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ggukivrse · 9 days ago

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THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 07

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, fluff, angst, they finally communicate yayay, (1) pov switch, (2) cliche kdrama scene, (eventual) explicit sexual content, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 7.7k

notes: one more chapter to go!!!! i hope this one explains everything :< if it doesn’t, please do drop by in my asks so i can over-explain everything until you guys are sick of it lolol. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are very appreciated!! enjoy reading my darlings <33

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⤷ chapter seven — zombie girl

"maybe i've been getting you wrong / i cover you with questions / cover you with explanations."

“Jungkook. You’re a fucking idiot.”

Taehyung’s voice is blunt and tired as it carries across the quiet living room.

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. He’s still lying on the couch, one arm flopped over his eyes to shield them from the grey haze of early morning light seeping in through the wide windows. His neck hurts. His back’s worse. And the blanket he grabbed last night is too damn thin. But more than anything, it’s the weight in his chest that keeps him from sleeping again.

Well, that and Taehyung who's crouched by the coffee table, in sweatpants and a plain top, his hair sticking up in multiple directions. He’s holding two mugs, and one gets plunked onto the table in front of Jungkook.

“I mean it,” Taehyung says, settling onto the floor, legs crossed like he’s gearing up for a lecture. “Like actually. You're an idiot.”

Jungkook sits up slowly, wincing as something in his shoulder clicks. Despite looking comfy, the couch had felt like concrete to sleep on last night. He takes the mug and mutters a thanks, even though he knows he’s not off the hook.

“Fuck, Kook.” Taehyung drops his head back and groans into the ceiling. “Okay. Let me get this straight. She said she wouldn’t take back an ex, in a game, while she was acting like your girlfriend, and instead of thinking ‘oh maybe she’s just playing the part’— which, by the way, is what you literally asked her to do— you spiral like you just got dumped or something?”

When he puts it like that, it does sound stupid, so Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just takes another sip of coffee.

“I need you to hear how insane you sound right now,” Taehyung adds, pointing at him. “You’re acting like she tattooed the words ‘I hate Jungkook’ on her forehead.”

“You don't get it, hyung. I— I kissed her,” Jungkook says quietly.

Taehyung’s mouth snaps shut. He stares.

“And then she said that. Or didn’t say anything. Whatever.” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the roots. “I know it’s stupid. But it felt… like I was wrong for thinking it meant something. Like I got my hopes up and she was just being nice. Or drunk. Or— fuck, I don’t know, trying to keep things from getting awkward.”

Taehyung leans back on his palms. He doesn’t say anything for a while.

Jungkook keeps talking.

“But it's fine now. I'm giving her space. Clearly she doesn't think of me in the same way anymore and fuck— it sucks but I'll learn to live with it.”

Taehyung exhales slowly. “Okay.”

“I just… I miss her. All the time. Even when she’s right there.”

Jungkook sets the mug down and leans forward, placing his elbows onto his knees. There’s something about saying it out loud, finally, that makes his chest feel like it might breathe again.

Taehyung watches him carefully with that frustratingly calm stare that always comes out when he’s being more perceptive than people give him credit for.

“You do realise you're fucking leaping to conclusions here, all based on something so miniscule.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for her,” he says eventually, voice quiet.

“Then just stop trying to protect her from yourself and talk to her," Taehyung says, voice laced with exasperation. "Maybe you're right after all — though I seriously fucking doubt it — but you'll never know unless you talk to her.”

“I can't."

"Why?"

“Because if I do—” Jungkook sighs, leaning his head back against the couch. “Then I have to hear her say it. That she’s done. That she doesn’t love me anymore. And, hyung, I don’t think I can handle that. I really don’t.”

Taehyung is quiet for a long moment. His eyes are unfocused, like he's thinking through a million things at once.

“Okay.” His voice is calm, but Jungkook knows him too well to miss the edge underneath. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say she doesn’t feel the same way anymore.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t interrupt.

“Let’s say the kiss meant nothing to her,” Taehyung continues. “Let’s say she’s over it. Over you. That all of this”— he gestures vaguely between them —“is just her being polite and going through the motions.”

He pauses, watching Jungkook carefully.

“If that’s true... don’t you think she would’ve walked away by now?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, but something in his chest twists.

“She’s not stuck here, Kook,” Taehyung says, voice softer now. “She’s not trapped. We’re not kids. We’re all adults, and she doesn’t owe anyone anything — not even Jin hyung and his proposal plans. If she really didn’t want to be around you, she wouldn’t be. She wouldn't have agreed to your plan in the first place.”

Jungkook swallows hard. “I never said she hated me. I just… I don’t think she loves me anymore. Not like she used to.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung raises a brow. “And what makes you so sure?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. Because the truth is: he’s not sure. Not really.

"You can't keep pretending that you know how she feels because it's easier than actually finding out, Kook. You can't just avoid her under the guise of giving her space that she never asked for."

Jungkook scrubs a hand over his face. “When you say it like that, I sound like a coward.”

“You are being a coward,” Taehyung says plainly. “But I also get it.”

That surprises him.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “You’re scared. That makes sense. You’ve always loved hard, and you’ve never really figured out how to deal with the idea of it not being returned.”

Jungkook looks at him, something almost defensive rising in his chest, but then it fizzles. Because it’s true.

He has always loved hard. Maybe too hard. Maybe in a way that’s always been just a little too much.

“And maybe she’s scared too,” Taehyung adds. “But she’s still here. Still trying. And it's not fair if you don't try either.”

Jungkook’s throat feels tight again.

He thinks about your voice last night. The way it cracked, just slightly, when you said he couldn’t kiss you one day and ignore you the next. He thinks about the way you stood in the living room and asked if you could talk, like you were still trying to hold onto something.

Maybe she’s scared too.

That thought sticks.

“She deserves better than this,” Jungkook murmurs, barely audible.

“Then stop making her guess how you feel,” Taehyung says simply. “Be honest with her. With yourself.”

Jungkook leans forward again, elbows digging into his knees. His hands are clasped, jaw clenched. There’s a thousand thoughts running wild in his head, none of them helpful. But under all of it — under the fear and the guilt — there’s one quiet thought that keeps returning.

She’s still here.

Taehyung watches him for a second longer, then pushes up off his palms and stands, stretching his arms overhead until his back gives a quiet pop. He groans at the sound, rolls his shoulders, and then grabs his now half-empty mug off the table.

“I’m serious, though,” he says, glancing down at Jungkook, who’s still hunched over like the weight of the entire conversation is settling into his spine. “You don’t have to figure it out right this second. But whatever you do, just don’t hide from her.”

Jungkook nods absently. Not a promise, but not nothing either.

Taehyung takes a few steps toward the kitchen, then stops and glances back.

“Oh,” he adds casually, “and maybe be careful around the girls today.”

Jungkook finally lifts his head, brows knitting. “Why?”

Taehyung smiles over his shoulder. “Apparently Jimin overheard them planning to fight you if ____ needed them to."

Jungkook blinks.

“They were very enthusiastic about it,” Taehyung says, disappearing into the kitchen. “Might wanna watch your back.”

Jungkook huffs out a soft laugh despite himself, dragging a hand through his hair. Rain has started to tap against the windows again in a steady manner, and he's starting to find the glum weather to be rather mocking of the situation and everything going on.

He finishes up the last of his coffee in one, bitter sip before standing with a sigh and moving into the kitchen. His legs are stiff, muscles tight from sleeping in the wrong position — or maybe not from sleeping at all. He doesn't really know anymore.

He finds Taehyung leaning against the counter, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly while sipping from his mug with the other. The sliding glass doors are to his right, blurred slightly by the rain dotting the glass. It’s not heavy. Just enough to leave streaks down the panes and a soft grey veil over the view outside.

Jungkook makes his way over to the coffee machine, and nudges the kettle into place. His mind feels weirdly quiet now. Not peaceful, but blank in an odd way. Like there’s nothing left to think until something new sets off the spiral.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Speak of the devil,” Taehyung mutters.

The tone pulls Jungkook’s attention immediately. He glances over, brows furrowing. “What?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer right away. Just lifts his chin toward the window.

Jungkook follows his line of sight.

Out on the sand, maybe a few metres from the lazy ocean, sits you. Hood down. Legs pulled to your chest. Arms wrapped around them loosely. Your hair’s getting damp from the light rain, sticking slightly to your skin, and you're just sitting there.

No umbrella. No towel. No rush to move.

Jungkook watches for a few seconds, expecting you to shift, to stand, to brush off your jeans or shake your head and head back in, but you don’t.

You just stay where you are.

Taehyung exhales next to him, tapping the edge of his mug with his thumb. “She been out there long?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know. Instead, he simply says, "She's gonna get sick."

Taehyung hums noncommittally, eyes still fixed outside. “Yeah. Probably.”

The rain’s light but steady, enough to soak through clothes if you sit in it long enough. Which — judging by the look of it — you’re doing. You're not curled up for warmth or sheltering your head with your arms. Just sitting, with your back to the house, posture unreadable, and from here, Jungkook can’t even make out the expression on your face.

That bothers him more than he’d like to admit.

“She doesn’t even have a jacket,” he mutters. His hand hovers near the kettle, but he doesn’t go for another cup.

Taehyung leans against the counter, casual as ever, and sips from his mug. “You think she’s out there because of yesterday?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer.

Because what’s he supposed to say? That he doesn’t know? That he hopes so, because at least then it means you still care — but also hopes not, because it means he really fucked up?

He looks down at the floor briefly, and shakes his head. “Maybe.”

Another beat of quiet.

Then Taehyung says, like he’s thinking out loud, “Or maybe she just needed to be alone.”

That makes Jungkook hesitate.

Because yeah, maybe you’re out there for space. And maybe walking out with an umbrella and a few soft apologies isn’t what you need right now. He could keep doing what he’s been doing — hanging back, trying not to make things worse, convincing himself that silence is safer than saying the wrong thing.

But where has that gotten him?

Nowhere good.

The kettle clicks behind him, but Jungkook doesn’t move to fill his mug. Instead, he sets it down on the counter and walks toward the door, eyes flicking briefly to the umbrella stand that’s been sitting there since the trip started, untouched.

He grabs the handle of the nearest one. It’s a little worn at the edges, slightly bent near the tip, but it’ll do.

He stands there for a moment, the umbrella resting loosely in his grip. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he gets to you — if he says anything at all. Maybe you won’t even want to hear it. Maybe you’ll ask him to go. Or maybe you won’t say anything, just let the silence stretch between you the way he did last night.

But watching you from behind the glass, doing nothing, feels worse.

The air that greets him as he pulls open the door is cool and damp, the scent of sea salt drifting in with the breeze. He steps out, closing the door behind him, and pops open the umbrella with a soft click.

The sky is painted a murky blue — too dark to be morning, but too light to still be night. The kind of early where the world feels like it has come to a still.

You sit in the sand, your knees drawn up, your fingers tangled together just to keep them still.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been out here. Long enough for your plaid pyjama pants that you hadn't bothered to change out of, to get damp where they press against the ground. Long enough for your fingers to start going cold. The rain has softened to a mist, barely more than a whisper now, but you’re already soaked through at this point. Still, you haven’t moved.

You should. You know that. It’s not warm, and you didn’t exactly dress for sitting in wet sand like a ghost of your former self. But movement feels like a thing that belongs to people who have direction. And right now, you don’t.

You just feel untethered.

Not angry. Well, not exactly.

Just tired in a way you haven’t let yourself admit until now.

The past few days have been a slow unravelling. And yesterday — yesterday pulled at the last few threads.

You think back to the living room. The sound of rain tapping against the windows. The way you stepped in front of him, heart in your throat, trying to speak. Trying to say something — anything — to bridge the space that had suddenly, grown between you.

"I’m sorry the kiss didn’t mean anything.”

The words still sting.

You don’t think he meant it to sound cruel. Jungkook doesn’t weaponize words like that. But it definitely landed cruel.

Because it did mean something. It had to. Or maybe you just wanted it to so badly, you convinced yourself it did.

You glance down at your hands in your lap. Sand clings to the skin between your fingers. There’s a bit under your nails. You brush at it absentmindedly, then give up.

If you're being honest, this isn't really about the kiss. Or the argument.

It’s about how he’s been holding you at arm’s length ever since.

You keep trying to understand it. What changed. What line you must’ve crossed in that kitchen or at the beach or in the thousand unsaid things between you.

You try to make sense of his silence in the morning, of the way he ignored the coffee you made, the way he got up from the couch when you tried to sit beside him, and you keep circling back to the same hollow conclusion: he’s done trying.

But if he’s done trying, why does it still feel like he’s watching you every time you’re not looking?

You sigh, pressing your thumb to the inside of your palm, grounding yourself in the motion. Your eyes drift to the grey ocean that stretches out in front of you. It reminds you of Jungkook in that way. Always steady. Always showing up. Even when you didn’t ask him to.

Even now, after everything.

A part of you still feels like you’re waiting for something. For him.

And maybe that’s the worst part — not knowing if you’re waiting to forgive him, or waiting to finally let him go.

You hate that it’s not clear.

Because you don’t hate Jungkook. Not even close.

You’re hurt. You’re confused. You feel like you’ve been spinning in circles while he holds all the answers and refuses to hand you even one. But you don’t hate him.

You can’t.

He was your best friend before he was anything else. He’s still the person you catch yourself thinking about when something funny happens. Still the person you instinctively turn to in a crowd. Still the name your mouth almost forms when you’re half-asleep and dreaming about something soft and good.

And maybe that’s why all of this feels so impossible to sit with.

Because loving someone that much doesn’t always fix what’s been broken.

You close your eyes.

You don’t hear the sliding door or the soft crunch of footsteps in damp sand. You’re too far out to notice much of anything but the breath of the ocean and the thrum in your chest that won’t quite settle.

The rain stops rather abruptly.

Or at least… it stops hitting you.

You open your eyes, confused.

There’s an umbrella above your head.

And beside you, a quiet figure crouches, a little out of breath, holding it over you like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. His clothes are damp, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The shadows under his eyes and his hair seem to almost match in colour.

You look at him, but don’t speak.

He meets your gaze briefly. Then drops his eyes to the ground.

“Can I?” he gestures, motioning to the space beside you, his voice soft.

You don’t answer. Instead, you simply turn your face back toward the water like the question never left his mouth.

The space between you is narrow but it feels impossible to cross. And still, you feel him hovering there beside you, like he’s waiting for a sign you’re not going to give.

He hesitates before sitting down, the action almost cautious.

You hear the shuffle of damp fabric, the gentle thump of his weight settling into the sand. He angles the umbrella to cover the both of you, his arm stretched awkwardly behind you to keep it in place. You can feel the tension clinging to him in every movement.

The rain ticks against the nylon of the umbrella and the ocean murmurs. You can hear the faint sound of him breathing. You don’t look at him.

Not because you’re angry — okay, maybe a little — but because you don’t trust what might happen if you do. You’re too raw, too exposed, and you’re still trying to figure out if the ache inside you is grief or something worse — hope.

You’re tired of hoping.

Seconds pass in silence that slowly melts into minutes. You start to wonder if he's going to speak at all, or if he's continue his bullshit from yesterday when you hear him sigh quietly.

“I thought you were talking about me,” Jungkook says eventually, voice low, almost embarrassed. “When you said you’d never take back an ex.”

Your stomach twists as the realisation dawns on you.

“And I know I shouldn’t have assumed,” he adds quickly. “I should’ve asked. Or at least waited. But I didn’t. And it felt like… you were drawing a line. Like the kiss meant nothing to you.”

He shifts slightly beside you. You don’t look, but you can feel him angling toward you, tentative, like he’s bracing for impact.

“I didn’t say it to hurt you,” he continues quietly. “What I said last night. I just—” He sighs again. “I was hurt. And confused. And scared that I was the only one who still cared that much.”

You blink slowly, eyes on the sea.

He sounds sincere. He always does. But sincerity doesn’t patch holes. It doesn’t rebuild trust. Not when you’re the one who’s been standing in the wreckage for weeks, waiting for answers that never came.

“I didn’t know what to do when you didn’t answer me that night,” Jungkook says after a beat. “When I asked if you meant it. You just… went quiet. And I panicked. I thought maybe you were just being kind. Or that you were too drunk to really mean it. Or worse — that you were trying to keep things from getting awkward. And then I started thinking about what you said during the game, and I just—” He breaks off. “I spiralled. I thought I’d made it worse. That maybe being close to me again was just... exhausting for you.”

You still don’t look at him.

Not yet.

He sighs again, softer this time. “So I pulled back. I thought it was what you wanted. I thought, if you didn’t care anymore, then maybe I was just in the way. And I couldn’t take the risk of asking. Because if I asked and you told me straight out that you didn’t care for me anymore in the way I cared for you, I— I wouldn't have been able to handle it."

You finally turn to look at him. Just slightly. Just enough to see the way he’s holding himself — like everything inside him is tense and tired and barely holding together.

“You think I don’t care about you?” you ask quietly.

He blinks, startled by your voice, by your words, by the fact that you’ve finally turned toward him.

You shake your head slowly, incredulous. “You think I’d agree to your stupid plan to in front of our closest friends if I didn’t care about you in the slightest?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he says.

“I let you kiss me,” you continue, voice a little stronger now and sharp with disbelief. “I let you touch me like nothing had changed. I’ve spent every night in the same bed as you, Jungkook. Do you honestly think I would’ve gone through all of that if I didn’t care?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Do you know how hard it’s been? Watching you treat me like a stranger one second and like something you still want the next? Pretending it doesn’t bother me every time you walk away when I try to sit beside you, or when you ignore the coffee I made, or when you act like I’m the one who created this distance?”

His jaw tightens, expression pinched like he’s finally hearing all of it — the hurt, the confusion, the vulnerability you’ve been biting back since this trip started.

You look at him then. Fully. And it takes everything in you not to cry from the weight of finally saying it.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says quietly. “When we broke up.”

The more he speaks, the more questions that form in your head. You look at him, brows furrowed in confusion. His eyes are fixed on the ocean now, like he can’t bring himself to meet your gaze again.

Your voice is low when you finally speak. “The right thing?”

He nods once, but doesn’t elaborate.

You wait.

And when he still doesn’t say anything, you ask, “For who?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, after a long beat, he says, voice so quiet that the sound is almost lost to the wind, “For you.”

That stings more than you expect. Because if this is what him doing what’s best for you looks like, you don’t want to see what the opposite would’ve been.

You want to speak, but you stop yourself. You want to hear the whole story — no more fragments, no more half-truths — and you want him to want to tell it.

Jungkook sighs again, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. His other arm is still outstretched, holding the umbrella over both of you. You wonder how long he’s going to keep it there before his arm gives out.

“I know you’re mad,” he says finally, softly. “You have every right to be. I just… I needed you to know it wasn’t because I stopped caring. I never stopped.”

But that isn't enough anymore. You've learned to realise that caring and choosing are two different thing, and he chose to walk away for reasons you're still unsure about.

The silence between you stretches long and thin. You return your gaze to the sand in front of you, but you can feel him in every fidget and every glance he throws your way.

“Then why did you?”

He doesn’t ask what you mean because he knows.

And maybe that’s the worst part — that he’s known this whole time, that you’ve been drowning in confusion for weeks and he’s been standing on shore with the answers in his pocket.

His voice is hesitant when he eventually speaks. Almost as if he never wanted to say the words out loud.

“I saw the email.”

Your brow furrows before you even realise it. You glance at him, and he’s already looking down, lashes low, jaw set.

“What email?” you ask.

“The one from Berlin.”

Your stomach drops.

You hadn’t told anyone. Not back then. You were still trying to figure it out yourself — if you could do it, if you even wanted to.

You never imagined he’d seen it.

“How?” you ask, a little sharper this time. Your heart racing now.

“You left your laptop open. You were in the shower.”

Your lips part slightly. “So you… read it?”

“Just the subject line.” He looks guilty. “The name of the program. The ‘congratulations.’ That was enough.”

You look away, back to the ocean. You remember the moment now — coming out of the bathroom, finding him on the couch with his phone in hand, your laptop screen closed.

He must’ve seen it and said nothing. Carried it and let it snowball.

You blink slowly, trying to process. “You should’ve asked me about it.”

“I know.”

“Instead, you—” You stop yourself. Swallow hard. “You broke up with me?”

His answer comes quickly this time, like he’s been holding it in ever since.

“I didn’t want to hold you back.”

It’s so simple. So clear. So frustratingly stupid.

You let out a short, humourless laugh and shake your head. “So you just made the decision for me?”

Jungkook goes still beside you.

“You didn’t even ask what I wanted,” you say, voice soft but steady. “Didn’t give me the chance to choose.”

“I thought—” He breaks off, then runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve talked about wanting to live abroad since freshman year. About how you’d take any opportunity you could get if it was the right one. And that program? It was a huge deal. You worked your ass off for that email. I couldn’t be the reason you turned it down.”

“But I did,” you say, not looking at him. “I turned it down.”

He’s quiet.

“I turned it down before we even broke up,” you add, and there’s no satisfaction in saying it. “I read it, I thought about it, and I knew I wasn’t ready to leave.”

You glance at him, and he’s staring at you, frozen. “You didn’t even give me a chance to tell you that.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Because you didn’t ask.”

Jungkook lets out a shaky breath. “I thought I was doing the selfless thing.”

You finally meet his eyes. “It wasn’t selfless. It was cowardly.”

He flinches a bit, like you hit him, but you don’t take it back.

You don’t enjoy saying it. You don’t want to hurt him. But it’s the truth, and the truth matters now more than ever.

You look away again, toward the sky and the dull curve of the horizon. Your voice is quieter when you speak. “You say you never stopped caring. But caring about someone means you talk to them. You trust them to make decisions with you, not for you.”

“I didn’t trust myself,” he admits. “Not to be selfish. Not to ask you to stay.”

Fuck. In a way, he's right in that sense — you would've stayed if he'd asked you to and you're not sure if that makes you proud or foolish.

You draw a shaky breath and hug your arms tighter around your knees.

“Do you know what it felt like?” you ask, voice just above a whisper. “Thinking I wasn’t enough?”

Jungkook’s voice is immediate. “You are.”

“It didn't feel like it, Jungkook. It felt like— like you just realised one day that I wasn't good enough so you left. That I was something you could just throw away without looking back.”

“I just— I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed.”

Your chest tightens. You wish he’d said that weeks ago. You wish you didn’t understand it now.

The umbrella has started to dip, though Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. His shoulders are slumped, his hand shaking slightly where it grips the handle. You don’t reach out. You don’t steady it for him.

Instead, you stare at the ground.

Because for the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re finally getting answers. And for the first time, you wish they didn’t hurt this much.

For a while, neither of you speak. You simply watch as the ocean laps at the shore gently, trying to quiet your mind.

Jungkook shifts slightly beside you, the umbrella angling just enough that a light drizzle brushes the edge of your shoulder. Still, neither of you move. He must feel it too, but maybe, like you, he’s not sure if he has the right to fix anything anymore.

You tuck your chin against your knees.

“I thought you were going to propose.”

He freezes.

You don’t look at him. Just keep staring down at the sand, wet and rippled and full of small, wavy lines. “I found the receipt from the jeweller. A few days before it happened. You’d left it in the glove compartment.”

His breath catches, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t know if I was imagining it,” you continue. “But… you were acting different. Distant and like, nervous. You’d been asking Tae weird questions. I figured maybe you were just waiting for the right moment.”

Another beat passes, and you let out a soft, bitter laugh. “And then you left.”

You finally glance at him.

His face is tight with something like regret. Shame, maybe. His eyes are focused on a point in the distance, jaw clenched so hard you can see the tension in his neck.

“I was,” he says, voice low. “Going to propose.”

You swallow hard, throat dry. “Why didn’t you?”

He hesitates. “Because I saw the email, and I panicked. Everything just—shifted.

“I thought if I proposed, it would be selfish. Like I was tying you down. Making you choose me over something bigger. Something more. And I didn’t want to be that person.”

