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baepsays · 2 months ago

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High School Oblivion ⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

description ᯓ★ while going through his high school yearbook when helping his mother clean out their storage, Gojo's hands get stuck on a page with a picture of this one particular person. he cannot help but reminisce about the past as now a 30 year old and wonder how things could have turned out if everything went down differently.

cw ᯓ★ fluff, sfw, implicated angst, really mild angst, enemies to friends, one sided love, pining, academic rivals, lowkey bully Gojo, teasing and name calling—nothing really extreme, high school au, frenemies really, usage of fem oriented pronouns, reader is depicted as a fem presenting person, reader is depicted shorter than Gojo, written basically from Gojo's pov, time skips, nosebleed, sorry but use of y/n l/n i know that can be cringy but whatever.

𐙚 Playlist I used while writing this.

Satoru is a good son. In fact, he's kind, diligent, genuine, obedient, and- "Stop trying to slack off and get back to work." Well, his mother might disagree.

"You cannot be asking me to help you and also boss me around mom." Satoru says with a signature pout. Having Gojo Satoru as your son and raising him, doesn't really immunize a person to his pouts. Or maybe his mother is biased because he looks exactly like his father when he's trying to sway her as well and he pulls out what seems to be a Gojo family weapon. But naturally she has her own defenses.

"I'm only making you do this because you left all this behind yourself Sato, why didn't you take some of this or clean it when you moved out?"

"Wow just because I am a grown adult I cannot believe my own mother is treating me like one. Wow, what has the world come to." Satoru exclaimed like the drama queen he is.

"Stop being dramatic and help me properly you know I can't lift up all these boxes you have essentially filled with garbage. Clean out these last 3 boxes piled up in categories of what you need and what to throw out, I'll go check on your father."

It seems his whining doesn't always work on his mother the way it does on his father. Oh well. Though this has been such a nostalgic Sunday, being back in his childhood home, well second one, the neighborhood he grew up in for the better part of his teenage and young adulthood, getting forced into helping out his mother, and the smell of his father's cooking on a weekend. Time might as well revert back.

While cleaning out one of the, what seems never ending, boxes of childhood belongings— Gojo Satoru stumbles upon something he hasn't seen in probably 12 years. His high school yearbook.

It is a natural thing to go into the realm of nostalgia when stumbling upon things like this. Flipping through the pages he really grasps how much he has already forgotten. I mean that is given, it's been 12 years since he graduated. It takes him 12 months to find his lost socks.

Looking through the pictures he realizes how much everything has changed. The length of Suguru's hair has changed, as well as Shoko's. Nanami has gotten more chiseled or tired; he cannot say exactly, Utahime finally has a decent haircut. And look at him! Oh how naive he was, look at those big blue eyes with nothing behind them, covered by those obnoxious pairs of shades. Maybe some things haven't changed, never mind. He's probably never letting go of his obnoxious collection of shades.

As he flips through the pages his fingers get stuck on a particular page. And the memories just come flooding in without any effort.

[BACK IN HIGH SCHOOL, fifteen years ago]

Gojo Satoru saw you for the first time at the school gates on his first day during first year, at a new high school.

He was not very fond of the idea of going to school in a new city, away from the place he grew up in, unfamiliar people, and joining in the middle of the year when everyone has already somewhat settled down, it unnerved him. Unfortunately, throwing a fit about staying in a house his parents already sold and made all the arrangements to move to another place, couldn't help him much.

Some random kid showing up in the middle of the year is just a recipe to be bullied, or at least be prone to such jabs. He had decided prior to his first day, that he would go in with a stone cold face and be brave through this. Or, plan B.

While he was heavily contemplating standing in front of the main gate, the last bell already rang, he was officially late for his first day. Well he arrived a lot earlier, then somehow everyone passed by him and the final bell rang and he just stood there. And he was thinking about making a run for it, that was the plan B, taking a train back to Tokyo, and from there on he will figure it out. His parents will definitely know, find him, maybe this ordeal will finally make them understand how serious he was about not settling in here, even if that came at the cost of being grounded for life.

Satoru almost turned around to walk away from his new high school, his new city— his new home essentially— that is when a breeze of air gushed past him. When he looked forward, past the gates of the school, there was a fluff of hair, in the said school's uniform with a bag in her hands; dangling and teetering to fall on the ground, a key chain bouncing by one of the zippers— cute little orange cat, bouncing on her bag. She was running with all her might to make it, unlike him. That is all he saw of her, but he smelled much more. The lingering smell of her perfume, or soap or just- whatever it may be.

Lemons? Bergamot maybe. Distinctly citrus, not the sour kind, or the room freshener kind— a sweet smell of ripe citrus in the summer sun, kind of citrus. And flowers, peonies to be exact, that was very apparent.

Satoru, to this day, has never smelled that kind of tantalizing fragrance. To this day, he still remembers exactly how he stood there dumb; eyes wide open, mouth agape, and nothing but citrus with peonies haunting his chemoreceptors.

That day he tried to run after you, to put a name and face to the fragrance that in an instant hypnotized him, and to return that orange cat. Unfortunately, the teetering little cat keychain did fall off your bag, and when he ran after you to return it, he couldn't catch up to your haste. And since that day he didn't see you until a whole month passed.

That month he met his lifelong circle of friends, his best of friends. But it wasn't easy for neither of the sides to become acquainted, he was in a broody depressed rage about shifting and had already made up his mind that ‘well everyone must hate me’ — teenagers. Anyway, the first day he sat beside Geto Suguru he barked at Suguru for no reason, poor suguru was just being friendly and kind. So yes that broke into a little kerfuffle, got a lot of scolding from their homeroom teacher, Mr. Yaga. Later Suguru still dragged Satoru with him to eat lunch with his friends.

This is important to the story because, nostalgia and well, Satoru realized you were literally in the class next door, because of Shoko.

One day, when Suguru and him were irritating Kento, with a giggly Haibara, it took him only 2 weeks to drop his ‘you don't understand mom’ & ‘i am above you people’ act.

don't get it wrong, he still thinks he's better than most people, which isn't entirely wrong but god is it annoying. And that is exactly how you felt about Gojo Satoru upon your first impression of him.

On that fateful day you went to look for Shoko, and found her, as usual at the school basketball court with her friends, with an addition of white fluff. You had heard of Gojo Satoru a lot at that point, the girls in your class went to gather out of their class to check him out, from what you heard he picked a fight with Suguru that day. Off the get go you did not think much of him, probably some pretty face with connections and money to spare by getting into unnecessary trouble.

Satoru didn't see you entering the basketball court that day, but he smelled you. In the past month there had been few instances where his nostrils would be randomly engulfed by that citrusy peony smell, and he would halt in his pace to whip his head around to find the source. But alas, by the time he would turn around, you'd be nowhere to be found, and your perfume would slowly fade out.

And here you were, in all your physical tangible glory, for a second Satoru was taken aback seeing you there—somewhere somehow, before your fragrance could reach him, something about you struck him right in his throat. Maybe it was his subconscious, but he halted right where he was, mid match with Kento and Suguru. When was the ball snatched away from him, or when your bergamot and peonies perfume took over his senses; neither could be pinpointed. All he knew was that— it was you.

It was the girl with messed up collars and messy hair. Who smells divine. And the orange cat keychain!— Which has been sitting on his desk for a month. Satoru couldn't care less about Suguru egging him on about making a basket, nor did he see Kento slowly retire to the audience benches with Haibara— he stood there, staring at you, giving back Shoko some notebook; not important. He needed to go up to you. He needed to introduce himself! He couldn't let you slip away now.

So right before you told Shoko you'd be taking your leave, he rushed over there, and haphazardly blurted out— “you smell.”

“Excuse me!?” you looked at him flabbergasted.

“Satoru, why are you trying to pick a fight?” Shoko had to intervene. Because what a horrible way to introduce two of your friends to each other.

“Listen Gojo, I do not know what your problem is, but I'd advise you to keep yourself and your opinions to yourself.” You warned him before storming out of the basketball court with furrowed eyebrows and red ears.

“Damn dude, do you even know her? Why would you even say that?” Suguru was honestly very entertained by this exchange that day, as he was thoroughly entertained by you two's interactions throughout high school.

Satoru didn't mean to start off on such a contemptuous note with you, he didn't really mean it. I mean- he did mean what he said, it's just his phrasing was poor. He has always been reprimanded about this problem by his mother since he was a kid, his father did find it extremely funny. At times, he too found his poor choice of vocabulary funny, unfortunately it wasn't one of those circumstances.

Later he had explained this to Shoko, telling Suguru anything was useless, he was too preoccupied with reenacting his failed attempt at making a good first impression on you. He then only revealed why he has been looking for the girl who smells like bergamot and peonies—which he didn't use as a descriptor of you, that much detail and all of them are on his neck about being a little obsessed creep. He didn't go into any details, he just told them he met you on his first day, at the school gates and you were late, also about how you dropped your keychain. After all that is why he ran after you that day to find you and give it back to you, but unfortunately he got blind sighted by your perfume, right? Well that is what he is willing to tell others and himself. At least he knew your name now.

And surprisingly you also knew him? Did you also see him at the gates that day? Or did you see him in the hallways? Or with Shoko? Or-Why was he so concerned anyway? All he needed was to return the keychain and get over this whole thing, you didn't seem like a very easygoing person. But maybe that had to do with his poor sentence structuring.

Next time Satoru saw you, you were in your class. It was before the morning bell rang, he showed up at the door by the end of your classroom, to seem more inconspicuous. He was looking around to find you in the midst of the flock of girls gathered around him to enquire about his sudden visit, so much for being inconspicuous. Fortunately, he saw you soon enough at the front of the classroom in a seat by the windows — “Y/N!”

and everyone turned to stare at you, ‘great’—wasn't exactly what you were feeling. When you walked up to Satoru, you couldn't help but narrow your eyes at the guy. “Did not think we were on a first name basis.”

“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot, i-” Gojo tried to explain.

“I think we got off on exactly the right foot, I mean who just gets all up into someone's face and calls them smelly?” Your voice was already going up quite a bit.

“No, listen, that was a misunderstanding. I mean I did mean what I said, but-” he tried to, horribly, explain himself.

“Seriously, your audacity is immense, not only did you call me smelly, but now you're showing up to my class to pick a fight!?” you definitely lost some cool at that point. Everyone who wasn't already congregated, also gathered around, inside the classroom and outside in the hallway.

“First of all, will you stop cutting me off? I am trying to explain the situation here!” And now Satoru was also losing it.

“Explain? Explain what? Explain how you are above everything and literal incarnation of God or something? Oh did my lowly perfume perhaps irritate your nose hair?” The sarcasm clearly entailed what kind of image you have already built in your head about him. Perhaps it was from all sorts of exaggerated rumours about him. Though you didn't seem like one to fall for such petty rumours, like how he was an undercover actor or prince. But he was sure what kind of a person you thought this guy was—an arrogant asshole.

“Do you even know me?” said Satoru, now starting to become really irritated by your—in his opinion—unnecessary attitude. The last month has been hard enough as is. It took him time to settle down and not let people’s stares or baseless rumors get to him—some of them might have been funny if he was being honest. It was the friends he made in his first week who held him back from getting into more fights than he already did, and had his back against all the whispers.

“Do you know me well enough to shout my first name in front of my entire class!?” Well Satoru didn't have a comeback to that. “Exactly. So why don't you keep yourself and your arrogance out of my sight.” You grimaced.

“Arrogance? Oh please shortcake. You sure have a lot of words to spout with that height of yours.” Now he was just being petty.

“Oh because being a streetlight is so gratifying!”

“At least I don't cut people off mid sentence then talk shit!” and he has completely lost his cool.

“Oh don't put on pretence! Like you are some saint!? For who? The girls who flock you like some shiny stone?”

“Oh don't be salty just because I didn't give you some attention shortcake.” He was trying to get under your skin. He's now losing sight of his actual motive.

“Yes, because I am dying to be acknowledged by your highness, and how my smell is bothering his expensive nose!”

“Listen. That was entirely a misunderstanding, and you're not even trying to hear me out. You are the one picking a fight!”

“Oh I am sorry, I just can't stand pretentious people.” you stab your last quip with a glare, stabbing right through his chest, all while maintaining perfect eye contact.

“You know what. Nevermind shortcake, this was a waste of time.”

“I didn't even ask for your presence in the first place.” Your eyes deadpanned, remained trained on him, bored yet bothered. Both of your faces mere inches away, when did it get there? No idea. He was cranking his head down to glare back into your eyes, losing all motivation to return your keychain. And before he could come up with any further retort, the bell rang. Thankfully.

Word of this interaction spread through the entire school like wildfire.

A few things were instantly established in the passing months since Satoru’s arrival—he was going to be popular, he is good at almost everything, and that he got along with almost everyone; even the people he did not have a good rapport with at the beginning, now he seemingly got along with them perfectly.

But, there was one person who could not stand him. And that person happened to be you. And everyone was aware of this. The students, respective and common friends, the teachers, heck even the principal knew.

Yet in the next 6 months since Satoru joined the school, he found himself crossing paths with you quite often. First he really did just avoid you; he gave up on giving back the keychain, that he did out of pettiness. He really did want to return it, but unless and until you dropped your attitude he was not letting the cat chain go, but he did take good care of it— it sat nicely on his desk, gave it a little bed made out of a soft napkin he got from his mom. Once in a while he would dust it and give it pats, and also speak to it. Yeah, after dinners when he would be studying he would speak to that little guy. He was feeling real friendly with it, which made him feel more bad for it, because at the end of the day it belonged to you.

In the instances where Satoru and you would run into each other; you could be laughing out loud and having a fun time and then, you would see him across the hallway and your face would morph into a scowl. It irked him, in a good way, it made him feel excited that he had such a sway on you. Even if he was convinced it was not that one single—incorrectly interpreted—comment about your perfume, which made you have such a poor opinion of him; there has to have been a deeper reason. From what he has gathered, you are the highest scoring student in the entire year, the teachers have a very good opinion of you, and you are helpful towards your peers— a straight A’s student, and their sophomore student body council secretary, a real model student. Even though you would mostly keep to yourself, you were still pretty well known by others.

Yet when you saw him, you would lose your cool. In fact from what he heard, the biggest takeaway from the fight you two had was that, ‘woah she can be like that?’, because people apparently had never seen you speak over a certain decibel. That stroked his ego. Made him feel sort of special, got him all giddy.

He was yet to realize the gravity of those feelings. The impact of the rush he felt when he smelled your sweet and citrusy fragrance when you passed by him, speeding up to lose sight of him faster. And he would always be left behind, to stand still, taking it all in.

His little teasing remarks, pranks, and fight initiators started soon after the fight you two had that day; started small really. Calling you shortcake constantly, interrupting you when you would go to their class to make some announcement on behalf of the student body. Trying to get better grades than you. Going over to the student body room, using his class president Kento as an excuse, to annoy you. Stealing your spectacles on days you would not put in contacts, trying it on and copying your mannerisms. His personal favorite was to snatch away any books, notebooks, or papers in your hands; to then hold it over his head. The whole thing about you jumping to try and get it out of his hands—which was an impossible task for you—gave him the opportunity to smell your scent much better.

During one of such instances, where he was holding one of the student council papers over his head, prolonging your work, he got a whiff of your shampoo. It smelled like fruits, strawberries and more citrus—it smelled like orange this time. This was fatal. The notes of bergamot and peonies were threatening his sanity as is, and now there were strawberries. He got so trancened by your presence that when his hand lowered involuntarily, you took the chance to grab onto his shoulder, to use him as a support to reach for your papers—he stood there looking into your squinting eyes as you retrieved the papers from his hand, until you walked off muttering curses at him.

And he just stood staring at your back. His eyes lingered on you long enough to see you turn back and throw a glare at him as you made a turn to disappear from his line of sight.

This went on, the teasing and squabbling, the name callings, use of the words shortcake and streetlight became significantly more frequent in your respective lexicons. Satoru loved using his pretty privileges to get the girls in your class to do his bidding, and had them sending you off somewhere without mentioning his name, the naive enchanted girls would abide with no questions asked. And when you would show up, he would throw a fake snake at you, or jumpscare you—though this was a more rare occurrence than his regular teasing, just so you would not get too used to this sort of pranks that it would lose its effect on you.

To him the idea of you was like this puzzling question nagging and straining on his mind, much like your physical self. But you got him excited and riled up. Also a little annoyed at the fact that you do not think of him worthy enough to spare any time. Which is why he came up with these mischievous ideas to elicit reactions out of you.

Nothing was more satisfying than to see you break under his little ventriloquism.

The dynamics took a slight turn when you two became second year students.

On the fateful morning of the day when the results for first year’s finals came out—you found yourself standing dumbfounded, looking at your full name on the bulletin board, in second place.

You came in second.

Which is big! An amazing achievement. But it didn't feel like it. Especially when your name was displayed second to Gojo Satoru. He outdid you, he really did. Getting better grades than you in random tests and what not was one thing, then outranking you and ruining your plan for a perfect streak—was another thing. The horror and embarrassment of standing in front of the huge display of the grades, surrounded by everyone, having your failures announced in broad daylight, hearing everyone whisper about you—had you standing there like a cold unmoving statue.

So when Satoru got around to finally stroll in with ease, way after the results were announced, to come up to stand directly behind you—because as always the first person his eyes wander to find in a crowd is—you. He couldn't figure out why you glared at him differently, there was this underlying somber and a tilting glaze in your eyes. It was as if any moment you were going to break down into tears and his presence was anything but welcomed.

Praise his tongue, because thankfully that day it held itself back. Thankfully his senses caught on to what was happening. Coming in first or second or last did not matter much to him, because what mattered most to him was to simply get under your skin, essentially the very reason why he ended up on the top of the list—but you did not find this funny or amusing. And it wasn't your usual annoyance and dismay of his antics, he really felt like he had done something to actually hurt you.

And which in return hurt him tenfold. Knowingly or unknowingly, Gojo Satoru bled himself a wound that he didn't know how to stitch close.

