strength that made people trust him without realizing they were doing it.

Joel was a good man. A good man. Even if he’d never shown you that side of himself.

Until he did.

Suddenly, he was fixing your floor without hesitation—without complaints, without a smug told-you-so attitude—until he kept finding more things to fix, as if he wanted a reason to stick around. Until he sat with Ellie, humoring her endless questions and listening as if what she said actually mattered.

And God—Ellie.

Your daughter had never warmed up to anyone so fast.

She wasn’t shy, but she was cautious. She tested people first, observed, and waited before she trusted them. But with Joel?

It was like she knew.

Like she’d been waiting for him just as long as you had.

A lump rose in your throat, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

No.

You shut the thought down because this thing with Joel—whatever it was, whatever it could’ve been—was complicated. Messy.

Yet, standing there in the quiet, with the hum of the shop settling around you, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache curling deep in your chest.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe Joel hadn’t just been fixing things to make himself feel better. Perhaps he’d been trying—really trying—to make it up to you. To make room for you.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the counter's edge like it could steady the spiral of thoughts spinning in your head.

Because the truth was, if you let yourself believe that… if you allowed yourself hope…and you were wrong? It would break something in you that might not be fixable.

But hadn’t Joel already cracked something open inside you?

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that you didn’t like him—that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter but then he started showing up. Not just in small ways, but significant ways.

Maybe, deep down, he’d always cared. Perhaps he just didn’t know how to show it.

You rubbed at your temple, frustration bubbling up because nothing was simple. Joel had spent years keeping you at a distance. Years convincing you that getting close to him wasn’t an option. That he didn’t want it.

So what changed?

What if this wasn’t real? What if he thought he wanted this, but deep down, it was just guilt or obligation?

God, you didn’t know what was worse—the possibility that you had let yourself get pulled into something doomed from the start, or the thought that maybe…Joel had finally figured out he wanted you too.

____________

You hadn’t planned on running into Tommy.

When you walked into the diner to grab lunch, you knew there was a chance. Knew this was his usual spot. Knew there was a slim possibility Joel could be here too.

But you pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. You weren’t here for them.

Yet, Tommy was sitting in his usual booth with a plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon in front of him.

You tried to be subtle, to slip past before he noticed, but it was too late.

He was already sliding out of the booth, heading straight for you.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Don’t." You put up a hand before he could even open his mouth. "I don’t care what Joel told you—"

"I ain’t gonna defend him." Tommy’s voice was even, firm.

That made you blink. You had expected him to try to smooth things over, offer some kind of excuse, and “That’s just how he is” nonsense.

Instead, he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Trust me, I ain’t here to say he handled things right. He’s an idiot. Always has been."

That… surprised you. Your arms slowly lowered as you hesitated, watching him warily.

Tommy exhaled, glancing toward the window before looking back at you. "Look… Joel’s an odd one. Always has been. He’s never been good at bein’ open with how he feels, even before—"

He stopped himself, jaw tightening. You knew what he was going to say.

Even before Sarah.

Your stomach twisted.

Tommy cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "But I know him. And I know he wouldn’t have offered to fix your shop’s floor if he didn’t want to."

That made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for because, deep down, you knew that.

Joel wasn’t the type to do anything he didn’t want to. He sure as hell wouldn’t have spent all that time fixing your shop, eating lunch with you, answering Ellie’s endless questions if he hadn’t wanted to.

But then why had he said what he said?

Why had he made it sound like your kindness was the problem?

"He didn’t just shut me out, Tommy." Your voice was quiet, but the hurt bled through. "He made me feel like I was too much. Like being nice to him was some kind of…burden."

Tommy sighed again, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I know." He hesitated before continuing, his voice lower now. "Joel’s scared of shit he can’t control. And you… you make him feel things he doesn’t know what to do with."

You swallowed hard.

"That ain’t an excuse," Tommy added quickly, shaking his head. "He messed up. But I also know my brother. And if you think he ain’t been beatin’ himself up over it the last three days, you’re dead wrong."

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel bad for Joel after what he’d said.

You inhaled deeply, staring at the floor before glancing back at Tommy. "What do you think I should do?"

Tommy just raised a brow. "Ain’t my decision to make, darlin’."

You chewed on your lip, torn, emotions warring inside you.

You could walk away. Let this go. Pretend none of it mattered.

Or—

You could find out if Joel still had anything left to say.

____________

You barely recognized yourself. You had actually done it. Asked Tommy to send Joel to the shop—had lied to get him here.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms clammy as you gripped the counter, trying—and failing—to steady your breath.

Your phone buzzed—a message from Tommy.

He’s on his way. Thinks the back door fell off the hinges. Don’t be too hard on him.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t just a lie.

It was a trap.

The bell above the shop door chimed, and your stomach twisted.

Joel stepped inside, brow furrowed, toolbox in hand. His flannel was slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and dust lingering on his jeans like he’d been in the middle of another job. His sharp eyes swept the shop before landing on you.

"Where is it?" he asked gruffly, nodding toward the back, already moving like he didn’t want to waste time.