“You weren’t tying me down,” you say. “You were supposed to be part of the future. Not the thing standing in front of it.”

Jungkook’s eyes finally flicker to yours.

“I know that now,” he says. “But at the time… all I could think about was what if you said yes because you felt like you had to? Because you didn’t want to hurt me? And then a year from now you’d wake up in some apartment with me and wonder what could’ve happened if you’d left when you had the chance.”

You blink hard, trying to keep your voice from cracking. “You should’ve trusted me to make that choice.”

“I didn’t trust me,” he says. “I loved you so much it scared me. I still do. And it felt like— like too much of me was wrapped up in you. Like I couldn’t be objective anymore. I couldn’t think straight. I just—”

He breaks off, eyes cast low, voice thinner now.

“I thought letting you go was what I had to do.”

You breathe in slowly, trying to steady your pulse. “So you let me go. Without asking. Without warning.”

“I know,” he says. “I know I handled it all wrong.”

You nod once, slowly. “You did.”

“I kept waiting for you to call,” you admit. “I thought that maybe you’d change your mind. That you’d wake up and realise it was a mistake.”

“I did,” he says, instantly.

The wind brushes past you, loosening strands of hair from behind your ear.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, quieter now. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I thought if I stayed away, it’d be easier. For both of us.”

You look down at your hands.

As stupid as it was, he thought he was being selfless. But really, he was afraid. Of being the one who made you stay. Of being the reason you didn’t go. Of being loved too much, and losing it anyway.

You don’t know what to do with all that.

You’re not sure if it’s something to forgive, or just something to live with.

The umbrella’s starting to tilt. His arm’s been outstretched too long.

You glance at it, then at him. He’s not complaining — just sitting there, jaw tight, fingers white-knuckled around the handle.

You reach over without thinking and adjust it yourself, steadying the angle so it stops dripping at the edge. Your hands brush, and his flinch is barely perceptible — not from the touch, but from the way it happens so easily. Like it always used to.

The umbrella rights itself. The air between you doesn’t.

God, this would've been so much easier if you didn't still love him. If you didn’t still want to know how he’s doing first thing in the morning or wonder if he’s eaten. If your body didn’t still tilt toward his in a room without meaning to, like it forgot what happened.

But you do. You still love him.

And love — the kind you had, the kind you have — doesn’t just go away.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t make the hurt disappear either.

You lower your hand, letting go of the umbrella. Letting go of him, too, just a little.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you murmur.

Jungkook swallows hard. “I don’t want you to say anything you don’t mean.”

“I mean,” you start, then stop. “I need time.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sits a little straighter, arm still raised, rain still pattering gently over the both of you.

You continue, voice careful. “Not because I don’t care. I just… I’ve been so tangled up in everything that happened, and in what you did and didn’t say that I haven’t had a second to think for me.”

You draw in a deep breath. “And I need that.”

Jungkook finally lowers the umbrella. Not all the way, but just enough that the edge dips again and the mist kisses the back of your neck. He nods slowly, like it hurts, but he understands.

“I want to be honest with you,” you say, softer now. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if we’ll fix this. But I do know that pretending we’re fine, or jumping back into what we had— it wouldn’t be fair. Not to either of us.”

Jungkook blinks fast and nods again.

“But I meant what I said the other night,” you add. “When I didn’t move away. When I let you kiss me. It did mean something to me.”

He exhales shakily. “Okay."

You don’t say anything after that. Neither does he.

The sky has slowly started lightening into morning. You know you're going to regret sitting out here later — you can already feel the ache building in your back. But for now, you hug your knees a little closer to your chest and stay.

The stars are bright tonight, painted across the dark sky in constellations. A soft breeze rolls through the open balcony, and the air is cool against your arms where they rest along the wooden railing.

Up here, it’s quieter than usual. Everyone's gathered around in small groups as you stand a few steps off to the side.

Your body relaxes into the railing, elbows hooked over the edge. You haven’t really spoken to anyone tonight. You’d slipped back inside after the beach and crashed on the bed without a second thought. It’s the first time all week your mind hasn’t been a mess of things you don’t want to admit out loud.

Now, you feel the last of it — the fog of that sleep — still lingering at the edge of your awareness. You blink slowly, eyes tracing the way the light spills over the floorboards, how it wraps around Namjoon and Aria as they talk quietly near their door. Jimin’s halfway through telling a story to Hoseok, animated as ever, and Yoongi keeps interrupting with deadpan commentary that earns a laugh every time. Kiara rests her head against Hoseok’s shoulder, her hand absentmindedly playing with the sleeve of his hoodie.

They’re all waiting.

Yasmine isn’t here. She’s with Seokjin and Haeun, probably directing the last-minute touches for whatever proposal magic he's cooked up. She swore everyone else wasn’t allowed downstairs yet. “You'll ruin the surprise,” she said earlier, shoving Jimin back up the stairs when he tried to sneak a peek.

Your gaze drifts over the group again, pausing for a beat on the spot where Jungkook isn’t.

You haven’t spoken to him since this morning. You hadn’t meant your words to sound like a wall going up, but maybe they had. He's been giving you space ever since, and you'd taken it.

You’d gone inside and slept like you hadn’t in days. And now you’re here, awake and still somehow tired, unsure what to say even if you knew where he was.

You rub a finger along the edge of the railing just as you hear footsteps from behind you.

Jungkook comes to a stop beside you, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne — faint and familiar, buried somewhere in your memory alongside sun-warmed sheets and midnight conversations. He rests his forearms on the railing, mirroring your stance. There’s a careful sort of quiet that settles between you, more comfortable than awkward.

“You slept,” he says after a moment.

You nod. “Yeah. Knocked out.”

His voice is soft. “Good. You needed it.”

“I think my body gave up arguing.”

He hums in agreement. “You looked peaceful.”

You glance sideways at him. “You were watching me?”

He shrugs. “Just… passed by. The door was cracked.”

You hum and let the silence return, not rushing to fill it.

Down the line, Jimin says something that makes Kiara burst out laughing. The sound is warm, and it pulls a small smile from you too.

You don't notice Jungkook moving until he's pulling something from his hoodie pocket. “Hey, um— before you say anything,” he starts, holding up his hands a little, “this isn’t me trying to win you over or anything. I just… I got you something.”

You blink, turning to him more fully.

He holds out a small bundle wrapped in crinkled tissue. “I actually bought it the day we went into town. That’s why it took me so long to ‘get water.’”

You stare at the bundle, then slowly reach out and take it from his hand.

“I saw them and just… thought of you,” he adds quickly. “That’s all.”

You unwrap the paper. Your fingers pause when you see what’s inside.

Earrings.

Small pearls that are almost identical to the ones you lost.

Your breath catches, but you don’t say anything. You just hold them in your palm, letting the weight of them settle, letting the quiet linger while your heart does something you’re too scared to name.

You turn the earrings over in your hand and the light catch on the glassy stones. They glint, just like the pair you used to wear.

“They’re almost the same,” you murmur.

Jungkook leans a little closer, arms still resting on the railing. “Yeah. I thought they were, too.”

You glance at him, catching the faintest curve of a smile before he looks away.

“Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You brush your hair back and slip one earring in, then the other. They’re light, barely there. A part of you wonders how long he had them tucked away. How long he’d been waiting for the right moment — or maybe convincing himself there wouldn’t be one.

When you glance at him again, he’s already watching you. His eyes flicker to yours for half a second too long before he looks away, clearing his throat.

“They look good on you,” he says.

You smile, small and real. “You always say that.”

His mouth pulls into something like amusement, but there’s something else there too. Something quiet and tender.

He doesn’t say anything else.

For a few long seconds, you both watch the stars. And in the quiet, you feel it again — that thing that’s never fully left. The pull. The ache. The way being near him still feels like second nature even when everything else feels unsure.

The earrings catch the light as you turn back toward the sky, your profile soft in the glow of the overhead bulbs. You don’t say anything else, and neither does he. Jungkook stays still beside you, watching the curve of your cheek, the gentle sway of your hair in the breeze.

He lets out a slow breath and shifts his gaze forward.

There’s a strange peace in this moment; like standing on the edge of something that used to be home, knowing it may never be again, but still loving it anyway. He’s not sure what to do with that.

Then, from the stairwell behind them, Kiara calls out, voice bright and breathless, “They’re coming up!”

Everyone turns, chairs scraping and voices rising.

Jungkook doesn’t move right away. He watches as you straighten up, tucking your hair behind your ear. You walk forward a few paces, toward the centre of the balcony, just as Seokjin and Haeun step up into view.

“She said yes!” Seokjin beams, his hands thrown up in triumph.

Haeun laughs, eyes glassy and shining. “Of course I did, idiot.”

The group erupts — cheers, clapping, congratulations tumbling over each other. Jimin shouts something about planning a bachelor party that immediately makes Yoongi groan. Namjoon pats Seokjin on the back so hard it nearly knocks him forward.

Jungkook stays back, leaning against the railing.

He watches as you move forward and wrap Haeun in a hug, then Seokjin too. Your smile is wide — real — the kind that lights up your whole face. It hits him all at once: how beautiful you look in this moment. How easy it is to picture a future like that with you.

How close he’d come.

His hand twitches at his side.

He remembers standing in a jewellery store with Taehyung a few months ago, holding a ring box in his hand and wondering if you’d cry when he asked. He’d imagined this exact scene — your friends around you, stars overhead, your arms wrapped around him instead.

But it hadn’t happened. Because he hadn’t let it.

Because he’d thought he was doing the right thing by letting you go before he became something that held you back. Before he became the reason you said no to the rest of the world.

And yet here you are.

He swallows hard, pushing the thought down. It’s not just regret — there's something more than that. Something like almost.

Almost asked.

Almost said yes.

Almost forever.

Jungkook exhales slowly, and from across the balcony, you glance back at him.

It’s only a second, but he can tell you feel it too.

You look away first.

Only because Kiara calls your name, reaching out to pull you back into the circle forming around Seokjin and Haeun. Jungkook watches as you step into it easily, your laughter mixing with the others’, your hands clapping as Jimin demands a full retelling of the proposal, as if none of you saw it coming.

Jungkook doesn’t move right away.

He lingers at the railing, hands buried in the front pocket of his hoodie, eyes still trailing after you. There’s something familiar in the way you laugh at whatever ridiculous thing Seokjin is saying, the way you throw your arms around Haeun without hesitation, nudging Seokjin with a mock-scolding look. Like nothing’s fractured. Like you belong there.

You always did.

And maybe that’s what makes it hurt — how natural it still feels to love you in silence.

Eventually, he moves. Makes his way over with a grin that feels steady enough. He wraps both Seokjin and Haeun into a hug, murmuring something that makes Haeun laugh and Seokjin say, “Took you long enough.”

Just as he steps back, the first firework cracks open above.

A deep, thunderous sound fills the air before gold floods the sky, scattering into a trail of light that fades into falling blue sparks. Instinctively, everyone presses in toward the railing, crowding together. In the quiet jostling, you end up beside Jungkook again.

Neither of you speak.

You’re watching the sky like it’s something brand new. Head tilted back, arms loosely crossed on the railing, lips slightly parted. The reflection of the fireworks dances across your face in flashes; amber, silver, a soft lavender that makes your eyes seem even softer.

Jungkook doesn’t watch the sky.

Not really.

He watches you.

In the brief pause between bursts, he sees your lashes catch the light, your expression unguarded.

How are you still the most beautiful thing in a sky full of fire?

Another firework blooms — gold again, then violet, then a wave of silver sparks that make the whole group gasp.

You exhale slowly, like you’ve been holding your breath.

“It’s so pretty,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Jungkook doesn’t look away. Not even for a second.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes only on you. “It really is.”

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docdudo · 7 months ago

Text

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 11)

Their background is clear to you—always has been since your social worker told you about them in her car on the way here.

They’re military men. Most of their long lives have been spent in the field. She even mentioned that their first children grew up on base when they were little.

Which sounded cool, you thought. It was so different from the office jobs other foster parents had. A bonus, even—it made you feel safe in their house.

They were bigger than most. If not by height, then by width. They were large. Buff. Even the damn harpy, who was supposed to be lean, had broad shoulders and lots of muscles.

So you felt safe. That was a big bonus. Better than that weird suburban house you stayed in, where the mother often avoided the creepy neighbor who looked predatory. You remember his strange glances and how nervous the mother was when he came knocking one night while her husband was away.

How nervous you were as you watched their interaction a few feet away.

So, you’ve always had a big thing about safety, thanks to the weird places you have stayed.

And they felt so safe. It was comforting, really. After the initial phase of settling into a foster home—when you flinched away from everyone until you got to know them better—you started to relax.

(Unless they were the angry type. Or worse, the type to lay their hands on you.)

So, when Price sat you on his lap, checking your temperature again and combing your hair with his hand and sharp claws, you felt... calm. Eh, not totally, you admit. You still tensed a little when his hand came near your face and stayed quiet because of your shyness.

But it was progress, and you really, really wanted to feel at peace with them.

When night came, after they gave you more medicine, warm tea, and another serving of John's bean and bacon soup, they decided to put you to bed early.

Which... was fine. You were actually very tired. Sickness does that to you.

Price carried you, lifting you easily from the dining room chair with the booster seat they’d gotten from somewhere. He placed you down carefully in the big nest full of heavy blankets and pillows, the others following behind at their own pace.

Being there gave you a chance to watch more of their routine.

Ghost was the last to enter. You could hear him rattling things downstairs and turning off lights as he came. His low voice confirmed that all windows and doors were locked.

Gaz was already in the room, sitting at the nest’s edge as he combed through his wing with a special tool, a weird looking comb thing. Johnny worked on the other wing with a concentration you didn’t know he could manage. Both of them were close to you, their legs nearly bumping your small form in the giant nest.

Price moved calmly around the room, putting things away and finishing his hygiene routine in the attached bathroom.

"Feeling better?" Gaz cooed softly, his leg—talons, talons, such sharp talons—bumping near you to get your attention.

"Y-yeah, better..." you answered quietly, nodding for emphasis.

"Good." He crooned, satisfied, especially when Soap purred right after.

(Is it really a purr if he’s a werewolf?)

"Good pup, such a good pup. Really brave, huh? Dinae complain even once. So strong..." Soap murmured, leaning over Gaz, who relaxed back against him.

"It's just a small fever..." you mumbled, frowning a bit at his exaggeration. You were shy. "It’s nothing..."

"Not nothin’, kid." Simon grumbled, finally climbing into the nest after discarding his mask and gloves. He lay beside you, checking your forehead again. "Sick is sick. A flu is a flu. Still makes you feel like shit."

"Simon..." Price scolded as he emerged from the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "Didn’t hear the hatchling say one bad word ’til now. Don’t influence her."

"To be fair, we barely heard her speak at all until now." Kyle retorted sassily, smiling at Price before glancing down at you. "Small, quiet fledgling."

"Nah, she’ll warm up to us!" Johnny declared confidently, shaking his head. "Right, pup? Wanna play with Papa tomorrow? We can play anything ya want!"

"Tone it down, mutt. It’s snowin’ outside," Ghost grumbled, already wrapping your small body in one of the blankets.

"We can play inside. We’ve got the space," Soap said smugly, finishing Kyle’s wing before slipping into the nest on your other side. "We can play, pup. Promise I’ll be gentle!"

You tensed a little, unsure. Your expression showed your doubt with your little frown. After a few seconds of silence, you managed to murmur.

"....o-okay... I guess..."

"See? Who said peer pressure doesn’t work?" Ghost deadpanned, making Price snort with laughter, faint wisps of smoke escaping his nose.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, hatchling. Soap will understand." Price says with a quiet laugh, approaching the nest as he adjusts some kind of shoulder weight attached over his sleeping shirt where his missing wing used to be.

You stare at him for a moment, frowning slightly in confusion.

"...Soap...?"

Your question seems to stun them for a moment before they all start laughing softly, like it’s some kind of inside joke.

"Tha’ would be me, lassie." Johnny replies with a big smile, flashing all his sharp teeth as he leans closer. "Just a codename. Military, aye?"

"Nickname...?" you mumble, still confused.

"Close, hun. Codename." Gaz explains with a gentle laugh, sliding into the nest now, his wings resting against Soap and Price’s backs.

"It’s like a nickname, but it’s used for secrecy. So bad people don’t know our real names." Ghost adds calmly, his heavy hand giving your back a slight pat.

That makes you scrunch your nose slightly.

"Why Soap...?"

Once again, the others laugh at your question, except Johnny, who just sighs quietly, though his smile remains.

"Doesn’t matter why." The werewolf says with a shrug, still grinning as he gestures at Simon. "This bastard is called ‘Ghost’ in the field, Kyle is ‘Gaz,’ and John just uses his last name, ‘Price.’"

You nod quietly, blinking as you process the information. It’s kinda weird, but it makes sense for their lifestyle. Military men for most of their lives, huh? That actually makes you wonder...

"...Are your kids also military...?" you ask softly, hugging your knees over the thick blanket.

"Thank fucking god, no," Price answers quickly, sounding both relieved and horrified at the thought.

"I thought we weren’t doing bad words?" Ghost asks slowly, his tone sarcastic as he sends Price a bored look.

"Oh, shut it." Price growls softly back, leaning closer to him with a sharp smile.

"But no, none of them are in the military." Kyle chimes in, smiling slightly. "Doesn’t mean they didn’t think about following our footsteps at some point, though."

"Wee lads and lassies always thought the military was cool, wanted to be like their papas." Soap says dreamily, though his smile falters slightly to a more nervous smile. "We would never let them, though."

"Why?" you ask innocently, tilting your head in confusion. "You didn’t like the military?"

"No, no, not that! Ah love the military, wee lass!" Soap defends quickly, waving his hands around. "Can’t imagine doin’ anything else with my life!"

"But no parent wants their kids in such a dangerous job," Price interjects, shaking his head as he mutters under his breath. "Honestly, if I had my way, they’d still be here in the nest with me."

"Ignore ’im. Dragon instincts get the best of ’im sometimes." Ghost mutters, shaking his head before gently nudging you down into the nest. "Come on, kid. We can talk tomorrow. It’s sleep time."

You’re still curious, but you nod, laying back against the nest. Johnny immediately curls around you, his giant body wrapping you up entirely. You even feel his tail loop around your legs. You tense for a moment at the closeness, but soon relax, rolling slightly to burrow your face into the blanket. His much larger body shields you completely.

"Night, kid." Ghost grunts as he settles, his hand resting on top of your wrapped form.

"Sweet dreams, hun." Gaz murmurs softly.

"Sleep well." Price adds last, leaning down slightly as the others settle into their spots in the nest. "Call us if you need anything, alright?"

"Gonna be monitorin’ her. It’s fine..." Johnny mumbles, still draped protectively over you. "Good night, lassie."

You fall asleep as the lights turn off and the others cuddle into the nest. Despite the heavy snowstorm outside, you feel incredibly warm.

Safe.

Part 10 / Part 12

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froggiewrites · 11 months ago

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

SFW

Summary: You spend the night crying into your drinks about how much you want Sanji, and how much it hurts he's in love with someone else. Sanji spends the night crying about much the same. Your friends get sick of it, and decide to help the idiots realize what everyone else already knows. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Misunderstandings, Sanji and Reader both being idiots Word Count: 4.1k

You are going to get drunk tonight. Plastered, even.

Another day, another victory, another adventure spent staring longingly at Sanji when you were sure he wasn’t looking. You could usually handle the embarrassment of acting like a lovesick puppy for a man you knew didn’t feel the same, but something about today really set you off. Maybe it was the way he so sweetly called Nami’s name when you all reunited, or the way he so carefully prepared Robin her favorite drinks, or some other transgression you can’t quite remember. You don’t know exactly what it was, but you know you’re irritated and hurt and a little heartbroken, and there’s about a half a dozen drinks with your name on them behind the bar.

The tavern is lively and loud, and the rest of the crew is clearly having a good time. Your eyes briefly linger on Sanji at the bar, but you try to force your eyes away. No point in lingering here, yearning for something you can’t have. You instead make your way to the back of the room, wedging yourself between Zoro and Robin, who seem to be drinking in silence together.

You had intended on sharing in the peaceful silence, broken only by some quiet comments and gentle chuckles, but three drinks in you can see them side-eyeing you, brows furrowed.

“What?” Your voice comes out harsher than you meant it to, but you’re a bit too drunk to care.

“Just surprised you’re drinking so much, is all. You normally pace yourself more than this.” Robin’s voice is quiet and controlled, as though she’s just making a passive observation, but you know your friends and you know she is deeply worried about you.

“I had a bad day.”

“Really? You seemed fine earlier.” Zoro sounds genuinely surprised. Robin shoots him a look you can’t read, and he quickly shuts his mouth.

“Does this have anything to do with a certain someone?” Her voice is kind, so kind, but it makes you clench your jaw anyway.

“No.”

Silence.

“Maybe.”

Zoro mutters, “Oh, god damnit,” before taking another stiff pull of his drink.

“What happened, exactly? You both seemed perfectly friendly this morning.”

“I don’t…know. Everything was fine until it wasn’t, and now I’m all twisted into knots and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Well maybe you can start by telling us how you feel, and we can try to help you unravel all of this.”

“We?”

You both ignore Zoro’s confusion and indignation. “Maybe…if you think it will help.” You close your eyes, grounding yourself, and focusing wholly inward. “I just think I’m…tired of wanting things I can’t have. It’s really hard to be on a ship full of people living their dreams, fighting for everything they desire, and I’m here, feeling like I have to constantly hold so tight I feel like my fingers will break or else it’ll all slip through my fingers.”

“And do you feel like you’re holding onto Sanji?”

“Not just him, I guess. To everything. To all of you. But I’m trying to let myself believe that all of this is what I want, and that it’s going to be forever, and then I see him smile at someone else and the illusion just…shatters. I’m not happy. And I know damn well it won’t last forever. I feel like I’m stuck waiting for an inevitable ending that I’ll never be satisfied with. Right now, I’m in limbo, and I can keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt, but every time I think about how hopeless I feel with him it kind of reminds me of how hopeless it all is.”

You put your head in your hands for a moment, taking a deep breath. “And it’s not only about him, right? It’s just kind of a general dissatisfaction with where I am compared to you guys. But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t more about Sanji than it isn’t. He’s both, like, a symbol of it and the source of it. He’s the thing I want most, and he’s the thing I know I’m never going to have.”

“Why do you think you’ll never have him?”

“Because he’s in love with Nami.” You say it like it’s obvious.

Zoro is glaring at his drink, still wondering how he got roped into this conversation and praying you stop, while Robin gives you a gentle look resembling sympathy. There's something behind her eyes though, something you can't read, that makes you feel a bit uneasy.

"It's one thing, to have your love unrequited. For the man you're in love with to be hopelessly smitten with someone else. But god, it's another for him to be right."

"Right?" Robin's voice doesn't betray anything as she keeps her tone to a careful academic neutrality.

"It's just...she is that wonderful. I can't be upset about it because I can't blame either of them. She's beautiful and kind and capable and he's...well. He's everything. It just makes sense. It's somehow harder not to be bitter because I really don't have anything to be bitter about, if that makes sense."

"It would make sense if anything you said was true." Zoro's voice is gruff, and you look to him in surprise, only to find his expression mirroring your own, as though he can't believe he opened his mouth. "He sucks, and she's great and all but she's no angel. And they aren't in love anyway so I don't understand what the problem even is." You think he's trying to help. Sweet, if ineffective.

"He's in love with her. He has been since the day they met. You know that, you were there."

"That isn't love. He's just a horny idiot."

"He's not an idiot." You hate how defensive your tone gets, how pathetic it makes you feel. You hate even more that Zoro and Robin both look at you with undisguised pity.

"I think what Zoro is trying to say is that you seem to think his feelings for Nami go a lot deeper than they do. They're just friends. He just speaks to all women like that."