He didn't know what exactly hurt more, the fact you ran away from there that day after he arrived, without a single word. Or the fact that you've been completely ignoring his existence since that day. It has been really painful for him, because everytime he would get a glimpse of you or a whiff of you—you'd disappear from his sphere, as soon as humanly possible. He made every effort to try to speak to you. The rejoice he felt about being assigned to the same classroom as you this year, was starting to wear off. Especially when you made it explicitly clear through your actions that you had no intention of speaking to him or acknowledging his existence, more than ever. If you were helping out class president Nanami Kento with distributing papers, you would hand over his papers as nonchalantly as possible. In one of such several instances, he gave up on giving you space to get back to your usual self, and grabbed your wrist to explain himself.

“L/n, listen, i am really sorry alright. I don't know how it happened. I swear I did not mean to hurt you like that, I swear! I was just-” he blabbed on without making much sense, whispering as discreetly as possible. Even though the entire school was aware you two were not on even speaking terms anymore. He did not want to put you in a position where everyone made a spectacle out of you.

“I have better things to do, Gojo.” as always you would cut him off, without even sparing him as much as even a glare, then yank your wrist out of his grasp to go on your merry way.

He really did whatever he could, following you around like a kicked puppy, leaving notes on your desk, which was fortunately assigned right before his own desk—he was not sure if it made things a little easier for him, or a hundred times harder. It stung to find those notes crumbled up and sitting on his own desk later. Stung to sit behind you, when you refused to spare a glare or two his way, even some sharp remarks, or curses directed at him. The smell of sweet citrus and peonies did not help. The teachers would call him out more often than not for being distracted in class. Poor guy was really going through it.

The nail in his coffin was, when it had already been three weeks since the new year started. Three weeks and three days of you completely ignoring his pathetic attempts at saying sorry to you. On the fourth day of the fourth week, he found you in the teacher's lounge, speaking to one of your subject teachers;

“Goodness L/n. The year just started and you are already slacking off? Forgetting to submit the student council work on time, then forgetting your class assignments!? Is there something going on? No surprise Gojo surpassed you, do you understand the gravity of that? That careless guy outranked you. And you are making no efforts to rectify that! If things go on like this, next year you might come second from last.” he really crossed a line there.

If it was in Satoru’s capacity, he would’ve probably gone in and punched the man straight square in the jaw. He never really liked him to begin with. It was not about the fact he called Satoru careless, or the fact he always finds the flaws in Satoru—it was entirely about how he treated you. And it was not just in this instance, the guy has always been harsh and judgemental towards you, from what he heard it started since one day you corrected his mistake during class. And he was known to be not tolerant of anyone being better than him, especially students.

Satoru almost broke into the room, when his eyes locked with yours. You stood in front of the guy with your hands tightly gripped by your side, facing the door. Your already glossy eyes started to almost overflow with tears when your gaze fell on him, your body was slightly trembling. How you managed to blink away those tears, is beyond him. In the brief moment where you looked at him and looked away to control your emotions, making an effort to not break down into tears in front of the room full of teachers, the teacher who was scolding you, and your homeroom teacher Mr. Yaga who was giving you pitiful glaces—he knew interrupting will only make things worse for you.

More than anyone, you did not want to cry in front of Satoru. And Satoru was cognizant of that fact better than maybe even yourself.

So, he did the most sensible thing he could in that moment, for once, he simply stood outside with his back to the wall outside of the teacher’s room, and did not dare to look inside. And he just waited while remaining unnoticeable. Waiting for you to come out, he did not care for the looks thrown his way by the students roaming in the hallways, as long as they did not spare a glance towards you and try to snoop. What did he even want to say to you when you came out of there? He had no idea, and he knew he was the last person you would want to see right now, but for him you are the first person he wants to see everyday after he wakes up—so he could not just let you be on your own in this condition. Because he knew better than anyone, you were not one to wear your heart on your sleeves.

Satoru essentially blended in there, to the point you did not even notice him standing there when you left the room in a hurry, and headed the opposite way from your class. Recess was already over, that guy kept you in there for the entire recess period. ‘Goodness did you even eat?’ was something that crossed his mind among various spiteful and angry words he was muttering under his breath directed towards that teacher.

You were never one to miss a class, cutting classes without any valid reason was out of the question. But honestly if you tried to go in the class right now, he would have probably dragged you somewhere else himself. So he did the next best thing—followed you from a distance to wherever you were going. No one is going to care or notice if you two were gone at the same time, right? Well at least he could make up some excuse and take all the blame himself. He was not exactly known for his attendance record anyway, the sole reason why he made sure not to miss school was because you barely ever skipped school.

That is how he found you in the school yard at the back, near the flower patch the students planted, against the big Momiji tree. Where you are found most times during free periods, reading whatever book you may be reading at the moment. This time you were just crying, well it is not that he could see you, but he could tell. You were sitting with your knees to your chest, face buried in your hands, your entire figure was clearly trembling even from afar. Soft sobs jabbed his ears as he got closer and made his chest hurt. He slowly walked up to the tree trying not to scare you.

“Stop lurking like a creep.” You said with your head still down.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.” He said softly, and went to take a seat beside you, unsure if you were going to run away from him again.

You laid your legs flat on the grass and rested your back against the tree when he made his way over to you. When you looked up at him, eyes bloodshot red, glassy with tears, and more tears running down your cheeks, pooling at your chin— with your lips slightly jutted out and eyebrows bunched up in a frown, he just fell on his knees in front of you. Happerhazadly pulled out his handkerchief, and offered to take it.

“Is this funny to you?” you said with a frown. He knew you were upset but he couldn't help but think, and mindlessly said it out loud—

“Cute.”

“Ah so this is cute to you!? You are finding my misery and embarrassment cute. You seriously-” he cuts you off mid sentence.

“Will you ever actually let me speak!?” He takes a second and continues “Goodness shortcake, I meant you are cute. The tongue you've got on you, could wound thousands of soldiers and that brain of yours could beat Usain Bolt in a race.” He let out a short chuckle as he shook his head slightly and wiped your face with his handkerchief.

He gingerly wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks and chin, and the accumulated tears in the corners of your eyes. With utmost gentle touch he cleaned you up, which was characteristically contradictory.

You looked away from him without any retort. Too occupied with the fact he called you cute, to even notice that little gesture. So you further leaned back onto the tree as if it'll engulf you and make you not sit here with him and confront this heavy air hanging between you two. But also, who is stopping you from getting up and walking away?

Things have always been odd when Gojo Satoru was involved. Somehow after everything, time and time again you found yourself breaking down all your walls to let this guy have a peek at your most authentic self—someone who is envious, easily irritable, not the patient and tolerating soft-spoken girl everyone knows. And it irks you. It claws at your skin that he has been nothing but himself since day one; even before entering the gates of the school, he didn't think of the consequences but just turned his back to it and almost walked away. Yet you were rushing to make it on time, to not have any smear on your perfect record. Even if you were late only because you were up studying until late for the midterms looming over, you could not excuse one slip up.

Why didn't he run the opposite direction of the school but instead chased after you?—you couldn't pinpoint the answer. Everything about him just simply made your head scramble, enough so you didn't even realize you lost your beloved cat keychain until later during lunch. Even when you searched around everywhere, traced back your steps, and looked for it on the route back home; it was nowhere to be found. You cried yourself to sleep that night thinking how you lost the keychain, which had a cat who looked exactly like the cat you once loved and cherished. It was unfortunate enough to have lost him at such a young age, but the key chain helped to have his presence as if guiding you through obstacles.

And without him, things have been a mess. The only explanation you could rationalize was that Gojo Satoru was the one to blame for everything. If he hadn't turned back and ran in after you, you would've been more receptive to your keychain dropping instead of this giant guy running behind you, and wouldn't have lost it. If only he didn't become friends with Shoko and the others you wouldn't have to possibly interact with him. And then he wouldn't know of your existence and try to make it his mission to have your life fall apart.

“I'm sorry.”

What surprising words even for him. There have been very few people in his life he has ever genuinely apologized to. He could count them all on all his fingers, but he never expected to be where he was currently.

“I am sorry for saying that you smell, which I did not mean in the way it came off, I am just really bad with my words. I meant you smell really nice.” His face was completely serious and there was no trace of mockery or jest.

“I just- not to be a creep, I saw you on my first day here. At the school gates.” His eyes softened and his body started to fidget. He almost seemed—nervous?

“I almost ran back to Tokyo that day. I wasn't really, well to put it simply, happy about the whole moving thing. And if you hadn't rushed past me that day, I probably would've gone with my plan.” He throws an easy smile in your direction. “If you hadn't dropped this—” He digs around his pockets and encloses something in his fist.

“Maybe it would have been much harder for me and my parents to start off here. I am almost glad you dropped this little guy that day.” When he opened his fist, in the space between you two, there rested your lost keychain with the cat who reminded you of your dead pet cat.

Upon the sight of your beloved cat (keychain), your mouth opened a little with an audible gasp. Your hand went up timidly to touch it on his palm, actively sending shivers down his spine at the brush of your fingertips. All he could focus his eyes on was your hand, not even daring to look up at your face, afraid of the state of his own face.

He was sure the heat he felt rushing up to his cheeks and ears, must have evidently turned his pale skin into a blushing mess. If only he was not so preoccupied with his own emotions, he would have noticed the first speck of tear forming yet again in the corners of your eyes, before it could even fall down. Which he only felt when he saw the droplets of water that landed on the palm of his hand, effectively making him snap his head back up to look at your weeping face.

If he asked you then why were you crying? You would have probably just cried harder. So you were thankful that he did not ask.

He did not bother to ask any questions but simply took you in his arms, burying your face in his chest, actively soaking his shirt in the shivering winds of spring—letting you cry about nothing and everything, in the arms of the guy who has been the source of your annoyance since the day he arrived.

“You make no sense to me” your sobs became muffled through the fabric of his shirt and sweater vest.

“That is a weird way of thanking someone for returning the keychain which you clearly care a lot about.” he let out a soft giggle, trying to put you at ease. You pulled away from him, much to his dismay, looking only at the keychain he returned in the palm of your hands.

“Well you did take over my rank, and eavesdropped on me getting humiliated.” if it was in his power, he would kiss away that frown and pout.

With that one passing thought, Gojo Satoru had the first epiphany of his life that day. The answer to the inclination he felt towards hogging away all your attention.

“Satoru?” He finally heard from the haze of realization and panic that suddenly hit him. What was he supposed to do now? How was he going to ever face you with these confusing feelings?

“Are you alright?” you seemed genuinely concerned for him. Which melted him. Again, if only he was not so preoccupied with the mess in his head and chest, he would have realized much earlier you just called him by his first name. For the first time ever.

“Did you just call me by my first name?” he asked in genuine awe. While you shied away from him a little, which he found more endearing—this is an entirely biased perspective.

“Also! I really did not mean to outdo you! I swear! I didn't even try that hard, and I was sure you were going to do way better than me. Believe me it was just a fluke.” he blabbered on in a frenzy. “Wow, way to show off Gojo.” you said playfully with an eye roll and half smile, just impressed by the lack of imperious tone in his voice.

“No, I swear! Also i mean you have been looking really exhausted these days, maybe that is why, or else how can i ever beat you? I don't know, maybe because I am new. So they were like—’let’s give him this so he does not go around picking fights again’. Also come on you just called me Satoru what happened! No take backs.” you let out a big laugh at his silly rambling. “Goodness. Alright Satoru.”

And he's all smiles with the sound of his own heart beating in his ears.

“I will be taking back my spot from you. Keep it warm until then.” With those final words you stood up and walked away, the hand you used to give him a final pat on his shoulder—dragged off his shoulder with each step enlarging the distance between you two. The agonizingly lingering heat that it left behind, surely left a mark on his skin. It burnt, or perhaps shocked him—he was unclear which was worse.

One thing was clear as he watched you walk back into the building—he is in deep waters. And unfortunately he doesn't know how to swim.

It is truly beyond current Satoru, how teen Satoru's thought processes worked. Because how do you come to the conclusion that ‘i need to do everything in my power other than confront these feelings eating away at me.’

So after the confrontational and very heartfelt conversation with you, Satoru felt more powerless than ever at the mercy of the feelings you provoked within him. His head would feel light, chest would feel heavy, feet would go numb, and every moment he would get a whiff of your scent he could feel a threatening nosebleed.

Actually once during PE you sat beside him after running, sweaty and out of breath. You had simply leaned over him to grab the water bottle by his side—and his nose started bleeding. Until then he never believed in the whole thing about getting a nosebleed because of being overwhelmed, he genuinely believed one needs to be punched real hard in the face or hit something face first with good impact to get a nosebleed.

And now he stands corrected.

He wasn't sure whether it was the citrus, peonies, or the new found smell of your musk and natural odor which triggered the whole thing. Or maybe it was the worry you showed, scrambling to stop the blood dripping down his nose with your sweat soaked towel, tilting his head back with your hands and shouting for your PE teacher to come and help him—if only you knew all of it helped less and less.

The whole thing made him realize that he needs to get a grip!

And how did he execute that— by confiding in his friends? Making an effort to confess to you? No. He decided that it would be a brilliant idea to accept every confession he got and date as many girls as he could—to forget you, of course.

In his defense, he liked what you two got going right now. He gradually grew really close to you; started with simple conversations and jokes to then a fully established friendship. At least he liked the thought of being your friend.

He liked when you’d lean back in your chair to whisper little jokes to him, how the teacher completely fumbled that sentence. Or when you would give him candies, because you always carried some with you, or when you would come to him first before going to anyone else if you did not understand a lesson.

He particularly liked when you would share a rambling synopsis of the books you were currently reading or recently finished, it did not matter how little he cared about the books itself. Mr. ‘could not stop yapping for the love of god’, went completely silent when he stood before you. He loved when you would bring him your latest creation in the kitchen, because you were trying to learn how to cook and it did not matter to him how salty or half cooked and fully burnt the food would be. It was the effort you put into asking him about his favorites and tried making it. Like the effort he put into not letting you get a clue about how much of a digimon guy he was, because he would rather hear you talk about pokemons to him for hours. Did not matter that he thought digimon was superior.

Satoru might have been a popular guy since he joined; being extremely good looking, witty, academically gifted, part of the basketball team and having friends who were equally well known worked in his favor of being probably the most sought after guy in school. But that never made him a ‘player’, as one would assume. Often he would return the gifts he would get or politely decline confessions. So to everyone's surprise when he accepted the first confession, rumors went around—’maybe he was waiting for her to confess this entire time?’ Well, the rumors steered a different direction when she broke up with him within a week, and the next girl also broke up with him within a similar span of time. And when this pattern repeated for the rest of the year, people started labeling him as a cliche popular guy.

Around his sixteenth relationship, you happened to see him getting slapped real hard by the girl he was going out with at the time. They were talking behind the gardening shed, close to the Momiji tree you loved oh so dearly. All that shouting and cursing she did before slapping him, reached your ears, and as a diligent member of the student’s council you could not ignore it. The slap was echoing. She really left a mark on his cheeks, others have slapped him before for being so apathetic about everything, to get a one last satisfactory reaction out of him. But they have all failed at that. But this girl slapped him harder than anyone else had before her— while calling him a piece of shit for leading her on and wasting her time. So he got broken up with again. And he did not seem even a little bothered by this, his face only started contorting in a panic when his eyes landed on you standing the opposite way from the route his ex took to storm off.

Which ended up making him run away from you, a new occurrence for both of you. And this time you had to be the one to chase after him. You found him in the stairwells, where you silently just sat beside him. This must be what they call deja vu.

“So. long day huh?” you dragged each word awkwardly.

“You don’t have to do this Y/n.” he said without even looking at you, just looking down at his hands intertwined with each other, on his lap.

“Unfortunately for you, I want to. We are friends aren’t we?” you asked him expectantly.

And Satoru only ever wished to be your friend. He liked being friends with you. If you called him your friend the day he went to your class to return that keychain he would have been ecstatic, but right now? Being called your friend felt like yet another hit to his heart. He wants to leap out of the bounds of friendship and hold you, tell you how much he loves you. “Yes we are.” Those three words felt like gravel ripping his own skin.

“Then just hear me out won’t you?” and how can he say no to you looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes, and smiling lips. You can ask him for anything and he would not dare to deny. So naturally he nodded a yes wordlessly.

“You don’t seem like yourself these past few months. I am worried about you— we are all worried.” he stared at you as you took a pause to continue, assessing whether or not he was getting pissed off. “I know how much it sucks to hear that you have changed or something like that. But I do not mean it like that—you have been more distant, and just- well, you seem off.”

“You do know that you can tell me anything right? Is there anything bothering you? Are some kids bullying you? Tell me their names, I will take care of them.” you said with squinted eyes and a raised fist like you were ready to beat up some kids for him. And the sheer idea of that image tickled a laugh out of him.

“Sure you will shortcake.” he said in a fit of laughter. And you have never been more glad to hear him call you by that nickname. It has grown on you, similarly as he has grown on you.

“I am fine, at least now that I am sure about something, I am fine.” he said with a sigh, like something heavy lifted off his shoulders. “You sure right?” you enquired again just for confirmation.

“Yesssss, now stop furrowing your eyebrows, you are bound to get wrinkles before you are even thirty.” he was helpless to the smile that grew on his face, “wow way to thank the person who just cheered you up.”

“Stop trying to copy me shortcake.” he bumped his head slightly on yours, causing you to gasp and bump your forehead to his—some sort of retaliation if you will. Cannot let him get away with the last word, can you? “Don’t bump your big head with mine! What if I catch your dummy disease!?” you said with your forehead still on his forehead. Faces mere inches away from one another.

“Uh huh? And what are you gonna do about it?” Satoru has no idea where this was coming from or where this was going. But having you in such close proximity was definitely messing with his head.