Your fingers curled into the edge of the counter. "Joel." Something in your voice made him pause.

His shoulders stiffened, his back straightening as he turned to face you fully. "There’s nothing wrong with the door, is there?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "No."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the toolbox down with a thud. His jaw tightened like he was already bracing for whatever was coming.

"So why am I here?" His voice was low, guarded.

"Because I needed to talk to you."

Joel was still. Unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed. "Look—if this is about the other day—"

"Of course, it’s about the other day, Joel." You stepped around the counter, arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me."

The words hung heavy in the air between you.

Joel flinched barely, but you caught it.

"I know," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I was an ass. Always have been."

"I don’t need an apology, Joel. I need to understand." You swallowed, your voice softer now. "You said you didn’t like that I was kind. That it bothered you." You exhaled slowly. "Why?"

Joel dragged a hand through his hair, looking away, tension bracketing his shoulders.

You waited. You wouldn’t push him, but you wouldn’t let him run either.

After a long moment, Joel sighed. "‘Cause it made me feel somethin’ I didn’t want to feel."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Joel's fingers flexed at his sides like he was wrestling with the words before he forced them out.

"I spent years keepin’ people at arm’s length. Safer that way. Easier. And then you came along—" He huffed humorlessly, shaking his head. "All sunshine and patience and...just wouldn’t quit, no matter how much of a bastard I was to you."

Your throat felt tight. "And you hated that?"

"No." His voice cracked, and that did something to you.

His eyes met yours, and Joel Miller looked wrecked for the first time since you’d met him. "I was scared of it." 

The confession sat heavy between you, raw and real.

You took a slow step closer, voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

Joel hesitated. “Sarah.”

Your heart clenched. You’d known. Tommy had told you. But Joel had never said her name before.

His voice was rough, like it scraped against something inside him. "She was sixteen. Had just gotten her license. Was drivin’ with a friend. Some asshole ran a red light." His throat bobbed, jaw clenched. "She didn’t make it."

A breath shuddered through you.

"Joel."

He shook his head like he didn’t want sympathy. Like he couldn’t take it.

"After that, I told myself I wasn’t gonna feel that kinda loss again. So I kept my distance. Didn’t let people get too close." His voice went even lower. "Then you show up. And Ellie—" He stopped short, shaking his head. "And suddenly, I got this ache in my chest I don’t know what to do with."

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached for his hand.

Joel tensed at first—like the touch was foreign, like he wasn’t used to being comforted—but he didn’t pull away.

"Let me be here for you." Your voice was soft and steady. "As a friend. As someone to lean on."

Joel's gaze flickered downward, settling where your hand rested against his.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a quiet sigh, his fingers curled around yours—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold onto anything good. But he didn’t let go.

His hand was warm and rough, with calluses, but you squeezed it anyway, offering something solid and real.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t deserve comfort."

Your chest ached at how he said it—like it was fact, like it was something he’d told himself so many times it had become a part of him.

"That’s not true."

"It is." His voice was quiet but firm. "I failed her."

"Joel." You squeezed his hand tighter, forcing him to look at you. "It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do could have changed what happened."

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering with something raw—something close to breaking.

"I was supposed to protect her." His voice was hoarse like the words were physically painful to say. "I was her damn father."

You swallowed hard, stepping closer, letting your free hand rest lightly against his forearm.

"And you loved her," you murmured. "With everything you had. And I know she knew that."

Joel let out a slow, shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening like he was grounding himself.

You watched him carefully, giving him a moment, letting him process.

Then, barely above a whisper. "You remind me of her." Joel’s eyes stayed on yours, searching like he wasn’t sure he should’ve said that out loud.

"Not that you’re the same," he added quickly, shaking his head. "But the way you…care. How warm you are. How you make people feel safe just by bein’ around." He exhaled, running a hand over his beard. "It scared the hell outta me."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back.

"I never wanted to scare you, Joel."

"I know." He sighed, glancing down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed absently against your skin, and you weren’t sure he even realized he was doing it.

You gave him a small, sad smile. "I see you. And I know what it’s like to carry something heavy alone."

Joel’s throat bobbed, his grip on you steady—solid in a way that felt grounding, like he wasn’t just holding your hand but holding you there, keeping you from slipping away.

For so long, he had only seen one version of you. The warm, unwavering light, the person who always had a kind word, a soft smile, a gentle touch.

But there was more to you.

You inhaled slowly, gaze dropping for a second before you looked back at him, something fragile in your expression. "I may seem like I have it all together, but..." Your voice wavered, fingers tightening slightly around his. "I’m not always sunshine and rainbows, Joel."

His brows furrowed, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I have moments where I feel like I’m failing Ellie. Like I’m not enough."

Joel stilled. That was a side of you he had never seen before.

Not once had he heard you doubt yourself. Not once had he seen that uncertainty in your eyes. You were always sure, always certain about everything, about everyone.

He had spent years pushing you away, thinking you were too good, too bright, too much of something he couldn’t handle.

But you weren’t invincible, and that realization wrecked him.

"I don’t always know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I try my best, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If I’m enough."