"Not me."

You all hate the silence that follows.

"He hits on you too." Zoro's voice is a little weaker than before, knowing his argument isn't exactly rock solid. He's kind to you, complimentary, but he's never rushed into battle alone to save you. He's never ridden in on a blazing white steed for you, not like he has Robin or Nami. And sure, you've never been kidnapped like them, but it's hard not to feel the difference when Mr Prince himself has never played his part with you. He's kind to you, so very kind, but he's kind to everyone. That's just who he is.

“You know it isn’t the same, Zoro. It’s always Nami first. It always has been. He talks to me the same way he would any woman. Less than that, even.” You start tearing up despite yourself, and you hope your friends will blame your fragility on your drink and not your tender heart. “He just…he doesn’t look at me like that. He doesn’t fall at my feet, and it’s not like I want him to but…” You break into a quiet sob, and Robin’s hand comes to your shoulder, rubbing calming circles there.

Zoro leans in a bit, clearly a little uncomfortable but worried and kind nonetheless. “That stupid cook cares about you a lot more than any stranger on the street, and I think you know that. He’s just an idiot.” You look up at him, confused, and Zoro tries not to let out an annoyed sigh at your obliviousness. It isn’t entirely your fault. Who could blame you for thinking what you did? It’s not like Sanji helped with that. He didn’t give you the dramatic love confessions he did Nami or Robin. Nami had asked him once why he sang your praises differently than he did theirs, and he had insisted that he would give you only the grandest speeches, once he had prepared words worthy of you. The rest of the crew quickly figured out what he really meant: he was too nervous to say such a thing when he really meant it. He would instead tuck his love into the food and drinks he served you, into the jacket he placed over your shoulders when you were cold, into the gentle smiles he gave you when you weren’t looking. Everyone had agreed not to push him before he was ready, to let you both find your way to each other naturally, but it was becoming apparent this was the wrong move.

You keep crying into your glass, and Zoro sighs. You’re both ridiculous. What a pair.

Across the bar, Usopp lets out his fiftieth sigh of the night. He has no idea how he got roped into this. Sanji is somewhere between sorrow and rage, buried in a pile of empty glasses that reek of beer. He's been going on for at least fifteen minutes now, and if Usopp had even slightly less of a conscience he'd leave him here to wallow, considering his problem is entirely self-inflicted. But unfortunately, Usopp is a great friend, so instead he bravely sits on this barstool, a listening ear to make sure Sanji's drowning his troubles doesn't end in Sanji himself drowning after he stumbles his way home alone.

"It's not right." Sanji's voice is shaky with emotion, even with his words slurred.

Usopp sighs, pretending he hasn't heard this exact line of conversation three times tonight. "What's not right, buddy?"

"He doesn't...he doesn't deserve her. He isn't good enough for her. That stupid swordsman...what does she see in him?" He takes another swig of his drink, letting out a deep sigh and dropping his shoulders. "He's just...he's not even nice to her. Not like he should be."

"He's being nice to her right now." Usopp motions over to where you're having your own pity party, one Zoro seems to have become an unwilling guest of. Robin is patting your shoulder in sympathy, while Zoro leans closer to say something to you, care and concern obvious on his face to those who knew him.

"But he should worship her. Everyone should. She's...she's..." Sanji drunkenly trails off.

"An angel?"

"A goddess." Despite the glaze over his eyes, his conviction shines though, granting him a focus he hasn't had all night as he gazes at her. "Someone to be cherished, protected, adored. He doesn't adore her. He should be on his knees right now begging for her attention, and he's just...talking to her. Like he would anybody."

"Probably because they're friends."

"But look at her. She clearly wants more than that. She should get whatever she wants. On a silver platter." Sanji really emphasizes that last part, lips pouting and brow tightening. Usopp looks over again to see you about to cry into your drink, leaning further into Robin. You aren't even looking at Zoro right now, but Sanji is still burning with envy. Usopp would love to set him straight, tell him that anyone with eyes could see who's attention you really wanted, but he knows you'd kill him, and he quite likes being alive. Sanji's so filled with malice and self loathing right now that he probably wouldn't even believe him, anyway. For a man so delusional about love, he somehow can’t see it when it’s right in front of him.

“I think you’re a little lost here, Sanji. She’s not in love with Zoro. She’s just drunk and sad. Reminds me of someone else I know.” He keeps that last part under his breath, and Sanji is drunk enough not to have heard it. Instead he frowns, taking another swig of his drink before trying to stand and falling directly into the counter. Your head pops up across the room, eyes wide and concerned, ready to leap to Sanji’s rescue. It’s amazing how blind that man must be to not see how obsessed with him you are. Usopp waves you off before hooking his hands under Sanji’s armpits and hauling him up. “Time to go, loverboy. You’ve had enough.”

“But she needs me!” Sanji struggles, but he’s so drunk he can’t properly utilize his strength. Lucky, or he’d already be halfway across the room to make an ass of himself. Usopp notices a small trickle of blood on his forehead from where he made contact with the bar.

“She’s fine, I promise. But you need to take a trip to see Chopper.”

“I need to help her! I can’t leave a lady in distress!”

“The lady will be in a lot more distress if she sees you’re hurt, Sanji! So get moving!” Usopp starts dragging him unceremoniously from the tavern, praying Franky will still be awake when he gets back to the ship to help him maneuver Sanji into his cot. Sanji passes out about halfway back to the Sunny, mercifully. Usopp hopes Robin and Zoro are having a better time with their other drunken crewmate.

You wake up with a pounding headache and the worst case of dry-mouth you’ve ever experienced. Your eyes just barely crack open, letting in a blinding ray of light, and you let out a small groan of pain. There’s a large glass of water by your bedside and some pills, as well as a small note from Chopper telling you to meet him in the infirmary once you feel up to walking. You chug the water and take your medicine gladly, touched by the sweet gesture. Your crew takes such good care of you.

It takes a while for the medicine to kick in enough for the light to stop hurting, but eventually you’re able to stand. You can’t remember the latter half of last night, your last memory being Sanji slamming his head into the counter while Robin and Zoro held you back from running to him. Zoro had supplied you with another drink then, and Robin had asked you more probing questions, but you could not for the life of you remember any other specifics. You make your way to Chopper’s infirmary so lost in thought you didn’t notice the mischievous looks in the eyes of your crewmates, the way their gazes subtly followed you as you walked.

“Chopper?” Your voice is still a little hoarse from having cried your heart out last night. You slip through the door, expecting to find your dear doctor ready to fuss over you and scold you for overdoing it last night. Instead you find Sanji face first in a bed, a small bandage wrapped around his head. Before you can ask if he’s alright, or if he knows where Chopper is, you hear it.

Click.

Your eyes widen. Your hand reaches for the doorknob, ready to turn it, and you find it doesn’t budge.

“What the fuck?”

Sanji groans again, slowly and carefully sitting up, before looking over at you. “What are you doing here, darling?” He looks at your hand, up at your expression, then back down to the doorknob. “Why…why is the doorknob backwards?”

Instead of the lock being where it should be, you find the keyhole on the inside of the door. There’s slight scratches around the nails holding it and place, and you realize someone has turned it around. There’s a quiet murmur of voices on the other side of the door, which turns to a yelp when you punch the wood. “What the hell is this?”

“We’re helping!” Nami’s voice rings out confidently from the other side, and you hear a few noises of agreement.

“With what, exactly?” You have a horrible sinking feeling you know exactly what they’re going to say, but you try to push it out of your mind, channeling the relentless optimism of your captain.

“We’re tired of you two being idiots!” Zoro’s voice is annoyed and unfriendly, but after a moment it slightly softens. “Just…talk to each other. Like people. For once in your lives.”

You don’t know why, but something about that makes Sanji’s brow twitch in annoyance. “Let us out, mosshead! I knew you were awful but I can’t believe you’d trap a lady!”

“It wasn’t my goddamn idea! Blame Nami!”

Sanji pauses in his yelling at that, but shockingly enough, he still seems upset instead of instantly kowtowing. He frowns, forehead wrinkling, but doesn’t say anything else.

“We aren’t letting you out until you’ve talked. We’re gonna go so you have privacy, but if you break out we’re putting you right back in, so don’t even think about just kicking down the door!” Nami’s voice is firm and commanding, and you find your shoulders slumping, knowing there’s no real point in fighting her. You’re both hungover, exhausted, and not in any state to continue the conflict. You sigh, making your way to a cot next to Sanji’s. You throw yourself down, the slight bounce you make on landing making you far more nauseous than it had any right to.

“Do you know what they want us to talk about?” Sanji sounds almost nervous, which surprises you. Does he know?

“I…have an idea. Do you?”

“I might.”

You both shift awkwardly in the silence that follows. You fidget with your hands, curling in tighter, anxiety eating at you. This is it. This is the rejection you’ve been waiting for. The final blow to shatter your fragile hopes, to crush your remaining optimism and the wonderful future you’ve allowed yourself to keep dreaming of.

“What do you see in him?” Sanji’s voice is quiet and seeping with vulnerability. His eyes are closed, as though he’s scared to even look at you and get your answer.

“What do I see in who?”

“In that stupid swordsman. Why do you care about him?”

“What?” You blink owlishly.

He finally looks up at you. He blinks back. “What do you mean, what?”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m dating Zoro?”

“Are you…not? Trying to do that?”

“No! God no! I’m–” You barely hold yourself back from saying trying to date you. “I’m not into Zoro like that. Did you think I was?”

“I–um. No?” His dour look turns sheepish, a small bit of red painting his cheeks. Adorable.

“God, Sanji. Zoro is not my type.” You both sit for a moment, before you realize something. “Were you upset because you thought I was into him?”

“He isn’t good enough for you.” He says it so matter-of-fact, like it’s an obvious truth. “No one is, but especially not him. You deserve the best, and nothing less.”

Your heart flutters a little, that little thing with feathers worming its way back into you, but you suddenly see Nami’s face in your mind and you crush it. To dream and watch it die is far worse than never dreaming at all. “That’s sweet, Sanji. But you shouldn’t say things like that. You might give someone the wrong idea.”

His head cocks to the side. “What do you mean, wrong idea? You do deserve the best. No one in the world deserves it more than you.”

“What about Nami?”

“Does she not deserve the best? More than I do? More than anyone? Your sweet Nami-swan?” You fail to keep the bitterness out of your tone in that. Not bitterness towards her, of course, or even towards Sanji, really, just a sour taste in your mouth you can’t quite shake.

His brow furrows, lips downturned. “Well she deserves the best too, of course, but why would she deserve it more? Why wouldn’t you deserve everything you want?”

You let out a frustrated growl. “That’s what I want to know! Why not me?” You slam your hand over your mouth. God, he knows, and now he’s going to reject you, so sweetly and kindly, like he does everything, and it’s going to shatter you into a million pieces. You squeeze your eyes shut like blocking out the sight of him will undo what you’ve just done.

You don’t hear him reject you. You don’t even hear him move. You only feel warm hands on your cheeks, and you open your eyes to see Sanji right in front of you, nose to nose, and you can see reflected in his eyes something you might dare to call hope.

“Do you want it to be you?” You hear a longing in his words, see it in his eyes. You have never known Sanji as a man to want, to desire more than what he’s freely given, but in this moment it truly almost seems like he wants you.

You slowly take your hand off of your mouth. Your voice is meek, mouselike, but you force it out anyway. “Would that be okay? If I did?”

“Oh angel, it would be more than okay.” He slides impossibly closer, thighs on either side of yours, torsos pressed together, surrounding you wholly. “It is you. It has always been you. It will always be you. Is that okay?”

You want to answer him in words, something articulate that would move his heart, but instead you let out a soft squeak of surprise before grabbing his cheeks and pulling his lips to yours. They’re chapped, the dehydration from the hangover still plaguing him. He has morning breath. His movements are uncoordinated, unsteady. His goatee scratches your chin. When he opens his mouth, welcoming you further, he tastes like cigarettes and a hint of shitty beer.

It’s the best kiss you’ve ever had.

You end up on your back, Sanji’s weight holding you down, comforting and all-consuming. His hands rest on your hips as yours tangle in his hair. You only pull back when the demand for air is too much, and even then you consider ignoring the scream of your lungs. You both pull back, chests heaving, and Sanji buries his face in your neck.

“I never thought I’d actually get to do this.” He buries his nose further into your neck, his arms sliding underneath you to pull you into a tight embrace.

“Neither did I. I kept telling myself to stop dreaming about things I couldn’t have.”

“You’ve had me from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“You’ve had me for just as long.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

You take a strained breath. “I was…I don’t deserve you. And I thought you knew that. And that you were in love with Nami. That didn’t help.”

He pulls back to look you in the eyes, his gaze boring into you. “You thought you didn’t deserve me?” He sounds absolutely baffled at the idea.

“You’re kind, talented, strong, handsome…you’re everything, Sanji. You deserve everything you want. And I didn’t think you wanted me.”

He blinks at you for a moment, before a small chuckle forces its way out of him. “That’s…that’s so ridiculous I genuinely don’t even know where to start.”

He kisses your forehead. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and everything I’m ever going to want.”

He kisses your cheeks. “I have wanted you from the moment we met, and I will want you until the day I die.”

He kisses the tip of your nose. “I have never met anyone more deserving of the world than you. And I’m not going to let anyone say otherwise. Even you. So there.”

You lean up to kiss his forehead in turn. “Well there’s nothing in this world I want more than you. Can I really have you?”

He takes one of your hands and places it over his rapidly beating heart. “You feel that? It’s all yours.” He lifts your other hand and kisses it in a deeply princely gesture that fits him perfectly.

Before you can reciprocate, the door slams open, and you hear Zoro’s disgruntled voice call out. “They’re making out! Can we be done with this now?”

Sanji whips around with even more vitriol than he usually reserves for the swordsman. “Piss off, mosshead. Can’t you see we’re busy?” The quick movement makes him sway slightly, and you’re forced to remember how horribly you’re both doing physically. If he picks a fight with Zoro right now he might end up puking all over his shoes.

“Ignore him, Sanji. We need to get some rest anyway.” You pull his face into your chest, which he gladly collapses fully into. When you run your fingers through his hair, he’s practically purring.

“Anything you say, my love.” His content smile grows wider when he hears your heart quicken at the words. Neither of you say anything else as your friends crowd the room, with their finallys and about times. Nothing in the world matters more than this right now: the feeling of each other’s warmth, the softness of each other’s skin, and the feeling of relief in both of your chests that your hopes were finally allowed to thrive.

#sanji x reader #one piece x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #x reader #one piece

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tinylilacbun · 2 months ago

Note

can you write one where little! reader is being extra bratty and fussy today and rafe has had enough and puts her in time out and threatens with another punishment or something but then sofia notices that the readers cheeks are all flushed and she’s curling up like she’s cold and sofia takes her temperature and she’s like “that’s why you’ve been fussy, you’re sick” and then rafe feels awful about punishing little! reader?

i love your stuff!

You already woke up with an attitude and a slight pounding head, not wanting to change out of your jammies at first, then you didn't want to eat breakfast, later on as you're relaxing on the couch you whine when Rafe turns the TV off and claims that you should go find some other kind of entertainment because you've been watching cartoons for a while now.

"Don' wanna." You huff, moving onto your stomach to hide your face in the cushions. "Wanna watch movie."

"And I want you to go do something else." He says, placing the remote on a high surface you can't reach. "Or I'll take you upstairs to nap, your choice."

"Noooo!" You whine, kicking your legs in frustration as your body starts to heat up again.

"Listen, I've been real patient with you today, so if you don't change your attitude right now I'll-" He warns you, pointing a finger at you as you suddenly say something he never thought you would dare to, especially while being little.

"Shut up..." You mumble but Rafe heard you crystal clear.

"What did you just say?" He asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes a few steps closer to where you're laying. "Care to repeat that, young lady?"

You sit up on the couch, glaring at him defiantly. "I saids shut-"

Before you can even finish Rafe's hand shoots out to grab your wrist, pulling you up to stand in front of him, towering over you. "If you're not sitting in the corner in the next ten seconds, I'll make sure you won't be able to sit for a damn week."

You gulp, quickly regretting your choice of words even though you can't help it with how you're feeling right now.

Rafe doesn't even notice your flushed cheeks or how warm your skin feels, too infuriated with your behavior to catch onto it.

When he lets go, you pad over to the corner, plopping down on the ground and face the wall, only hearing Rafe's footsteps disappear to what you can only assume must be the kitchen.

On his way there he crosses paths with Sofia who just finished taking a shower, her hair still slightly damp as she places her hand on his bicep to stop him. "What happened?" She asks, nodding towards you sitting in time out.

"What's been going on the whole day and I'm tired of it. She's in time out for how long I see fit." He explains, almost relaxing when she stands up on her toes to kiss his jaw.

"Okay, I'll try and talk to her." She says, making her way to where you are leaning with your side against the wall, your body shivering as she kneels on the ground beside you. "Angel?"

You don't respond, feeling too nauseous to even move a muscle and only answer with a quiet whimper.

"Hey..." She coos, taking a better look at your face, her brows furrowing with concern as she notices how flushed your face is and the way your eyes flutter close from time to time. "Are you alright, sweetie?"

She reaches out to feel your forehead, then moves her hand to your cheek and the back of your neck, frowning as she realizes why you've been behaving differently all day.

"Oh, baby, that's why you're so fussy, hm? You have a fever." She observes, moving some of your hair from your face, calling out for Rafe.

"What?" He asks with slight irritation, entering the living room again and sees how Sofia helps you to stand up on rather shaky legs. "Babe, I just told-"

"She's sick." She quickly retorts, leading you back over to the couch and makes sure you lay down comfortably, grabbing a blanket and drapes it over your shivering body.

Rafe's whole mood shifts from frustrated to slight guilt, rubbing the back of his neck as he finally sees in what state you're actually in, watching Sofia tucking you in and standing up again. "Mama is getting you some medicine, okay?"

You just nod in response, wrapping the blanket more around yourself as she walks off to get everything you might need right now.

Rafe eventually moves over to you, sitting down next to you he lets out a sigh as you shuffle to snuggle against his side, wrapping an arm around your body to keep you close.

"I should've noticed sooner..." He mutters mostly to himself, feeling your forehead with his other hand.

You only hum, closing your eyes as your cheek is smushed on his stomach. A few minutes later Sofia returns, carrying a tray with medicine, some soup, your favorite stuffie, and a pacifier in case you regress even smaller.

She smiles at the sight of you and Rafe cuddling, knowing how sorry he must feel, he doesn't even need to say it as his actions speak volumes, the way he holds you and rubs your back, whispering sweet nothings to you.

#little!reader #daddy!rafe x little!reader x mama!sofia drabble

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demie90s · 19 days ago

Text

Attitude Adjustment

Natisha x Courtney x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: You’re mad. Not mad-mad. Just… petty. Enough to ignore T like she ain’t raised your standards and ruined your attitude.

Word Count: ~ 2.1k

Genre: Enemies with sexual tension, power play, smut, light angst, mature themes

Warnings: SMUT. strap-on sex, oral (f receiving), dom!Tisha, rough sex, emotional tension, slight age gap (reader 23, Tish 25), enemies-to-situationship, attitude readjustment

I had a week off. A single, glorious, chaos-filled week back home before I had to fly back to Cali for another shoot. I could’ve been anywhere. On anyone. But where was I?

Wrapped around Courtney’s neck like a silk scarf, legs on her lap, head on her shoulder, wearing her hoodie and eating her snacks.

T was across the room. I knew she was there. She always was. Quiet and solid, walking around with her keys and a slight curve to her mouth. She wasn’t saying nothing now though. Not with the way I was acting.

Let’s be clear—I wasn’t mad. I was mean.

Not loud, not extra. I was being mean nice. That scary kinda sweet. Kissing her on the cheek when I walked by but not sparing her a glance. Complimenting her shoes to Courtney like she wasn’t the one who bought them. Laughing at Court’s jokes and ignoring T’s whole existence like I paid for it.

“Could you please be serious?” T asked after I giggled too loud at something Court said mid-UNO game. Not even at her, really. Just too loud for her peace.

I didn’t even look up from my phone. “…I wasn’t even lookin’ in yo direction. Girl, go on somewhere.”

“Oop.” Court muttered, low and messy. She was already covering her mouth, shoulders bouncing with laughter.

Tisha sighed. Deep. That old-person sigh. That I’m tryna be the mature one and not flip this damn coffee table over type sigh.

It wasn’t new. I’d been like this all week. All kisses and no conversation. All soft hands and cold eyes. Laying with Courtney like she was the last place I knew peace, and brushing past T like she’d bumped into me at the grocery store and didn’t say sorry. The girls loved it. Ate it up. The streams, the clips, the TikToks. Especially when Court went live and the comments flooded in:

“Where y’all girlfriend at 😭”

“We want HER not y’all”

“Why T look stressed. SICK AND TIRED😭‼️”

“She in the house,” Court said, grinning big, eyes glinting, looking like she had a secret and loved every drop of it.

T just shook her head, sitting there with her hoodie sleeves tugged down and that little pout forming. “Y’all need to talk it out,” Court kept going. “I’on know why y’all actin’ like y’all not in the same damn house.”

Tisha didn’t say nothing. Just rubbed her forehead like she was praying for patience. She had to. She was older. The calm one. The one that be refilling my water bottle without saying a word. The one who always brought extra socks in her duffle bag cause she knew I’d forget.

But all that went out the window the second I stopped talking to her on purpose. She wasn’t used to it. I wasn’t either. But hell, if I was gon’ break character first.

The next morning I padded into the kitchen barefoot, lashes on but bonnet still on top. Shirt tight. Shorts tighter. Courtney was sitting on the counter eating fruit. I walked right past Tisha—who was leaning against the fridge—and gave her a peck on the cheek without a word. Then I opened the fridge myself like she wasn’t even there.

Her hand slid off the fridge handle.

Courtney blinked. “Now you know that was crazy. You not gon’ even say good morning?” she grinned, tossing a grape at me.

I caught it. “I kissed her, didn’t I?”

“You kissed her like yall were old friends catching up.” Court laughed.

T was quiet. Real quiet. She looked good too—black cargos, grey tee. That blonde catching the light. That tired, in-love look starting to boil over. She wanted me. Missed me. I was still dragging it out like she ain’t put me on a pedestal and polish it daily.

Later that night, I was curled up on the couch again. On Court, again. She was scrolling her phone, letting me trace little circles into her thigh with my nails. T walked past us with a blanket in her arms—probably to bring to me, even though I ain’t ask. She dropped it over my legs anyway, adjusted the corners.

“Thanks,” I muttered without looking up. She didn’t respond. Just stood there for a second.

“You done?” she asked, voice low. Not mean. Not even upset. Just… wounded.

I looked up then, lips parted, lashes low. “Hm?”

“This. Whatever this is. You done?” Her jaw was tight now, those blue eyes doing that thing. The one that used to melt me. The one that still did. I didn’t answer right away.

Court snorted. “Damn. Maybe y’all should go to therapy.”

I sat up slowly, blanket sliding off my legs. “Nah. She just don’t like when I act like her absence don’t move me.” Tisha blinked like I slapped her. Like I saw everything and said it with my whole chest.

I stood, stretched, kissed Court on the cheek. Then looked Tisha dead in the eyes. “We can talk… when I get back from Cali.”

“You leavin’ without sayin bye!?”

“I’m petty, not heartless,” I smirked. “I’ll kiss you goodbye. I just won’t miss you out loud.”

Courtney was dying. Nearly slid off the couch. Tisha just stood there—locked, jaw working, hands in her pockets like if she pulled them out, she’d grab me and never let go.

Baby… she better.

The live wasn’t supposed to be long. Just Court kicking it, answering questions, talking mess like she always did. I wasn’t even dressed for attention. Hair slicked but tied back in a loose puff, hoodie oversized and riding up in the back, sweats low on my hips. No lashes. No gloss. Skin bare but still glowing cause let’s be real—I’m her even at half-effort.