“I will-” you cut yourself off, staring back into his eyes, unable to continue whatever you were trying to say—something about his eyes, the shades of blue, lapis and cerulean, making you incapable of continuing. It is as if there dwelled an ocean in his eyes, and unfortunately you never took your swimming lessons seriously. “What are you going to do, shortcake?”

Well, no one found the answer to that question, as the bell rang and made the both of you flinch away from one another. In a moment of awkwardness about whatever that inexplicable tension was, you both did the most expected thing— laughed it off and headed towards the classroom.

Rest of the year passed with Satoru coming to terms with his feelings for you, hyping himself up to confess to you, and spending time with you. And somehow the both of you ended up getting the exact grades at the end of the year, ending up on the first rank together—something that was bound to happen when you are studying together, giggling in class together, eating together, feeding the cats who took a nap behind the school, together. Even when he was more of a dog guy.

And, Satoru really liked the idea of being together with you.

When senior year rolled around and he was determined to make you his by the time you guys graduated high school. Which is easier said than done.

Especially when he is not making any efforts other than just moving his pupils frantically between your lips and eyes, as you go on and on about the student body president’s new dumb mandate. His mind is probably looking at you with heart eyes, lying on its stomach, kicking its feet. Because it keeps repeating,

‘everyday baby, please say you're mine.’

It is a little embarrassing when he has to hide behind the bookshelves when you turn to look his way, because he would be piercing his longing gaze in the back of your head. Why did he not go up to the seat you were occupying at the library? Strike up an easy conversation; and have you offer him a seat with a smile, or get annoyed at him for talking too much and too loud in the library—he does not have the answer himself. All he knew while peeking at you from between the books in a nearby shelf, that his heart was palpitating like it may burst out of his chest any moment, and have the librarian come scold and shush it.

Walking by the hallways near your favorite Momiji tree, to catch a glimpse of you under it, by skipping on practice was the usual at this point. His teammates and coach have given up. Does not mean he doesn’t have to face consequences for these acts of stupidity. Especially on the off chance you visit one of his matches and he goes full statue in the middle of running up to the basket, then as he gains his composure back, he goes full throttle on his opponents. To show off his shots and dribbles during the match. The team and the coach let it pass sometimes, only because it guarantees that they will win the match. But they always make sure to lecture him about abandoning them to push past the hoard of people congratulating him, to only get to you. With groans of collective clamour going, “just confess already.”

Satoru, to this day, still wishes it was that easy. It is not that he never tried.

First time he tried to confess, you two were simply sitting in class, at your desks. Your chair was turned around, so you could sit facing him. He had stayed behind with you after classes ended, to help you with council work. But the yellow, orange and pink hues of the setting sun on your face, was leaving his usual talkative demeanor to be tongue tied. And when you leaned forward on the desk to snap your fingers in face to hopefully get him out of the trance where he was drowning—in those milliseconds between you moving off your seat, looming over him, and looking straight into his eyes; he almost blurted it all out. If only it was not for Kento to walk into the class and enquire about the progress you made on the work, he would have laid it all out for you.

That was not the only time he was teetering over the edge. One time you dragged him to the garden behind school during PE to feed the cats who take naps around there. He actually blurted out “I am in love.”

Which naturally had you snap your head in his direction, your surprise also had the cat lying in your lap surprised, that it also looked in his direction. So he backpedaled, defending his words by rephrasing them, “No! I mean, I am loving this. As in, like, not having to do PE class!” you laughed it off, joking that his poor choices of words and phrasing will definitely get him in deep trouble one day.

There had been so many instances he just almost verbalized his feelings, almost found that serenity in having you know the reason behind the ache in his chest, and the foggy fuzz clouding his judgment around you. But he only wishes he actually followed through with his emotions. Often he found his emotions to be stuck in a battle between his tongue and brain.

After many such (failed) attempts, he finally decided to just lay it all out after the graduation ceremony. As he could not burden you with his feelings when he spent the entirety of the year dilly dallying so much that the finals and entrance exams were near enough to have students lose sleep.

Sometimes in his dreams, Satoru still dreams about the day of his high school graduation ceremony. He dreams of the very events that took place that day, and different possibilities.

He woke up much earlier than usual that morning. He did not want to be late at any cost. Not because he wanted to be there to hear the principal give the same old speech she gives every year or hear the student body president, Kamo Noritoshi, give out yet another speech, he has had enough of his boring speeches as well. He really just wanted to hear your valedictorian speech.

He was glad he did not earn the highest GPA in his year— no, it was not because he did not want to give some stupid speech, though it was part of the reason. He was beyond happy for you, instead of gloating over his own GPA which made him come in second to you, he was more thrilled over you beating him to the first spot. He was so happy that day he literally hugged you so tight, your inner organs almost spilled out from the looks of it, going as far as to lift you up in the air and making a whole show out of it. Honestly from afar it would be confusing to conclude who exactly did better, though anyone who has lingered their eyes a bit too long on Gojo Satoru knew better, which was practically the entire school, it was not surprising to see him act as such. It was rather surprising he did not tie ranks with you, considering his capacity to ace anything and everything, especially academics. But it was ordinary to see him celebrate your wins much more loudly than everyone combined.

When you asked him the question how he did not get a higher GPA than you, later over celebratory ice cream with your friend groups. He just shrugged it off and simply told you that, “Eh. I just goofed around and had a fun senior year, considering these are the most memorable years of one’s life.” with a smug smile stretched across his face, accompanied by his raised shoulders.

“Sure, it was totally not because you were feeling too lazy.” at this point you were all too familiar with Gojo’s pattern. And unlike in the past, you found it more fun to banter with his silliness than getting angry at his conceit. It was still annoying, but not as annoying as it used to be.

“Tch. Tch. Shortcake, you just do not get the concept of fun as well as you get the concept of natural selection. ”

Despite his claims he knew why he did not surpass you, well not because he granted you that position out of pity or his obvious feelings towards you. He respected you too much to one day have you find out your achievements were not well earned, it would eat him up otherwise. Though the reason still was you, or perhaps it was his pathetic attempts at winning you over and expanding the definition of your relationship with him.

Anyway, currently he was sitting unsteady in the back of his father’s car, stuck in a jam, not giving ear to either of his parents reassuring him from the front that they will get there in time. But unfortunately for the Gojos, their son was not the patient kind.

Which is exactly why they didn't object much other than a few shouts when Satoru ran out of the car, with his gown and graduation hat tucked under his armpits. Thankfully they were not stuck too far from the school, but Satoru was unfortunately late for his own graduation ceremony. When he ran inside the auditorium, the hall full of parents, students, teachers, and peers alike, were staring him down— maybe for rudely interrupting the principal's speech, or for looking drop dead gorgeous while sweating buckets; it was unclear.

He silently walked up to where his class was standing and took his place in the empty space left behind for him. The principal resumed with a cough, continuing whatever faux inspirational speech she may have been talking about. His eyes roamed around frantically to land on yours, staring back at him, scrunching and raising your eyebrows in a comical way. While pointing at your watch, silently reprimanding him for his tardiness, all Satoru could do was smile and shrug like a helpless kicked puppy. But as if that has ever worked on you, so you rolled your eyes at him with the shake of your head and mouthed at him to focus on the speech.

After that very boring speech, and handing out the certificates, followed by another boring speech by Kamo Noritoshi, it was finally time for your speech.

When you stood waiting in the left wing of the stage for your cue, he could clearly see you nervously playing with your hands. Fortunately his intense stares had you looking in his direction, so he waved his hand a little to get your focus, and just wished you a silent ‘goodluck, you got this!’ through exaggerated mouth movements.

Was it cute? Or weird? Either way, it made you smile and ease up, and that's all that matters to him. He was probably the one cheering the loudest for you among everyone in there, your parents or friends or anyone, couldn't have dared to match his voice echoing through walls, to the point the teachers had to shut him up by the very end of your speech. Because he kept clapping or whistling really loud in between every pause.

“At the end of the day, these years we've spent here will always stick with us. For better or for worse, and all I want, is to thank those people who made it bearable through all of it. And I hope you all have a future filled with achievements, celebrated alongside those people around you, who make it bearable. Thank you very much.”

Satoru did not cheer the loudest this time around, his silence was drowned out by the loud cheers or the flying caps around him. He was too busy standing there, a hostage to your teary eyes, and a smiling face coming down the stage.

After a few very busy hours of hugs and pictures with family and friends, and some supportive words as well as teasing lectures from the teachers; Satoru went off to find you surrounded by few people.

“Hey!” he came behind you and spoke in a breathy whisper in your right ear.

“Ah! Satoru! Oh my goodness I've been looking for you!” You slapped his arm lightly as he tried to say,

“Listen, I-” “I need to speak to you. Come with me. Sorry, will you excuse us?” You dragged him by his left hand, tangled with your own right hand. It is not that he has never held hands, he's done plenty more than that, but your hands meant more. And he hopes you heard his heart beating through his hands, as you held onto it and dragged him to a random empty hallway.

“I suppose this works, I was gonna drag you away myself.” He lets out a little chuckle as he settles opposite you, facing you, “I wanted to-”

“I am moving away.”

“What?”

“I am moving out of the country. I, um, applied to this university abroad and they accepted me. It was not confirmed until last week, I've told almost everyone but.” You take a pause and stare down at his blank face, rid off the little shy smile and blush adorning him just a second ago, before continuing, “But, I just did not- I mean, I could not just figure out how I was going to tell you.”

Satoru lets out a dry chuckle. “What's so hard about that? Come on shortcake. It's just me.”

“I, I know. I mean-” this time he interjects.

“Are you happy?”

You blink twice and answer, “More than I thought I would be.”

‘Then that's enough for me.’ Is what Satoru meant to say then, instead he said something different.

“I am really happy for you Y/n. Will miss you shortcake.” He cracks a genuine smile, despite the storm waiting to unleash in his chest through the waterworks of his eyes, regardless he was still happy in your happiness.

When you leaped into his arms with a tight grip on his back, mumbling a choked up “I'll actually miss you more dummy.”

“Nope can’t let you have this one too.” with a chuckle he patted your head as you cried in his arms for the second time since you have known him, once was one too many times for you but here you are. Perhaps this was the last time, he thought.

“Also, I want you to have this.” you handed him a keychain, similar to yours, but instead of an orange little cat, there was a white cat attached to it. “When I saw it, it reminded me of you.” You placed the little guy on his palm, and he closed his fist around it with every intention of cherishing it for eternity.

“I’ll see you soon right?” You asked him, as you looked up at him with tear stains on your cheek, matching the stain on his shirt, and he just nodded with a tight grip around the keychain. Maybe he was too scared to verbally give you any promises, otherwise he would start breaking down much harder than you. But one thing he was sure about,

“You'll do great shortcake, you always have.”

‘As I will always love you.’

On days as such, filled with nostalgia. Or on nights spent staring at his ceiling, wide awake, clock ticking closer and closer to the next day— he thinks of you. He thinks about the different possibilities and the most regrettable moments of his life, and thinks, what if?

What if he had chosen a different line of work instead of taking over for his father? What if he went to that pop up shop before they sold out of their limited edition creps? Or what if he chose to go to that school reunion five years ago with Suguru and everyone else. Would he have met you?

What if he had told you he loved you that day? What if he did not wallow in his own self pity and made a better effort at reaching out to you when you suddenly stopped contacting him during second year of University? What if he swallowed down the resentment over your silence and flew across the globe to you? Would not have been the first time he did that. It was the automated voice telling him that the number he dialed does not exist anymore, and the complete refusal from mutual friends to let him know about your whereabouts—that irked him. What did he do so wrong for you to even remove the little pleasure he enjoyed from having you at the very least as a friend.

Maybe if he asked you selfishly to not move away altogether, things would have been different. But how could he, when he never had any concrete dreams of his own other than pursuing in his father's footsteps, to now take over for him. The way your eyes always shined bright with aspirations, and the amount of hard work you put into achieving them, made him try for himself.

Then how could he have been selfish with the one person whom he selflessly gave away his heart to?

“Sato! Come eat! Finish that later!” his mother shouted from inside, breaking the trance of reminiscence. “Yesss mom!” he shouted back to let her know.

And when he set to go inside, he felt something heavy on his legs. While cleaning the boxes, Satoru had gone to sit on the edge of the patio, with his legs hanging from his edge. The height was long enough to have him lose his sight about where his legs were below the knees to his feet comfortably touching the ground.

When he crouched down to look at what was weighing him down, he found a white fluffy cat; clearly well taken care of, lying comfortably, belly up, on top of both of his feet. Set of blue hued pupils peeking out of his blinking eyes. And a smug smile of contentment on his face, either satisfied with his nap or from annoying Satoru. As cute of a look alike this cat may have been to the one on the keychain you gave him—which he still uses everyday to hold all his important keyes—Satoru could tell that this cat was one big menace.

“Meowwww” the feline wailed, when Satoru moved his feet off the ground to take a proper look at the creature. The cat in search of his confiscated comfort, crawled up his legs, up to his lap and made himself comfortable.

Satoru leans back to rest his weight on both of his palms, placed on either side of his torso. He lets out a dry huff “Huh. aren’t you one spoiled little guy?”

“Meow.” the cat quips as if agreeing with Satoru, his eyes were closed, trying to get back his lost sleep.

“And what is your name?” Satoru asked the cat and felt foolish that very next instance. Instead of waiting for the cat’s response—because that will obviously not answer his question—he goes to check the yellow collar adorned on the cat’s neck to check for a nametag.

“ICHIGO!” a loud familiar voice cried behind the hedges that protected the view into his parent’s front yard.

Upon hearing the call, the cat’s ears sprung up and went back, going alert. In a blink of an eye the cat ran off of his lap, out of their main gate— in what seemed like mere seconds. And his parent’s house is pretty huge, the patio to the front gate takes well over thirty seconds to get to when you are in a hurry.

So Satoru ran behind the cat, well after it was gone from his sight, worrying it might run into something or hurt himself. But just as he stepped out of the gate, he saw the cat cuddled up in a person’s arms, who was crouched down in relief, obstructing the view to their face. Though the shade of the hair is much familiar to him just as the voice, but the length now shorter than how he remembers it to be. But that same citrus and peony scent remained, infiltrating his olfactory sense before his eyes could fathom the figure in front of him. Or maybe he did not want to believe the reality of the situation to begin with.

“Never do that again! Do you know how scared I was? Why would you run after a butterfly like that!? I am never letting you off your leash again!” You held the cat out, away from your embrace, finally standing straight. Dangling him in the air by his arms, like some sort of punishment.

“Meowww” the cat whined in a pitiful tone, moving his claws in a way as if asking to be held closer again.

“No Ichi. No amount of whining is getting you out of this mister!” while reprimanding the cat, you forgot to acknowledge the person standing upfront.

“Y/n?”

You look up to see who called you out in the middle of scolding your cat. To only see another ball of familiar white fluffy hair, and cerulean eyes, the ones you’ve once loathed with your entire being, and dreamed of countless nights. Standing a few inches taller than what his previously already behemoth height during teen years used to be.

“Satoru?”

Both of you stood there confused and mesmerized by one another’s presence, to have run into each other under such coincidental circumstances, how fateful. With a more confused Ichigo looking back and forth between you two, now standing on his own four legs on the ground. Probably trying to solve the mystery of the heavy silence and air hanging between you two. From the looks of the mirrored shock, and open mouthed gasps that left your respective mouths—seems like this unanticipated meeting was long overdue.

The beauty of fate truly lies in such oblivious encounters. And those who sneak into your life just as unexpectedly, as they fade out wordlessly.

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT HS!SATORU

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

tag list: @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @moonlitwitchdaisy @rriwyu @naomigojo @aishi-toru @cuntyji @arcanarix @fuwagojo @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @fushitoru @gojosoups @arcanarix @moonchhu @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67

a/n: the above used images are from Pinterest, the Gojo one is from the s2 ending and the other two images, i could not find any exact sources so if you know where they are from please kindly let me know. the dividers are by— @/aquazero, @/kodaswrld @/cafekitsune & @/oldgifs4coding, respectively.

thank you to the pookies for beta reading this <3 really my longest work yet. yes it is a bit cliche but oh well. took a lottt of time to finish, first it was finals, then mental and physical health was at all time low, then literally burnt my hand. the part of the valedictorian speech the reader gave, was part of my own speech i gave at my graduation as the head girl, so if you found it shit i better not hear about it.

named her cat Ichigo, because well he calls her shortcake, and ichigo means strawberry. so strawberry and shortcake :3c

happy to have him out ^^ i hope you had fun reading this!! i have a few drabbles and such related to this i plan on releasing. still not sure if i plan to expand their ending :3c ahhh this was not going to be an open ending, but here we areeee

anywayyyy hope your enjoyed your stay ^^ make sure to share your thoughts in the ask box and comments.

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whore-ibly-hot · 10 months ago

Text

Yandere Boarding school thoughts... (Gender Neutral)

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Multiple yanderes, non-con touching, dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, bullying, masturbation, aphrodisiacs, general perversion, dry-humping, voyeurism, controlling behaviors, typical yandere stuff, breeding, drug usage, horny posting.

(AN: I have rizz-en from my grave to be horny once more. All of these guys are avaliable for requests, but will be listed under the materlist simply as Yan!Boarding School.)

Background: Thinking about a Headmasters child!Reader at a private boarding school. For a Fem!Reader, perhaps you're just visiting daddy for the season while he's running the school, or maybe you've been bad, and need more supervision. For a Masc!Reader, it could be the same case, however, with Blackmoore Academy being an all male school, this opens up the availability for reader to be attending.

Student scenarios and profiles:

◇ Harrison Spence, star member of the swim steam, basketball player, and golden boy. Despite jock stereotypes, he's respectful and mature. He always looks out for others, and this lends to why your father suggests rooming with him. Plus... if anything were to happen, your father wouldn't hate to have him as a son in law. He's SOOO friendly when he meets you. Those big strong arms are perfectly suited to lug your bags upstairs to his room. Want help putting stuff away, sure! For a Fem!Reader, he's not suprised how awkward he is when he's unzipping your suitcase, only to be met with some thin lacy garments. He just coughs and backs off. For a Masc!Reader, he wears boxers too! So why does he still feel so hot. He should open a window.