Joel shook his head immediately, as if the idea alone was wrong. "You are."

You exhaled, blinking quickly. "You don’t know that."

"I do." His voice was firm, with no hesitation. "You love that girl more than anythin’. And she knows it. That’s enough."

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, looking away for a second. "You sound so sure."

"‘Cause I am."

The silence stretched thick with something unspoken and tender.

"She was like you. Strong. Always put everyone else first." His lips pressed into a thin line. "I used to tell her she worried too much about other people. She’d just smile and say, ‘Somebody has to, Dad.’"

Something inside you broke at that. 

You blinked, caught off guard. "Sarah?"

Joel nodded, exhaling slowly. "She would’ve liked you," Joel added, his voice quieter now.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you pushed through them, stepping a little closer. "I would’ve liked her too."

Joel swallowed hard, his hand still wrapped around yours. 

"Guess this makes us friends?" Your voice was light and teasing—an attempt to break the tension and bring back some of that familiar warmth between you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No."

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected some grand declaration, but that? That hurt more than it should have. 

You started to pull back, put some space between you, and guard yourself the way he always had, but then Joel’s grip on your hand tightened.

"You’re more than that."

Your breath caught in your throat.

He didn’t look at you at first, just ran a rough thumb over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, like he was still getting used to the feeling of holding on.

"I don’t do this. Don’t talk about things. Don’t let people get close." His voice was low, as if he was admitting something he didn’t quite have the words for. "But you…"

His gaze lifted, finally meeting yours.

"You got under my skin. Drove me crazy, always bein’ so damn warm. Always smilin’, always makin’ sure everyone else was all alright." He huffed, shaking his head. "I told myself I hated it. Hated you."

His thumb kept moving over your skin, slow and steady, as it grounded him.

"But I never hated you."

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and warm all at once.

You swallowed hard, searching his face, trying to piece together what this was, what he was saying. "What does this mean?"

Joel exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around yours like he was afraid to let go. "It means… I wanna try. If you’ll have me."

Your breath hitched.

"I mean—" He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting slightly. "If you feel the same. I don’t wanna push you or—"

"Joel." You smiled—soft, reassuring.

His eyes flicked to yours, cautious, uncertain.

"I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t feel the same."

Something shifted in him, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening, his jaw unclenching.

His gaze dropped briefly, like he needed a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Then let me take you out." His voice was quiet but steady, rough around the edges in that Joel way, but full of something real. "A real date. Nothin’ fancy, just… me and you. See where this goes."

Your chest ached in the best way.

"You’re really askin’ me on a date, Miller?" you teased lightly, but there was a tremor of genuine emotion beneath your words.

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Damn right, I am."

Your fingers curled around his, a warmth spreading through you.

"Okay."

Joel blinked, like maybe he hadn’t let himself believe you’d actually say yes.

Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth tugged upward—not quite a full smile, but enough to make your heart stutter.

"Okay." He echoed, his voice quieter now, as if he was letting himself have this moment.

Like he was letting himself have you.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock, @forpunishers, @yallgotkik, @cuteanimalmama, @worhols

[martygraciesversion381]

hii i was wondering if you could write a smut about kimi?

BUSY WOMAN

kimi antonelli x reader

warnings: smut, pnv, fingering, unprotected smut (don't), talk about wedding, fluff and that's all i think

song: busy woman ~ sabrina carpenter

a/n: i didn't expect the first request to be a kimi smut but ty anon for it since i love kimi and he's been such a good driver so far so he deserves a smut <3

masterlist

requests[open]

You and Kimi first met when he got into f2. You were a pretty, young girl back then, working so hard to get the job that you had always dreamed of. And when that day happened, you didn't have a second to breathe after.

You were a model in one of the world's most famous modelling agencies. You were also one of the most gorgeous women on earth and as much as you would have liked to give a chance to all of your pretenders, you were far too busy for it.

Planning a date always turned into placing some meetings and work at crazy hours, it was a rhythm that you couldn't keep up with. So, you decided to just not date.

That was until Kimi, invited you to assist to one of his races. Now, let's not lie to ourselves, the boy was handsome and incredibly sweet. To say that you liked him would have been an understatement.

You had confessed to him a lot of times but it was always met with rejection. Still, you never stopped trying. That's why a bright smile was on your face as you entered the Mercedes garage. The first person that saw you was George Russell his teammate.

"Y/n hey! How are you?"

"Hi George...I'm good you? How's Carmen?"

"We're both good thanks...Kimi's in his drivers room"

You smiled at George, he knew you so well that he guessed who you were looking for.

"Thanks George."

"Your welcome...and please guys keep it down for our poor ears."

You felt heat creep up your neck as you walked away heading for Kimi's drivers room. You knocked at the door and when it opened, you were met with Kimi already dressed for the race with his racing suit hanging from his waist.

"Hey" he greeted you with a soft yet charming smile

"Hi Kimi" you answered shyly

He motioned for you to get in. You stepped into his drivers room, it was messy, like really messy. Clothes were on the floor and a few bags of snacks were scattered around. The room smelled like sweat, soap and something so indistinctively Kimi.