I was laid up on Courtney’s side, legs across her lap, hoodie sleeve half covering my hand while I scrolled my phone and sipped her drink like it belonged to me. The comments were already on one:

“WHERE T AT 👀”

“Y/N look too comfy to still be mad lmaooo”

“BLINK if you still hate her 😂”

I squinted at the screen, licking my lips. “Y’all messy,” I mumbled, side-eye sharp. “Talkin’ bout some ‘blink if you still mad at T.’”

Courtney didn’t even hesitate. “So blink.”

I tilted my head, narrowed my eyes. “…Don’t start.”

She grinned and popped a piece of mango in her mouth, looking way too pleased. “I’m just sayin’… you real quiet when she not around.”

Tisha walked in, looking like somebody’s favorite regret. Black tee fitted, grey sweats hanging low, chain tucked but glinting. She wasn’t even looking at the phone—she was looking at me. Jaw tight.

Hands loose at her sides. That look in her eye. Pure Possession. Like she already made the decision and now she was just tryna see if I was gonna act like I had a choice.

I didn’t. One second, I was posted up on Court.

The next T had her arm hooked under my thighs, pulling me clean off the couch like I wasn’t already ignoring her. Like my whole attitude didn’t exist.

“Oh—” I gasped, nearly dropping the phone.

Court lost it. “Oh nahhh, not you gettin’ snatched.”

“Tisha—” I started.

“Shut up,” she said into my neck, tone low but not rough. Just final. Like she’d waited enough. Her lips brushed the side of my face as she walked us out of the frame, holding me.

“OH THEY FUCKINGGGG”

“Court blink if YOU in danger😭😭😭”

“FINALLY. GIRL GIVE HER SOME COOCHIE.”

She didn’t say another word. Not as she carried me down the hall, not as she laid me on the bed, she settled her weight on top of me—thighs between mine, hands planted, lips hovering like she was tryna remember how to breathe without me.

It had been three weeks. Three long weeks since she touched me like this. Since I let her. Now she was starving.

“T,” I breathed, blinking up at her.

Her forehead pressed against mine. “I been tryin’ to be cool,” she said, voice shaky. “Tryna respect your space. But I can’t keep watchin’ you love on Court like I don’t need you.”

“I wasn’t even—”

“You were,” she whispered, sliding her hands under my hoodie. “And it’s okay. I needed to feel it. Needed to miss you enough to stop playin’ with you.”

Her palms were wide on my waist, thumbs brushing the dip like she was relearning it. Like she was praying through it. Her lips touched the corner of my mouth, soft first, like a warning. Then her mouth moved to my neck, open, wet, teeth light. I gasped, hips twitching.

My hand grabbed her wrist. Not to stop her. Just to feel her. I looked toward the door—Court still on live, probably cracking jokes.

“…ou,” I started, breathless, laughing a little. “Y’all fucking finally so I’ma excuse myself…T and Y/N…busy.”

“Girl hush,” I called out weakly, still giggling, even as T slide her hands into my sweats.

I looked up at her, whole face soft now. Mouth open. Lashes low.

“You missed me that much?” I teased, voice sugar-coated. T just bit her lip.

“I love you that much.”

T moved like she had all the time in the world. Like this moment had been waiting for her, not the other way around.

She was sitting between my legs now, comfortably. Back straight, eyes locked on mine like she was watching a show she paid for. My thighs were over hers—she had me wide open, no chance of closing them. Even if I wanted to. Even if I could.

I didn’t.

Her hand slid back under the band of my underwear, fingers slow, warm, soft. I gasped when she brushed over me, wet like I’d been waiting for this, aching like her name sat heavy between my hips. My hand grabbed at her arm—instinct, not resistance—and she smirked like she liked the way I twitched.

She found my clit easy. Two fingers pressed down slow, rubbed gentle circles that made me suck in a breath and lift my hips off the mattress.

Her eyes didn’t move.

“You this sensitive already?” she whispered, barely audible, like she didn’t wanna interrupt what her fingers were doing.

“T-T,” I whined, trying to breathe through it. But it felt too good. Too slow. Too perfect. My moan was already halfway out my throat when—She kissed me.

Lips warm, sweet, tongue brushing mine just enough to swallow every sound before it escaped. Her fingers kept moving, slow, deliberate, circling and pressing until I was gasping into her mouth again.

She pulled back just an inch. “You sound so pretty when you tryna hold it in.”

“I c-can’t—” Another kiss.

I felt her fingers dip lower, then come back up, slipping through the slick mess she was making of me. Her thumb rubbed my clit now, and one finger slid in so slow, I nearly cried.

“Tisha…”

“Look at me,” she whispered, hand still moving. “You’ve been gone so long, baby. Let me see you.”

I did. I looked right at her. Eyes soft. Lips parted. She curled her finger just right and I nearly folded, thighs shaking—but she pressed them down with hers, holding me open like I was hers to ruin gently.

“You gon’ cum for me?” she asked, kissing my jaw, then my mouth again when I whimpered.

I nodded, desperate, gripping her arm like it was the only thing tethering me to earth.

She kissed me through it. Through every moan. Every twitch. Every breathless whisper of her name as I came on her fingers, eyes wide and locked on hers, tears clinging to my lashes from how good it felt to be loved this slow. This deep. This real.

Even after my body stilled, even after my hips fell limp against her lap—T didn’t move. She just held me. Eyes soft. Hand warm on my waist.

“You still mad at me?” she whispered against my lips.

I smiled. “I don’t remember what we was even fightin’ about.”

“Good,” she grinned

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13tinysocks · 25 days ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

Viltrum culture can be quite a shock. Everything'll be fine, as long as you listen and do everything the Emperor says. Oh... Well, things wouldn't have to be this way if you weren't such a bitch!

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

World building tiem... Look guys, they be flippin' that shit around tho. NSFW

[Part one] [Ao3] [23] [Chapter Index] [25]

24 * Bitch [14.4k]

"I get mean when I'm nervous like a bad dog."

Cop Car - Mitski

Having a master bathroom was only something you could dream about. With a deep, wide tub, products hidden away, on demand at the press of a button (Technically there weren't showers in Viltrum, just gas chambers that ionically cleaned whoever was inside but Mohawk had some more human amenities added to his room). Double sinks, clean mirrors that seemed to hover off the wall. Not a cobweb in the corner or spec of dust on the shiny tiled floor. The grand prize, a toilet with a bidet- that you were currently puking in.

You gripped the edges, heaving. Orangey vomit was quietly flushed away without back spray. Viltrumite plumbing was something else. You wanted it to be over but you could still feel your guts flipping, deciding whether to let it end now or drag the torment on for another hour.

"Why didn't you slow me down?" You whined, tears squeezed out the corners of your eyes.

The party had gone on awhile longer. It was all a haze after your seventh glass. You didn't entirely remember when you got back to Mohawk's room but you knew, you'd been at this toilet for what felt like forever. Hurting like a motherfucker.

Mohawk (held your hair/rubbed your) back, as helpful as he'd get. "Cuz she could hold her liquor."

You'd had beer that tasted like cardboard that didn't get you nearly as fucked up. "I can! Your girlfriend was just an alcoholic bi-bllarrgggg."

Mohawk watched your body slump and shudder in misery. Smiling despite it, because karma was real. "This is what you get for being a bitch to me earlier." He singsonged over the sound of puke hitting toilet water.

When it was over, you said, "I'm not gonna say sorry for being a bitch when you fucking kidnapped me."

"Baaabe, we've been over this." He whined. You tried lifting your head to glare but another wave of nausea dragged you back down. "Just accept it already. You're here with me now and you're safe. I'm not gonna hurt you, unless you ask me to." He remembered how you liked it. How willing you were to be choked or pinned down or restrained.

He was going for sexy, you just heard creepy. "You're actually crazy, dude."

He patted your (head/back), tutting, "Only for you."

Through it all, he stayed. Idly chattering in the bouts of quiet between episodes. Asking you about your favorite shows or movies he could put on because the Viltrum Empire had archives of most media from the planets they conquered. Especially the programs he listed as favorites of yours- you'd never heard of. There was Jackets-Yellow or Interrupted, Girl. The titles sounded so stupid and you felt so bad you shot them down immediately.

Eventually, it was over. You were empty and tired and dry mouthed. Mohawk left the room, pressing a button beside the bed and pulling out a bottle of water imported from the medicinal springs of planet Zigguart of the southern sector. Viltrum developed most of its own medicines but sometimes other races just did it better, it was why they still conquered after millennia; there was always something to gain, to learn from other races. The people of Zigguart made a damn good cure for post-vomit, pre-hangover party girl sickness. He often had to make you drink it back when you were alive. You had been right- the old you was something of an alcoholic, because watching you drunkenly vomiting over the toilet bowl was deeply nostalgic for him.

He held your neck while you drank. Praising quietly when you didn't think you could take anymore, "You're doing so good, just keep going, it's going to help. I've got you, babe."

He pulled you gently off of the floor, put a mouthwash tablet in your mouth, and told you to chew. Pepperminty suds washed over your mouth and dissolved any taste of puke and of course all of the plaque. You spit out the remains according to his instructions and felt somehow the cleanest you had in months.

Then he took you to the closet and set you on the bench, handing you a white set of pajamas. A loose white button-down with Viltrum's logo on the breast pocket, paired with white pants.

"It's Martian silk." He said. "Super comfortable."

You'd stopped puking, were still lightheaded, but your stubbornness was steadfast. "I told you I'm not wearing her clothes."

He set the pajamas next to you on the bench. "I don't gotta lotta rules but it's no outside clothes in the bed or none at all."

You watched him as he pulled out his own pajama set, matching yours exactly.

"I'd rather sleep naked." You said.

"Oh would you?" Mohawk turned to you, looking hopeful.

"I'm not fucking you, I'm sick."

"Don't gotta kiss your pukey mouth to fuck you." He leaned forward, fingers pushing between the magnetic fastening of your bodysuit, "Gonna get naked or what?"

You grabbed the heap of pajamas next to you. "I'll wear these, actually."

He patted your head, "Good girl." You were a lot easier to corral into doing what he wanted than he expected. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard.

"Don't call me that, I'm not your dog." You say as you watch him start to peel off his emperor's clothes. Revealing his clean body beneath.

"But you're my bitch." He said not unkindly, like it was some new form of endearment, personal to you. You watched as he pulled the suit down his torso, over his recently trimmed pubes (a landing strip), stopping right before revealing himself. Meeting your eyes with a smirk, "What? You changing your mind, pukey mouth?"

You turned around immediately, hot in the face. "No." You opened the front of the suit and started to wriggle out of it when Mohawk hovered slowly into your periphery. Already changed into those stupid pajamas, wearing a stupider expression on his face at the chance to see you naked. You held the open portions shut, "Turn around, freak."

"Aww, come on, nothing I haven't seen before."

"And nothing you'll see again if you don't turn around!"

His brows waggled, "That a promise?"

"Turn! Around!"

Mohawk sighed dramatically, "You're no funnn." But he turned, listening to the shuffle of clothes as you changed. He tried peaking but was whacked in the face by his bodysuit, blinding him. He pulled the clothes off his face to see you, alive, in those same pajamas, swaying slightly from drinking. You looked so similar in this closet, it scared him. He wanted you, a copy, a re-do, but not the same person who betrayed him.

Quietly, he led you to the bed, dimming the lights. You didn't have the energy to argue for your own place to sleep, you just slid into her old spot and flipped into her usual sleeping position like a glove. Just like she had a million times, normally in bed before him. He watched you, not feeling himself in his own body but knowing he was again lying in bed with you. He was too scared to reach out, to touch you in this room.

You were asleep within minutes. He tried to sleep but couldn't. He stayed up through your twitching nightmares, rubbing your back and telling you it was okay, you were safe, until you calmed. He was utterly still for the first five hours you slept, the first natural sleep you'd had since arriving and it was in his bed, in your bed. At some point you rolled, shifted your leg over his then flopped your arm over his chest. She used to do the same thing. He shifted his arm under you, his shoulder now your pillow. You grunted something in your sleep, nuzzled into him, and went still again. Finally, Mohawk fell asleep.

***

Southeastern space wasn't known for much. Most of it was empty due to a supermassive black hole slowly eating away at it. It was speckled through with minimal stars, a handful of debris fields, and fewer planets. None of which housing societies the empire deemed advanced enough to meddle with.

For the most part, the empire was correct in their assessment. In the hundreds of millions of miles, there was nothing worth anything. That's why when Mohawk learned of Thragg's plans for him, he gutted the motherfucker and dumped him into southeastern space to die. Thragg's heart, the most integral part of a Viltrumite biology, had been pierced. He was to die in the black cold of space alone, without an empire.

His survival came down to luck. The Thraxans saw him, a floating ball of blood and gore, when out on a routine clearing of a nearby asteroid field. They took him in, healed his wounds, and for the last few years and generations of the Thraxan people, he'd been there. Using the Thraxans as he saw fit, siring children, catching the mantis-people up to almost Viltrumite levels of sophistication.

He was nearly ready to make his move on account of one thing. These last ten months, the empire he'd loved so much had been quiet. What transmissions he did intercept about the empire from the Coalition were bad. The empire had lost its grip, taken losses it never would've taken had he been in charge. Rumors floated that the boy-king finally died but nobody had seen a body and Thragg was too disillusioned to hope.

Scanners that the Thraxan scientists had made showed little movement from the Empire. The only thing he knew for certain was that they hadn't taken that lazy idiot's favorite shortcut to western space in all that time. It had been routine for millennia to take the long way, checking and rechecking on seemingly conquered planets just to ensure they were still under Viltrum hold. Pathetic. He was unfit to rule, just like his father.

Imagine Thragg's surprise when a scientist came stumbling into his throne room, right when he was about to get started with one of his hundreds of concubines. "Sir! You're gonna wanna see this!"

Thragg considered killing the insect for the interruption. But he went along, deciding if this was nothing, the useless bug would die. It wasn't nothing. Far from it.

Lo and behold, the emperor's personal ship was flying through his favorite space passage. He was alive and back at the helm for whatever reason. Thragg was as ready as he'd ever be to get his plans rolling despite the danger it could mean for him and the Thraxan people.

"Prepare me a ship."

***

Mohawk woke up long before you. In his sleep, he'd tangled his legs between yours. Had pulled you into his chest so your ear rested on his heart. He was never a prude but the sight of your face, so relaxed and contented, made him flush. He hoped, wished you would be like this more. But he knew you wouldn't. He was still afraid you'd be just like her and betray him the same. Of course you'd try, he'd be suspicious if you didn't try at least once- but it was the secrets he was scared of, if you could keep them from his prying eyes and cameras like she had.

But it'd be a welcome surprise if you didn't. If you just stayed sweet and compliant and a little bitchy for the fun of it.

You woke up and thrashed until he let you go, which wasn't very long because he was scared he'd accidentally crush you play-fighting in bed. Again you refuse to wear her clothes, taking another one of his suits for your own use. He wore his same uniform, power washed during the night by the closet itself. Sensors built into the walls detected dirt or skin cells, pulled them into a cleaning chamber where they were cleansed down to the molecular level. This time, when he tried peaking you used your powers and made him face the wall. Last night was one thing, he didn't mind you using your powers to entertain. But using them on him, the literal emperor? Was another.

"Maybe you shouldn't do that." He said as you both stepped out of the closet, headed for the door because he had said he wanted to show you something before his work began for the day.

"Maybe you should listen the first time I ask you to do something." You snipped back.

"Who has the power here?" He said half-testing, half-joking. He hoped you'd back down, take the joking route.

He isn't surprised when you say, "You're the Emperor of Viltrum, not Earth."

"Uh, actually." He said, stepping through the bedroom door and into the hall, "Earth has been part of the Empire for almost six years, so I'm the emperor of Earth and two-thousand-seven-hundred-forty-two other planets which, by the way, was the number when I first started. No clue what it's at now, probably over three thousand. So yeah, I am your Emperor." He didn't tell you now that the Empire had conquered over ten thousand planets, but most of them hadn't survived the initial culling of dissidents or had been stripped of all useful resources. You would learn about the Empire's history at some point.

You made a face he laughed at. "Don't be so sour, babe. Play your cards right and you could be my Empress. Still not as powerful or important as me but, it'd have a lotta perks." You recalled the ring he threw down, one of the first nights stuck in the desert. The weird look he'd given you. He'd been planning on proposing before he killed her. He wanted you not just to take her current place, but the future he had planned with her as well.

"If you're proposing, you're doing a shitty job." You followed him as he turned into another hall and floated up a flight of stairs. "Answer's no by the way."

"Answer'll be yes eventually." He landed at the top of the stairs and turned, waiting for you the climb the last few steps. "Plus, my proposal's gonna be big. Not some lame ass chicken shit like that. What am I? That asshole, pussy bitch you dated?"

"You literally are." You ignored the hand he held out for you to take.

Fine. That was fine. You'd come around. He could deal with a few disobediences here and there. He'd correct them all in time.

"Yeah, but I'm not an asshole, pussy bitch." He floated backward, you followed.

"You're so good with your words." You paused to take it in. The stairs gave way to a long room, half an oval. The walls were mostly glass, smoothly curved and reaching the ceiling. What little stars you saw bent around the glass in yellow, white blurs.

"I am when I need to be. That's why I'm the Emperor, duh." Mohawk moved further into the room, stopping a few feet in front of the glass where the room came to a head. He watched you through the crystal clear reflection. "This is the observation deck."

"Seems kinda shitty, the only thing you can do is look at stars? Needs a telescope or something." No way he could tell the stripes of stars apart.

He gave you a look, walked to the wall, and pressed a single finger to it. Suddenly, a blue screen was projected over the glass, highlighting stars and planets as they passed, giving at a glance scans of their surfaces, expected resources, gravity force, and compounds of the atmosphere.

You approached and tapped one of the popups. The small data sheet enlarged, tells you the planet is called T-47. Showed you a distant photo of a purple-blue ball. Inhabited by a suspected insectoid race. Status: Not ready for colonization. Potentially suitable in 398 years.

"This is just the simple shit, but we're not here for that." Mohawk tapped a button and all the data was gone. "Come on." He walked away from the screen and headed toward the back of the room where the glass ended, and returned to the regular Viltrumite wall paneling. He pressed a finger to a button set into the wall and a door slid open. You followed him inside to find what looked like a Viltrum version of an office kitchenette.

You squinted, "This is where you make all your food for like? How many people?"

He laughed, "Nah. The main kitchen is six levels down and takes up the whole floor. I had this put in just for you cuz you spent a lotta time up here. You hated when the servants did their job and served you food or drinks. God, this place was such a pain in the ass to get built. You wanted the contractors to be paid with money instead of letting their family live. Ugh." He opened a cabinet, stocked full of snacks, some you recognized, some you didn't. "Still got everything stocked." He checked the mini fridge embedded into the wall, which was stocked so full that canned drinks nearly fell out when he opened it. He shut the door, turned to you hopefully. "Like it?"

You shrugged, unable to ignore the love put into it, how she was immortalized into parts of the ship, how she would always haunt you here. "Nicer than my apartment, so sure."

That wasn't as impressed as he'd like you to be but he wasn't done yet. "How about a drink?"

He remembered how you took your (coffee/tea), made it just right, like he had a hundred times. Sure, the servants could've done it but the old you had always appreciated the gesture. He waited, more anxious than he was willing to admit for your approval. Nearly exploded with relief when you had to hide your surprise, looking away as you said, "It's... good." He can hear the lie in the rhythm of your heart.

Satisfied, he led you back into the main room. Near the glass again, he pressed the toe of his boot into the floor. Paneling you hadn't seen before split apart as a chair rose up. A single white thing comprised entirely of hard edges. Mohawk flopped down into it, making the cushions that looked nothing like cushions, sigh.

He patted his knee. "Come'ere."

You stayed standing, sipping your drink from a pale mug. "There's seriously not another chair?"

"There's a bunch, but I'm not tellin' you where." You opened your mouth, he raised a finger, "Use your powers on me an' I won't take you down to torture that pussy bitch later."

"I could use my powers now and later."

His smirk doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We both know you can't keep that shit up forever. Either you sit down willingly, or I gag you, tie you up, and then put you on my lap- which you'd love by the way- your choice. Oh and-" From the side of the chair came a study table. He took the mug and set it down.

Your cringe was like a reward, but not nearly as rewarding as you shuffling forward and leaning on the arm of the chair. "You're fucking ridiculous."

"I didn't say to sit there," He put a hand to your back and pulled you down. Ass falling over his thighs. "I said here." His hand stayed in place, ready to pull you back onto his lap if you moved. "Good. I can finally show you this." From the arm of the chair, he plucked a narrow thing that was flush with the fabric. Translucent at first but after a moment it lit up, glowing blue. At your confused face, he said, "It's a data pad, dummy."

"Like an iPad?"

"Yeah, but a billion times better." He tapped a circular icon and brought up the landing page for the archive. "Check it, we've got every book in the galaxy." Technically, every book, news article, research paper, and leaked nude uploaded and categorized from all of the thousands of planets the Viltrum empire had conquered. With Viltrum-powered artificial intelligence, any confusing alien text was immediately translated and not in the chunky Google Translate way, it was actually understandable.

He pressed a few more buttons and brought up your personal favorited list. The Southern Book Club's Guide to Vampire Slaying. My Heart Is a Sawchain. The Games of Hunger and all its sequels. You both paused, looking at the last book she was reading. The progress bar said she was a little over halfway through- Jaymocking. Mohawk's fingers went still, but you pulled up the summary. It was some dystopian fantasy, the third in a series about a corrupt, murderous government and its evil figurehead. Ouch.

"I still don't get it," Mohawk said. "I gave her everything she ever could've wanted and more, and she fuckin' betrayed me." He's quiet like you'd have an answer. "You won't do that to me, right?"

You're suddenly very aware of everywhere he was touching you. Every place he could pierce through your soft, human flesh. "I don't even know what she did and uh... What could I do against any of this?"

"You askin' cuz you wanna know?"

Kinda. "I just don't even- I? I just fucking got here? This is like, the first time I've been in a spaceship. I hace no idea what's going on and even if I did try to leave, I'd be sucked into the vaccume of space. Also, I almost starved to death multiple times. I don't know what the fuck you think I'm gonna do if I can't find the other chairs."

His face relaxed. "Right.. Right." He was tempted to tell you what she did but then what if you snuck a data pad and got into contact with the Coalition too? The best thing he could do was make sure you were happy, never starved or wanted for anything ever again. "So... you like reading?"

"Hate it." You lied.

"In that case-" He moved to put the data pad away. You snatched it, you couldn't remember the last time you'd gotten to read. Gotten to snack and relax and be calm. You scowled at him, "Knew it."

You scrolled though the catalogue, looking for something to catch your eye. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Not for an hour." He said.

"Are you gonna show me the other chairs or have me on your lap the entire time?"

He pretended to consider. "I'll think about letting you up if you read to me."

You laughed, "No fucking way."

He hummed, "Guess you gotta stay here then."

You did. Finally finding something good to read. Titled Spill Your Guts. You didn't read aloud, knowing he was full of it. The writing was terrible but you couldn't stop reading it. Mohawk asked if you wanted to read something better, something cool from an alien planet. To spite him, you said no and kept reading the worst published text you'd ever laid eyes on.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd relaxed like this- aside from the sitting in the lap of an evil Emperor part, but still. You ended up so engrossed in doing something as trivial as reading and drinking (tea/coffee), you didn't notice the creep of his hand until it was set between your thighs. Gently gripping and ungripping to try and get your attention.

You lowered the datapad to its indented bed in the arm. "Move your hand."

He didn't. "Do you reaaally want me to?" He said into your ear, "Don't you remember yesterday?"

You'd focused on the good part, Mark's suffering. Forgetting after the party and getting drunk about the cute little detail of almost letting Mohawk fuck you in that prison cell. "I don't."