He'll make sure you fit in around campus, mostly steering you in the direction of the athletics department. He'd love to see you at some of his games, cheering him on. You seem so nice, he could really seem himself with you long term, the more he thinks about crushing on you. Besides, you already share a living space. He feels awful about how his body reacts anytime you're too close. You left a jacket behind that smells just like you? He tries not to think about the consequences of fisting his cock into it. Late night out at one of his games? Who cares if you share a dorm and your bed is literally six feet away, it's too far of a walk. Slide into his bed, he's a gentleman. At least until he wakes up the next morning, mind foggy as he instinctively moves his cock up over the waist band, putting a leaky tip against your ass as he resists the urge to press his head into your neck, opting for a pillow instead. He's so, so sorry, but he's gott a deal with it, and you just feel so good. He rationalizes it by saying he's not just some horned up guy, no. You're his roommate, HIS. And what would the Headmasters think! No, he wants a future with you, romance, not just a warm hole to rut...

"Hey, roomie! Listen, practice is running kinda late tonight, so I'm gonna grab food on the way back. Why don't you text me your order, I can bring it back. We can make a whole thing out of it, no need to pay me back! I'm thinking burgers?"

◇ Carter Matthews, student body president, scholar, and in every AP class possible. Even some dumb ones. He doesn't pay much mind to you, you ate very attractive but so is he. If he felt the need for a relationship, he could get whomever he wanted. But he hates... hates how you make the other students, even some of the faculty act. He can't help but follow you around, making sure you obey curfew, and don't get into any trouble. He likes to keep order around here, and it bothers him to have to ignore his student body presidential duties to make sure some delinquent isn't trying to slip you a spiked drink, or some jock has you under the bleachers trying to get your mouth wrapped around their tips.

Eventually, he decides you could be helpful instead of a hinderance. He's busy, may need a form of stress relief, and given babysitting you when Harrison isn't around is one of the main sources of that stress, why shouldn't you help him out. Besides, you look so cute flustered. Maybe it starts small, he tells you your uniform bottoms aren't regulation, and while he tugs them down to 'fix' them, his hands wander a bit too much, grazing the soft skin of your ass. During random room inspections, he may let his hatred of the sports program taking up all the funding by mentioning how obvious it is your roommate wants to stick it in you. Harrison can't stand him, not trusting the cold creepy gaze of the prefect. He'll force you to come to student council meetings, under the guise of assisting him with preparing for a faculty dinner to appease your father, only to get you under his desk while he writes, trying to guide you with one stern hand. He doesn't like to go too deep, not one to enjoy gagging or unnecessary sound that would distract him from working.

"Keep it down." He scolds, cold eyes peering down through blonde bangs. With a sigh, his free hand strokes your cheek. "Just suckle, alright? There'll be plenty of time after I'm done for you to make sweet noises around my cock..."

◇ Evan Reed, CAPTAIN of the swim team, and student assistant PE coach. He's used to play basketball alongside Harrison, but got kicked out for being too violent. Shoving, pushing, and going as far as knocking teeth out. He's a fucking animal. He's handsome, of not a bit of a loner. He isn't popular or unpopular, people tend to leave him alone because of that bad boy attitude and his temper, but he's always welcome to party with the jocks, welcomed into parties and known as a keg-stand king. And boy do you catch his eyes, giving that your always hanging off Harrison, or being trailed by Carter. He's more than happy to accompany you to the pool or help you out in gym class, but it's obvious what he wants. He'll get up behind you in the pool, still smelling of cigarettes as he asks mundane questions while trying to pull your swimsuit to the side and get his hands on that sweet spot between your thighs. Or maybe he'll sit on the edge of the pool, congratulate you on how good your doing, legs spread as he pulls you between them, hoping you'll end up accidentally eyeing his cock. If you are a Masc!Reader, then there's definitely some internalized homophbia. He'll make sure you know these are just normal friend activities, even when he's got you bent over in the boys locker room, ass up. He doesn't EVER plan to be the one on the bottom.

He's a player, chasing tail outside of the school, hitting on peers sisters and mom's alike. But now, he plans to keep you around, not because he necessarily feels like he wants a romantic relationship with you, but because he loooooves how pissed it makes Harrison. He never liked the goody two-shoes, and half suspects he's one of the people who pushed to get him kicked out of basketball. He likes to pick on people, but Harrison sees himself as a knight in shining armor. So it gives Evan a major power boner to make you grind up against him on the dancefloor at some preppy party, while Harrison just has to stand by and not crush his beer can. Evan knows harrison will never, ever do anything to ruin your good guy image of him. Ever.

He's pissed, punching a locker as he let's out a growl. 4-0, what the fuck is wrong with his team? How could they get fucked over so bad after weeks of missing parties for shitty practices. Luckily for him, he sees you on the sidelines, probably waiting for Harrison to walk you back to your dorm. He takes this opportunity to slide up behind you, hands on your hips as you can feel his angry erection rutting up against your ass. "You. Me. Locker room, five minutes, stall three. Be ready, underwear off and bent over or I'll take you in front of the guys who are still changing? Got it?" He departs with a harsh smack on your rear.

◇ Joseph Mick, he's in the newspaper, but it's not like he's the head or anything. He just love photography, and he's the only guy at school to have really mastered the dark room. He's known to be a little... odd. He's the youngest in you and Harrisons class, with a petite stature and thin, lanky arms. He's pale, almost gaunt, but that could be a lack of sunlight given that he spends all his time in the dark room or toiling over photo arrangement mock-ups in the journalism room. People avoid him, but he's okay with that. He's more than happy to just watch from a distance, and photography is his real branch to the world. People only talk to him or react positively if he's taking photos for the paper or the school newsletter. He actually meets you at one of Evan's swim meets, he gets good seats for being student press, and you get good seats for just being Evan's new favorite piece of ass. Your aren't even sure why you were invited, you don't even know anything about how one wins a swimming competition. But Joseph does. He's been to enough of these, and you notice, so you lean over and start asking him questions. He's shocked someone is talking to him, and not about getting a bigger feature in the yearbook. He's more than happy to help point stuff out to you, even if he had to repeat himself or stutter his way through something. He's feeling his heart flutter and his hands shake so much so he can barely hold the camera. Soon, he's watching as you walk away, wishing he could grab onto you and hang you up on his wall to admire like one of his pictures. It's only made worse when he sees a pair of masculine arms dragging you into the boys locker room.

He's a stalker, but it's not his fault! For one, he's got no idea how to approach anyone, much less someone he likes as much as you. And since he's got that reputation as a creep, if he approached you in public, Harrison would be polite but firm at shooing him away, Carter would give him a look that makes him feel like a worm beneath his well polished shoes, and Evan would beat him to the brink of death, but then pass him over to his friends. But God, if he didn't think it was worth it sometimes to just be close to you. He can only get as close to you as his high-focus lens will allow. He's got hundreds of photos of you, some taken by him, some by campus security cams, and he treats each one like the piece that's gonna get him into a top art school. He almost feels bad taking risqué shots of you. He's always following you, and he sees the ways those... those pigs are treating you. If he could stand up to them, he would. He sees (from the cameras he's slipped into your bag) the boner Harrison is always sporting when he in your presence, he even caught a glance of Harrisons late night rendezvous with your pillow. He sees the way Carter leads you through the hallways like his little secretary, lithe fingers trying to get up your uniform bottoms. Worst of all is the way he sees Evan humping you in the pool like a dog in heat, with you obviously unsure about how you feel about this. He knows he'd treat you right, if you'd ever consider being with something like him. Notice he almost feels too bad to take risqué pictures. He can't help it if a picture or two from one of his hidden cams has a bit of an upskirt, or gets a little to zoomed in on your pecs. But know that as he drums humps the table in the dark room, those copies are only so he can keep one in his room and one on his person! He'd never, ever share your sexual exploits, not like Evan would, always bragging about what he does with, or more likely to you.

Being on the newspaper staff, he's got a pretty good idea of everyone's schedules. He's more than happy to try and squeak out some words to you if he knows your many admirers are preoccupied. Trust him, he knows A LOT of good spots to share a meal privately or maybe... maybe you'd like to see the dark room? He's even got a pillow in there, a cushion he can place on a soft stool in case you ever came to visit. He hopes he could get a private photoshoot in, maybe with some silly pictures of you, or even some lewd pics, he's just happy to see his collection expand. He doesn't have a lot of money, but he's more than happy to buy you as much cheap vending machine food as you want as long as you'll spend time with him.

"Oh, shi- hey! I didn't realize you'd be stopping by here. I'm just, uh, editing some photos for the paper." You don't notice as he slyly moves a tray of pics taken outside a dorm window that looks suspiciously like yours. He thanks whoever is out there in this moment that the dark room has a sink as he keeps his right hand out of sight.

◇ Tyler Mertz and Percy 'Pez' Goldberg, two outsiders, and self proclaimed 'dudes with bad tudes'. Put into the same headcanon spot because they aren't ever seen apart. Tyler and Pez got in on scholarship, and immediately bonded because they know they don't fit in among the rich kids at Ridgemoore. Tyler got in on a scholarship to pursue culinary excellence, because if he can do one thing, it's cook. Pez was awarded a scholarship by lottery two years ago, and even though he's barely passing most of his classes and is the biggest delinquent in school, he can't be kicked out. The school made too much of a big deal about his acceptance to create some good press, the faculty are planning to just wait the problem out. Repeating a year hasn't helped with that, though. Still, they are attached at the hip. Both struggle in classes, Pez because of a shitty social life and even shittier focus, and Tyler because he's just a little slow. Still, Tyler excels in cooking, and the faculty know he's trying. There's a few ways you might come across the pair. Maybe you decided to take culinary, and got paired up with a sweet, dopey guy who turns out to be a fucking MasterChef, or maybe your a brat!reader, like I mentioned earlier, and you meet Pez in detention, where he's glad to know the schools newest troublemaker is a looker too. Most likely, you come across them when either Evan makes you tag along to buy some weed and half-priced shitty beer for a post-game party, or Carter tells you he'll personally see to it that your father tethers you to him if he sees you talking to those 'deliquents'. Either way, they're probably some of the nicest guys in the school, even though Pez likes to fight. He's not a bad guy, but the school can't seem to recognize half of the shit he does is in retaliation to someone fucking with him or his friend.

Pez will like any kind of reader, any. If you're bratty!reader, he loves having someone to run around and bust shit up with. But he'll promise to leave the statue of your father alone, if that's what you want. If you're an innocent!reader, he can't deny he'd love to ruin that good guy/girl image you have going on. Smoke a little weed, sneak out a little, let him show you a good time. He promises he won't cross any lines or do something that would really scare or upset you. He's not a bad guy, he just wants to show you there's so much stuff out there to do. Unlike Joseph, he doesn't let the fact that others think he's a freak keep him from hanging with you. He wants them to see that you like him. HIM. He thinks your adorable no matter who you are, and frankly, snuggling up on the Headmasters kid is just another act of defiance he's happy to flaunt. Eventually, he might even open up to you about his shitty home life, and the fact he's only called Pez cause' when he's high that candy is all he wants to eat.

Tyler is a huge softie. He doesn't let the thing people say about him get to him, mostly because he's a bit dense in the moment to know he's being made fun of, but also because he's okay with being alone. He's happy with who he is, a nice guy. But, that doesn't mean he doesn't love his best buddy, or mind adding you to there little group. It's just one more mouth to feed in his eyes. He'll walk you to all your classes, slinging his big arms around you and keeping you close to his side. Unlike Pez, he grew up with a pretty loving family, and they're what he misses most about being away at boarding school. Most of the money he makes selling weed with Pez goes back to his family, but they don't really know how he makes it. He comes to see you and Pez as his new little family.

With these two, there will be lots of late nights with bad movies and pizza made from scratch. Being on some rundown couch squished between to large bodies, at least one set of arms wrapped around your waist. I think they both are pretty open about telling each other about the crush they have on you, given that they are best buds. These idiots probably got super high one night, and Tyler let slip that he, quote, 'thinks he wants to put a baby in you', to which Pez replies he'd like to put something along those lines in you too. It wouldn't be hard for them to both come to terms with wanting to share you, they share everything else. They just hope you'd want both of them, Pez and Tyler can't stand the thought of making things awkward by you only wanting one of them, so they both subtly try to transition you into the roll of being their partner.

Pez would be fucking fuming when he starts realizing the things boys at school are doing to you. Whether he witnesses it himself, or you come to him and Tyler seeking comfort, he'll pound the shit out of anyone who tries to touch you like that. If you like someone else, Pez wouldn't wail on them to eliminate a rival like Evan would, but rather he hands it over to Tyler. Tyler would come up with some rumors, maybe a reason the guy isn't right for you, and why would Tyler lie? He doesn't feel great about lying, but thinking about the things guys at this school do to you, fills the sweet chefs stomach with a bitter bile.

They wouldn't outright pressure you into sex, but rather try and find ways to coerce you into requesting or initiating it. Pez has some weed laced with something, nothing too strong, but it'll make even a nun feel a little frisky. He'll lay back or rub your thigh, hoping the weed will relax you enough to come out and say what you want. Maybe an aphrodisiac or two gets slipped into a warm drink Tyler made for you. It gets you feeling all hot, but don't worry, you can stay in their room overnight and wear their clothes, so they can... make sure you're not sick or anything.

"Hey," you can feel a pair of arms wrap around you from your spot at the library table. You look up and see Pez, with Tyler now playfully laying his head on the table beside you. "Heard that shithead Evan's got an away game, so it looks like your freed up after all to spend a little time with your favorite guys." His lips are dangerously close to your ear, making you squirm. "Yeah, man, we've got a bunch of movies n' shit from the store, and I'll even make your favorite. Stay the night, it's not like we've got anywhere to be tommorow, and my beds so cold..." Tyler teases playfully, eyes wide and feigning sadness.

All these boys make it difficult to get any alone time at Ridgemoor, but the men certainly don't make it easier... (Taboo part two with the faculty coming soon, because I'm horny for Dilfs and old men with questionable dynamics with reader.)

#yandere #yandere oc #tw.yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere boy #tw.bullying #tw.noncon #yandere smut #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere headcanons #tw.dubcon #gender neutral reader #yandere oc x reader #drabble #yandere boarding school #x reader smut #yandere boarding school x reader #tw.breeding

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fics-lovebot · 1 month ago

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jujutsu kaisen fic recs pt. 3

main masterlist - jjk fic recs pt. 1 - jjk fic recs pt. 2

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

yuji finds out gojo has a family - ( @kingkonoha ) fluff, lowkey angst, hubby!gojo, dad!gojo, so,,, this made me cry, i love yuji sm he deserves the world :( this is part two and it also made me crY MY MF EYES OUT :))))))))

can´t stop drinking - ( @kingkonoha ) ANGST, death, blood, dad!gojo, husband!gojo, mentions of wanting to die, a curse kills you and your son allegedly but in reality the elders had lied to him all these years, part 2 made me fucking crying

lambent - ( @xo2dee ) kinda fluffy, true form!sukuna, pregnant!reader, heian era customs, hubby!sukuna, a lil cannibalism, THIS NEEDs A KDRAMA

paparazzi´s pov - ( @rayveneyed ) fluff, award winning actor!sukuna, singer!oc, he likes messing around with supermodels but then the both of them meet at a fashion show, next thing you know oc got an anklet with his initials in garnet AÑDLJSÑFDLJ i really like this, would love to see a longer version

mangoes - ( @sttoru ) fluff, pregnant!reader, hubby!sukuna, tru form!sukuna, SOOO CUTEE, this acc had me giggling and kicking my feet

nanami drabbles - ( @sugurizz ) pwp, pls yall readdd part 2 and part 3, its crazyy

fifteen minutes - ( @roseglazedlens ) nanami smut. “Say that again. Louder. Can’t hear shit with the sound of my dick slapping into your cunt.” that´s all I have to say, your honor

protective - (@kingkonoha ) headcanon, hubby!kento, my man my man my man my man i love thissss

the horniest - ( @arminsumi ) gojo smut, ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD, he´s horny af, pussy drunk, obsessed, borderline crazy for that wap

phone calls - ( @kingkonoha ) slice of life, hubby!gojo, dilf!gojo, his wife and his daughter are his only priority, this is so sdkfjskdjfh :´( i love it

jock bf!yuuji - ( @tteokdoroki ) smut, fluff, all-star jock!yuuji, weird gf!reader, college au. one thing about me, i LOVE jock!yuuji. READ THIS AS WELL PLEASSEE

In denial - ( @rosesaints ) smut, sub!yuuta, "he doesn’t believe that it’s real until you’re actually sinking down onto his cock" period.

protective hubby - ( @slttygeto ) teacher!suguru, pregnant wife oc, it´s cutee

focus - ( @arminsumi ) suggestive, flirty!geto, tutor!geto, “you’re doing so good for me… keep going.” I HATE ITTTTT, i would fold like a mf lawn chair bitch OOF

wap - ( @tonycries ) smut, going in raw for the first time. i caNNOT EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE HOW GOOD THIS IS JUST PLEASEEE GO READ IT

warm heart pastry - ( @cckaisen ) text, fluff, crack, first of all,,, i love yuji, second of all satoru REALLY needs help, and third of all WHY IS INUMAKI ALWAYS ON SOME SHIT??? lmaooooo

love struck - ( @xxsabitoxx ) fluffy, ex-fuckboy!satoru, he´s experiencing love for the first time :((((( IT´S SO CUTEEEEEEEEEE

love dumb - ( @arminsumi ) gojo fluff, blurb, you make him lose his composure, can´t even focus bc you´re over there existing, someone should make a longer version of this! so good

will always be yours - ( @nezuscribe ) smut, fluff, so basically toji only does rough sex, doggy style being his fav, but when it comes to you he prefers the loving-face to face-intense eye contanct type of sex (more like love making) bc being with you makes him feel ten different emotions at once :) DÑFLJSLDFJ

ridin dirty?! - ( @screampied ) smut, mechanic!toji, the beggining had me giggling and blushing sdlfhlsjh, he´s too fucking cocky lmao, writing his number on her asscheeks and stuff

losing his mind - ( @daisynik7 ) smut, dom!reader, hubby!kento, sub!kento, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, WHEEEEEEEEW, 10000/10, now this is new

his protégé - ( @augustinewrites ) fluff, slice of life, fiancé!kento, dinner time with yuuji, it´s so wholesome :´)

insecure bully!gojo - ( @saetoru ) angst, lil fluff, he´s a bully and he´s in love, but its not enough. part 2

best of the best - ( @saetoru ) smut, fwb! satoru, big sHIT talker omg, he lit asks you to be his gf wHILE he´s making you cum,,,,,best bf ever tho

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jinwoosbabyboo · 6 months ago

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The School is Calling

You got a call about your kid(s) fighting at school ... this can't be good .... or is it? [Requested by: Anon]

Zayne

Principal: Your child got into a fight during lunch

MC: who started the fight?