You turned back to him when you heard the door close behind you. You both stood there looking into each other’s eyes for a few minutes before Kimi broke the silence.

"Been busy lately?"

"Yeah...a lot" you sighed. You loved your job but sometimes it all became too much.

"Need help relaxing?" he asked, his voice becoming deeper and sounding almost like a whisper.

You gasped and your eyes went wide but who were you to say no to Kimi. So you nodded your head because you couldn't trust words right now. The next thing you knew was that Kimi was kissing you, and you were kissing back.

His lips felt like heaven against yours. If only he knew how many nights you had dreamed of this. If only he knew how much this simple kiss meant to you.

Kimi walked the both of you to the couch before sitting down and pulling down to straddle his lap, all of this while kissing. The only moment that his lips detached from yours was to take off your shirt leaving your bare torso in front of him.

“No bra? Girl you’re trying to kill me”

You blushed and went back to kissing him, this time hungrier than before. You both wanted something and you had wanted it since the day that you met. You couldn’t wait anymore.

You helped Kimi out of his shirt before he started to attack your neck leaving some hickeys there before sucking where your neck and shoulder met making you whimper as you gripped his hair. He then moved to your collarbone before finally paying attention to your breasts.

He sucked on your left nipple while his fingers worked on your right one. You ground down on his lap feeling him already hard under you and you let out one of the neediest whimpers that this drivers room had ever heard. Kimi looked up at you with a smirk.

“My girl is needy? Want me to give you what you want?” he teased.

You nodded and before you knew you were lifted from his lap so he could take off his pants and underwear and fuck…he was huge. He pulled you back down on his lap as his hands disappeared under your skirt to tease you through your panties.

“Merda, you’re soaked” (shit)

He slipped his fingers under your panties and started to massage your clit. You bit onto his shoulder and moaned as you started to grind your hips on his hand. Kimi inserted a finger in you and started to pump it in and out slowly. That’s when you lost it. You had been dreaming for this moment for years, spent night fantasizing about this and now it was happening. Kimi’s touch was overwhelming, it was like he knew your body by heart.

He pulled out his finger slowly and looked at your juices before pulling it into his mouth and licking it clean.

“Sei deliziosa” (you’re delicious)

He waisted no more time and pulled your panties to the side, lifted you up and pulled you back down on his dick. You both let out a moan together as he started to move you on top of him. You started to ride him, your breasts bouncing with his thrust.

“Cazzo sei bellissima” (fuck you’re gorgeous)

You kept going, every time that he bottomed out, he hit your cervix. His hands were gripping you hips as his lips left more love bites on your neck. Your hands were on his shoulders with your nails digging in his skin. It felt amazing.

“Kimi….m’close”

Kimi started to thrust his hips up to meet your movements as he brought his hand down to your clit. The sensation of his dick inside you and the small eights that he traced on your clit sent you over the edge, milking his dick as he stilled and painted your walls white with his release.

You both stayed there for a moment, just catching your breath. That’s when you heard it.

“Ti amo”

You didn’t speak Italian but you knew what these words meant. ‘I love you’. Kimi had just confessed that he loved you….in one of the less romantic scenarios ever. Yet you answered.

“I love you too”

BONUS:

After the race, George walked over to you.

“Congrats for you and Kimi but reminder, the walls aren’t that thin here so please have merci next time.”

He walked away leaving a blushing you standing in the middle of the Mercedes garage.

Yourusername

I’m a busy woman I wouldn’t let you come into my calendar any night. But if you want my kisses, I’ll be your perfect Mrs.

[comments have been restricted for this post]

______________________________________________________________

Taglist:

@f1addict3 @motorsportbarbie13 @gorgeusreputation16 @swiftlyconehead @g00d--vibes @paulinegba @carloswinner @linnygirl09 @itsleslie1998 @rd14 @safeplaceholland

get added to the taglist

[prythianpages]

The Mark You Left Behind | Eris Masterlist

Eris x Reader ft. Azriel | Eris breaks your heart, unaware that you’re carrying his child. Now, both of you are left to grapple with the consequences of his actions, as your lives spiral in unexpected directions.

warnings: angst, hidden pregnancy, Eris being an asshole sometimes (other warnings will be specified by part)

a/n: I decided to make a masterlist for this to keep things organized. The title is inspired by the song Que No Quede Huella (a classic), which is why the banner has the spanish lyrics.

(I will say this will most likely be a set of fics/drabbles that center around a story but not necessarily a plot? Idk if this makes sense. Basically me writing a series but without the full detailed commitment? I'm just happy that after dealing with a rough writer's block, I'm actually getting the inspo/urge to write something.)

I. Stuck | After breaking your heart, Eris thinks you have moved on.

II. Think of You | Eris is unaware of how wrong he was. You're still picking up the pieces of your shattered heart. You find that it does not matter how far you distance yourself from Eris, a part of him will always be with you.

III. Something I Wait For | You're still overridden with stress over your unexpected pregnancy when an unexpected guest turns up at Day Court.