"You're such a shitty liar." Mohawk's fingers moved side to side, ghosting over the inner thigh of the suit. "But fine, I'll play along, you want a reminder?"

You snapped your legs shut as you started to feel a pooling heat, inadvertently trapping his fingers. He could've moved them but he didn't. "I'm still mad at you."

"Oh, I can fix that." His other hand moved to the front of your body, aiming for your chest. You should have gotten up, used your powers, but you didn't. Part of you wanted to feel him again, left unsatisfied from the way things ended yesterday. Maybe if you fucked him again, it'd get the need out of your system and the next time he tried something you wouldn't be so defenseless, so easy under his hands.

Still, you put up a mild fight. Trying to tighten your thighs to give him more resistance- give yourself more time to come to your senses. But he was stronger than your thighs, sliding his fingers between them easily until he was rubbing the side of his hand against your apex. Other hand, kneading your chest.

You held in a sigh. Stiffen your muscles so you wouldn't grind against him. Through clenched teeth, you tell him to, "Stop messing around."

"Man, you're really determined to act like you don't want this." He laughed against your neck. He pushed your legs apart, just enough to flatten his hand against you and rub you entirely through the fabric. He felt you twitch, heard the sound at the back of your throat you swallowed. "Just give in."

Open-mouthed kisses were laid to the side of your neck. He listened hard for the start of your words and bit down when you spoke- forcing you to trip over the phrase, "N-no."

But you didn't stop him as he unlatched the magnetically attached front of the uniform, letting his hand slip in under the fabric and toy with your nipple. Fingers pressed harder to fabric, finding the shape of your clit. He knew just where to put pressure and it was terrifying. You held in the urge to gasp but you were starting to lose your head. Hips twitching, unknowingly grinding your ass against his hardening cock, getting him off.

"I'm serious." You spit out. Face hot, pussy throbbing, but still, your mind was intact enough to know this was a very bad idea. Your body didn't agree.

"You know I love it when you play hard to get." That was one difference he really admired. His version of you was perfectly trained, submissive. He wanted that, of course he did, but he liked a little push and pull. Liked to prove to himself over and over you couldn't resist him, and didn't actually want to. It was like a game he just kept winning.

"You know I love it when you fucking listen to me." You hissed.

"Use your powers then, stop me." He said with a particularly harsh twist of your nipple that made you throw your head back against his shoulder and groan. He went on, watching your face flash between pissed and utterly desperate. "Thaaaat's right, good girl. You know you want it." He knew you could be good, deep down, he just had to dig for it. But at the same time- he wanted to antagonize you. Wanted to bring out your mean side because you were so predictable when you were angry. If you stayed predictable, he'd know what to expect.

"Stop calling me that." You snarled weakly.

"Don't like it? Hm. Let's see about that." Fingers left your clothed cunt, traveled up and under the open flap of the bodysuit. They ghosted over the flesh of your belly, slowly getting lower and lower. Your legs were spread but enough enough to be easily fuckable as he'd like so he said, "Open your legs."

You didn't. Still contemplating getting up, leaving him with blue balls. You excuse yourself saying, "What if someone walks in?" Wasn't like there was a door, just a staircase leading to the open room.

"They got jerkoff material for life," Mohawk replied. "What're they gonna do, huh? I'm the emperor, and I can do whatever I want and everyone has to listen to me, even you. Open up." You consider this so long he takes it as an answer. "Oh, I get it, you wanna get manhandled." Faster than you could protest, both your legs were hooked over the arms of the chair, spreading yourself wide and easy. His finger moved viper fast before your brain even process shutting your legs.

"No, I do-haaaahhh." His middle finger slid inside of you to the knuckle. Glided in smooth as silk. His palm was already pumping, finger curling. Shutting your protests down.

"Again, terrible liar." Mohawk hooked his chin over your neck, watching you half-exposed body jerk and twitch. Your eyes were watching the outline of his hand pumping your cunt through the tight suit. "Are you always this wet or is it just for me?"

You opened your mouth to argue but he pressed hard against your g-spot, thumb savagely rubbing your clit. Your eyes screwed shut and your reply was an incoherent moan.

"Good girl." He goaded, feeling your cunt happily squeeze around his finger, trying to suck him further in. "You do like that."

"I'll-" Gasp, "I'll kill you."

"Will you?" His pumping slowed, finger nearly pulled out as he added another. Sliding in easy to your slick, needy cunt. "Cuz if this is you trying to kill me, I think I'm winning."

You jerked and nearly squealed as he filled you further, "Fuck you-"

He grounded his hard cock against your ass, "You are."

"Shut up." You writhed against him. Grinding into his fingers, against his cock.

He took a sharp breath. "Keep that up and I'm not gonna get the chance to cum in you." Mohawk always had to wear a condom with her. She'd get mad if he didn't. He'd offered better birth control but you'd been adamant. Never wanting the possibility of children.

And yet.

"You should stop... They aren't fighting back anymore." You said in this very room, overlooking the orange planet below where Kregg was ripping it to shreds. Taking the resources since they wouldn't offer them up.

You'd been such a bleeding heart, it was a boner killer. He tried working with you around it. "Aww babe, do you want me to keep one alive so you can have a pet?" He put his fingers to his earpiece to contact Kregg.

"No but-"

"Ah, okay, so they all can die, got it."

"No!" He gave her a look. She shut her mouth, backed down.

"If you want a lil thing runnin' around the ship so bad, just let me cum in you already."

"I don't think..." At the time, he thought she wasn't ready. Now he knew, she didn't want to have his child because she saw him as a tyrant. Fine. Fine! It's fine because he saw her as a pathetic revolutionary fighting against an ultimately better future. Not like he wanted kids anyway, the empire wanted him to have an heir, yeah, but it seemed like such a pain. Plus, he didn't want to become a weak fool like his dad had.

Your gasps bring him back to moment. Bucking your hips, desperately riding his fingers while accusing him of being disgusting.

"You're the one taking two..." He slipped out of you a moment to add another digit to the fold, filling you so sweetly, "Three fingers, I think you're a little nastier than me right now." He had to prep the other you for something like this. You just took and took. Whimpering pathetically and never whining about pain- if there was any- hell, maybe you liked that he was moving so fast.

"I-I'll-haaahh- I'll k-kill you."

"Death threats again, babe? You gotta get some new material." You could only gasp and shudder in reply, grinding your ass harder against him. "Or can you just not think of anything else?" Teasingly, he curled his fingers into your g-spot, kept them there, pulsing into you.

Your back arched, eyes fluttered back, "Shut up!"

"You've said that one too. You really going stupid this quick?"

"No, I'm just close, you shith-aaaah-head." He could feel it, the way you clenched around him. The way your whole body was tensing up.

He mumbled into your neck between hickeys, "Just let it happen." The pre-wave of orgasm cinched tight around his fingers. He went in for the kill, "Good girl, just-" He didn't get to finish because you were wailing, cumming around his fingers hard. You really did like that.

Mohawk worked you through the orgasm. Never slowing or stopping his abuse of your weeping cunt. You started to go limp on him but he kept going, growling into your neck, "You're done when the emperor says you're done. I haven't even fucked you yet. Come on, babe, don't wimp out on me."

You're stuck by a moment of clarity, "Don't fucking talk in third person while you're fingering me."

Mohawk clicked his tongue, "You just gotta be a bitch when I'm-" Did you just moan? Just throb around him? "Do you fuckin' like that too? Holy shit?"

"No I-"

"What else you like bein' called, hm?" His words came with a pinch to your breast, "You gonna fuckin' cum if I call you a slut or something?"

You did, in fact, cum. So hard and fast you lost yourself, sounding horrifically embarrassing when you arched your back and gasped out a pathetic, "Y-yesss."

Mohawk muttered, "This is so awesome, holy fuck." She had been fine with some meanness from his end but this much? God, he couldn't wait to find out just how much of a slut you were. How many loads you could-

"...Sir?"

You went stiff. Mohawk didn't, still pumping away. "Shit." He hissed. "The meeting."

Kregg hovered at the top of the stairs. Arms folded behind his back, expression expertly poised. He'd been through this sort of messing about with the Emperor before. With you, he was often distracted, late, off task- but if it meant the empire would have an heir and the emperor had something to fight for (because apparently ruling the greatest empire in the galaxy wasn't enough for the spoiled brat) then so be it. Still, Kregg's fellow Viltrumites were deeply uncomfortable with your... messy lovemaking. Nobody ever told him as such but the others seemed to make themselves scarce when you and the Emperor were at it. Leaving Kregg, experienced with the pleasures earthly women could bring, to deal with whatever fallout came from these dalliances.

"Did you not get my message?" Kregg asked.

Mohawk thought he'd heard some bug buzzing in his earpiece a few minutes ago. He'd been so engrossed in unraveling you, he forgot to respond.

"I did." He said, thumb idly tracing circles on your clit, "Am I late?"

You folded up your legs, tried to get up or snap your suit shut but Mohawk wouldn't let you go. Didn't stop moving his fingers despite the fact that you were mortified. Fucking in front of people to hurt their feelings was a little far, but it'd happened, whatever. In front of Mohawk's political right hand who had nothing to do with this? God, you wanted to jump through the observation deck glass and float into space.

"We waited five minutes, sir." How long had he been at it?

Mohawk hummed, ignoring your thrashing. "Ten more minutes?" It wasn't nearly enough but Mohawk could finish fast, get the rest of his fix later.

"Are you crazy?" You hissed.

Kregg didn't often find himself in agreement with a human. Especially you, back before you were dead. It was an annoyance you were back, and a danger as the council privately advised, but the Emperor didn't care. As long as he had you and Angstrom Levy to bring him more dimensions, he was perfectly content. Still. "This meeting's important, sir. We require your presence."

Mohawk hummed, thinking a moment, fingers slowing. "How important is it really?"

"Incredibly."

"Fine." All at once, he exited you with a loud, wet sound that Kregg definitely heard. You scrambled upright, snapping your suit shut while Mohawk lingered in his seat. "But if this is going over those boring ass charts again, I'll take your other eye." He took the moment you spun to look at him, suit fixed, to suck on his fingers. Obnoxiously rolling his eyes back at the taste of you. Much cleaner than you'd been in the desert.

Kregg shouldn't be afraid of him, but he was. He killed Emperor Nolan, the strongest of them all. Despite his attitude he wasn't that bad of an emperor, just rather nontraditional so he held his tongue, "It's not, sir."

"Good." He stood, boner obvious in the outline of his suit. He turned to Kregg, still hard, uncaring. He waved for you to follow like some well-trained pet. "Let's go." This really had been a mistake.

The war room was large. Table stark white against the gray floor. Viltrumites filled the seats lining its side, the Marks save for Phantom were counted among them. All of them looked at personal data pads while a large 3D map of space projected blue from the table's center. More complicated machinery blipped on the walls, displaying ever changing coordinates and other space travel bullshit. At the table head was a large seat, back nearly reaching to the paneled ceiling.

Mohawk sat himself there and splayed his thighs, patted them for you to sit. Again, there were no more seats. When you hesitated, you were met with an icy glare from the woman whose name you thought was Thula. You shuffled to Mohawk's side, but again he pulled you to his lap. You glared at him, but were hesitant to fight in a room full of murderous aliens.

In the dim of the room that allowed the projections to shine, you couldn't quite tell them apart. They'd gotten so cleaned up since the desert and wore such similar outfits of gray and white, it was a little hard. Most of them cut their hair back to what you knew as the typical Mark cut. Some went back to how they were before. Scars was the only shape you could identify with his longer hair he hadn't touched.

Kregg got down to business. Instead of sitting, he was standing at the other end of the table, in front of a screen that he gestured to along with the 3D map. Battle plans, strategy, shit you didn't understand in the slightest.

Gray understood plenty, chimed in to Kregg's annoyance at first but quickly morphed into relief. Gray had conquered some of the planets that had rebelled and looked to be an issue- solo. His input was valuable, whereas Mohawk had nothing to add. Kregg wouldn't say it, but at first he'd been hesitant about there being more versions of Emperor Mark, but if the others were like Gray? Fuck, let them stay.

Markus was a little too focused on you and how stiff you were to really give much valuable insight. He'd worked for the empire, but not long or deeply enough to be of much value besides in battle. Still, Kregg appreciated that someone was paying attention, nodding along and scrolling on his data pad to follow along. The longer the meeting went on the more he noticed his Emperor's hands starting to roam. Nowhere devious or obvious, but he'd slept with you before, he knew the moves to pull. A hand on your hip went a long way.

Seb gave absolutely nothing. He had no idea why he was even here. He'd be a solider, whatever, but it wasn't like he had to care about the wider plan or planetary shit affecting landing physics bullshit. He worked with Dad, got the job done enough to go home without any of this fuckery. He spun a stylus between his fingers and ignored his datapad, much to Kregg's annoyance. Sometimes he glanced at you, wondering the next time you could hang out so he could talk to someone kind of normal. He never looked long, Mohawk was getting too heavy-handed, too alpha male 'she's mine' about the way he was touching you. Seb wouldn't say no to fucking you again but he seriously didn't want to die.

Scars watched in mostly silence. If he was going to sell subjugation, he needed to shut his mouth a little more. Needed Thula to believe he wasn't as much of a threat as he was before he found a way to kill the old bitch. Then kill that bastard sitting smug in his tall chair. He didn't deserve The Empire, or the fine, fearful thing sitting stiffly in his lap. Scars did.

Lensless wouldn't shut the fuck up, giving terrible ideas that'd get his fellow soldiers killed or injured. He'd been with the empire some years, he knew how these things worked, but always ended up disregarding safety procedures just to get to the carnage faster. Kregg made a note to not put him on the front lines.

Lucan tried reeling him in. He'd done a decent enough job following the boy around, but it was concerning how easily he could be lost. He had a feeling Lensless was letting him follow most of the time. Trying to make him think he wasn't as fast or clever as he really was. The thing was, Lensless was twenty-two, a child to Lucan, well over three-thousand years old. Those tactics wouldn't work.

And yet he couldn't get the twit to shut his mouth.

To your absolute horror, he pointed out Mohawk's hand, resting casually over your thigh, inching to settle between them. "Is he allowed to do that? Can I do that? Cuz he's me, so I'm also technically the Emperor? Hey (Y/n), can you come over here, pleeaaassseee?"

"I can do what I want," Mohawk said, hand slipping further down. You tried not to flinch away, at least he wasn't rubbing your clit in front of ten people. "You can't, shut the fuck up." He pulled you backward, chest firm to your back.

Lensless didn't say, "Yes boss," for him, but for you, and your withering glare that made him shiver excitedly.

The meeting resumed, dragging on and on. You had no fucking clue why you had to be here. It wasn't like you were going to be on the front lines.

You didn't know that you were here because Mohawk had ears in the Coalition. If anything got out of this room, he'd question you first. This time he wouldn't gut you, just... imprison you awhile to teach you a lesson. It wasn't a fully sound plan, but he also liked the comfort of you on his lap. The entertainment of your legs twitching whenever he dragged his fingers down them. He knew you still wanted him. That your cunt was wet and waiting for him to take.

By the time you'd gotten to the meeting room, he'd gone soft enough to flash by the others without setting off alarms. Now, bored, with your ass pressed up against him- he was hard again. Straining against his suit, poking at your back for attention.

You gave no reaction. Unwilling to cause a scene, to give him what he wanted. You'd chew him out later, make him listen.

He ground against you ass. You twitched, catching Gray and Markus's eyes. You did your best not to meet them, to look at the meeting screen as Mohawk, slowly, as not to catch any more attention, ground his cock into you.

You shifted forward, trying to hover off his lap because this was so not happening. He couldn't be serious. He pulled you down, repositioning his dick under your legs, rubbing himself against your clothed pussy. Of course you were still horny but not insane. You shot a hand back, hitting him in the chest as a quiet 'stop it'.

Mohawk thought you were playing. Even if you weren't, he knew once he got his dick in you, you'd stop fighting. He wonders how quiet you could be, wonders how long he could warm his cock in the tight heat of you before one of you broke and started humping the other in front of the whole crowd.

The others did their best to act like they didn't notice. Markus and Gray stayed on task. Seb thought if he looked at all, Mohawk would have his head. Lensless watched, smiling dozily at your discomfort, wishing it was him. Scars counted on his fingers, hoping he could get you alone soon. You needed to be taught a lesson.

For a moment, your eyes lingered on Lucan's bald head. You wondered what Mark would think. He wouldn't even be here, actually. Wouldn't stand for any of this. Would've taken you back home or away from the empire that ruined him. Even if he stayed, he would've spoken up. Wouldn't have let this bullshit happen. But he was dead in another dimension. Mohawk ground on, breath hot on your back. His council let it happen. The Marks let it happen.

"Can you fucking stop?" You snapped over Kregg and Gray's conversational back n' forth. Heads turned, eyes stared into you but at least Mohawk stopped.

"(Y/n)." His voice was quiet, dangerously sharp. You turned, meeting his eyes that bore into you, trying to telepathically tell you to obey. To not make a scene in front of his council when he was the one who started it. "Do not interrupt my general when he is speaking."

"Are you fucking serious?" You went to stand up, but his hands on your sides tighten to keep you down. You do it without thinking, "Let go." He does. You stand up fast like you'd been burned. In a way, you had, with the lingering want, but you didn't want this, not in front of so many people. Not when he blatantly disregarded your feelings.

The council had been advised of your powers. It raised concerns, lots of them. You could be dangerous, a valuable asset to the Coalition. Mohawk had assured them you were weak, could barely control him at all. But that was in the desert when you were living off cave water and cannibalized rations, always with some wound or ailment.

The command was finished, Mohawk was free but still he sat. Angry, humiliated in front of the council that already doubted him despite how he'd won the empire- pried it from his father's soft hands. But he could almost hear their thoughts as you glared at him, Nolan had been a better Emperor, Nolan kept people in control. If Mohawk couldn't control a human- again- he'd lose more of the faith Argall's blood lent him.

He said with feigned calm, "I think you forget who you're talking to. Sit." His boner still ached in his suit. He was mad about your defiance, but he'd be more mad if you gave him blue balls.

"How could I forget when it's all you talk about? No." You backed up a few feet, keeping a distance from the table and chairs despite how fast they all were. You couldn't feel hands on you yet, only the crawling feeling of so many eyes and their judgments.

He turned to the others, "Stop fucking staring and keep talking." Kregg went back to presenting but all ears were strained toward you. Mohawk growled through barred teeth, "I'm not going back and forth with a human. Sit."

The air crackled between you two. He opened his mouth again, desperate now, but you stopped him in his tracks.

"Shut up." His mouth closed. You held onto his mind with an iron grasp, "Do that shit to me again and I'll kill fucking kill you." This time it wasn't weak sex talk, you meant it, he knew it, the whole council knew it. You turned your back on all of them and almost ran out of the room.

Gray was close to the door, he considered turning to you and saying something, but he couldn't look weak. So he just watched you go out the sliding door and listened as you stomped down the hall. Kregg knew to shut up, making any noise when the Emperor got red in the face like that and was certain doom.

"We should count her as a loss." Thula said as soon as the door slid shut. She did not fear death, for if she died, she deserved it. "This one doesn't even like you, and she's obviously a flight risk. Vidor, the pods are locked, yes?" The ginger nodded. "Good. I know you're... attached to the human, Emperor Mark, allow me to assist you in disposing of her."

Thula never liked you, not then, not now. Humans were a weakness, she saw how their affections weakened Emperor Nolan and Mark. Saw them ebb away at Kregg though he stayed strong and true to Viltrum's core values. You also had a habit of ruining things, the Emperor lost it after you died, then left for ten months to go get another you who was more likely to stab him in the back. Kregg had told her young humans could be awfully flippant, that this must be his humanity shining through. A couple thousand years of experience would squash that out- but not if you were alive during them if he ever reached his goal of keeping you by his side for eternity.

The Emperor's head rigidly turned on her. Hands now empty of something to squeeze so they curled into fists. "Nobody's killing her, she just needs to get broken in. Just get back to the battle plans." He wouldn't go after you, was afraid if he saw you right now, he'd grab you and gut you just like he had before. He needed to calm down.

Markus stood from his chair, "I'm going after her."

"Sit." The Emperor hissed.

"Apologies, sir." Markus said as he walked out the door.

He found you not too far away, headed nowhere in particular, he could tell you didn't know where to go. He landed from his float, trotting to your side. You didn't look at him, eyes set ahead on nothing as you said, "I'm not going back."

"I won't take you back." He said, because he hadn't even been planning to.

It was the first time he'd been alone with you since arriving in One's universe, he had so many things he wanted to say but he knew he only had a few minutes. He had expected you to like it here, to be grateful for food and shelter, but Emperor Mark had always been too overbearing, you couldn't recover from the trauma with him hovering. Markus's grief was the most recent of the living variants, he had heard plenty from the others, knew that the Emperor's version of you had been dead for years. He thought it was weak-willed of him, shortsighted and foolish to push you like this especially when you had just begun to tolerate him in the desert. Markus knew you more than tolerated him now, but he still expected venom. This version of you had always been defensive, moved between cages you had no chance of escaping.

"Then what do you want?" You knew it was Markus from his stupid quiff streaked with gray hair but you couldn't look at his face- Mark's face. It was always Mark's fucking face.

"To talk." He knows you won't start the conversation, you never had when you were mad at him. He began, "I'm sorry that happened. You have the right to be upset but you have to understand-"

"Why didn't you stop him?" His heart ached at the way your voice cracked, trying to cover the hurt with anger and failing.

"You have to understand you can't win by fighting back. None of us can fight back here. You have to play along." The Emperor wouldn't kill you, but he was so scared if another Viltrumite found you, an unwilling human against the empire, they'd make you suffer. The Empire had been ruthless in his universe and it was much the same here.

"Play along?" You stopped, turning to him with a scowl. "Are you serious? He was gonna fuck me in a room full of people! Nobody did anything! The fuck do you mean, play along?"

"Play along until I figure things out." He said. "I can't protect you if I don't have sway with the council. The more they trust me, the more clearance I'll have, I'll know when Angstrom can be used again. I can get us out, but you have to listen to me and play along so you don't get hurt until then." He was already taking a hit to his budding reputation as respectable and obedient unlike other Marks by being here with you.

Your gut reaction was that you didn't want to go with Markus, but it might be better than here. This fucking humiliating place where you were just a pet. You'd probably be the same thing with Markus but he at least wouldn't fuck you in front of bunch of multi-thousand year old aliens. All you wanted was to... You didn't know where you wanted to go, hadn't known what to expect since you stood on that roof and told Mohawk to stop. He was right, you didn't have shit, your life sucked even before he tore it to shreds, but you knew you couldn't stay here. Wanted to be anywhere else.

"Can't we just try running now?" You blinked, held back tears but he saw them shiny in your eyes.

Markus put his hands on your shoulders, resisting the urge to hold and placate you. He'd placated and lied to the other you too much, had built a tower of lies that led to your death, he needed to be honest with you.

"We can't." He said, "I know you're scared-"

"I'm not." You lied.

He lets you believe he believes. Bringing a hand to cradle your cheek, the most he would allow himself, even as you leaned into the touch, "-But you have to be strong, my love. I need you to promise me you'll listen to him."

Your lips wobbled. You'd been holding in how much the desert had affected you, how much the deaths, Mohawk treating you like a pet, had deeply burned you. You held it in because he was keeping you at arms length. Held onto it so hard the sorrow hardened to anger. "Fine."

He took you to Mohawk's room, a hand on your back that he hoped you interpreted as affectionate instead of controlling. He told you to stay and take whatever punishment Mohawk gave when he came back, to know that he was with you. Then he left. Went right back the meeting and murmured in Mohawk's ear that you were dealt with and where you'd be.

You stood at the shut door. Stood over where she died for having the daring to plan on leaving. Fists shaking, eyes burning. You should have stayed, listened, been a good bitch.

But you didn't.