Principal: That's not important the important thing is your daughter brutally beat up another child

Zayne: What was the fight about?

Principal: Another child took her fruit cup

MC: Is this the same kid who put slime in her hair two days ago?

Principal: Yes but-

Zayne: Is this the same kid who's been taking her notebooks for the last two weeks

Principal: well you see-

Zayne: This sounds like a case of bullying and it seems as though you and your staff have done little to discipline a student who has been bullying our daughter

Principal: I assure you we have a strict no bullying poli-

Zayne: It's not strict enough.

The principals lips snap shut.

Zayne: Now violence is not the answer, but this sounds like a case of self-defense you along with your staff need to handle the bullying problem you have in this school

Principal: ....

Zayne: Are we done here?

Principal: Yes we're done here sir sorry to bother you two

MC: Don't be sorry be better

Rafayel

Principal: Your children got into a fight during recess

Rafayel: Damn *turns to his kids* did you two win?

Your children rapidly nod with big smiles on their faces.

Rafayel: Hell yea! up top!

Principal: Sir this is not a good thing

Rafayel: Did they start it?

Principal: Well no

Rafayel: So they finished it?

Principal: Sir

Rafayel: Good talk ... tell your students to leave my kids alone now if we're done here im taking them to get ice cream

Rafayel walks outside with the twins in tow and finds you leaning against the hood of the car.

MC: So?

Rafayel: They didn't start it they finished it and they won

MC: That's what I like to hear ... Ice cream?

Rafayel & the twins: ICE CREAM !

Xavier

Principal: Your child got into a fight during P.E.

MC: Who started it?

Principal: That's not important here

Xavier: Answer the question.

Principal: ........The other kid shoved your child into the wall

Xavier: Which explains the bruise on his elbow

Principal: Your child then proceeded to punch the other kid in the mouth knocking his tooth out

Xavier: Sounds like self defense

Principal: Your son busted that kids lip sir

MC: Maybe that kid should've kept his hands off our son

Principal: We can't have your son fighting it goes against everything we stand for

Xavier: My son has told you and your staff multiple times this kid was being mean to him and you've done nothing

Principal: We've done everything we can

Xavier: No you haven't you let it slide until he stood up for himself and showed that kid that his actions have consequences we're done here

Sylus

MC: I just got a call from the school, but I won't be able to make it up there in time Sylus: I'll go I'm not busy MC: Okay let me know how it goes

Principal: Im sorry to inform you that we're going to have to suspend your daughter

Sylus: Why.

Principal: She tied up a student and stuffed him in a locker

Sylus: Why.

Principal:*mumbling* He .... He ripped one of her braids out

Sylus: Speak up.

Principal: Another student pulled her hair and removed a braid by accident

Sylus: If I do recall my daughter has reported this kid pulling her hair multiple times

Principal: Yes but we can't have her fighting

Sylus: She didn't fight .... she overpowered him and showed their difference in strength

Principal: but-

Sylus: You're lucky she doesn't like picking on the weak ... don't bother me or her mother with these trivial matters again ... lets go little dove

MC: How did it go? Sylus: Just a friendly chat nothing serious MC: What did she do? Sylus: Made me proud

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads rafayel #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads sylus #lnds #lnds rafayel #lnds zayne #lnds xavier #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #nikaaaaimagine

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kashverse · 3 months ago

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(misspellings are intentional to reflect yuuji's age, i wrote him as a 3-4 year old in mind)

it started with yuuji waddling into the apartment, clutching his tiny fists like he’d just returned from battle. he puffed his cheeks, brows furrowed in intense focus, before dramatically exhaling and declaring,

“papamin, it’s an emergengy.”

nanami, mid-sifting flour in his pastel pink apron (because real men wear pink, and real dads keep the household running), barely had time to process before his son—his sweet, sunshine boy—grabbed his hand with his chubby fingers and led him toward the crime scene.

“the bad boys outside—they call me a… a… a baby poop head.”

nanami, blinking down at his child, sighed deeply. he set down the mixing bowl, dusting his hands off like a man preparing for war.

“yuuji, what did i say about using words instead of fists?”

“i know, papa.” his son sniffled. “but my words not working. they just laughing, and then they say you prolly wear a diapee too.”

nanami was going to kill a third grader.

so there he was, the strongest dad in the trenches, still in his flour-dusted pink apron, walking out to the communal park outside their apartment complex where a group of grade schoolers had gathered. yuuji pointed, voice hushed with the weight of the situation, “that’s them, papa. the gang of doom.” they were just three mildly feral-looking children in graphic tees, but nanami knew that to yuuji, this was serious business. standing to his full height, he crossed his arms and called out, “excuse me.”

the gang of doom froze. one of them—clearly the ringleader with his messy cowlick and untied shoelaces—blinked up at nanami. “uh. yeah?”

“i heard you’ve been bullying my son.”

cowlick snorted. “we just playin’! he a baby poop head.”

nanami exhaled through his nose. there were many things he had patience for, but disrespecting yuuji was not one of them. he placed a firm hand on his hip, leaning slightly down.

“do you know what happens to kids who pick on others?”

the gang of doom exchanged glances. one of them—glasses kid—pushed his frames up. “they go to jail?” nanami smiled thinly. “worse. they grow up to be adults with bad credit scores.”

there was a silence as the weight of his words settled in. cowlick gulped. “what’s a credit score?”

“exactly.” nanami straightened, adjusting his apron. “you don’t know, do you? and that’s dangerous. imagine you’re an adult, trying to buy a house—”

“i don’t wanna buy a house!”

“—and suddenly, the bank denies your loan. why? bad credit.”

glasses kid gasped. “bad credit?”

nanami nodded solemnly. “it starts young. first, it’s bullying innocent kids. next, it’s missing payments on your first car. before you know it, you’re drowning in financial instability.”

cowlick shuffled back. “w-we were just playin’.”

“oh?” nanami quirked a brow. “was it fun?”

the three boys rapidly shook their heads.

“good. then i suggest you find a new game. perhaps, one that doesn’t involve making my son feel bad. do you understand?”

the gang of doom nodded so hard their heads might’ve flown off. nanami gave a satisfied hum before turning to his son. “come on, yuuji. let’s go home.”

yuuji, who had been watching with wide eyes like he’d just witnessed a masterclass in warfare, let out a deep, impressed “whoaaaa.” he grabbed nanami’s hand, giggling as they walked back inside. and that night, during dinner, yuuji climbed onto his chair and dramatically recounted the entire event to you.

“—so then! papa said, ‘bad cwe-edit,’ and the gang of doom got real scawed! like, so scawed! and then papa was like, ‘do you know what happens next?’ and they was like ‘nooo, please, we so sowwy, we don’t wanna go to the bad cwe-edit jail!’”

nanami sighed as he took a sip of wine. “i never mentioned jail.”

“and then—” yuuji smacked his hands on the table, voice full of wonder. “—papa walked away, and he didn’t even look back! it was like… like a movie! i think you the strongest dad in da world, papa.” his little face shone with admiration, and nanami, feeling a rare moment of sentimentality, reached out to ruffle yuuji’s hair.

“… thank you, yuuji.”

his son beamed, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.

then, with the crumbs still on his face, he pointed a chubby finger. “also, what’s a cwe-edit score?”

1K notes · View notes

hyunsvngs · 1 year ago

Text

𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞-𝐚-𝐡𝐨𝐞! - spiderman!han jisung x fem!reader

wc: 11.1k

cw: han jisung is spiderman, a brief attack of an alien in school, both characters are 18+ (legal) but are intended to be in high school, friends to lovers, jisung calling mc baby at any given moment

synopsis: you’re obsessed with spiderman, but after a certain event takes place, you become convinced your best friend and spiderman are the same person.

a/n: after a long wait… HEHE smut warnings under the cut and as usual 18+ MDNI!!!!!!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: brief mention of masturbation (both), oral (fem!rec), slightly switchy both parties, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, loss of virginity (both), cumswapping, relatively tame given that its me

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re intrigued.

Interested seemed like too little of a word to use for how you feel whenever you see the latest news report. In a world full of superhuman serums and bulletproof skin, he is still intriguing. Maths homework could be ignored, as far as you’re concerned - and that’s bold for you, because you love maths. You wonder if he likes maths, too.

Every night at 6pm sharp, you settle in front of the television and wait for the news. Spiderman, the hero in question, is always up to something. He loves shooting his webs across the tallest skyscrapers in the city, dangling from them precariously without a care before he lets out a loud, earth-shattering giggle and beats the newest bad-guy that your world has attracted. You always wince at the reports, wondering just how he healed from the injuries he must sustain. It had to be down to the spider venom, you supposed.

“He’s dangerous,” Your dad huffs. He’s lounging on his normal armchair, peeling leather be damned, munching on a bag of crisps. You grimace at his crisp covered digits motioning towards the television. You love your dad, really, and your mum - you just always differed in opinions when it came to Spiderman. He was so fucking cool, and you seriously feel like a child saying that all of the time, despite your best friend Jisung telling you that we all have our interests. “I mean, he’s putting normal civilians in danger. Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman my ass.”

“Honey,” Your mother admonishes, digging through her own bag of crisps. You briefly consider why you haven’t been offered one. They look tasty, when your father isn’t rubbing luminous orange dust onto his previously crisp white shirt. “You know she doesn’t like it when you say bad things about him. He- what was the word again, baby?”

“He intrigues me,” You mumble, pretending to erase equations from your homework. Your cheeks blaze crimson when your mother hums in agreement, nodding triumphantly to your father. You wish you could be as sassy as her sometimes. You’re more timid, hiding behind oversized hoodies and Jisung. He is a lot more confident than you, more loud and exuberant - you suppose that’s why he had adopted you as his all those years ago.

Your mother had been best friends with Jisung’s aunt, Sohee. She’s just like Jisung, zipping around the place at an insane pace to offer you snacks and drinks at every second. When you and Jisung had first met in preschool, you’d been drawing patterns in the mud with your grubby little fingers, hiding from the bullies. He’d criticised your drawing. He helped you fix it, though, chubby cheeks puffing out with a grin when it was good enough for his taste. Looking back now, that behaviour was so Jisung, but your mother had been delighted to find out that you’d already met her best friend’s son.

It had been easy becoming friends with him after that. Every day, he’d drag you by your wrist and take you to the yard, insisting on doing your co-operative drawings together. The teachers had a fit everyday on the state of you two by the end of your break, but your mothers had loved it, taking a million and one pictures a second. He stuck up for you both to the teachers, and then he stuck up for you to the bullies and it was like you’d known each other since birth. Inseparable at the hip, you’d been glued together throughout preschool, primary school and now high school - it doesn’t look like you’re getting rid of him anytime soon, either. You’d applied for the same colleges.

You don’t particularly want to be rid of him anyway. He’s alright, really, and you had a bit of a girly, high school crush on him. You would rather jump off of a building like Spiderman sans the webs if anyone found out.

Another thing Jisung is good for is listening to your rants. He waits for your call every night after the news had been on, and you clamber on your bed obediently after the report finishes to press on his contact.

“Jisung!” You squeal. There’s a lot of feedback on his end, and you hear a low ‘shit, fuck, oops, oh God’, until there’s a loud thud and he giggles, chiming through your tinny phone speakers. “... Ji? Are you okay?”

“Yep, sorry, baby,” He sounds out of breath, but you smile when he speaks anyway. Whenever he calls you baby, his designated nickname for you, it makes your heart flutter and you have to grimace to ignore it. His face pops into the little square designated to him, his cheeks blushing pink and round eyes wide. His hair is slightly damp, from what you’re not sure - but he looks cute. “I just got home. I was- I was running some errands for my aunt.”

“God, she’s got you running like crazy lately,” You mumble, still jotting down numbers on your homework. It’s taken you hours, but you always get distracted on nights like this. “Did you see it?”

Jisung hums, and then you hear him groan. He’s stretching, slightly toned honey-skinned arms appearing above his head in the plain oversized t-shirt he’s wearing. You try not to stare. “Did I see what?”

“The- the news, Sungie,” You feel shy mentioning it so outright. It is a weird interest, a weird thing to be obsessed with - Jisung often reassures you that it really isn’t, and his anime obsession was a lot worse. It was. You sigh, clearing your throat. “Spiderman. He was- he was super cool tonight.”

“Ooh, was he?” Jisung teases, chuckling when you groan in protest. “I’m only playing with you, baby. I saw it. He was super cool, wasn’t he?”

“Ha-ha, super cool, ‘cause he’s a superhero. You’re funny.”

“That’s why you keep me around,” Jisung chirps. “Hey, have you done the maths homework? I haven’t had time, because of the errands, y’know.”

“Hmm, yeah, I’m almost finished,” You aren’t. You’re far from it, really, but he doesn’t have to know that. “I can let you copy it tomorrow morning, before class.”

“No, that’s alright, baby. We can just cross-check our answers tomorrow,” His voice sounds tired, but you don’t comment. It’s better not to question Jisung when he’s like this.

His aunt has him doing a lot these days. You haven’t wanted to ask about it because you know it must be tough for her to look after Jisung since his parents passed, especially when Jisung is always going at full speed and is probably seconds away from giving his aunt a heart attack. He was always clumsy as a child, too, snapping his glasses in half and having a few broken bones to tell long stories about. He always means well, but sometimes you wish that he had something else to get his energy out of his system rather than stressing his aunt out.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Jisung, surely you know who Spiderman is, like, underneath the mask,” Seungmin quips through a mouthful of dry, government regulated school food. “You spent all that time with Bang Chan in the internship.”

Seungmin is a lanky boy that just came along one day and decided to be yours and Jisung’s friend. With him, he brought a younger, smiley guy named Jeongin, and Jeongin brought Felix. Felix is just Felix - nothing else can describe him. Before long, you’d found yourself in a de facto group of misfits that you weren’t even sure you could call friends. Apart from Jisung, of course.

Jisung simply raises an eyebrow in response to Seungmin. “I mean, sure. I met Mr Bang a few times, but I never met Spiderman. Not out of his suit, anyway.”

You gasp. Jeongin startles from the nap he was taking on the cafeteria table, raising his head to look at you angrily. Felix pushes his head back down from the hood on his jumper and Jeongin immediately falls back to sleep. “You met him in his suit?”

“Well, yeah,” Jisung shrugs. When he turns to look at you, your mouth is agape, feeling slightly betrayed. Jisung shoves another spoonful of cheese - was it really cheese? - pasta into his mouth, and then he’s sighing. “It’s not a big deal, baby. If I really met him, the real him, you’d be the first to know. I promise.”

“You still got that fat crush on Spiderman?” Felix chirps. You meet his amused gaze with your own steely glare, pouting over your packed lunch.

“It’s not a crush-”

“It’s an interest,” Jisung clarifies for you, and you smile. He’s always jumping to your defence like that. You bite into an apple, savouring the crisp, fruity taste on your tongue, and then the bell rings. Sighing, you watch as the boys around you get up - including Jeongin, fox like eyes bleary from sleep - and swing their bags on their shoulders.

“I’ll see you later,” You murmur to Jisung, who throws his arm around your waist in a quick hug. “Enjoy English.”

Right. You and Jisung didn’t have the same classes. He has English now, and you have chemistry, which is probably your least favourite of all classes. You just weren’t a fan of the whole blowing shit up scenario, unlike Jeongin was, and the boy trundles behind you towards your chemistry class.

The class is boring. The teacher drones on and on about some experiment you couldn’t care less about, and you pretend to care. You’re taking notes, sure, ever the diligent student - but you can’t get anything other than Spiderman out of your mind. Jisung met him, and didn’t tell you, and who even is this guy? You’d love to know. You’d love to just see him, even once, just to be able to tell the story.

A massive crash stops the teacher’s speech. He turns to the door, confused, and the students do the same. You do too, furrowed eyebrows staring at the door. Another crash causes people to begin to rise, and the teacher starts ushering everyone out of the class to the closest exit route. You’re frozen in confusion and fear, pencil halted in your fingers, even as another noise makes the teacher run out behind the class.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re still sitting in your seat, eyes wide and heart racing. Then, you spring up to follow the rest of your cohort, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as you run to the door. Swinging it open, you stick your head out the door and look around, trying to see if the coast is clear. With a planet full of interdimensional attacks, you can’t be sure, and looking left leads you to see a scaly, large animal type of thing. You squeak, startled, and immediately retreat into the class before it notices you. What the fuck do you do? What are you meant to do?

The whole room begins to shake, and you have a feeling the creature’s getting closer. Beakers are thrown to the floor from the vibration ringing throughout the room, glass shattering loudly, and you feel like you’re about to scream, or cry, or run, and you can’t run.

Doing the only thing you can think of, you cower to the floor, hiding underneath a table donned in smashed beakers. You’re curled up in a ball, watching students standing outside murmuring and discussing their own safety, and then the shaking stops.