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

if you asked to be on the tag list & don't see your name here or on my general one, pls let me know! I'll keep track of them here.

[theemporium]

Hi Cece I hope you’re doing well and happy F1 being back!! So I heard this song the other day (https://open.spotify.com/track/654XTpkoachnc4HT2Fi3Fn?si=gwGZ3uZmQ6-gT7s0jRm8yA) and it’s been absolutely stuck in my head and I was wondering if you could write a Quinn blurb based on the song? I just love how you write him sm!! Thank you so much!!

thank you for requesting! hopefully lived up to the song!!🫶🏽

.

For most of his life, Quinn had only ever been really obsessed with one thing and that was hockey.

It had always been hockey.

Since he could remember, his life revolved around hockey and he loved it. His parents played hockey. Their jobs were hockey. They moved around the country for hockey. He played it with his brothers, with his friends, with new teams as he moved up and up and up the leagues. His college life also revolved around hockey. His life had always been about hockey.

And honestly, Quinn never had any problems with it. 

He loved hockey and hockey loved him back enough to lead him to the NHL, so he really had very few complaints. And though he knew logically that it was possible, he never really thought he would find something he loved as much as he loved hockey, especially when it was already so intertwined with his family and friends and teams. 

Until he met you. 

It was ironic that you didn’t have a single clue about hockey. Despite living in Vancouver for work, you had never really given the sport much thought. You barely knew what the team was called, let alone knew who the captain was. Your life was so far from hockey that Quinn almost couldn’t quite believe that he could love you—love someone so detached from hockey—as much as he did. 

But he did. He loved you so much that days of just thinking about hockey were long gone and now replaced with days where he thought about you.

Quinn’s brain was a mix of the two: how he really should ask for the power kill footage from the Tampa game, what you wanted to have for dinner, if he should ask coach to run a few more speed drills at the next practice, if he should pick up a sweet treat on the way home so you could enjoy it after work. 

Quinn found himself thinking of you as much as he thought about hockey, and it was a little disorienting to come to terms with. 

But then there were moments like this, he thought to himself, as he slowly entered the apartment and closed the door behind him. He had been away on a roadie all week, an east coast one that left time zones getting in the way of any long phone calls with you. He was tired and desperate to crawl into his bed for the first time in days, to crawl into bed next to you. 

And when he walked into the apartment and saw you curled up on the couch, in one of his Canucks hoodies with the TV playing some highlights from the most recent road trip, he could have sworn his heart swooned and practically burst in his chest.

Because it was moments like this where it was so easy to accept, to understand why he loved you as much as he loved hockey.

“Quinn? That you?”

He abandoned the suitcase by the door, quickly making his way deeper into the apartment as he settled down on the edge of the couch, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, it’s me.”

You slowly blinked your eyes open, giving him a sleepy smile. “Missed you.” 

And Quinn couldn’t help but smile back. “Missed you too, babe.”

.

[alluringwaves]

older! luke castellan ೃ༄

luke castellan x fem!reader

i stopped wavin' a flag / i just dropped all carin' for that / i went quiet and you got cold / guess that happened when we got older

warnings: toxic relationship

song: older – gracie abrams

You used to scream.

The first time Luke left you behind, you had stormed after him, demanding answers. The second time, you had thrown things. The third, you had sworn you were done.

But now?

Now, you just stood there. Silent.

The camp was burning. Chaos stretched out before you—fires, shouting, swords clashing. Your home, the only one you had ever known, was crumbling. And Luke—Luke was the one tearing it apart.

Once, you would have begged him to stop. You would have grabbed his wrist, forced him to look at you, asked him why. But you already knew the answer. You had known it for a long time.

So you didn’t scream. You didn’t fight.

You just looked at him.

And that was worse.

Because for the first time, Luke hesitated. His fingers flexed at his sides, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He had been ready for you to be angry, to curse him, to lash out.

But not this.

Not the quiet.

“You’re not even gonna try and stop me?” he asked, voice sharp, forced. Like he was daring you to care.

You exhaled. “You already made your choice, Luke.”

Something flickered in his expression—something dangerously close to regret. But then it was gone, replaced with cold determination.

“You don’t get it,” he said. “I had to do this.”

“You chose to do this,” you corrected.

His jaw tightened. “They don’t deserve your loyalty. The gods, this camp—they would have let you die a long time ago if it meant saving themselves.”

“You don’t deserve my loyalty.”

That landed. You saw it in the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his breath hitched just slightly.

But still, he stayed rooted in place.

And so did you.

Because this wasn’t new. This wasn’t a single moment, a single betrayal. This had been happening for years—slowly.

Luke pushing you away. Luke making choices you couldn’t follow. Luke expecting you to always, always come back.

And for a long time, you had.

But something in you had cracked.

Somewhere along the way, you had stopped waving the flag for him. You had stopped trying.

You had gone quiet.

And now, looking at you, Luke was the one who felt abandoned.

You could see it in his face, in the way he shifted on his feet like he wanted to say something else—wanted to make you understand.

But you understood perfectly.

And maybe that was the worst part.

So you just shook your head, turning away.