***

You didn't know how long you'd been wandering the ship, looking for Mark in his guarded prison cell. You couldn't quite remember the way, all the halls looked the same and were so long they were disorienting. Had Mohawk taken you through this door or this other identical door? All you remembered was it was a long way down.

You were surprised by the fact that you never ran into anyone. Maybe the servants kept to particular passages or maybe they'd been ordered to avoid you. The thought made you feel strangely lonely. When you finally heard voices behind a door, you didn't think before feeling for a button to let yourself in.

The room was no larger than your studio apartment. Complicated equipment was set into every inch of the wall. Some of it hummed, some of it buzzed. Sat on a patient table in the middle was Phantom. Listening intently as the alien bio-engineers explained to him the state of his new limbs. The machinery that sprouted from his bicep and hip respectively, were attached to his body via strong magnetic implants sewn under the skin of his stumps, nerves connected to intrafascicular electrodes so he could control each analogous part of the limbs. It'd take time for the prosthetics to move exactly the way he wanted, there was no telling how long it'd take for him to be able to curl his fingers or kick his new leg.

The machinery was stark white, smooth, but nowhere near streamlined as everything else on the ship. Viltrumites weren't often amputees, it seemed. Phantom had been changed out of his torn costume like everyone else, into a sleeveless tight fighting tanktop that bore the empire's sigil. His pants only went down his flesh leg, his skirt was tucked back into the belt that held some sort of emergency battery pack or connector or something sciencey you didn't understand. Everything was tight and tucked out of the way of the delicate mechanics.

Blue eyes had already caught onto the shape of you. He didn't know if you were real, standing in the doorway unacknowledged by the scientists. He'd been out of the goo-chamber for only a few hours. They'd told him all of the relevant information, but he still felt the whiplash of everything. It was hard to believe this place was real, hell, that anything in the desert that happened... happened.

One of the Martians turned to grab something and finally noticed you, who he correctly assumed wasn't staff. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"Leave. Do something else. You didn't see me."

The Martians did, easily enough, filing out of the room as you stepped in. Their minds were weak and brittle compared to the Viltrumite ones you'd been training against. You and Phantom were alone as the door slid shut behind them. Room blipping and beeping with machinery.

His buzzcut had been evened out and beard shaved, clean of blood and free of bruises, looking at you with unabashed awe and surprise. You were also surprised to have found him of all people. Mark should've lived, not him. You feel a burning urge to settle the score, to get one more danger to your survival out of the way.

On Phantom's end, he had just realized you were real. You who he failed to covet and protect, whose name he heard in this very lab while the scientists worked over some sort of bendy cuff. Similar to the one he'd thrown on you in Sydney with all its micro-monitoring devices. He took the cuffs as they were from the GDA but the Emperor apparently kept sending them back, telling the workers to make it 'cuter'. He hoped it was some sort of mapping device, something to help you get around the ship, because clearly you were still alive. But he'd helped the GDA make containment units for difficult aliens or villains, he knew what electrical probes looked like. He hoped it was a nerve connector, similar to his own but you hadn't lost any limbs so what if-

"I can't believe they kept you alive, but they let those others shitheads live so why not?" You said, mulling over ways to make him die.

"You should know I-" He sounded much better than he had in the desert, though his voice still fizzled and cracked at the end of words. "I'm sorry."

Your lips twitched into a frown. "Don't lie to me."

Phantom's face went from crestfallen to flat as your powers took hold. "I was terrified for you there, now we're here, and I'm more scared for you than I've ever been. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I want to help you." He couldn't lie under your control. He meant every word.

Even under your control, you could see the fear in his eyes, the want to do better. You needed more lifelines to escape, because what if Markus failed? "How do I know you won't fuck me over again?"

"I'm too scared to lose you." His voice cracked and warbled but you understood well enough, he wanted to fix things between you.

It hurt. God, it hurt so bad. He ruined everything then wanted to get better. Mark couldn't change, couldn't recover because Mark was dead. Dead because of the man in front of you.

You let him out of your grip. Sick to your stomach by his devotion. "You barely know me."

"I want to know you." He was desperate for new happy memories with you. Not the fractured ones from the desert, "I- I don't know what parts from the desert are real. I'm not sure what I said to you there." He couldn't tell the difference between the narrative he told himself and what really happened. He slid off the table, tried to land on his feet but was met a with a jolt of pain in his hip where the prosthetic was attached. "But I want to know, want to remember the time we had together." He floated into the air as he said it, inched closer but stopped when you stepped back. He was being too intense again.

You could easily use your powers, check again if he was lying. You both knew it, that's why you believed him. You don't mean to say it but you do, "You're the only one who's apologized to me for any of this."

Phantom wasn't surprised but finds himself pleased, this would endear you to him. He had done you wrong but, he still had a chance because he was the most humane of them all, the most willing to admit he was wrong.

"I took no pleasure in finding out what Mohawk has planned. I won't submit to him." Keeping the others and him alive was too good to be true. There was no way they could be alive and happy with you and jealousy in the mix. Mohawk was going to use them until they were good for nothing, string them along with you as a prize and lead them to fall into their graves. He wouldn't fall for it, wouldn't help the empire that took his whole family from him.

You were quiet a moment, trying to formulate a plan. "You really want to help me?"

"Of course." It was almost instant, bubbling up from him like a well.

"Then help me find Angstrom Levy."

It was like two blind rats in a maze. Phantom had only been in the med wing, had barely known Angstrom Levy was on the ship. You'd only been to Angstrom the once.

He floated over the ground, twitching his digits to test the movement while your footsteps filled the halls. The quiet was heavy between you, there was so much you wanted to say to him, to ask. You didn't know how long you had together before Mohawk inevitably found you. Did whatever he was going to do.

"It's my fault he died." You found yourself saying like a deathbed confessional. Phantom turned to watch you. "I choose when I use my powers and I chose then to tell him to stop and he just... He told me for days it was your whole plan to let him die then you confirmed it and everything was easy because I could live as long as I had someone else to blame but... It was still my fault."

Phantom wanted to hold you. To tell you it was okay, that it was over. He had planned to kill the Viltrumite prisoner, but it shouldn't have been you to do it; it should have been a weight off your chest not a scar that would haunt you. But he knew you didn't want placation, you wanted the truth. "My plan failed and I hurt you. It's okay if you hate me." Though he didn't want you to. "But know I'm different now, I won't lie to you. You can trust me." Getting tortured and eaten alive for weeks really changes a guy.

"I think I'll have to." You said, and Phantom had to suppress his joy. "But if you get any ideas, I'll actually kill you."

He nodded, "I'll make sure you don't have to."

You gave him the greatest gift, a small, genuine smile. "Offering to kill yourself for me? What are you, one of my exes?"

He hadn't meant it like that, but he played along, "Well, technically."

You snorted and turned into another hallway expecting the same old smooth white walls. But you knew this hallway, a slightly darker gray than the rest, with big sliding double door in the center. You raced over to it.

Only when Phantom stood beside you did the door scanner register the Emperor's DNA. You both stepped inside and looked over the railing. You were hit with the same sight as yesterday, Angstrom strung up.

You didn't entirely know what you were doing. Didn't know if making Angstrom open a portal was safe, if he even could in his state. You didn't know where you'd go but this felt like the right place to be. Having a choice in front of you would make deciding simpler. You could just-

A Viltrumite rose up from the ground to float in front of the railing, looking down his narrow nose at you both. "You're not the Emperor. And you're not supposed to be in here without the Emperor."

"You think he's the Emperor."

The Viltrumite blinked then shook his head. "They told me you might do that." He sighed and floated over the railing, going to press a few buttons set into the wall. "I'll call the real one over to pick you up right away."

"Stop." Your powers bounced off him, a pure blooded Viltrum soldier, well over three-hundred years in age. You struggled to control Gray, no older than twenty-two. You didn't stand a chance.

He did. Fingers poised over the call button. "Mmm, you're right he's in a meeting, it'd be better if I brought you to him." He reached out for you, slow as not to startle a rabbit. You were still the Emperor's pet, he couldn't have you screaming and thrashing about.

Phantom's prosthetics made his muscles seize and jump, electric with pain but he still reached out to attempt to catch the man's arm with his new robotic hand. Before the white metal made contact, he went utterly still, the servos locking up, before a bolt of agony was shot right into his nervous system. Liquid lighting hot, electricity. He crumpled to the ground, letting out a torn scream.

"They didn't tell you?" The Viltrumite scientist said. "If you exceed three-hundred miles an hour and Viltrumite DNA other than your own is detected within a few feet, you get a controlled shock." Or in simple terms, he couldn't attack other Viltrumites. Mohawk had flagged him as a risk, had the Martians set him up on an older model of prosthetics that could be tampered with, hence its non-sleek design. "I still don't how that's going to apply to the Emperor, if you're stupid enough to try attacking him at all, but I'm sure those lab rats figured it out. As for you-" He reached out while you were stunned, staring at Phantom on the ground, still convulsing.

The door behind you slid open. "We can take care of them."

Gray and Markus stood in the doorway. Finally having found you minutes after the meeting ended- off track as it'd gotten after you left with most of the Marks trying to leave to follow. Lucan had to force Lensless to sit back down, shut up. It took threats from Mohawk to get the room in order.

Mohawk returned to his rooms, angry but a little contented in knowing you could be reasoned with, as proven by Markus. But you weren't there. He'd rushed to Markus's room thinking him a liar. Thinking he was trying to keep you to himself, but you weren't there either and Markus insisted you'd been in the Emperor's room. So began a quiet, panicked search for you where Gray and Seb were added to the party along the way. Scars and Lensless weren't a consideration, not with their tails or whatever ideas they'd get knowing you were alone.

It was Gray who thought to check the cameras. They all chose a level to search through while flipping through the camera feeds on data pad displays. Gray found you, Markus saw him on the way and followed. Now they were here, witnessing whatever this was.

The Viltrumite paused, "You sure?"

"I won't mention you in my report to the Emperor." Gray said flatly, you knew it was him because he had somehow found the same model uniform he wore in the desert. His voice became a little less rigid when he turned to you, "Come, he wishes to speak to you."

You stayed in place, bristling with the memory of the meeting. He too was complacent, pretended like he didn't see. "Fuck you both."

Markus wore disappointment on his hard-set face, but said nothing to you. He simply grabbed Phantom from the floor and said to Gray, "I'll return him to where he needs to be. I'll meet back up with you." He needed to cool off, to get ahold of his head so he didn't look a fool in front of another Viltrumite. He gave you one last stern look before he was out the door.

Gray waited for you to follow but you didn’t. "I'm not talking to that asshole."

It pained him to see you upset, it really did, but at the end of the day you were just a human who didn't know any better. A cornered animal who was lashing out, he found it endearing, but knew the others would not. His eyes flickered to the Viltrumite scientist who was watching the exchange closely, Gray had known this man vaguely in his world. He was high ranking and ruthless, the overseer of a large group of slaves. He would not be endeared to your nature, would see your resistance as a need to break your will. He kept his breathing level and looked back to you, willing you to cooperate, to know he had to play his role.

"How difficult do you want this to be?" He said flatly.

Your head jerked back like he had slapped you, surprise at his tone evident. He stayed level as you stared at him, remembering what he was. From his boots floating off the ground to the way his body was held taught under his Viltrum uniform, he was a soldier with an order from his Emperor. He could make you go. Make you shut up but he was giving you a choice.

"I thought we were friends." Or something more, mixing romance into this only made the sting worse.

"There are no such things as friends on Viltrum," Though inside, he was felt a rush of warmth at the declaration. He'd have to ask later but for now, he had to put on a cold front and you- you needed to be corrected, not coddled, despite the primal urge he felt to hold you. "Come." Gray inched back into the hallway, eyes hard set on you. You had seconds to follow or else.

Miserable, you followed him.

The walk back was shorter than you'd liked. Gray had been on the ship the same amount of time as you but he knew just what turns to take. You tried dragging your feet, making conversations to slow him down but he caught on every time. Chided you sternly that one more squeak of your heel and he'd be forced to carry you to the Emperor.

Mohawk was on the observation deck. Gray stopped a bit away from the bottom of the stairs, wanting to stop whatever was going to happen. Your behavior had been dangerous and foolish, but he knew you didn't know what the Empire was capable of. He had taught multiple races what Viltrumites were capable of, and he was worried Mohawk would do the same. You stopped beside him still scowling but he could see the fear in the set of your body, hear your heart pounding.

He was quiet, he didn't know what to say, he wanted to protect his mate, but like the version of you before, he couldn't defy the Empire, he had already made too many exceptions. You looked to the stairs while he considered, "Is he up there?"

Gray nodded solemnly, "Yes, he's quite upset."

You bristled, he had said the wrong thing again. "He's upset? Poor little Emperor. You're not upset about what he was doing? You kicked his ass just for touching me in the desert."

He had been upset, had been upset everytime you chose to be with one of the others, but he respected that your situation was unique. But you hadn't chosen this situation and his anger had been shoved down just like it always had to be. He wanted to tell you everything, had from the moment he came inside you, from the moment you became his in his mind. But he knew there were cameras, had been hyper aware of them as a new recruit with his father. They had been an unconventional family by Viltrumite standards, and he had learned quickly to hide that on battle ships. Had learned even earlier to hide it in front of other Viltrumites. He didn't want to hide anything from you. But now wasn't the time or place to share.

"I'm in no place here to be upset, I can only follow orders. Your safety here relies on your ability to do the same."

You scoffed, "Fuck you Gray, seriously. You guys keep acting like there's nothing you can do but there has to be something!"

He looked at you, trying to communicate with only his eyes that he was helpless, had always been despite his desires to protect you. He reached his hand out to yours, a gesture his mother had always done to show sincerity, to show love. You batted him away, so he spoke instead, "There are Viltrumites here older than your planet's recorded history, and they obey the Emperor. You shouldn't upset him."

You said nothing, only watched him with that same sour expression on your face. She had never looked at him so defiantly, only with fear, and he thought he would prefer that now. You were asking for punishment, for correction and it scared him.

"We shouldn't keep him waiting."

You turned to the stairs without him and began to climb silently. He followed behind.

The chair you had sat in before was tucked away under the floor, Mohawk's back to you both as he watched space bend around the ship's window. He had been standing there stiffly a long time, letting the dread brew in you. He didn't turn, instead listening to the quickening of your heartbeat when you saw him. Gray had sent him a ping when he found you so he came here to wait, watching your dower approach on a screen embedded into the wrist of his suit.

Gray lingered as you reached the deck. He should have left, he could feel Mohawk's murderous rage thick in the air. He spoke despite it, "Be patient with her, she is only human."

Patience for lesser species didn't exist in the empire, it barely existed for other Viltrumites. Mohawk could feel how terrified he was for you. How attached.

"Leave." Was all Mohawk said, voice rife with impatience. Gray gave you the best sympathetic look he could, which read more constipated than anything, and left, though not fully. He hovered quietly at the bottom of the stairs, close enough he would be able to hear, maybe step in. Despite what he had told you, he wouldn't be able to stand by if the Emperor hurt you. He wasn't sure what he would do if anything happened, but he couldn't leave you.

The stairs were unguarded but you knew if you tried running things would be worse. You were frozen in place, terrified, angry and deeply lonely because nobody had been a friend to you today. It was just like you were back with Machine Head all over again, just a cog.

"I care about you so much." Was not the opener Mohawk had planned but there it was, echoing off the walls. "I think about you all of the time. I wonder how I can make your life worth living. I knew her for years, I did it for her but not good enough. All I'm asking is you give me time to get to know you. I want to make you happy."

It was sweet, the most genuine thing he had said to you, but you couldn't forget why he was angry at you in the first place. All at once your anger overrides your fear and you snapped, "You dry humped me in front of your council."

He huffed a laugh, "And you directly disobeyed me. We're even now. I'll forgive you if you forgive me. I think we make a lot of sense. We're both angry people, we both care harder than we should about things we shouldn't. We can be good together, (Y/n)."

The more he talked like this, the angrier you were. "I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your Barbie doll. I'm not like you at all." That last part was a lie, you both knew it. "You love me so much? Then let me go cuz this?" He watched in the glass reflection as you pointed between you both, "Isn't fucking happening, you freak."

He sighed, turned on the heels of his boots and faced you, forcing his expression into indifference. Under his clothes, his muscles twitched and flexed with the urge to hit something.

"You know," his voice slipped into a menacing quiet as he took slow step after slow step towards you, "She never said rude shit like this to me and I still killed her. She listened better than you too. You should watch what you say to me." He hadn't wanted to steer the conversation this way. Really, he had wanted you to break down crying, to apologize for being so ungrateful. He'd have forgiven you, fucked you till you were numb and dumb. But he knew that probably wouldn't happen, that was why he came prepared.

You were scared. Mohawk could see it all over your face but still you pushed. "Kill me then. I bet it'll work out sooooo well for you." You both knew his plans for the empire would crumble without you to keep the other Marks satiated.

Mohawk's mask of indifference cracked down the center. "Would you stop complaining then?"

"Yeah, I'd be dead."

His brow twitched. "You really don't know when to stop."

"Neither do you." Words fall to the floor and there is silence. Neither of you move, it was a western standoff at not-quite high noon. You couldn't take it, his scrutiny. You just wanted this to be over. "Don't do that ever try and fuck me in f-"

Mohawk was all you could see, right in front of you, hand hard on your throat. Crushing the words before they could come out. "Don't tell me what to do." His eyes were dark, flashing feral, but all you could focus on was the pressure in your head. So fast and absolute you thought he was going to crush your windpipe right there. "I didn't want to do this but you just had to be a bitch." You actually were going to die and you couldn't even beg for your life.

Something cold was slapped around your throat. Encompassing it, replacing Mohawk's hand before it was shut tight. You gasped in air, gagging, pulling at the thing as Mohawk stepped back. Finished. The labs had a short turnaround with the design process but they'd made it work. Especially with the cute metal heart in the black center of the collar.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why he was just standing there watching. You wanted to run, but you knew you wouldn't make it. You settled for trying to tear the thing clasped around your neck off. It had some give, sides occasionally dotted with cool, rounded metal. You scrambled for a back clasp but there wasn't one. You felt around with shaking hands for anything to take it off but whatever you tried did nothing.

"What is this!?" You couldn't keep the panic out of your voice. You didn't know what it meant, but the cool metal touching your neck set off memories of prison, of being helpless and afraid.

"A collar," he said, smiling meanly, "because you act like such a bitch."

"Are you serious? Take this off m-" You couldn't scream because you couldn't breathe. The electricity that shot into your neck made all of your muscles seize at once, your nerves screaming at each other. It was worse than being shot, stabbed, gutted. It was fire all over, under the skin, in your bones. You didn't know you'd fallen to the floor until it stopped, the aftershocks rippling through your twitching muscles.

Your vision pulsed around your hands splayed on the floor, framing a pool of spit that still leaked out your lips. It took multiple attempts to make your neck work the way you want it to, to look up at Mohawk who looked deeply content. "I forgot to mention, it's a shock collar. From now on, anytime you use your powers at all, that'll happen."

You opened drool-slick lips to tell him to die but you couldn't talk, muscles jumping, heart pounding in your ears.

"Ah, shit, maybe I should turn it down a little." He tapped at a screen set on his wrist. "Okay, now try." You didn't, could barely process the command. "Fine, disobey me, I bet that'll go so well for you! Lemme just try the remote control." The pain was back again. It didn't matter that it was lessened when your body was already so abused. When you returned to yourself, you were laid twitching on your side, tears being forced out of your eyes. "How was that? Still feeling like an asshole?"

Through the erratic twist and pull of your muscles your hands shot up and tried to pull the collar off. He smiled, "Oh baby, no one can take that off but me. You're stuck with it until you learn how to behave."

You didn't stop pulling couldn't stop even as the panic ebbed away. You were trapped again, going to be worn down to an empty husk once again. The tears weren't forced anymore.

166 notes · View notes

bytemee · 4 months ago

Text

chapter eleven. | WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? — YU JIMIN.

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — y/n, a rising music producer, has built her dream career while keeping her personal life under wraps. karina, aespa’s leader, is preparing for a huge comeback with a mini album produced and written by the one and only y/n.

karina knows this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and she has to nail it. the only problem is, she may be a bit distracted by her producer.

something about their connection feels different—like maybe it's worth the risk of prying eyes. but how much will they give up to chase after what they want?

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — angst angst angst. y/n is still a meanie, but again she's tired. vv sad, lock in so its not cringey.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 — 3.7k

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲— gulps. also read all the extra content chaps..i worked hard on it haha...ha

taglist (open) — @sunshinez4 @gtfoiydlyj @yuyuy90 @liaponderstings @rinapomu @bimkayd @minaripenguu

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content (the album). extra content 2. extra content 3.

you storm into her room, the door clicking shut behind you with a force that makes karina flinch. she stands there, her eyes wide, already bracing for the storm you’re about to unleash.

"you can't keep doing this, karina," you say, your tone sharp. "you can't keep putting our relationship second."

karina frowns. "i'm not. i didn't mean to stand you up. i was exhausted after filming, and i fell asleep. i was going to text you, but—"

"it's always an excuse," you cut in. "and i'm sick of it."

“it’s not an excuse, y/n. it’s my job. you knew this from the start.”

"that's bullshit," you snap. "we both know i'm more than that. you've been saying it since day one. that we'd make it work no matter what. that nothing would get in the way of us." your voice breaks, but you don't care. you need to get this out. "but where are you now? not here."

"i'm trying my best," she says, her tone softening. "we're both trying our best."

you shake your head. "no, you're not. and you're never going to be if you keep making excuses like this."

karina looks away, biting her lip.

"you want me to stop?" she asks, turning back to you, her gaze hard. "then don't expect me to change. if you want me to put you first, then accept that i can't do that. not right now." her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "i'm sorry for standing you up, y/n. i am. but please don't act like this is some big revelation. we both knew what we were getting into when we started dating."

because she’s right. you did know. you knew that loving her meant loving a girl who belonged to the world before she ever belonged to you. you knew that there would always be moments like this, where she’d choose the stage, the cameras, and the career over late-night talks and weekend dates. over you.

it was one thing to acknowledge it in the abstract, to brush off the loneliness as something to be expected when your girlfriend was an idol. but it was another thing to live it. to actually feel the weight of her absence, time and time again. it hurt like hell, but you pushed through because you loved her. because she was worth it.

because you understood that her passion, her dedication, was part of what made her so special. so beautiful. so breathtakingly real. and if you had to deal with a little heartbreak along the way, so be it. it was a small price to pay for loving someone who could make the world fall in love with her, too.

but tonight? tonight, it feels too damn big to ignore. too damn big to swallow down, too pretentious to pretend it is okay.

so you don't.

you let out a hollow laugh, running a hand through your hair as frustration claws at your ribs. "right," you mutter. "because it's just that simple, huh?"

she exhales, "it’s not simple. but it is the truth."

you hate how calm she sounds. how reasonable. like she’s already decided that this is just the way things have to be. this isn’t karina. not the karina who swore up and down that you’d figure things out together. that you could weather any storm.

not the karina who used to steal moments between rehearsals just to send you voice notes, laughing about how the universe couldn’t keep you apart even if it tried. not the karina who always found the silver lining, who promised, over and over again, that you were worth the effort.

where did that girl go?

where did the karina who believed in you—who believed in this—go?

"you talk about the truth like i don’t already know it," you bite out. "like i haven’t spent months rearranging my schedule, turning down opportunities, flying across the world just to spend stolen moments with you between rehearsals and shoots. like i haven’t put in the effort."

karina flinches, but you can't bring yourself to care. you're tired of being the only one who gives a shit. tired of feeling like you're the only one fighting for this relationship. for her.