The door swings open. Everything outside the classroom is too intimidating, items being thrown everywhere, and you can’t even bring your legs to move with how badly they’re shaking. Who’s just walked in? You pray for Jisung. You pray for someone who’s going to help you hide, someone who’s going to keep you safe, and then-

A masked face pops underneath the table. He’s lithe, slender, but the tight red and dark blue suit highlights the hint of abs and sculpted biceps on his body. Holy fucking shit. Your eyes widen. Spiderman is in your school.

“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, but it sounds almost like someone putting on a deeper voice to hide their identity. You nod hesitantly, and then he’s extending a gloved hand towards you, pulling you out from underneath the table. You’re unable to speak. Once you’re standing in front of him, you notice he’s around a head or so taller than you, but definitely not as tall as you thought he’d be. He sighs, chest heaving with panic. You suppose it must be pretty tough work fighting aliens from outer space. “I’ve webbed him up for now, but it won’t hold much longer. Go- please, go and run. Please, anywhere, just- go and hide, or run.”

“I-I-”

“Promise me, b- um, you. I can’t let you get hurt.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- Yes, I promise, I’m going to- I’ll go, thank you, thank you-”

“Wait, no!” He shouts, rubbing his temples - or at least, you’d imagine he was but he’s just rubbing the mask in frustration. You watch as he bounds over to the window, kicking it open, and the students outside turn to the classroom in awe. You’re rooted in place, as if vines are circling your ankles and securing you to the floor, mouth agape. You wait for him to give you further directions, and you gasp when he runs back over to you, picking you up and carrying you over to the window. You feel light as a feather, and all you can think is how he’s even carrying this amount of strength in that small body. “Too risky. Outside.”

“O-Outside?” You stammer, cheeks bright red, and he nods. He leans to place you out of the window, delicately placing you on your feet, and then he speeds off, shouting a quick “see you later!”.

You blink. You can hear the noises of walls breaking and windows shattering as Spiderman fights, and Felix runs up to you from the crowd outside and slings an arm over your shoulder. You’re still staring inside the classroom as if you can see through walls and watch the fight. What did see you later mean?

What’s the likelihood, honestly? You knew he was the friendly neighbourhood guy, and all that, but why not Bang Chan, in his sleek nanotech suit? This was a big fight. You find yourself getting worried, biting your nails in concern for the man you don’t even know. You have to remind yourself of that. He saved you because you’re any other citizen, not for any other specialty - you don’t know this guy.

“C��mon, over here,” Felix ushers you over, tone soft. When you’re with him, Seungmin and Jeongin, he sighs, rubbing your back. “Crazy, right? At least you can say you met Spiderman now.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Jisung is safe, thank god. You kind of feel guilty for not worrying about him at the moment, but he’d text you shortly after, saying he’d left just before it all kicked off because he felt a little under the weather. He wanted to make sure you were okay, though, so he texted you as soon as he could. You’d never admit the blush that rose to your cheeks when you read it.

It’s quiet in your room. Your parents had sprinted to you as soon as you’d come through the door, having seen the situation on the news, and you’d reassured them that Spiderman had saved you. It definitely changed your dad’s perspective of him, and now you lie on your bed feeling more than relieved.

Your fingers tap on your tummy in thought, though. He was making his voice deeper, that much you could tell, but why? How was he there so quickly? There’s no fucking way he was a student. Still, that body in the tight suit… you’d definitely been looking. You’re a woman, of course you were going to look. He had a figure enviable to every man. Broad shoulders, abs just slightly visible, strong legs that carried you over to the window…

In your dreamlike fantasy, you’re considering something you previously never would’ve thought of. What if Jisung was underneath that suit? Now, that would be perfect. Both of your crushes being one being, Jisung pulling that suit up his lithe thighs and letting it settle over his broad pecs.

Before you know it, your hand is dipping under the hem of your pyjama pants, unable to feel guilty for thinking about your best friend in this way. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time, with many of your nights spent whimpering into your pillow and coming apart on your own fingers wishing they were his. He had such nice hands… What if it was him who had grabbed you from underneath that table? Your hand trails down to find your folds, slick and ready for whatever you had in store, but you focus on your clit, swollen and aching between your bottom lips. Would he finger you in the gloves if you asked, let you ride his abs in the suit until completion? Would he kiss you upside down, hanging from the-

A tap on your window makes you jump. The room is dark, save for your bedside lamp, and you turn rapidly to see a faceless figure just about popping in from the corner. You yank your hand out of your bottoms, squeaking, and then you squint to try and see the figure closer.

Holy shit. Spiderman is at your bedroom window.

Your cotton tank top is revealing, so you turn immediately to reach for your dressing gown and tie it around your figure. You pad over to the window in your socks, still wide-eyed and completely baffled, and then you turn the handle to allow him access. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You blurt, toes curling against your floor. Spiderman swings inside instead of responding, walking around your room like he’s been there a million times before. “No, seriously, what the fuck?”

He turns to you, shrugging. “I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”

You blanch. He did say that, yes, but that still doesn’t explain the million questions you have right now. “Well, yeah, but- how do you know where I live?”

“I- uh, found it in the school office,” He hops up onto your bed, sitting cross legged. His mask hides his face, but he hums in pleasure at the feeling of the bedsheets on him. “After the fight, I went in there. Glad you’re okay, by the way.”

He’s still making his voice deeper, and you blink, nodding in response. “I’m great. Can I- can I ask why you’re here?”

He shrugs again, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet. “No reason. Got bored. I was swinging around and remembered I saw your address on the computer.”

“Right,” You shake your head, still baffled. Instead of questioning him further, you jump onto the bed in front of him and copy his position, cross legged. “Don’t you have, like, recovering to do? I heard you got beat pretty bad.”

“Nah, no way,” He scoffs, rolling his neck. You suppress a smile. Cocky. “Spider venom, y’know? It repairs everything super quick.”

You were right. You can’t suppress a smile at his response, clicking your fingers at his masked face. “I fucking knew it! I guessed it was the venom.”

He stops fiddling with the duvet, turning to you and tilting his head in question. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Hey, are you the one that’s friends with that kid?”

You narrow your eyes. Jisung’s a liar. If Spiderman knows who he is, that means they’ve met more than once, and Jisung lied. You reach for your phone, ready to bitch him out via text, but Spiderman knocks your phone out of your hand. You turn to him, confused.

“Talk to me,” He whines. “I told you I was bored!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, damn. Yes, I’m friends with Jisung. Why?”

“No reason,” He wiggles forward on your bed, grabbing your hand. You’re confused, but then he launches you into an intense thumb war, one that you were never going to win. Everytime you go to move your thumb in response to his, he’s got you pinned, and before he speaks again you’re five rounds down. “He’s pretty cool, right?”

“Who?” You ask, still focusing on the thumb war.

“Jisung,” He clarifies, clearing his throat. Making his voice that deep must be taking its toll on his vocal chords. “He’s kinda cool. Super smart, I thought.”

“He definitely is,” You laugh when he pins your thumb down again, swatting at his wrist to get him off of you. “He’s smarter than me.”

“And, uh,” He clears his throat again, leaning back on your bed. Leaning back like that, you have a full view of his body in his suit, and you have to stare at the posters on your wall to avoid looking at him. He puts his hands behind his head, the full picture of relaxation, and you wished he’d stop throwing you this random curveball behaviour. “Is that all you think of him? Just smart?”

You blush, finally reverting your eyes to him. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean… Do you have a crush on him, or?”

“Who wants to know?” You bristle, playing with your hands in your lap. You look down at your chipped nail polish, awkwardly shifting on the bed in your pyjamas. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“No one knows who I am,” He responds easily. “I want to know. Tell me. Do you have a crush on him?”

“I’m not telling you that-”

“I’m bored!” He whines again, sitting up. You let him grab your hand again, pulling your pinky finger into a promise. You swear you see the mask smile. “Tell me!”

“Okay, damn,” You sigh, exasperated. Was he on molly or something? Are you dreaming? “I guess so. I guess I always have, yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d ever like me like that.”

He coos at that, taking your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting. “Why not?”

“He’s- well, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like him,” You admit, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s awkward. He’s my best friend. It would ruin things, and I guess I’ve never let myself think about it like that.”

“You should,” He hums. You blink, staring at him. What the hell is he on about? “I just mean you should. Maybe he likes you too, y’know? I like my best friend. I’d love to know if she likes me back.”

“You do?” You wiggle closer, eager to know more. “You like your best friend? What’s she like?”

“Well,” He strokes your hand again before pulling away, leaning his chin on his hand. “She’s super pretty. Smart, too. I’ve known her since like, forev- for a few years, I think, in total.”

“It’s kind of the same with me and Jisung,” You sigh again, pouting. “I’ve known him for my whole life, basically. I’m just scared it’ll ruin things, but I think about him a lot when I’m on my own.”

He snickers. “Really? Like when you’re doing what you were doing when I got here?”

You swat at his shoulder, blushing bright red. “Shut up, oh my god! I thought you- shut up. Just don’t.”

“Maybe he thinks about you then too, I don’t know,” He shrugs nonchalantly, and then he’s getting up and pacing around. You watch him fiddle with a few photo frames on your desk, humming at ones of you and Jisung when you were younger and even fiddling with a few of your academic medals and prizes. “I won’t tell him, by the way.”

“You see him often?” You ask, voice soft. “He said-”

“Nah, I’ve only seen him once or twice,” He stretches his arms above his head, still staring at your desk full of trinkets. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

“Can I know?”

He turns to you. “Know what?”

“I want to know who you are,” Your voice is confident, but you feel anything but, teeth chewing your bottom lip nervously. “You saved me, and now you’re in my bedroom. I feel that I deserve to know.”

He sighs loudly this time, walking towards the window. “When we get to know eachother better, maybe.”

“Wait, hang on,” You watch him sling a foot out of the window, exasperated. He can’t leave! “Where are you going? I thought you said you were bored-”

“Things to do, baby,” He replies quickly. You blink. That ‘baby’ sounds awfully familiar, and you stand up quickly to walk towards the window, but he’s already webbing away. “Bye!”

You stand there, shocked and confused. He’s swinging from building to building away from you, and you’re just standing there like an idiot. You were interrupted before you could even start touching yourself, forced into a thumb war and coerced into admitting your deepest, darkest secret, and then he just… leaves? Just like that?

Your life is proving to be a little more interesting than you thought, but your dreams were filled with familiar round cheeks beneath a red and blue mask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Baby, is there a reason why your eyes are burning holes into the side of my head?”

You’re convinced your best friend is Spiderman. There, sitting beside you with his glasses sliding down his nose and comfortable in a grey hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms on, it’s hard to believe. But you’re not stupid.

First of all, since he started that internship with Mr Bang, he’s been weird about letting you inside his room. This is the same person that you had many sleepovers with growing up, and as recently as a few months ago you’d been cuddling in bed together watching Howl’s Moving Castle. He has something to hide, but you’d been let down when you’d arrived at his house earlier and shouldered past him to find literally nothing of suspicion inside his room, other than an anime girl mouse pad with the boobs to rest your wrist on. You knew that existed though, ever since his birthday last year when Felix had gifted it to him, so what gives?

Secondly, Sohee is more stressed out than ever. You’d caught sight of her flitting around the kitchen when you arrived for your homework friend-date, scrubs on and ready to head to the hospital but still panicking about something. Jisung said multiple times that he’d been helping her out more and that’s why he’s been so busy lately. She shouldn’t still be panicking.

Thirdly, Spiderman wouldn’t make his voice deeper to you unless you knew him. He wouldn’t need to, or you wouldn’t recognise his voice - unless it’s a habit he’s picked up, perhaps. That doesn’t change that the way he called you baby last night sounded a little bit too familiar, too comfortable. It came out of his mouth like second nature.

Still, it makes no sense. Surely Jisung would have told you? You’re his best friend, he said so, so he’d tell you. Or would he? Maybe Felix knows. You’re also hoping deep down that it isn’t true, because if it is, you told your crush last night that you liked him.

You can’t even be mad at Jisung for it. He’s still staring at you, and you’re staring blankly back while shoving snacks into your mouth. There’s crumbs all over your homework.

“Jisung,” You begin, and he hums in response. “Would you tell me your deepest, most serious secret if I worked it out?”

He chokes on his energy drink, spluttering neon blue liquid all over his bed. You want to giggle, to make fun of him, but you’re sure you’ve gotten somewhere here. He wipes his mouth, clears his throat, and turns back to you. His hands are shaky where they clutch his textbook, and his eyes are almost blurry through the glasses. “I tell you everything anyway.”

“I don’t think you do,” You respond, quick as a beat. He blinks, lips parting. “Not by that reaction, Jisung. I think you’re hiding something from me.”

He scratches his nose with the end of his pen, looking down at the textbook again. You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Okay,” You hum. He sighs, scribbling something on the paper. It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear his pen scribbling, but you’re speaking again before you can even think. “Did I tell you Spiderman came to my room last night?”

He gulps audibly. “Nope.”

“Yeah, it was kinda weird,” You take a sip from your energy drink, still staring at him vacantly. Jisung’s eyes flit up to you, and then back down to the textbook. Oh, he knows. He knows that you know. He knows that you know that he knows. “He saved me in school, when that alien thing was there, and then he came to my room and asked me about you.”

“He, uh- really? Did he?”

“Mhm,” Your gaze is steely. “Jisung, I know you’re Spiderman.”

Jisung bursts out laughing. It would be believable, but you’ve known him since you were four years old and it’s a fake laugh. He’s cackling, loud as brass, and he lets out a little “ooh” afterwards as if he can’t believe you. “Baby, that’s the craziest theory you’ve ever come up with.”

“Is it?” You question, head tilting to the side. Then, in the smartest moment you’ve ever had, you pick up Jisung’s energy drink from the floor. He’s still looking at you, a fake smile on his lips, and you take a sip from it casually. Sharing drinks isn’t new for you. You glug back the artificial blue raspberry flavour, and then keeping eye contact with him, you let go.

Before the can is able to fall and spill the rest of its contents over your own textbook, and inevitably Jisung’s One Piece bed sheets, he reaches out and grabs it, hand wrapping around the can, quick as a flash. It all happens in about a second, and you gasp. Jisung gasps. His hand tightens around the can and it crinkles, an impossible show of strength, and then he’s blinking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

“I knew it.”

He puts the can safely on the bedside table, and then he’s slamming his textbook shut. You watch in confusion as he paces back and forth on his bedroom floor, running his hands through his hair over and over.

“Okay!” He points at you, victorious. “That was a reflex. I knew you were going to do that, I’m smart, duh! I knew you were going to drop the can to prove something, and-”

“Jisung,” You say, voice soft. He stops pacing, sock clad feet rooted on the carpet to stare at you. You’re going to get him. You’re going to get him good. “Do you not want me to know? Is that what this is?”

He immediately falls to the floor, head resting on your knee as he looks up at you. You can’t even feel sorry for him, because your plan is working perfectly. His eyes are round and vulnerable, and then he clenches them shut in distress. You think he’s probably a second away from crying. “Baby, it’s not that. I wanted to protect you. It would be dangerous if the bad guys knew who you were, knew that you knew, and I know I shouldn’t have come to your room, that was wrong of me, and-”

You giggle. Jisung furrows his eyebrows, eyes opening. “I knew I was right.” He gasps, pointing at you again.

“Judas! You’re a judas!” He’s shocked, leaning back on his haunches and staring at you. “I can’t- I can’t believe you, that was so-”

“Sneaky? Good? Smart?” You list, leaning back on his twin bed. He stands up, hands on his hips. You’re ready for him to bitch you out, but you don’t care - you knew that you had to know, had to have it confirmed. He taps his foot, and then you see a smile break out on his lips.

“Okay, yeah, that was pretty good,” He hums, returning to the bed. You let him shut your own textbook and sprawl across you, head in your lap. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve told you.”

You sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “That’s okay, Ji. It’s fine. I’m just a little embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why?” Jisung asks, his eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of your nails on his scalp. You want to scoff. Embarrassed for two major reasons - one, because you’ve been gushing about how cool Spiderman is for weeks, maybe even months, and two because you told Spiderman last night that you liked Jisung. Spiderman and Jisung are the same person. Sure, it makes things easier. You no longer have a crush on two people, only one, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jisung knows and is yet to say anything.

“I’ve been talking to you about Spiderman for weeks,” You blush, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He whines, thrashing his feet and shaking his head like a dog to hide his forehead again. He’s so dramatic. You like him so bad. “And- and you- it was you, then. You came to my room last night.”

“Yeah, that was risky,” He responds, exasperated. “I just had to, baby. I don’t know, you always seemed so interested in Spiderman and not me. I needed to know if you saw me like you saw him.”

You pause your movements on his head, blinking at the wall in front of you. When you turn back to him, he’s blushing, teeth gnawing his bottom lip. His eyes are conveniently staring at the window, away from you.

“Jisung,” You start, hesitant. “What do you mean?”

He sits up sharply. “Wanna go on the roof?”

“T-The roof? Jisung, how are we gonna- oh. Oh.”

Jisung jumps up from the bed, toeing his sliders onto his feet and pushing the window open. It gives you deja vu - that same figure was pushing the window open just like this to place you safely outside in school yesterday, and then he was coming through your window to see you late at night. It’s hard to believe that they’re the same person, the man you admired so much and your best friend who’s standing by the window expectantly waiting for you to join him.

You hesitantly stand up, brushing off imaginary crumbs from your joggers and looking at Jisung. He smiles, a soft, reassuring smile, and then he’s scooping you up from the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist. It’s slender, the plush flesh of your thighs almost obscuring it, and you squeak in surprise at being in the air.

“I- Jisung?!”

“You have to hold on tight,” He says. His face is inches away from yours, plush lips looking more than appealing and his glasses making him look so endearing. “I need my hands for this, so hold onto my shoulders.”