“You should go,” you said, voice steady, final.

Luke didn’t move right away.

But then, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply, stepping back into the shadows.

And just like that, he was gone.

You stood there for a moment, watching the place where he had been.

But you didn’t follow.

Not this time.

[cynicalpurple]

Love at First Sight | Choi Seung Cheol

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!Reader (reader is a pediatric doctor)

Genre: a little angst

Warning: hospital environment and a very small mention of alcohol, maybe? (let me know if there's anything else)

This took me longer than expected because this past few days have been a roller coaster. But! The third part is finally done (read part 1 and part 2 before reading this to enjoy it better)

Seungcheol had to act. He couldn’t just walk away and never see her again—no, that wasn’t an option. He wanted her in his life. But what if she rejected him? Has she ever even shown interest in him? Y/N’s smile was always gentle and she directed that smile toward him a couple of times. She also remembered the things he talked about. But that didn’t mean anything, right? It’s just the way her personality is—always kind and sweet to everyone. That was what he liked about her. Yes, he had decided. He was going to ask her on a date.

“Your knee is healing properly. The wheelchair is no longer needed, but don’t put too much strain on your left leg, alright? Come back in a month for a check-up. That’s all, you can go” Seungcheol nodded and thanked the doctor. He stood in the hallway with his manager by his side. “Well, you heard him. Let’s go” the manager said while grabbing Seungcheol’s bag, but he didn’t move “Can we wait for a bit? There’s someone I want to see…”. The manager wasn’t convinced, but he indulged him and they both took a seat in the hallway. An hour passed, but Y/N was nowhere to be seen. That was unusual. Seungcheol knew, after observing her routine for over a month, that she was constantly walking around the hallways…where was she? The manager was getting anxious, he was told to drive Seungcheol to his apartment to rest. “I think we should get going” but Seungcheol insisted on waiting just a little longer. Half an hour crawled by, and unease settled in his chest. What if something had happened to her? Not being able to stay still any longer, he stood up and walked toward the desk of the pediatrics wing. “Excuse me, I’m looking for doctor Y/N…is she here?” The nurse behind the desk told him that she was attending a surgery that got complicated and that she was not going to be available for hours. Seungcheol nodded in thanks before turning to his manager, who was waiting patiently. Without another word, they left the hospital.

Each day felt colder without her. Seungcheol missed her—yearning for her warmth. He dreamed of waking up by her side but he was only waking up to an empty side of the bed. How was it possible to miss something that never happened? With each passing day without seeing her, his resolve began to crumble. He was scared—what if she just rejected him? He wasn’t sure if he could deal with that…wouldn’t it be easier to live with the what if? That way, it wouldn’t hurt as much…right? “Since when are you such a coward?” Woozi’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts that were forming in Seungcheol’s head “Just go and ask her for a date. If she rejects you then…well, at least you know you tried and we can all go out to drink something”. Just go and ask her…could he do that? Woozi is right though—he is no coward. He always fought for what he considered right, for his dream and for what he wanted…then why is he behaving like this now? Does it scare him so much to be rejected by her? It does. But if he doesn’t ask her—he will regret it later. Right. He had to try. Seungcheol stood up from the couch and while leaving Woozi’s studio said “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll call you later for that drink” the only answer he received was a low “good luck” that was drowned by the sound of the newest song Woozi was working on.

With his mind settled into asking her on a date, Seungcheol drove through the streets of Seoul toward the hospital. Where he expected to find—his love at first sight.

Don't kill me for ending it here!!! I promise to post the next part tomorrow. The thing is that I was anxious to post something so I decided to post this part that was already (in my opinion) ready to be posted today and to post the rest (that still needs a little bit of work) tomorrow~💜

Last part of this story~🍒

[sturnsblogs]

Can you make a part 6 for mean!reader and nerd!chris? Im so invested in them and I desperately need them back together ;((

—

PLEASE PT.6

You missed Chris like a motherfucker. That night had been one of the worst. Not because he was gone, but because deep down, you knew the breakup was your fault. And that ate away at you, night after night. You had spent so long blaming him, convincing yourself that he wasn’t enough, that he didn’t give you what you needed—but the truth was, you weren’t enough either. You weren’t soft enough. You weren’t patient enough. You pushed and pushed until he finally walked away.

So, you had been trying. Trying to be better.

Not for him, no—for yourself.

And maybe, just maybe, for him too.

You had started being kinder, not snapping at people as much. You made an effort to be nice to waiters, to strangers. You didn’t roll your eyes at everything, didn’t react with anger first when things didn’t go your way. You weren’t perfect, but you were trying.

But none of that erased the fact that you hated that he was seeing Lauren.

She wasn’t right for him. You knew it, he knew it. The way he barely spoke about her, the way he still lingered when you were in the same room, the way he looked at you. She wasn’t you. She didn’t know how he liked his coffee. She didn’t know the meaning behind the scar on his collarbone. She didn’t love him like you did.

And Chris?

He didn’t love her.

You knew it.

So, you waited. Because you knew he’d come back.

You were just waiting for the moment he’d break.