"you talk about the truth like you haven't missed my birthday," you say, your voice shaking. "like you haven't missed every single important day of my life. i’ve been patient. i’ve let you cancel, reschedule, and disappear on me over and over again because i fucking love you, jimin. but it’s never enough, is it?"

she takes a step towards you, reaching out, but you pull away. "don’t touch me," you spit out.

the hurt flashes across her face, but you can't bring yourself to feel sorry. she looks so small, so defeated. it makes your heart ache, but the anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface. "i work just as hard as you do, karina. i have a career too. i have a life that demands just as much from me as yours does from you. but i still show up. i still choose you, every time. so why the fuck does it feel like i'm the only one doing that?"

she takes a step back, her breath shuddering. "i never asked you to do that," she says quietly.

and that—those six little words—somehow hurt more than anything else.

your stomach twists, your throat tightening. "you never asked me to," you repeat, voice hollow. "so what? that means it doesn’t matter? that it doesn’t count?"

she shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself like she’s trying to keep herself together.

…

"i think we should break up."

the words hit you like a slap to the face. they ring in your ears, echoing over and over again, each time louder than the last. you can't believe she's saying them. can't believe she's giving up so easily. on you. on this. after everything you've been through, all the times you've fought to stay together, to make this work—this is how it ends?

you don't know how all the moments have led you here.

the late-night conversations, the quiet laughter shared over stolen meals, the lingering glances, the gentle touches. every kiss, every smile, every broken promise—it all piles up in the space between you now. moments that made you feel alive. moments that tore you apart. they live in your bones, and no matter how hard you try, you can't escape them.

karina stands in front of you. the girl who captured your heart in ways no one else ever could. she's beautiful, even now, with tears streaking her cheeks and her lip trembling. she looks at you like you're everything she's ever wanted, everything she's ever needed.

you don't feel like enough anymore, though.

you hate yourself for the way you spoke to her. you hate that you let your anger win. but more than anything, you hate that she's not fighting for you. that she's giving up so easily. that she can be so content without having you in her life.

even so, that small part in your heart wants to be torn apart over and over. because the truth is, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how badly she breaks you, it's still her. it's always been her.

standing face to face, hearts breaking, knowing that the circumstances won't change. knowing that the world won't actually hold its breath for you. that no matter how much you want it to, no matter how much you want the fairytale, there won't be a happy ending.

"y/n…" karina's voice cracks on your name. it's not the confident, composed tone she uses on stage or in interviews. this is the voice of jimin, the girl you fell for. the girl who gave you soft pieces of herself behind closed doors. the girl who trusted you with her vulnerability.

and just like that, the last piece of your heart shatters into dust.

"yeah," you say, voice hollow. "me too."

karina's mind races through the past few months. all the promises she made—promises that were broken by schedules, missed calls, and the suffocating pressure of her career. she thought she could balance it all. she thought loving you was enough. because she loves you. she loves you so much it hurts. and she can see it in your eyes, in the way you look at her—that you love her too, but it's clouded by exhaustion. by resentment. by the pain that neither of you could fix.

it was never going to work. she thinks.

karina's chest feels like it's caving in. every beat of her heart feels heavier for thinking such a thing. she clenches her fists by her sides, nails biting into her palms. she closes her eyes, willing herself to breathe. to stop the tears that are threatening to fall. to hold it together just a little longer. when she opens them again, you're still standing there. your expression is a mix of emotions, but there's one that stands out the most. regret. karina knows it well. she's seen it in the mirror countless times over the past few weeks.

the two of you stand there for what feels like an eternity. neither of you knows what to say. what to do. the moment stretches on until karina can't take it anymore. she moves closer, closing the distance between you. her arms wrap around you, pulling you into a hug. her body is warm against yours, her skin soft, and you let yourself sink into it. you wrap your arms around her waist, resting your head on her shoulder.

karina buries her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. your scent fills her senses, making her feel like she's drowning in you. you squeeze her tighter, and she can feel your pulse racing under her fingertips.

"i'm sorry," she whispers again. "i tried, y/n. i tried so hard to give you what you deserved, but i kept falling short. i kept hurting you."

her tears fall faster, leaving wet tracks down your neck. you don't say anything, just hold her tighter. you can't speak. you don't trust your voice not to betray you. so you keep quiet, letting her words wash over you. letting them seep into your skin and soak into your bones. "and every time i hurt you, i hated myself for it. you deserve someone who doesn't make you feel like you're not enough. someone who can give you more than i ever could."

you shake your head. "i didn't want more, jimin. i wanted you. i just wanted you."

she pulls back slightly, looking at you with watery eyes. "don't…i don't want us to hate each other. i don't want us to become a memory we can't stand."

"jimin—" you try, but she cuts you off.

"i love you," she says. "i love you, and you know i don't want to say goodbye. but if we keep holding on like this, we'll lose what we had—the good parts. i can't do that. i'd rather let you go while we still love each other."

you blink back tears, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. "i know. i know you're right."

karina pulls back even further, her arms falling to her sides. she takes a deep breath, steadying herself. her eyes are red and swollen from crying, and you can tell she's trying to keep it together. to be strong for you. but the sight of her like this, so broken and sad, is more than you can bear. you reach out and take her hand in yours, lacing your fingers together.

"i'm sorry, too," you say softly, squeezing her hand gently. "i'm sorry for not being more patient. for letting my frustrations get the better of me. for making you feel like you weren't enough."

karina shakes her head. "don't apologize. it's not your fault. we're both tired, y/n."

the truth is, you know she's right. you've been fighting a losing battle for far too long now. it was only a matter of time before the two of you reached this point. and while it hurts, and you wish things were different, you know that this is what's best for both of you.

because sometimes, loving someone means knowing when to let them go.

the sound of the doorbell echoes softly through the quiet house. your grandmother, cane in hand, makes her way to the door with slow, measured steps. when she opens it, karina stands on the front step, her breath visible in the cold winter air.

the older woman's eyes widen slightly, and she smiles, her features softening. despite the time that's passed, she recognizes the young woman instantly. "jimin, it's nice to see you. please, come inside."

karina gives a short bow. "i hope i'm not intruding," she says as her eyes glance down at the cane that wasn't present the last time they met. "i just… wanted to check on you."

your grandma gives her a warm smile. "of course not. "come in, child. it's too cold to stay out there." karina hesitates for only a moment before stepping inside. she shrugs off her coat, hanging it on the hook by the door, and toes off her shoes, placing them neatly next to the others. your grandmother watches, her expression unreadable.

"i brought some soup," karina says, holding up a plastic bag. "it's nothing fancy, but i thought it might be nice."

your grandma nods, taking the bag. "thank you, dear. it smells wonderful. come, sit. would you like something to drink?"

they move to the living room, the quiet hum of the heater creating a comforting background noise. karina sits on the edge of the couch, hands folded neatly in her lap, trying to suppress the nervous energy that's bubbling up.

your grandmother returns from the kitchen, carrying two cups of steaming green tea and a small tray with the soup. karina's eyes immediately catch the way the older woman favors her right leg, moving slower than before.

"let me help," karina says quickly, standing up and walking over.

your grandmother raises a brow but doesn't resist. "if you insist."

karina carefully takes the tray from her hands and carries it to the low table in the living room. the older woman follows with her cane and lowers herself into her chair. karina returns to her seat and passes her a cup of green tea.

"thank you, jimin," she says with a warm smile.

they eat quietly at first. the silence is heavy, and karina can't help but wonder if your grandma's upset with her. if she knows what happened. after a few minutes, the older woman speaks, breaking the tension.

"it's been busy for you lately, hasn't it?" your grandmother asks after a few minutes.

karina nods. "yes, our group dropped a mini album about a month ago. promotions just wrapped up last week."

"and now?"

"we're leaving for japan in four days," karina explains. "we'll be performing at the mamas. it's… a lot."

the older woman nods thoughtfully, setting her empty bowl on the tray. "that must be exciting."

"it is," karina agrees.

but even as she says the words, the excitement feels distant. like she's detached from it somehow.

it's been two months.

two months since everything fell apart.

since she broke both your hearts.

since the last time she saw you.

since the day she said goodbye.

and yet, she can't seem to escape you.

to make things worse, your relationship, which had been private and precious because the two of you worked hard to keep it that way, ended up leaking online. rumors swirled and speculations abounded. she had hoped that the story would die down, but it only seems to be growing in size and scope.

one photo. or two careless, grainy photos posted online, and suddenly the world knew.

the photo was from that night in la—the night that had been her idea. she still remembers it vividly. the two of you sitting across from each other in fine dining, the candlelight flickering, casting shadows on the walls before moving towards the bar, laughing like the world couldn't touch either of you. kissing like it was the first time. like it would be the last.

she just wanted a night to escape the cameras, the questions, the rumors. she wanted a night for just the two of you.

but one stupid photo, and now her worst fear has come true.

it's only been a few days since the news broke, but the damage is already done.

the press is having a field day, the company has released an official statement, distancing themselves from the scandal. fans are divided. some support the relationship, some are furious, and some don't care. it's a mess, and she's been trying her best to avoid the chaos. to avoid listening to your album. she had told herself she would when she was ready, but deep down, she was afraid of what she would find.

but the rest of the world? they had already done the work for her.

they picked apart every lyric, every melody. they connected the dots, drawing conclusions that she hadn’t even allowed herself to consider.

she can't escape it completely, though. even now, as she sits here with your grandmother, the question remains.

what's your reaction?

where are you now?

her eyes sting, and she blinks back the tears that are forming. she won't cry. not here. not in front of the woman who helped raise the love of her life.

your grandmother, perhaps sensing the younger girl's distress, clears her throat.

"do you remember when y/n first brought you here?" she asks, changing the subject.

"of course," karina says, smiling fondly. "i was so nervous that i would make the wrong impression."

your grandma laughs, stirring her tea. "you know, you're the only person i've ever seen her bring home. you should've heard the tone of her voice when she called and told me she was bringing you over for dinner. it was like the sun came out from behind the clouds. i had to make sure i had everything perfect."

karina ducks her head, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"i had no idea what was going on at first," the older woman continues. "i thought maybe the two of you were dating, but then y/n corrected me. she said you were just friends. close friends."

"that's right," karina says quietly.

"for a while, i believed her," the older woman admits. "until when i caught her staring at you. it was the kind of look people have when they're in love. but you know, i didn't say anything. i wanted her to figure it out on her own."

karina's fingers tighten around the cup in her hands, and she fights to keep her voice steady. "i'm sorry."

your grandmother's gaze is gentle, understanding. "for what, child? for falling in love? that's not something to apologize for. love isn't a choice, you know."

karina lets out a shaky breath, blinking back tears. "i just… i didn't want to hurt her. i tried not to. but i did anyway."

the older woman sighs, placing a hand over karina's. "love isn't easy, jimin. especially when the world is watching."

karina swallows hard. she doesn't know what to say.

"but the love you shared? that was real." your grandmother pats her hand. "there's no reason to apologize for something that can't be changed. what matters is what you do with the feelings now. do you understand?"

karina nods, taking a deep breath. the older woman offers her a soft smile, and she manages to return it. they sit in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. then your grandmother breaks the quiet. "now, how about some dessert? i have some ice cream in the freezer."

karina laughs, shaking her head. "i don't think i could eat another bite."

"well, i will then," your grandmother says with a mischievous grin. while your grandma is off retrieving dessert, karina's eyes wander around the room, stopping at the hallway where your room is. the door is shut, but she knows it's still the same. still untouched, preserved like a museum—a time capsule of your childhood, but something more important. where you shared your first kiss.

she feels a rush of emotion, and before she can stop herself, she's standing up, making her way down the hall and into your room.

your room is just as she remembers it. the same bed, the same dresser, the same pictures on the wall. karina takes a deep breath, letting herself be surrounded by your presence. her eyes scan the walls, lingering on a photo tucked into the corner of the mirror—a polaroid of you and her in the studio. it was taken so long ago, during a rare moment when the two of you were alone together working on her solo.

karina reaches out, tracing her finger along the edge of the frame. the glass is cool to the touch, and she closes her eyes, feeling her heart clench.

"i miss you," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "i miss you so much."

her gaze shifts to the corner of the bed, where a pink flannel is draped lazily over the headboard. the sight of it stops her in her tracks. you'd worn it a couple of times, always mumbling about how soft it was. she wonders if it still smells like you. if it still carries a trace of your perfume.

she takes a step forward, picking up the garment and bringing it to her face.

it does. a wave of sadness crashes over her as the familiar scent hits her nostrils. she breathes it in, holding it close to her chest.

she can't believe she let you go.

karina turns quickly, the flannel still clutched in her hands. she hesitates for a moment, debating whether to put it back, but something inside her won't let her.

when she returns to the living room, your grandmother is sitting again, a small plate of red bean cakes on the table. she notices the flannel instantly, her gaze flickering from the fabric to karina's face.

"taking a souvenir?" your grandmother teases gently, though there's a deeper understanding in her eyes.

"i—" karina falters, searching for the right words. "it just… feels too soft to leave behind."

your grandmother doesn't say anything for a moment, but then she gives a small nod. "then take it."

karina blinks in surprise, holding the flannel closer. her fingers tighten around it, the fabric soft against her skin. your grandmother smiles softly, patting her knee. "now, sit back down. i still have a lot to say."

the two of them sit together, eating the sweet desserts and drinking the rest of their tea. when they finish, they talk more about your grandma's garden, the new recipes she's been trying, and the latest news on her favorite dramas. the conversation is light, and karina finds herself relaxing into the easy flow of words. she hasn't felt this comfortable with someone in a long time.

as karina stands to leave, she hesitates at the door, the flannel folded neatly in her arms.

"do you think…" she begins, but the rest of the question dies on her lips. she doesn't know how to ask if there's still a chance.

your grandmother gives her a knowing look. "you've both been hurt, jimin. but love doesn't just disappear."

karina swallows hard. "i don't want to let her go."

"then don't."

but what if you wanted to be let go?

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content (the album). extra content 2. extra content 3.

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readychilledwine · 1 year ago

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hi, i’ve recently found your blog + wow, you’re writing is amazing! i have an idea for i would like to request, i hope that’s okay.

reader has just came home from book club w nesta, gwen and emerie at the house of wind. reader is mated to az - they’re been mated for about a few years. still reader has met nesta, reader almost always has her nose in a book - smutty book to be exact. reader is kinda embarrassed by this bc she wasn’t one to read smutty books before meeting nesta. az is starting to question why reader is always so invested in a book or why he has hardly seen reader for the last couple of weeks. az picks up the book reader is currently reading behind reader’s back & starts to get a little jealous maybe? az may confront reader about the book? i’m not to sure about the ending, but i do know az would do something like asking reader what their favorite scene & they could reenact it or something of that nature. i could totally see az teasing reader just a little bit as well.

i love for you to put your own spin on this. thank you 🩷🩷🩷

Book Boyfriend

Summary - Azriel has gotten a little tired of your reading habits.

Warnings - Az is a kind of a dick

A/n - I went the spicy mad Az route, and don't worry. Per Liz tradition, it's open for another part.

Azriel could have burned the damn book in your hands. You hadn't set it down in 3 days.

3 fucking days of you and Nesta curled into each other, drinking Rhysand's expensive wine, reading that stupid thick book.

He knew you loved to read. Books and book related gifts had been his go-to gifts for you since the mating bond snapped 100 years ago. But the obsession since Ness was made was unbearable.

He never had to fight for your attention until now. He felt a shoulder brush his. "Ah, they're in the "We don't want Cassian to know we're reading smut," pose."

Azriel froze, feeling down the bond and trying to get to your end. You had it locked down, but there was a soft blush on your and Nesta's cheeks. "How do you know its smut?"

Cassian sighed. "It's all they read, Azzy. Have you not noticed?"

His shadows darkened. You had hardly kissed or touched him in 3 days in favor of a smut novel? He could show you things, do things, most authors would only think of in their sick dreams.

He felt himself paling under Cassian's gaze. Was he not pleasing you anymore? Was he not performing to your expectations? You always seemed content, spent, and overjoyed when you two had sex.

"I need a fucking drink." Azriel stormed away. Slamming the door to your shared chambers shut. He took on look at the crystal whiskey decanter and decided to drink until you came to the room.

Azriel woke up to soft footsteps and the feeling of a blanket getting laid across him. He heard you sigh, falling into bed, then that faint creak of an unbroken in book spine opening.

Meaning you had a new book. A new smut novel to ignore him with. A new fake boyfriend to imagine between your thighs.

Azriel stood on shaking legs, and he went to bed. Watching as you snapped to book shut and set it on your nightstand title down. "Did I wake you?"

"Yup." He curled into the bed facing away from you. It was childish, but if you weren't happy, you could have just told him instead of replacing him.

When he woke up, raging headache and all, you were gone. But the book wasn't. He reached over and grabbed it, cracking the spine out of spite. 55 chapters in, and Azriel was bored. If he tried to fuck you on a table covered in paint, you'd glare at him about the mess. About getting paint 1000 places you shouldn't.

So why the hell were you reading a book about it?

It was late into the evening when you returned. Azriel had finished the book, marking specific things he wanted to confront you about. He didn't stand as the door opened, didn't greet you as you came in with a few bags. You were all smiles, dolled up in a pretty dress. Your hair was loosely curled, and makeup was done.

"Where the fuck have you been?" It came out as harsh as he expected it to. "I take a week off and you have hardly spent time with me."

He watched you jump, eyes going wide as you took a few steps back. "Nesta wanted to go into town. We lost track of time. I-"

"Lost track of time? Aren't you the female who taught Rhysand how to properly track the stars and sun?" He stalked toward you, book in hand. "Did you two go to find more vitriol like this?" He held it up, watching as your cheeks flushed and you went to reach for it.

"Azriel-"

He lifted it above his head. "You haven't touched me in weeks. You've kissed me maybe once. Hell, yesterday you were content to leave me on the damn couch. I can see why though, you're sitting here getting your needs met by some fictional fae lord instead of me. If you aren't happy anymore just tell me."

Shock hit your face slowly, mind whirling and emotions pouring into him from the bond. "Azriel, it's a book. Not another male."

That wasn't enough for him. "And how many times have you pleasured yourself to this book? Thinking about the main character between your thighs?"

You sighed. "To that one? Not a single time. I haven't gotten to read it and you already damaged the spine." The sadness in your voice made him pause, lowering the book until you could grab it.

You were always so gentle with your books, caring for them and placing them somewhere safe. Bookmarks never sat in them for too long out of fear of damage. He watched you stroke the spine, going to the bookshelf and placing it in the spot it would belong in to match your color based organization.

"Is this really about a book, or is something else going on?" You wouldn't look at him, wouldn't say his name. He could hear the soft tremble. "I'm sorry I made a friend. I'm sorry I've been spending time with Nesta instead of you. But she gets it. She gets how feeling like you don't belong in this family feels," a stab to his chest. "She gets how feeling out of place among you all feels," the stab turning into a gapping wound that had him leaning against the couch. "She gets what it's like to have a mate that is busy and expects you to be here waiting."

You had ripped his heart out. In 100 years, this had never come up. There had never been signs. "Y/n-"

He watched in silence as you held a hand up, moving to grab some clothes and a hair brush. "I'm going to sleep in a guest room tonight. This could have been turned into something beautiful, Az. We could have used these books to inspire fun in our bedroom," your hand ran along that damaged book. "Instead, you disrespected my belongings, accused me of an unthinkable act, and made this about your fragile ego."

You left the room, silence falling in the wake. Azriel stared at the book he had damaged. It was a first edition. A soft shade of blue with swirls of darkness. He walked to it, head hung in shame.

It was an escape. A way for you to cope with your feelings. No different than him training, and he had ruined it.

And now, he checked his calendar, he had 4 days to make it up to you before he, Cassian, and Nesta were gone for a month.

Leaving you alone all over again with nothing but an empty house and a book boyfriend.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

💕 As always, comment or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist💕

#acotar #acotar x reader #send asks #send anons #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger

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glamorizethechaos · 4 months ago

Text

Sweet Surrender (Series) - Part 1

As seen on ao3

Summary: Claire Hawthorne begins her ER rotation at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital under attending Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch.

Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch & Original Female Character

Warnings: mention of sexual assault, fluff, (eventual) smut, alcohol, anxiety & ptsd

This work is a work in progress so I am not sure where this is eventually going to go. Any triggers warnings will be added as needed. If you feel a TW should be added, feel free to message me.

Part One: Trouble

Dr. Robby walked into the doors of the ER, the waiting room already full of patients; crying babies, the regulars looking for a warm bed or a quick fix, and the those who were sick but not quite sick enough to be of any urgency. He buzzed in and walked towards the nurses station, Dr. Abbott standing at his computer doing some last minute charting before he headed home. Dr Robby glanced up at the board that always seemed to be full beyond capacity.

"Jesus Christ," Dr Robby grimaced looking at his day ahead "did the whole of Pittsburgh come in last night?"

"You tell me, we got a fucking asses kicked. Barely made a dent in the damn waiting room." Dr. Abbott put the last of his things in his bag. "At least I'm not the ones with the new med students today."

"That's today?" Dr Robby took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes. This was the last thing he needed today, not with the work load ahead of him, now he had to play babysitter.

One by one, the med students filed there way into the ER. They seemed to be getting younger looking ever year as Dr. Robby grew another year older. Soon they introduced themselves: Dr. Melissa "Mel" King fresh out of the VA, Dr. Trinity Santos- intern, Dennis Whitaker- a fourth-year, Victoria Javadi- third year, and lastly Claire Hawthorne fourth year.

"I just finished my Peds and OB rotations." Claire spoke softly, and Dr Robby nodded in acknowledgement. Claire was curvy, yet petite, standing no taller than 5'2. Her hair was red and she had freckles that seemed placed on her face one by one, each with delicate precision. Her eyes were bright green and while looked tired, were also happy and full of life. Dr. Robby felt himself staring, but soon directed them for a tour of the ER.

Soon the EMTs come in with a man on a stretcher and Dr. Robby instructs Claire to take the case, "45 year old man complaining of shortness of breath, chest pains, and is diaphoretic." With the help of the EMTs, Robby and Claire brought the man back into a room and Claire took a history.

"What do you suggest we do Dr. Hawthorne?"

"Order an EKG and check his troponin. Could be an MI?" but before Claire could finish taking the mans vitals, he loses consciousness. She checks for a pulse and feels nothing, before Dr Robby knew it, she immediately jumped on the stretcher and began administering chest compressions. After multiple shocks of the patient, three rounds of epi, and 45 minutes of compressions they were unsuccessful at reviving the patient.

"Time of death...9... 9" Claires voice cracked as she tried keeping herself composed. She had never lost a patient.

"Time of death, 9:28" Dr. Robby announces, looking at Claire from across the room. She left quickly, removing her gloves and tossing them in the trashcan outside the room. He followed,

"Hey, wait up," he jogged quickly, grabbing her arm. "You alright?" he asked, knowing what it felt like lose his first patient. Something that never really seemed to get easier.

"Yeah, I just need a glass of water." a tear fell down her cheek and she swiftly wiped it away. She didnt want to seem weak on her first day. Dr. Robby told her to take a few minutes to gather herself before seeing her next patient. Soon it was lunch, Claire stood in line in the cafeteria for a cup of coffee, she felt too sick to eat. The feeling of the mans ribs snapping at each compression, knowing that mans kids would never see their father alive again, it all made her lose her appetite.

"How you holding up?" she heard a voice from behind her. She turned to find Dr. Robby standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at her apologetically. She smiled softly and nodded, she didn't exactly want to talk about it, and he took the hint. When it was her turn in line, Dr Robby stepped forward and swiped his card before she could pay.

"Dr. Robby, you didn't have to do that! I could have paid!" she said in protest.

"I was a med student once, trust me, you don't have the money." he joked, well- partially. She thanked him and the two walked down the hallway back towards the ER.

"God I'm exhausted. I barely slept last night" Claire groaned, rubbing her eyes. She took a sip of the coffee, it was typical hospital coffee- horrible, and she tried not to make a face.

"Oh yeah? Nerves get to you?"