You nod, face blushing crimson at the realisation of just how close you are. Would he have you like this if he fucked you? Legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders, his face so close to yours as he pants and whines and moans-

You squeak again when he slides out of the window, and then you see him in action. His hands stick to the outside of the apartment building, feet kicking up against the concrete wall. Your heart is racing so badly it feels as though it could burst out of your chest, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the height or because you’re tightly pressed against Jisung.

When he swings you both over the side ledge on the roof, you notice the sun’s set already. Time always goes by quickly with Jisung, but the stars are already out, and the air is crisp and biting against your limbs despite the layers. Once he’s safely stood on the roof, he places his hands underneath your thighs and detaches you from his firm body, placing you on your feet.

You’re disorientated, shocked at the sheer height of the building and at the way Jisung seems to be swinging you around like it’s nothing, but he’s simply staring at you. A wide smile stretches from ear to ear, and he blinks when you don’t say anything. “It’s cool, right?”

“Y-Yeah, super cool,” You admit, chest heaving. “Really high up, but cool. Jisung, why are we on the roof?”

He’s wrangling you, hands on your arms and pushing you to the floor. It feels firm, but with what you now know about him, you know he’s holding back. He plops down next to you, eyes wide and expectant.

“I wanted to do it properly,” He begins. He pauses for a moment, licks his lips, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then he’s speaking again. “I like you, so that’s why I asked. Is it romantic up here? It feels romantic, but I’m not too sure-“

He stands up and begins pacing around the roof before you realise he’s even moved. You raise an eyebrow. “Jisung?”

“I wanted to do this right, y’know?” He pauses, hands on his hips. He looks comical, trying to assert dominance over you like that in those Hello Kitty pyjama trousers. “I- I wanted to swing by and like, grab you, or something? But then you worked it out, and now I’m just standing here with you on a roof…”

He continues mumbling like a mad scientist, eyes focused on a spot next to your head. You stand up, making your way towards him, and he still refuses to look at you. He likes you back. He likes you back, and he’s still your best friend - he’s still Jisung, but he’s also Spiderman, and you’re okay with that. You don’t have to like two people. You only like one, and it’s your goofy best friend.

“Is this even romantic? You know, we could just forget about it and-“

You press your lips to his. He doesn’t make any form of surprised noise, only cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling you close to him. His glasses bump against your face, his lips pouty against yours and plush and maybe a bit too wet for a first kiss, but you’d always figured he’d take it too far. That’s what you like about him. Jisung never does anything by halves.

It’s brief, too brief for your liking, but then he’s pulling away with a satisfied grin on his face. You blink. Wait.

“Wait, your stupid- your stupid spidey things. Did you know I was going to kiss you?” You pout, and he giggles. “No, seriously! Could you like- I don’t know, feel it coming?”

“Not until you were like, a few inches from my face,” Jisung admits, and his teeth gleam in the brilliance of the evening. “I had a feeling you might.”

You sigh. “So why didn’t you stop talking?”

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “I couldn’t stop once I started.”

The statement is so true to Jisung, so in character for your best friend that you can do nothing but accept it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s easy to fall into a different routine with Jisung.

He never asked you to be his girlfriend. You’re pretty sure you’re fine with that, though - things have had a natural manner of progressing, and now your best friend slash boyfriend slash superhero turns up at your window every night after he’s been on his neighbourhood patrol. Sometimes he’s a little bruised, and sometimes he’s just looking for consolation kisses.

It’s a normal night for you when it happens. Jisung’s halfway out of your bedroom window on his way to perform perfect justice, pulling his mask down over his annoyingly beautiful face. You’re standing a few feet away grinning like an idiot.

“I’ll see you later, my baby,” You can see his grin through the mask. The eyes on his mask form beautiful crescent moons with his happiness. He falters, legs swinging on your windowsill. “Wait. I am coming back here, yeah?”

“Of course,” You giggle. He sends you two fingers in a mock salute, and you watch him begin his journey up the wall to your roof. A beat passes and you’re still standing there, smiling, hands on your hips, and then the masked head of your best friend pops back down into your window, upside down, tilting to the side in confusion. You blink, confused. “What is it, Sungie?”

“Well, where’s my goodbye kiss? Damn,” He huffs, and you roll your eyes playfully. You make your way to the window, sock-clad feet padding on your carpet, and you pull his mask down to his eyes with two fingers. It miraculously stays on his head, and his lips form a teasing grin.

Despite him being upside down, you place a chaste kiss to his lips, and you watch in amusement as he swings away afterwards. You can still hear him giggling with glee from a few buildings away.

It’s a few hours later when he comes back. You’re flicking through a book for English, scrawling notes and highlighting words on sticky notes. It’s started to rain, and the city lights only look brighter in the dusk with the pattering of water on your window. You left it open, of course, for your superhero, but the cold air bites at your arms even through the fluffy blanket you’ve got wrapped around yourself.

Just as you’re beginning to contemplate closing it, a louder, more prominent tap hits the glass. When you turn to the window, Jisung is slouched against your windowsill, chest heaving beneath red lycra and forehead pressed against the glass. He’s got his mask between his teeth, and his hair is dishevelled, floppy brown locks obscuring his eyes. You can still catch sight of the bruising on his cheekbones and you gasp, rushing towards the window.

You drop your blanket in shock, but you swing the window open, pulling Jisung inside with one hand. He stumbles through, disoriented and confused, and you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Got hurt,” He explains, huffing out a breath. The mask drops from his teeth unceremoniously, with a wet plop to your carpeted floor, but you don’t care. You rush to sit next to him, fingers gripping his chin to pull him to face you. His eyes are round, sincere, and he gives you a soft smile. “It’ll heal before long, baby, don’t panic.”

“I am panicking,” You say, resolute, because you really are. Bruising is scattered across his cheekbones, fading into green on the plush of his cheeks and his lip looks like it had been burst, but is already healing. “Will it- will it take long? Do you need me to get the first aid kit, or-“

“Baby,” He shakes his head, grabbing your hands. You watch with parted lips as he leans forward, both of you cross legged on the end of your bed. It reminds you of when Spiderman first visited you, when you weren’t quite sure of his identity. Jisung presses his forehead against yours, and you let him look into your eyes. It’s like he’s demanding everything that’s ever gone through your head to be vocalised. You’d tell him if he asked. “I’m really okay. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m fine. Most of it is on my ribs from falling, to be honest.”

“Your ribs?!” You shriek. “Show me. Let me see, I need to help you-“

You’re already trying to wrangle Jisung out of his suit, and he giggles, clearly thinking this is all just some game. He holds his arms up pliantly, though, and you don’t have the thought processing ability within you to realise that Jisung’s suit is an all-in-one and you’re currently stripping him down to his boxers.

The suit is wet too when you drop it to the floor, and before long you’re blinking at your best friend in his plain black boxers and he’s grinning at you as if this is any other day. There’s no bruising on his ribs. You’re staring at his abs, regardless, so you’re not sure you would’ve even noticed.

“You look fine.”

“I told you it heals quickly, baby,” He grins. You blink when he wriggles on your bed, laying on his back and stretching his arms above his head again, this time to get comfortable. His legs stretch out too, and you avoid looking anywhere below his waist.

His body is a spectacle. You can’t stop looking. Broad shoulders taper off into an extremely defined chest and a tight, thin waist adorned with prominent abdominal muscles, before reaching a v-line that leads into his boxers. You’re wide eyed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run your fingers down his honey toned skin.

“Why-“ You cough, clearing your throat. Jisung raises an eyebrow. He’s grinning from ear to ear, teeth gleaming. “Why did you let me strip you if you’re literally fine?”

The bruising on his cheek is already fading. He shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge with the movement and you think you might choke on your own spit. “You seemed pretty determined, so I just allowed it. You wanted to see me naked, I assumed, so-“

“Jisung!” You wail, slapping his shoulder. He groans in pain, catching your hand, and he grits his teeth with a hiss.

“My shoulder! Fuck, that hurt, ouch, baby! What was that for?!”

You gasp. He clutches his shoulder, letting out little pants of hurt sounding noises. You let your head fall to his chest, engulfing him with a hug. “Jisung, I’m so sorry-“

“Hehe,” He giggles. When you look at him, he’s sticking his tongue out, completely fine. You groan, annoyed you fell for it, and then he’s grabbing your forearms and pulling you upwards on top of him.

Your breasts press against his chest like this, due to your lack of bra in your sleep shirt, and his eyes widen when he feels it. Instead of letting you go, his hands move to your back, encompassing you in his strong hold.

You gasp, wiggling in his grip, and he licks his lips. His eyes go to your lips, and then back up to your eyes, as if he’s hesitant.

“I-“ He begins, faltering. “Are you my girlfriend?”

You scoff out a laugh. “I don’t know, am I?”

“I hope so,” Jisung admits, his facial expression vulnerable. His eyes dart to something behind you, as if he’s not sure, almost shy. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him shy. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but I want you to be, if you want to be.”

“I want to be,” You nod. He nods in response, and you watch his eyes flicker to your lips again. It’s silent for a moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is more charged than usual. Before now, you’re used to chaste, fleeting kisses from your superhero, but now he lets his tongue tease against the seam of your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and his eyelashes brush against your skin where he does the same. You let your lips part, and Jisung’s quick to grip your back harder, tongue darting inside your mouth with impatience.

You’ve made out with someone before. You’d never had sex with someone before, but you had made out with someone. It was only once at a party when you were a little bit younger but it had felt like a good idea at the time. You’re sure Jisung’s lost his virginity though, but when he whimpers against your lips and his hips squirm a little you’re not too sure.

You pull away from the kiss, lips a little wet, and Jisung’s mouth goes to your neck. You allow him to suck a mark into the expanse of skin just underneath your jaw, his fingers grabbing impatiently at your back. “Sungie, are you a virgin?”

Jisung pulls away, licking his lips. You feel something hard pressing against your thigh where you lay on top of him. You’re thanking every entity ever that your parents are out for a work dinner. “Yeah, I am. I would have told you if I wasn’t,” He confirms, a little breathless. His hips wiggle again. “Is that- is that okay, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” You smile, comforting. You peck his lips again and he grins back at you. “I am too.”

“I know,” He responds, quick as a flash. You blush. That’s embarrassing. “No, I just mean- you also would’ve told me, y’know?”

“That’s true,” You shrug. You’re feeling a little overconfident, and you move in his hold, having felt it gone a little lax with your kissing. You let your thighs spread over his hips, his hard shaft pressing against your core through your pyjama bottoms and his boxers. You still feel it, though, and it makes your pussy gush a little. “Is- is this okay?”

He’s blushing. His lips part, and he nods, perhaps too eagerly because he clutches his neck afterwards like he’s got whiplash. “Baby, you’re- I have a pretty girl in my lap. This is so okay. Like, so okay, I might have a heart attack and die, probably.”

You shift, and he winces. “Sorry,” You say. It’s a fake apology. You want to swallow his cock down your throat until he cries, and you don’t even know how to. You’d try your best though. “If I lost my virginity, I’d want it to be with you.”

“Damn,” Jisung whistles, eyebrows raised. “Let me hit?”

You giggle, tilting your head to the side. “I’ll let you hit right now, Jisung.”

Jisung shoots upwards into a seated position. His eyes are wide. “Right now?”

“Right now,” You confirm. You go from straddling his lap to laying on your back on your bed in a flash, and Jisung looms over you, all tight, toned muscles and broad shoulders.

“I’ll make it so good, baby, I promise,” He says, and then he’s kissing you again. It’s even messier this time, lips pressing against yours over and over and his tongue adding a collection of spit to the mix. You let your thighs fall apart, his hips quick to fill the space and press his cock against you. His hands go to your waist as he kisses you, sucking and biting on your lips until you’re whining with it, but he doesn’t let up. He’s desperate, messy, and it’s only making your pussy drool even more.

The rain hits the window still, cooling off a little but still providing a calming effect to your room when combined with the orange-pink of your lamp. He inches his palms up your shirt, the softness of his hands surprising you, and then he’s pulling away from your mouth to yank the fabric over your head.

You’re left in just your pyjama bottoms, lips kiss bitten and nipples pebbled against the cool air of your bedroom. You never had shut your window, after all.

“Oh,” Jisung says, exasperated. You finally open your eyes to see him staring at your tits, and you think he might be drooling. “Oh, yeah, my baby. They are so fucking good.”

You almost laugh, but you’re cut off by your own strangled moan when his pouty lips engulf your right nipple. He sucks on it, hard, and when your back arches he lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet popping noise. It’s only a brief moment of reprieve before he’s letting his teeth skim along the bud, and you keen, fingers moving upwards from his shoulders to grip onto the pillow behind your head.

“Oh, that’s so- Sungie, baby, that feels good,” You whine, and he hums against your breast. When he moves to the other one, he tweaks your wet nipple between two fingers. It’s experimental, but the whole thing is, and you buck your hips up impatiently.

His hands move to your ass, scooping underneath you and making you grind slightly against him. The movement makes him moan, your nipple leaving his mouth. A string of drool attaches to his lips and his tongue lolls out lazily, and before you can process it, he’s grinding his cock into your clothed centre.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” He whines, eyes clenching shut. You whimper in response, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Baby- baby, baby. Baby, I’ve thought about this so much, I- fuck, you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

His words are so crude that they make you keen, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought about it too. I- I touched myself thinking about it, Sungie, did you?”

He gasps sharply, and there’s a fumbling between your legs. He rocks backwards on his haunches, and you see him gripping his cock impatiently underneath his boxers, fingers wrapped tight around the base.

“I will literally cum if I imagine that,” He huffs, breathless. “But yes. I did, many times, and- and- baby, can I see your pussy?”

It’s so bold that you can’t say no. You never would have dreamed of saying no anyway, and you nod, wiggling your bottoms down your legs. You never wear a bra or panties underneath your pyjamas, and your pussy is revealed to him in all its drooly glory, folds sticking together with your arousal.

Jisung’s jaw goes slack. You watch him jerk his cock, eyes fixated on your wet hole, and you shift impatiently.

“I showed you mine, Sungie,” You huff. “Show me yours.”

He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. Your clit is swollen with arousal, some wetness stuck onto it, and you reach down to trace your fingertips over it absentmindedly while he pushes his boxers down. His cock slaps up against the bottom of his tummy, cockhead leaking beneath his foreskin, precum slicking the smattering of hair at his base. His balls look heavy, shaft swollen and fat between lithe thighs, and you can’t help but go a little googly eyed at the thought of him stretching you out.

He grabs it, pumps his cock a few times while you rub your fingers over your clit. “Is- is it okay, baby?” He gasps, cock leaking steadily in his fist.

“You’re so sexy, Sungie, ‘s so big. I- oh,” You whine, spreading your arousal over your folds. You prop your feet up, letting your legs fall wide, and the movement must expose your soppy hole to Jisung because his eyes widen even further. “I want you inside of me so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, I just- shit, Jisung, what are you-“

You’re cut off by him diving between your legs. His cock is forgotten, his hands looping around your ass again to spread you wide, and his tongue presses against your core. He moans at the taste, and you whimper out loud, head rolling against your pillow. It’s messy and you can tell he’s inexperienced, but when he sucks your clit between his lips you can’t find it in you to care.

“Oh, oh- baby, baby! You’re good at that, so good at that, baby,” You babble, trying your best not to grind up into his mouth. His mouth is just as wet as your pussy, his lips drooling all over you. You’re cut short when he flattens his tongue against your core, moaning out loud, and his hands move your ass just a bit. “I- you- Sungie-?”

“Grind on my face, baby, c’mon,” He murmurs, muffled by your folds, and you oblige. Your hand goes to his hair, yanking on the dark brown strands, and you hold him in place while you grind your pussy senseless on his tongue. Your boy is good with his mouth, you realise - he’s pliant, letting you make yourself cum on his tongue and lips, and after only a few grinds you’re sure you’re going to fall apart for him.

“Ah! Ah, oh, baby, your mouth is- Sungie, Sungie,” You whine, feet kicking on the bed. Your legs go flat, but as the pleasure builds up in your core, your thighs tighten around his ears. He likes this, moaning loud to the point the vibrations make you jolt. It’s all so wet, your pussy dripping with arousal and his saliva, dripping down to your asshole. It has you wondering if Jisung would eat your ass further down the line, and your eyes flicker to his - would he let you eat his? He probably would, with how submissive he’s being.

His hips buck downwards on the bed and he keens into your pussy, and you realise he’s humping your mattress. He’s so desperate for you that he just can’t help himself, and you moan, loud and unabashed. The sight has you hurtling towards your orgasm.

“I’m gonna fucking cum, baby,” You warn, and he finally lets up, pulling back to suck on your clit. His hand moves over to the top of your pussy, pulling your mound backwards, and the exposure of your clit directly to his lips is your downfall. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth, and you can hear yourself talking and moaning but you’re not sure what you’re saying, only able to feel your hole gushing into Jisung’s mouth over and over.

Jisung licks over your clit a few times comfortingly, and then he’s on top of you again, face looming over yours. His right hand holds him up steadily and the other stays downwards, hooked on your thigh to keep you open.

“You taste delicious, baby,” He grins, mouth wet. When he presses his lips to yours he’s desperate, tongue darting into your mouth to let you taste your own cum. You let your hands fall to his chest, fingernails digging into the muscles. The filthiness of it all has you wriggling around impatiently again, and Jisung’s cockhead slips against your clit, making you whine into his mouth. He pulls away, gasping for air with the sensation, and you kiss the beauty spot on his cheek for good measure. “Baby. M-my baby, shit, can- can I fuck you now? Have you got a condom, I- shit, I need to fuck you?”

He’s breathless, giggling at his own desperation, and you nod eagerly. You’re on the pill, and realistically you’d want nothing more than him to creampie you, but you have a shred of logic still left in your brain. “No condom. I- I don’t have any, can you pull out? I know it’s not-“

“Don’t care,” He huffs, legs moving to prop himself up more securely. His knees dig into your bed, and he pulls your thigh further apart, letting his eyes fall down to your pussy. His face is more than pornographic when he sees the visual of his cockhead sliding through your folds, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. He lets his eyes flutter shut, a small profanity leaving his mouth. “You’re sure I can fuck you raw? I- please, p-please, baby. I need to be inside.”