Waiting for the day when he’d realize that no matter how hard he tried, he’d always be yours.

So, when you heard that Lauren had cheated on him, it was just a matter of time.

You were just waiting for the knock.

And then—on a random Saturday night—it came.

Knock…

Knock…

You let out a slow breath, already knowing who it was. Already knowing why he was here.

Still, you took your time walking to the door, savoring the moment. He was here.

He had come back.

When you pulled it open, there he was.

Chris stood in front of you, his hoodie pulled over his head, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, a deep frown tugging at his lips. He looked miserable. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders tense, but what really caught your attention was the way his bottom lip jutted out, just slightly.

He was pouting.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to smirk, to make him beg, to play the game—but fuck, you just missed him.

“You’re here,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris scoffed, rolling his eyes as he took a step closer. “Yeah. No shit.”

You raised a brow at his tone, but before you could say anything, he sighed heavily, his entire body deflating as he ran a hand through his hair. “Can I come in?”

You should’ve said no. You should’ve made him wait, should’ve made him beg just a little longer—but instead, you stepped aside.

Chris didn’t hesitate, brushing past you as he walked inside like he had never left. Like this was still his home.

And maybe it was.

Chris stood in your living room like he belonged there. Like nothing had changed. He shrugged off his hoodie, tossing it onto your couch like he used to, running a hand through his messy curls. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but you could tell—he was waiting for you to say something.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed. You weren’t gonna make this easy.

“So, what? You get cheated on and suddenly remember where I live?” Your voice was sharp, teasing, but beneath it—there was a weight.

Chris scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” You let out a dry laugh. “You show up at my door at—” you glanced at the clock, “—eleven at night, looking like a kicked puppy, and you don’t want me to start?”

Chris didn’t say anything. Just stared at you.

And that pissed you off.

“Did you love her?” You didn’t mean to ask it. It just slipped.

Chris let out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious?”

You raised a brow, waiting.

His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, exhaling sharply before muttering, “No. Of course not.”

You nodded like you already knew that, but still—you wanted to hear it. You needed to hear it.

Chris ran a hand down his face, his shoulders tense. “I don’t even know why I did it. I just—I don’t know.” He finally looked at you, his voice softer now. “She wasn’t you.”

You felt your stomach tighten, but you didn’t move. Didn’t let yourself react.

Chris took a step closer, testing the waters. “I missed you.”

You swallowed. “You left.”

Chris winced. “I know.” He hesitated, licking his lips before saying, “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Your throat felt tight. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I didn’t.”

Chris sucked in a breath.

You weren’t saying it outright.

You weren’t telling him to come back.

But fuck, you were giving him an opening.

His jaw clenched. He took another step, voice low. “If I asked you right now…” His eyes searched yours. “Would you take me back?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you just stared at him.

At his messy curls, his tired eyes, his chapped lips.

At the boy who had always been yours, no matter how much you fought it.

You inhaled, slow. Then, barely above a whisper—“Ask.”

Chris let out a sharp breath, his shoulders rising and falling like he was trying to hold something back. You could see it in his eyes—that desperation, that frustration, that fucking ache that had been sitting between you two since the day he walked away.

But now? Now, he wasn’t walking away.

Instead, he stepped forward and then—he dropped.

Right to his knees.

Just like you knew he would.

His hands found your thighs, gripping them like they were his only lifeline. His forehead pressed against your stomach for a moment, his breath hot against the fabric of your shirt before he pulled back just enough to look up at you.

And fuck—he looked wrecked.

“Chris—”

“Please.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Please, baby.” His fingers tightened around your thighs. “You don’t—you don’t understand. I tried. I really fucking tried.”

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Tried what?”

Chris let out a humorless laugh. “Tried to not love you.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Lauren wasn’t you.” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before looking back up at you. “She was sweet. She was nice. She wasn’t a bitch.” His lips quirked slightly, but there was no humor in it. “She didn’t make me work for things. Didn’t make me wait. Didn’t call me out on my shit or get under my skin just to get a reaction.”

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms.

“Sounds like a dream.”

Chris scoffed, his grip on your legs tightening. “No. It was fucking boring.” His voice was more forceful now, more raw. “She wasn’t stubborn as hell. Didn’t argue with me just because she could. Didn’t piss me off so bad I wanted to kiss her just to shut her up.” His voice softened, fingers tracing patterns on your skin. “She wasn’t you.”

Your breath hitched.

Chris swallowed, his hands trailing down to your calves, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“I don’t want easy. I don’t want nice.” His eyes burned into yours. “I want you.”

Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Chris licked his lips, voice cracking when he whispered, “Please, mama.” His fingers dug into your skin. “Let me come home.”

—

A/N- okay actually tell me. should they get back together?

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54

[kannawandering]

I was re-reading my early reactions to Turning in my friend's DMS and... I can't move on. Man I think back about this and really the best part about this is that Yuder doesn't outright tell you “we were fucking” at the start but implies it so strongly I was like a bit stunned as to why he's trying to be so vague about it...? And he only actually confirms it around 70 chapters later???