"That... and well... my roommate was up all night fucking her boyfriend. We have thin walls."

"Well at least it sounds like your roommate had a good night." he chuckled.

"That makes one of us." she rolled her eyes. The two talked as they walked down the hallway. He was born and raised in Pittsburgh, she was from a small seaside town in New Jersey. She fell in love with the city while visiting her family while she was a kid. She felt this city was home. Undergrad was spent at the University of Pittsburgh and was now there for med school as well. She lived in Shadyside with her roommates, 4 girls in a 3 bedroom apartment. It wasn't exactly ideal, but it was what they could afford.

The rest of the shift was exciting, Dr Robby talked her through her first intubation, a woman came in labor; having just finished her OB rotation- Dr Robby learned a thing or two from Claire. She ended her shift with a vomiting toddler.

"That kid was tough. I don’t think I’d have the patience for that. Kids always scare me." Dr. Robby said leaning over the counter as Claire charted.

"Kids? You're the senior attending and you're scared of kids?"

"Kids, toddlers… I don’t know how to interact with them. I have an awkward, stoic personality and the whole crying and vomiting thing makes me uncomfortable…you're good with kids though..."

"I don’t find you awkward, just…" she hesitated a bite, "well I like kids."

"Go on, finish the thought"

"Just a bit, uptight." she shrugged nervously.

He chuckled and shook his head. He removed his glasses and looked at her with a raised brow. She was gonna be trouble.

#noah wyle #the pitt #er #hbo max #michael robinavitch #archive of our own #ao3 #dr robby x female character #michael robinavitch x female character

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nullmaidens · 3 months ago

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WIP: drink your fill

18+ || ezekyle abaddon x reader || step-mother/son fauxcest. pre-heresy, set-up to adultery, guilty masturbation (kinda), pregnancy as body horror.

THIS IS A WIP!! the final product will have explicit content and abaddon with lactophilia. please bear this in mind!!

he’s a boob guy who wants to be his mother’s favourite just as much as he wants to be his father’s, and i can see him getting rather jealous of a new arrival that takes up too much of her time for his liking.

Hell exists, and the Imperial Truth should be damned to it. Hell exists, and Ezekyle knows, because he’s been enduring it for months.

It comes to the Vengeful Spirit after a long gestation, growing in a dark, dank place, left alone too long to get rid of. It buries its way inside, making itself a home out of nothing, siphoning their hard-won supplies without permission and, to add insult to injury, without reproach. They’d reinforced the ship against it — a new door here, an insulated wall there, increasingly strict safety protocols, and locks. More locks than he had ever seen, one on every compartment, every cupboard, even in the most distant recesses of the menial decks, as if the Warmaster was expecting a break-in.

What he was really readying them for, however, was the breakout.

The Legion Mother had screamed for hours, and he thought could hear it clearly despite your being in the infirmary and himself being locked away in the training cages. It was haunting, and Ezekyle wanted nothing to do with it. He could almost feel the heavy thuds of the Warmaster’s footsteps pacing up and down the corridor outside the room you’d been placed in, nearly hear Tarik’s lighthearted voice try to comfort him, or Hastur’s stern assertions try to ease his mind. She’ll be fine, he’d say, she is strong. It’s why you chose her, and it’s why we love her.

The cages were empty when he arrived, everyone else preoccupied, duties cut short and shifts left unfinished when the news had broken that you had finally gone under the knife. His knuckles are bloody from being beaten against battle servitors, six— no, seven— of them in pieces at his feet. Huge, hulking, once-human things torn apart, split at the seams, their bodies broken almost beyond repair, and while he knew the Martians would fix them, they’d never quite operate the same. That thought stung. Your body, too, had changed, under occupation. You became gaunt, stretched out, both thin and bulging, the mortal human body utterly weak and incapable of handling the burden of such a parasite.

You’d wasted away in front of them and they had done nothing. The nausea that left you starving almost to the point of emaciation was blamed on warp sickness, initially, but the Luna Wolves weren’t stupid enough to be so easily deceived. The preternatural beauty and fullness that came in the weeks that followed was merely a reflection in him of the Warmaster’s love for you, one that disguised the way your skin warped around the growth. To his great shame, Ezekyle took himself in hand for the first time in decades when you looked like that. You even smelled different, lingering in the air around him for hours after you’d retired to his father’s chambers, the sickly sweet scent of you clinging to him even beneath a blisteringly hot shower. The water scalded his back as he’d stood hunched over, braced against the tiled wall in front of him, and he cursed when he thought of how much more lustrous your hair had become, and how your clothes had started to stretch across your belly, and how the already perfect swell of your chest was—

He made himself spend another fifteen minutes scrubbing his guilt from where it dripped down the grouting.

When the more slender parts of your body grew gaunt again, when you were tired, and slow, and it seemed that he alone could see it in your eyes that you were putting on a brave face for them, Ezekyle had gone to your bedside and asked you why you had wasted so much time in waiting to take it out.

“I don’t know,” was your answer, and you had squeezed his hand. He saw red just thinking about the way the oximeter dug into your finger, the plastic cold against his skin, and the dullness in your eyes, once so full of life. He punched the servitor in front of him hard, its inner and outer machinations stuttering at the impact before whirring back to life. “It will happen when it happens. The chirurgeons and the apothecaries know what they are doing.” You’d brought his hand up to your lips, then. They were cracked and dry, devoid of their usual softness, but they had still been so gentle against his knuckle when you tried to comfort him.

When an illness takes root, it ought to be cured. When a tumour grows, removed. The surgery should fix you. It would make you better, and happier, and things would be just as they were before. Now again, harder, that same fist pummelled into its gut until he felt bone break, lubricants spilling onto the mat, each strike a wish that the ache would dull and fade into the oblivion from whence it came. This was a momentous occasion, one he’d regret missing, but the thought of smelling the stench of your blood from the other side of a closed door was nauseating. He should be there, with his brothers. With his father who he knows needs him now possibly more than ever, to share in his strife and his delight.

And yet, after a painstakingly long half-cycle spent drenched in sweat, Ezekyle punches straight through the servitor’s skull and bellows in frustration when roars of joy fill every deck of the ship. Lady Lupercal is alive. The Warmaster has another son.

“Must he parade it around?” he asked under his breath as the Mournival stood by, watching from a stage as the Primarch showed the swaddled cloth in his arms to each company, one at a time. It was a miracle it hadn’t started that insufferable wailing again at the sound of ceramite sabatons thumping against plasteel flooring, each and every Luna Wolf in his immaculately cleaned armour, and only Horus going without. He was determined to maintain skin to skin contact with the thing they’d torn from the Legion Mother, as if that would make all the difference, and have it recognise him as its father all the quicker. Ezekyle bristled at the thought, though it wasn’t a new one. In the days since the arrival, the Warmaster had doted on it, and something dark and strange and sad had coiled up in his heart whenever he saw the way he held it close to his chest.

The Legion Mother had barely been able to walk when the men were called up to the debarkation deck, and he’d played the role of the dutiful, anxious son in the absence of any other volunteers. You clung to his arm, shivering from the effort of standing, but you smiled anyway. It was pained, and it was like only he could tell. “He is your father’s pride,” you whispered back, your eyes fixed not on your husband, but on the bundle in his care. “He thinks it’ll be good for all of you to know him, and I agree. He’s just another brother to care for, Ezekyle. Smaller, perhaps, than what you’re used to,” a weak laugh rattled through you, and he could almost feel the way your fingers tightened around the thick plate of his gauntlet, “but a brother all the same.”

thank u for making it this far <3 hopefully i ACTUALLY FINISH THIS

divider by @strangergraphics !!

#this is the most outrageous thing i’ve ever cooked up #and now…#because i like getting notifications…#tags for attention ->#my writing #ezekyle abaddon x reader #space marine x reader #ezekyle abaddon #warhammer smut #(<- kind of) (almost)#(it’ll get there)#luna wolves #wh30k #FIC: drink your fill #OC: lady lupercal #(<- technically)

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hargreeves-duncan · 7 months ago

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DUDE THAT DIEGO FIC??!!! HOLY SHIT!

soooo…since we both love the man, could I please ask for a DILF Diego fic (HIS MOUSTACHE UGH) where he and reader are having some marital problems, her parents are living with them and causing issues, until Diego finally snaps and takes his frustration (wink wink) out on reader 😏

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

pairing: diego hargreeves x fem!reader

summary: diego is sick and tired of being the last person in your house to get your attention

warnings: SMUT - MINORS DNI, lowkey!mean!dom!Diego, degrading, fingering, p in v, gagging/choking (fingers), edging

word count: 3.5k

a/n: anon, i like the way you think… i have not proof read this AT ALL, i just felt inspired to finally write something so… enjoy!

A lot had changed in the last six years. For one, you were no longer fighting off doomsday, but since your re-arrival in a corrected 2019, you and Diego had settled down. You’d been pregnant with your first baby girl for a while anyways and you loved one another more than life itself, it was natural succession that you’d get married too and so, you had.

You’d settled more than comfortably into your role as a mother to Grace, so much so that you’d begged Diego for another child to be able to experience having a young child all over again. He had given in to your pleading almost immediately, and that had blessed the two of you with a gorgeous set of twins, Coco and Miguel.

It had been a few years since then and all your babies were not so little anymore but that didn’t stop your constant doting on them. They were your everything and you’d be damned if even the smallest thing were to hurt them.

Diego felt the exact same way, his girls and Miguel were his priority, always, but that didn’t mean that he didn't want some time just for himself with you, time where neither of you had to parent and you could just be yourselves for a while.

He knew that children were needy, and he couldn’t blame them for something as simple as wanting their mother, but he had needs too. Needs like actually receiving attention from his own wife once in a while.

More recently, your mother had fallen ill and your father had gotten far too old to take care of her alone. Now, Diego wasn’t a monster, the first thing he’d done was offer to let them stay at your place whilst your mother got back on her feet. Each and every day she was recovering and, as selfish as it was, a part of Diego hoped that with your parents in the house, it would mean that he would have time with you whilst they looked after the kids. Oh, how wrong he had been.

Your parents didn’t help with the childcare at all. In fact, they required more babying than your three children combined. It was exhausting to be around and, subsequently, exhausting for you to adhere to. By the time all of your children were put to bed each night, you were too drained to even keep a conversation going, let alone anything more.

Diego was tired of only seeing you in passing. He had tried to express his feelings to you several times, but it was only ever met with a wave of excuses and exhaustion. He knew you loved him and that you were doing your best to just get through the day, but the increasing lack of time alone with you was beginning to take a toll on him.

Diego was reminded of it more than ever right now. It was Christmas Eve and you were currently setting the dining table for a hearty lunch for the five of you. Your hair was frazzled as you rushed around the downstairs in preparation of everything, calling out various commands as you did, “Coco, what have I told you about being mean to your brother?”, “Ma, have you moved the napkins?”, “Grace, be my lovely girl for me and go set the table, please.”

All morning, Diego had remained in the same spot on the sofa in the living room, waiting for you to even acknowledge him. The longer he went without so much as a “hello” from you, the deeper his irritation grew.

Diego couldn't take it anymore. He watched you hustle about the house, tending to everyone and everything except him. The kids were fine, your mother had been pampered all morning, your father was being served beer on the hour by you, the food was practically ready at this point and he knew that you’d already set up the table hours ago. You didn’t even need to check up on anything else and yet here he still sat, as if he were a ghost in his own home.

For the hundredth time this morning, he watched as you adjusted the blanket on your mother’s lap, checking up on her and speaking tenderly.

Your father, sat on the armchair beside her, frowned at Diego from across the room, spouting hate once again, “You know, sweetheart, I’ll never know why you chose this one. He just bums around doing nothing all day. A postman, isn’t he? What good is that to a woman like you? You could’ve had anyone, you know-“

Diego’s face darkened, his lip pulling into a thin line as cut your father off, “Could I talk to you for a second?”

He looked over at your father pointedly, trying, and failing, to conceal the frustration bubbling up inside of him at the sight of you at his side, “Alone.”

You frown, slightly taken aback, but you nod, “Yeah, of course.”

You gently squeeze your mother’s wrist and offer her a reassuring smile as you walk after your husband who’s already halfway up the stairs and out of sight, “Keep an eye on Ma for a second, please, Dad!”

“You think I don’t know how to do that! She’s my wife!” You hear your father rambling angrily from downstairs but you don’t hear him, having practically chased after Diego into your bedroom.

He shuts the door behind him and looks up at you with eyes that are both seething and swimming with hurt. You feel your chest tighten.

“What the hell is going on right now?” Diego asks, searching your eyes for any kind of answer.

“I… What?” You reply, head shaking in confusion, “Diego, what’re you…”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You haven’t even looked in my direction all morning, so I want you to tell me what’s really going on.” His words are firm but his voice is tender, you know what he’s really saying, what he’s really feeling. Deep down, he’s still the same little boy who’s terrified of not being enough for his family.

You take a step towards him, your expression softening. "I’ve just been focused on getting everything ready for today," you say, "I’ve just been busy…"

Diego shakes his head. "No, don’t give me that shit, it’s not just today.”

“You’ve been off for weeks now, months… and I… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing wrong so why don’t you just tell me, hm? ‘Cause clearly I’m missing something.” His words come out bitter and resentful as he puts his hands on either side of you, pinning you against the door.

As he pins you in place, you feel his warm breath against your skin. His gaze is fixed on yours, as if willing you to understand, and it pains you to think that this is probably the closest you’ve been to one another in months, “No, Diego, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re not missing anything, I-“

“We used to be something. We used to actually be a couple instead of a pair of… of… of…” He groans in frustration, banging his fist on the door as his stutter distorts his words. He pulls back, running stressed hands through his hair.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him this worked up, this frustrated, and you’re not even sure how to react to it, knowing the distress that you’re causing him.

He sighs, swallowing down the anger in himself as he looks back up at you. His eyes burn as he narrows his gaze on you, “I bet you haven’t even noticed it, have you? How weird things have been?”

You part your lips to speak but he shakes his head. It’s not really a question. He knows that you haven’t, you’ve been far too preoccupied in everything that isn’t him.

He exhales through his nose, “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get your attention these last few weeks? To get something, anything, out of you?”

You don’t answer and he groans, “You haven’t even spoken to me today, Y/N. It’s two in the afternoon.” He reaches up, cupping your face with both of his calloused hands. His grip is tight and fierce.

He continues, his voice growing more raw with every word, "Every time I try, it’s always the kids, or your mother, or your father or some other goddamn thing that needs tending to. You never pay any attention to me and I’m sick of it.”

His hands drift over your body as he looks you in the eyes, “So, right now, that’s what I want from you. I want all of your attention on me. Nobody else, just me.” He says, as his voice lowers dangerously. He tightens his grip on your waist.

Your eyes widen slightly, hands instinctively reaching for his forearms and grasping them tightly, “Diego, we can’t, I have to finish setting up-“

He practically growls as you says that and he shakes his head, “No, you don’t have to do anything. No one is asking you to. The kids are fine. Your mom is fine. Everything is fine, we can have this.”

“But the twins need-“ You begin, but Diego simply growls angrily.

“No, they don’t. The twins don’t need anything, I do.” He says, his breath growing more rapid.

You protest, eyes softening as you look up at him, “I promise, we’ll do something just us. I just need you to wait for me to finish with lunch and then I’m all yours.”

“No, Y/N, they are fine. They will be fine.” He says, stepping forward, gripping your chin and tilting your head up to face him, “But I want you now, and I’m going to have you now because I need it. I need you. Show me that you need me too and let me have you.”

His grip tightens on your waist and there’s nothing you can do to stop your cheeks from flushing at the unbridled desire in his words, “Diego, really, I can’t, I…”

Diego shakes his head, voice low and gravelly, “Yes, you can. You can do this for me. You’re going to do this for me.”

He’s speaking softly but it’s clear how desperately he wants you. You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t missed this aspect of your relationship. The passion. Parenting three toddlers had slaughtered that but right now, what he was offering you…

The fire in Diego’s eyes blazes, dark and determined, as he watches you hesitate. “You don’t get to say no to me today, baby,” he growls softly, his voice low and dripping with frustration. “Not after ignoring me for all that time.”

You glance at the bedroom door, wary of the sound of your children’s voices downstairs. Your lips part to respond, but before you can reply, Diego turns your head to face him and presses you up against the wall.

“You’ve had time for everyone else,” he murmurs, his tone cutting. “The kids. Your parents. Everyone except me. So now, you’re going to give me what I need.”

His hands glide down your arms, his grip rough but deliberate, starting a fire within you. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m shouldn’t be an afterthought. I’m your man, and you’re my girl. We see each other, we put each other first, always.”

He presses his forehead against yours, “You should see me the way that I see you. I’ve been waiting but I won’t anymore.”

Diego’s hands find your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulls you flush against him. “You can handle everything and everyone in this house. So, right now, you’re going to handle me and take everything I’ve been holding back, because if you’re big enough to handle everyone else then you’re big enough to take me, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitches, your body reacting instinctively to the roughness in his tone, the way he’s asserting himself. It’s not just his anger you feel— it’s his longing, his desperation for you to seek him out.

His dark eyes bore into yours, daring you to defy him. “You don’t get to brush me off anymore. You don’t get to be in control today. That’s my job. I speak and you listen.”

There’s a frustration in his eyes that you’ve seen before and you already know that you’re going to be aching tomorrow just from the sight of it.

“You don’t come until I say so. You don’t touch me unless I let you. You’re going to listen to me, Y/N, because I’m the one who’s been here, waiting, and now it’s time for you to finally listen to me.”

His hands run over your hips, a low snarl growing in the back of Diego’s throat, “You’re going to regret ignoring me for so long, baby.” He mutters breathlessly and those words have you trembling already, “Gonna treat you just as mean as you treated me. Show you how it feels.”

Diego begins to press sultry kisses along the column of your throat, his teeth barely grazing the skin. His mustache, a recent and entirely welcome development, brushes over it too, heightening your sensitivity. It’s been far too long since you’ve had him like this, every skim of his touch feels like a million fireworks tingling along your skin.

Diego presses you back against your bedroom wall, his hips trapping you there. He tilts your head and entices you into a kiss.

You can feel his need for you pulsing through his every movement. Diego’s hands are latched onto your hips, tugging you closer and closer, there’s no gap between you and closer fiendishly they tug still.

His teeth catch on your earlobe as he moves back down, pressing more lingering kisses against your throat. His teeth nip at your skin, a sign of his agitation with you. You swallow in anticipation. Diego smirks against your neck, and then he bites down.

You whine in protest but he shakes his head, “Take it quietly. I don’t want to hear a single sound from you. You wouldn’t want to upset your parents, would you?” He asks bitterly.

He eyes flicker dangerously and his hands slip down over your stomach and to your waistband. Your back arches into his touch and Diego laughs, “God, so desperate already. You melt as soon as I touch you.”

His hand dips below your waistband and trails tantalisingly over the lace of your underwear. Your breath catches slightly, “Diego…”

His eyes flicker up to yours, “Can you keep quiet or do you need my fingers to shut you up?” His voice is gritty, harsher than usual and you know you’ll need to make things up with him badly to get out of this.

You go to open your mouth and Diego huffs, “You really can't help yourself, can you?" Diego mutters, his tone laced with mockery. "Always got something to say, even when I told you to stay quiet."

His fingers press more firmly against the lace of your underwear, teasingly slow. You bite your lip, trying to obey his command, but the small gasp that escapes your throat betrays you.

Diego's jaw tightens, and he pulls back his hand. The absence of his touch leaves you aching, he grips your jaw, tilting your face to meet his stern gaze. His dark eyes narrow as he leans in, his lips hovering just over yours.

"Did I not make myself clear?" he growls, grip tightening with every word. "I said quiet."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as his fingers trail back up to your lips.

"Open," he commands, and like muscle memory, you obey, your breath hitching as he slides two fingers into your mouth.

"There you go, atta girl," Diego murmurs, his voice dripping with both approval and desire. "Maybe this'll keep you from talking over me, hm?”

His other hand moves back to your waist, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear once more. His touch is rough, demanding, and deliberate, a clear message that he's not letting you get away with ignoring him for so long.

He forces his fingers further down your throat and you whimper softly around them. Diego’s lips curl into a dark smirk as he leans closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I want you to think about the way you’ve treated me. I want you to remember it every time I touch you, every time I make you fall apart like this. Maybe then you won't forget who I am to you."

His fingers move with more purpose now, he slips his other hand back into your waistband and moves his two hands in tandem, filling both of your holes. Your back arches, a muffled moan escaping around his fingers, and Diego's grin widens.

"That's it," he murmurs, his tone softening just slightly. "I've got you…” You feel drool begin to pool around his fingers.

He pulls them from your mouth, brushing your slick lips with his thumb before gripping your chin firmly. "Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his eyes boring into yours.

"You," you gasp, your voice trembling as you choke slightly, gaining back your breath. "I belong to you."

Diego's expression softens for a fraction of a second, “That’s right, baby.” He leans in, kissing you fiercely, forcing every ounce of his emotion that he can into the kiss.

"I’m gonna help you remember that." he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body once more. He slips his hand out of your trousers and slides them down so that they pool around your ankles.

He flips you around so that your face is pressed up against the cool wall. His fingers linger on the white lace around your hips for a moments longer before he tugs them down too, “Shit…”

Diego groans, caressing a hand over the curve of your ass. He bites his lip and gives it a small tap before he leans in close, pressing his body against yours, “You don’t come until I say you can, remember?”

You nod dumbly, already arching backwards into him. He taps your waist and then he slips in with ease, you’re already slick with want and he lets out a guttural moan as he presses in.

He begins to pump in and out of you, slow, at first, gentle almost, but as soon as you grow used to the pace, his hips snap forward. You groan in protest, pressing your forehead against the wall.

“You can take it. You’re my big girl.” Diego says, pressing deeper and more forcefully still as he seeks his own release.

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as the pain begins to be replaced by a wave of pleasure. You feel that familiar coil twirling in your stomach, “Not yet.” Diego chides.

You groan, biting on your bottom lip, pressing your hands against the wall, anything to distract yourself from the brink of euphoria you feel that you’re on.

Diego’s low moans in your ear do nothing to help your situation. Strained utterances of ‘So good, baby’ and ‘My girl’ teasing you as he keeps pushing.

His pace becomes more brutal, his hips snapping against you as he chases his high, “That’s it, my baby, there you go… finally giving it to me the way I want it…”

His hips rock against you as he groans. His hand reaches up and presses your face against the wall as he seeks his release, “I’m gonna come, baby, shit…”

“Can I…?” You plead, speaking up for just a moment to seek your own release which you desperately need. The stretch of Diego inside of you after so long is too good and you’re barely hanging on by a thread.

“No. Hold it.” He says breathlessly, his breath catches and within seconds he’s filling you up with his release.

He grunts as he presses it back inside you, keeping you stuffed. You could scream, you’re so frustrated. He’s teasing you with his own orgasm, dangling the ecstasy that you so desperately crave right in front of you… and that’s when it hits you.

You won’t be coming tonight at all. He’s doing exactly what he said you’d been doing for weeks - tending to everyone else’s needs but his. He’s flipped it around on you to teach you a lesson.

He pulls out.

You let out a frustrated cry at the realisation and that only seems to spur Diego on further, “You figured it out, have you, baby? Poor thing.”

He smirks, “No, I’m not going to let you come just yet. I’m going to let you wait. A couple of weeks, maybe?” He taunts, slipping his shirt back on.

“Diego, you can’t be serious…” You protest, legs still trembling in anticipation as you attempt to sit up.

“Oh, I’m serious. We’ve got a family lunch to have.” He says, putting on his trousers and biting back the smirk he longs to let out at the devastated look on your face.

“But…” Your jaw drops as you scramble for a solution.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” He winks as he ducks out the door. Funny, you think to yourself, because after that performance no one will be coming down any chimneys for a while.

#fanfic #fanfiction #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #request #anon

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