“Jisung,” You whine. He lets his tip bump against your clit again, and you grow too desperate, reaching down yourself to grab his cock. The feeling makes him whimper, his fingers ripping into the pillow beside your head with his superhuman strength, but you’re too out of it to care. You position his cock by your hole, soppy and wet with your own cum, and he can’t hold himself back - he pushes in, all of it at once, a long, anguished noise leaving his mouth. “Oh. Oh- Oh, Jisung, that’s-“

“Is it okay? Are you okay?” Jisung asks, breathless. “Does it hurt? I- baby, baby-“

He’s still completely stationary, but he can’t stop talking, chest heaving and flushed pink. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt. You’re wet enough that he glided in so easy, stretching your pussy in the most pleasurable, delicious way. You didn’t think it would ever feel this good, but you’re sure it’s because it’s Jisung.

“God, is it- does it feel good?” He questions you, and you nod eagerly, hands moving to rest on his biceps. He repositions you both so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms holding himself up over you, and the movement has him sliding deeper, making you whimper. “Can I-“

“Fucking hell, Jisung, can you just move?” You huff, annoyed, and he giggles. He shakes his head fondly, and then he’s thrusting into you, slow but steady.

“Oh, that’s good,” He slurs, eyes rolling back into his head. “That pussy’s good. Jesus, you’re- you’re tight on my cock, baby, like a fuckin’ vice.”

“Your cock is so good,” You whine, trying to fuck yourself back on him. Your pussy is so wet that every thrust makes an audible noise, ringing throughout your room. If anyone walked past now they’d hear the debauchery, and you’re not sure you’d even care. “Fuck, Jisung- Jisung, you’re big. Please, please, more, I need more!”

“Okay, okay,” He moans, and then his hips speed up. His balls slap against your asshole with every thrust, his cock pistoning into you at a pace that has you wailing. The headboard slams against the wall. “Oh, fuckin’- baby, this puusssy.”

“It feels so good. Your cock is stretching me out so good, baby-“

“Fuck, wait,” He whines, pulling out sharply. When you look down between his legs his cock is painfully hard, and his pubic hair is drenched with you. The sight makes you even more eager to get him back inside of you, but Jisung grabs the base of his cock tightly, his chest heaving. “I- I’ll cum if you talk like that. Fuck, this is so embarrassing!”

“I want you to cum,” You insist, leaning up on your elbows. Your pussy is still leaking steadily onto your bedsheets, and you make grabby hands at your boy to try and get him back inside of you. “You made me cum so good in your mouth, Sungie, c’mon. Make yourself cum with my pussy.”

“Oh my God,” He moans, eyes half lidded, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re dirty. My fucking dream, holy shit.”

He leans over you once more, pushing his cock inside of you. It slides back in easily with another wet noise, and you moan, smiling with delight. “Mm, fuck this pussy, baby, c’mon.”

“I- fuck, okay,” He keens, nodding. His teeth bite into his lower lip almost painfully, and you kiss his neck while he starts to fuck into you again. With a quick reposition you let your thighs fall apart and further back, and his cock starts to hit your g-spot incessantly. He pulls away from you, head lolling into your neck. His breaths fan over your skin, hot and heavy. “You’re so wet, why are you- how are you so wet, baby? This pussy, fucking- I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, I’m so close, please-“

The shred of logic has left your brain. His cock feels so good, thick and pressing inside of you. You have to let him do it. “Baby. Baby, do y’wanna- I’m on the pill, baby,” You say, breathless. His pace stops, hips halting, and he makes a confused noise. “Cum inside. Creampie this hole, Sungie, I know you want to.”

“Oh my fucking- baby? My baby, can I?” He wails, head pulling up to look at you. You catch sight of tears brewing in his eyes, glassy and unshed. “Baby, please, I’m gonna cum, please, where-? Baby?”

“Inside of me, Sungie,” You wrap your legs around him, pulling him inside of you, deep. You know he could get out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, hips starting to pick up inside of you again. It’s fast, desperate and he keens, nodding. “You gonna fill me up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, yes, oh- I’m gonna fill you up,” Jisung’s words are slurred, quiet, and you let him fuck into you over and over. With a sharp noise, his hips slow once more, and you feel a rush of additional wetness inside of you. It’s warm, and you run your fingers through his hair while he fucks his cum inside of you. “Fuck. Baby, you’re so good to me, so good. Lettin’ me breed your cunt, and- and- oh. I’m still-“

He’s still cumming. It floods out of his cock and into your pussy steadily, and you giggle, feeling sated. Your delighted state of mind only lasts a second, because he pulls out sharply and wiggles down on the bed, attaching his mouth to your cunt. He’s eating his own cum out of you.

“Oh! Oh, Jisung, you’re- you’re dirty, Sungie, ah-“ You whine, fingers moving to his hair again. He licks you over and over until you’re wailing with it, your own tears brimming in your eyes from the overstimulation. Your hole feels stretched, a feeling you’re sure you could get used to, and you shake through a second orgasm.

Jisung’s quick to lean over you again, and then his thumb moves to your chin. He opens your mouth firmly, spitting your combined release into your mouth, and you moan, letting him press his tongue between your lips afterwards.

It’s messy and you let him kiss you for a bit, slow, languid, passionate kisses that have your core almost throbbing for more, if you weren’t so satisfied. Jisung’s soft cock presses against your tummy, wet with your combined arousal, and then he flops down next to you with a huff.

“God, I could go again,” He admits, hand running through his sweat mussed hair. When you turn to him, he’s grinning from ear to ear, and you giggle. He looks at you with a satisfied expression. “You’re the best. That was literally like, the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Even more than when I win some fight against an alien, or something.”

“Alien?” You ask, and then you remember. “Oh, yeah. Kinda forgot about that.”

“You forgot about me saving your life?!” He shrieks, thrashing around on the bed in a tantrum. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you I would- ah. Oh.”

You blanch, blinking at him. It’s easy to ignore that you’re both naked when he’s just dropped a bombshell on you like that, and you let out a giggle. “That was sweet. I’m in love with you too, for the record.”

You’re attacked in a flurry of kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re sure Han Jisung intrigues you just as much as his superhero alterego does, so it’s easy to accept.

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sacrificiallane · 2 months ago

Text

──── just the tip !

pairing ! mean!Luke Castellan x fem!reader content warning ! coercing!! (luke takes your virginity without asking 😔 he‘s mean like that!) MEAN!LUKE. sex. p in v. no protection (pls don't do that in real life!) ♡ blurb, so it's a little very short.

this was a request; here

He is so desperate! Literally, Luke thinks it's so unfair, how you're looking all pretty for him... yet won't let him in. it's killing him, please.

He just doesn't get this whole 'saving yourself for marriage' thing. It's stupid, he thinks, how you let him have his tongue buried between your thighs but not his dick ―

"Please, baby," his voice borders on a whine as he bumps his drooling tip against your clothed cunt and pries your thighs a little further apart. "Just let me ―," he groans. Momentarily, he thinks about just ripping the fabric in half and having his way with you... but he is a patient boy. For now.

"I told you, just the tip, hm?" Luke is taking a different approach then. He doesn't want to scare you, after all. So his hands ― all gentle and loving ― find a way to your face, to carefully caress your cheeks.

"You trust me, no?" he coaxes further, invading your space by nuzzling his nose to yours. An endearing gesture that makes it just so easy for him to get his way...

When you answer a soft 'yes, Luke...,' he smiles.

Luke knows how to sweet talk you into things. He's a son of Hermes, after all, one of the cleverest and most mischievous of the Olympian gods.

"And you know I would never do anything that's bad for you, right?"

Your teeth press into your bottom lip and Luke gets even harder Luke's fingers press the slightest bit harder into your skin, "right?" he doesn't like how you're hesitating, it's a normal question after all. I mean, why would you not trust him, after all? He is always taking care of you!

When he asks again, you know you have to answer "yea..."

He smirks, "good" and his hand starts to relax, and to wander.

He knows your body by heart, so the boy doesn't even have to look anywhere but your eyes when his fingers ghost over the drenched part of your panties.

Luke watches closely for your reaction. It's when your eyes trail down as well, when you feel him prodding, tugging and teasing, dangerously close to the part that you were denying him just moments ago, he acts quickly!

In an attempt to distract you from what he was really doing down there, and fearing that you'd deny him again and again, his lips press against yours in a hot kiss. It has you relax, at least, and gives him enough time to messily pull your panties to the side and press his bare tip against your slit. His tongue licks broadly into your mouth, to swallow any disagreeing noise of yours. He knows what's good for you!

When you do start to get a bit more whiny though, and try to move further up his bed ― you're nervous, of course, and Luke loves you too much to just ignore such a thing! ― he is quick to mutter sweet words meant to soothe you. Whispering how he loves you, and how good you are for him.

His unoccupied hand smoothes over your hair, and his forehead bumps against yours when he literally bullies his thick head through your walls.

"Fuck..." a breathless hiss and his eyes flutter close. You are so tight! Wrapped around him like a vice, and Luke can just barely make out how you open a little further for him, and suddenly all of his common sense wanders south, and he craves you even more.

He really can't help it this time...

"Sorry, I'm sorry―"

A loud gasp spills over your swollen lips when his hips suddenly snap flush against your own ― and his length slips all the way into your fluttering walls until you are completely full of him. So full, he can see himself slightly outlined through your tummy. "Gods―" another thrust. In and out again, just to watch your reaction of having him poke your deepest parts.

"You ― just the tip ―" you were stuttering, trying to find words as he was greatly taking care of needs you weren't even aware of having! Your fingers curl further around his sheets, cramping a little, when an especially hard thrust had you seeing stars for a moment.

Luke doesn't even think of slipping out again. Instead, he shushed you softly, and pressed one hand over your mouth. Gentle, of course. But you were so loud! And your sweet innocent voice trying to make sense of him, had him so close to spilling.

"It's okay―," he mutters in a breathless whisper, "you're fine."

Luke would never make you do anything you aren't ready for. He swears!

And when your eyes roll back and your legs start shaking, your own climax hitting you so quickly that you don't even know how or when to warn you... he's there, with you, to rub soothing circles into your naked skin and remind himself that this is all just for him.

Well, and there goes your 'saving yourself for marriage' ― "Guess I will just have to marry you then..."

#˙ ✩ lanes writing ⋆｡˚꩜#luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x reader smut #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x you smut #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x y/n smut

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gay-dorito-dust · 8 months ago

Note

Can you please do one where the reader is Stan and ford’s childhood friend? I’d imagine that they would both be SUPER protective, and later in adulthood they move in with does to help with his research. Stanley and ford secretly developed a crush on them over time but neither have admitted their feelings 🤭🤭

I made this one too fucking long as well the to might need to make a part two as not to overwhelming people.

You probably threw sand in some bullies eyes when they didn’t leave poor Ford alone/ and or comforted Ford alongside Stan afterwards bc confrontation wasn’t your thing. Either way it didn’t take long for you, Stan and Ford to become a well known trio in the town of New Jersey, one was never seen without the other two trailing behind.

You three were inseparable.

Ford was the brains and intellect

Stan was the protective fighter

And you were the mediator, the confidant, the person who’d encourage the twins to keep moving forward for that was the only way to go.

The mystery trio you called yourselves as you’d spend countless hours on the beech, searching for the abnormal and mysterious with nothing but your flashlights and determination to make a name for yourselves.

You didn’t give a shit about Ford’s six fingers, you thought they were cool and told him often that you were jealous.

‘Why?’ He’d ask.

‘It’s cooler to be different than it is to fit in the norm.’ You’d tell him as you’d both sit somewhere overlooking the beach, hearing the cries of seagulls and the crashing of the waves against the sandy beaches. ‘One day everyone is going to try and find something abnormal about themselves to fit in, as though they weren’t the same people who’d shun people for being a little different. They’ll never admit that they’re the bad guy and all they want is attention and will throw a tantrum when they don’t get it.’

You then placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘So don’t listen to them Stanford, you’ll make a name of yourself one day and they’ll all flock to you like moths to a flame. High six?’ You raised your hand.

‘High six.’ Ford replied as you high-fived/ high-sixed each other.

Their dad didn’t like you but you didn’t give a shit because you didn’t like him all that much either with how he treated Stanley in comparison to Ford and would often refuse to go to their house when you knew he was there.

Shermie pines however adored you for keeping her boys in line and being their friend and practically adopted you into the family as she would then move her attention to her sons.

‘So which one of you is going to fall for them first?’ She would ask as Stan and Ford look at her with flustered cheeks.

‘They’re just a friend!’

‘Yeah a friend!’ The twins defective words would overlap which didn’t help their matching blushes that looked like cherry tomatoes by now.

Shermie would then throw her arms over the boys’ shoulders and said. ‘That’s what they all say until it becomes harder to ignore what you truly feel for them. Now it might be platonic but what about later on in the future where you look at them and suddenly think about planning a future with them.’

Now at this point neither Ford nor Stan truly understand what they felt for you at the time, they only thought they were being your protective friends who’d glare at whoever from behind your back if they caught them looking at you weird. They thought they were looking out for you much like you did for them as they stood on either side of you like two towering towers.

After all they didn’t have that many friends besides each other form such a young and so having you in their corner made you all the more special to the brothers.

You and Stan would playfully rough house, doddle in the margins of a notebook or write in code that you’ve only just made up on the spot to one, another and just do dumb goofy stuff in your spare time.

You and Ford would read, come up with theories about the things in New Jersey to make them more interesting than they were, go on a ‘monster chase of the week’ type of adventures when you were bored and in need of thrills.

Stan and Ford were your boys and you would have their backs no matter what as they always had yours in return. Much how like you made Cathy’s life hell after she threw punch at Ford, thinking that standing in solidarity with him as you and Stan both threw punch at each other and making a right ass of yourselves in order to make Ford feel better.

You and Stan then tp’d the bitches house and probably caused property damage but if they couldn’t see the person who did it, then did it actually happened in the first place? (Stans logical explanation to why tp someone’s house in the dead of night was a great guise.)

Or the time you had gotten stood up on a date and Stan threatened the beat the little shit up while Ford - equally as upset at the coward who stood you up- was more focused on comforting you and reminding you of your self worth and how it should be dictated by you alone and not some temporary crush.

You thought that it would be you, Ford and Stanley against everyone, that you’d get to live with them until you were old and grey but life ultimately took you and Ford in different directions from Stanley, who at this point had resorted to conning people for a living after being kicked out of the house by his cunt of a father.

The rift between the brothers that you though wouldn’t split from another for more then five minutes was larger then you’d like to admit, and it broke your heart to see them stand across from one another rather then beside each other.

Your parents refused to take him in afterwards despite your begging and pleading that you’ll do better in school if they house Stanley for a while. Needless to say you were gutted about not having your friend in your life that you didn’t take to your parents for a good while.

You did fairly well in school and ended up in Backupsmore university with Ford, who found a new friend in fiddleford and spent countless days and nights in the library doing extensive studies on the abnormal and the mysterious. You and Ford didn’t have as much time for each other as you use to as kids, that and you couldn’t contact Stanley who was god knows where, god knows what and getting into a fuckton of trouble. You missed it when days were a hell of a lot more simpler but that’s not how life worked and you were being told this constantly.

Ford was excelling at everything while you were average at best and while Ford tried to help, he could tell your heart wasn’t in to listening what he had to say and he knew the reason why.

‘You miss Stan.’ He says one day when you came to his dorm for help.

‘And you don’t seem to miss him one bit.’ You replied as you doodled a cartoon version of yourself, Stan and Ford celebrating a well earned victory over some weird lake monster that had a comedically large bump on it head.

‘He ruined his own life y/n why can’t you accept that.’ He reminds you but it was obvious that you weren’t so willing to hear him out as you use to be. ‘I could’ve helped him Ford, I could’ve!’ You cried.

‘But he didn’t want your help, he was on the path of self destruction and he didn’t want you getting caught in the aftermath of it all.’ Ford said as he placed his hand on your shoulder, much like you did to him when you were younger. ‘Stan is stubborn but wouldn’t avoid you for no reason.’ Ford adds as you look at him.

‘And how would you know that?’ You asked, brow raised.

‘Because I wouldn’t avoid you for no reason either.’ Ford admitted and you swore your saw a blush cut across his face. This conversation never gets brought up again by Ford as no matter how often you reminded him of it, he’s try to change the subject to something else entirely with a nervous laugh and shifty eyes.

You knew something was up and hated being left in the dark but you knew Ford was equally as stubborn as his brother, whether that’s something he’d like to admit or not. However life moved on and so did you as soon you found yourself becoming Ford’s assistant and moving to Gravity Falls, a small town not on any map but had a reputation for being a little odd much like its residence.

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mintyys-blog · 19 days ago

Text

CLAIMED BY A VILTRUMITE — viltrumite! mark grayson

PART ONE

PART TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then there was Roselyna.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought of it made her feel nauseous again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” he promised.

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

TEN YEARS LATER

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N’s heart clenched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again,” he commanded.

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed. “And Elijah?”

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

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

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark,” you finally whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That wasn’t an answer.

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

Mark was silent.

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

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

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

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

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

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

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

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

Mark made a decision the next day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You watched the shift happen over the next few weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Weakness,” she said simply.

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

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

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

Roselyna was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sound of fighting.

Then you saw it.

Roselyna, flying at full speed toward Anissa.

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

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

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

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

She barely flinched.

Then she slammed her other fist down on his head.

The ground shook from the force of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grinned. Like she was enjoying this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Anissa? Anissa was going to kill you.

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

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

But then—

Mark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad… what am I?”

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

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

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

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

Elijah frowned. “But—”

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

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

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

Elijah hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #invincible x y/n #invincible x you #invincible x reader #viltrumite mark #viltrum mark

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