Like when Kishiar asked that question his reaction was a bit confusing to me. Because him being mad about the fact that Kishiar would even ask him that when they've known each other for 6 months at most had me 100% behind him!!!!

But then he started saying stuff about was some Unavoidable Circumstance that forever changed their relationship (??????) and led Kishiar to say that in his past life...? So I kinda started questioning why he doesn't actually give us his answer to that question in his past life (as a joke at first). Which I mean, you could've assumed would be a no at first with how strongly he reacted to it, but what the hell was that unavoidable circumstance we're talking about??? Did it influence both them to do very seemingly bad decisions? Who knows. Hell, its chapter 37. What the hell would I know about this.

And like from the chapter propositioned that in, Yuder just kinda started acting like we were in the know? He then proceeds to start acting like he told us about their situationship and for the next chapters he was like dropping these crazy ass bars like “come to think of it, when we met up regularly it was always deep into the night” “he always came out of nowhere and left without a word before I woke up” “…yet, even Yuder, who might have seen Kishiar’s body more than anyone else….” “it's been since I last felt his touch” and then he pushes back unspecified, untold memories...???? And it keeps going.

And like I get it. Like I'm supposed to get the hint pretty early on and I don't need to be spoonfed something so obvious at this point but Lord. I'd rather have him not follow up with anything. What the hell was that.

There is something so funny about how Yuder introduces you to the novel telling you he didn't gaf that much about Kishiar, actually. Successfully made me think that they didn't gaf about e/o like that, and that must be why its a slow burn? They weren't all that close, Yuder was just his subordinate, then his successor, and had to kill him at some point. Sure.

And then.

Like 40 chapters in, 2nd TL Kishiar drops this insane ass "how about we share a bed sometime?" question, which is outrageous in its own right.

But then Yuder manages to say something even crazier. Drops this fucking bombshell of a "I never thought I'd hear this question twice in my life..." followed up with "we fucked in my past life pretty often actually" and I'm like HOLD ONNN???? DID U NOT FORGET TO MENTION THIS AS A PRETTY IMPORTANT PART OF IT WHEN TALKING ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM???

[ashes-of-rozes]

making up for last time

drabble

Nightwing and Red Hood are on a mission. The mission quickly goes south and long story short they’re both restrained. Jason manages to get out but Dick insists on dealing with the bad people first. He can get out of these restraints. Probably.

A few minutes later, the commotion and gun fire subsideds and Jason’s bursting back in. He unhooks Dick’s chains, throws him over his shoulder (still bound at the wrists) and starts booking it.

“What’s the rush little wing?”

“Bomb.”

“Red Hood—“

Jason sets Dick down and goes over to the steadily ticking timer. “Jason,” Dick shouts, wiggling in his restraints, “What the fuck? Let’s just go!” “No! If this goes off, several people will die!”

20 seconds.

“I just need to …” Jason slides out his knife. “The wiring is too messy I can’t—“

12 seconds.

Jason stares down at the bomb. He’s frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s the Joker all over again.

“Jason!”

Dick’s voice snaps him out of it. Right. He knows this. He knows what to do.

6 seconds.

Dick finally manages to get free and scrambles towards his little brother.

3 seconds.

Jason cuts a wire.

Dick throws himself on top of the bomb.

Jason stares down at him, angry and worried, “Dickhead my knife is still— did you just throw yourself on a bomb to protect me?” Dick doesn’t answer. He’s trembling. Terrified. He doesn’t register it never went off. Or Jason’s voice. Or the knife deep into his abdomen.

Jason doesn’t really know what to do. He reaches out, gently poking Dick’s shoulder. Dick’s eyes snap open, pupils shrinking behind the white eyes of his mask, “…Jason?” The voice crack aches Jason to the very strands of his dna. “It’s me,” he nods, “You’re hurt. Our job is done. I’m taking you home.”

Jason doesn’t take him to Blüdahaven. Or Bruce’s. Jason takes him back to the shitty apartment in crime alley, treats the stab wound and wraps Dick up in a Nightwing blanket Damian left over.

He hasn’t said a word, barely flinched at all when Jason was dressing his wounds. Didn’t say anything when Jason pulled off the vigilante suit and slide him into pj’s. He just looks … scared. Like he got a dose of Scarecrow’s fear toxin.

Jason stays with him the entire night, ignoring Oracle and spam calls from Tim and Bruce.

“Dickiebird,” Jason finally asks when the sky is orange and the sun is waking up. Dick finally— finally— looks at him and all he says is, “Is this real?” And Jason doesn’t cry. Jason never cries. But the hesitation, the uncertainty in his older brothers voice makes it hard not to.

“It’s real. I’m real,” Jason confirms. “The bomb didn’t go off,” Dick asks. Jason wants to say he stopped it, but hesitates, “No, it didn’t. You saved ‘em.” Dick shakes his head, “And you?”

“You saved me too,” Jason smiles, “You always do.”

And Dick just … breaks down. And Jason’s awkward about it because he doesn’t understand why, so he just rubs Dick’s back and doesn’t threaten him when he hugs him. He can make one exception.

masterlist