#she can get over her fears and doubts about him now that she faced him and “defeated” him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frostedfragments · 2 months ago

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truly, madly, deeply ✧.* zayne x reader ✧.* 5.3k words ✧.* friends to lovers summary: zayne loses control warnings!: needy, pathetic!zayne, first time smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, creampie, zayne cums in his pants again???, zayne isn't a sub but...the potential is there note: intended as a sequel to exclusive tutorial

divider cred. @enchanthings-a

It’s been three days since you left his apartment and Zayne can still smell your perfume clinging to the space around him.

After you fell asleep on his chest, he’d carried you to his bedroom and left you alone to sleep, not wanting to wake you for fear you might leave and the whole night would crumble. He imagined waking up, face smushed against the papers on his desk back at the hospital, the evening of you trembling in his arms, coming on his fingers, gone from existence.

It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

He had taken the couch, worried he might overwhelm or spook you if he got into bed with you after everything that had happened. There was no way you weren’t gonna end up in his arms, his hips grinding his dick into your ass the moment his body woke him up. He had to regain some semblance of control, and so, he’d slept on the sofa. When he woke up to a call telling him he had to get to the hospital for an emergency surgery, he’d poked his head through the doorway to his room and found you sleeping soundly, his blankets twisted around your bare legs. He’d smiled, relieved, and had left you a note. By the time he got back six hours later, you’d left, and his note sat exactly where he’d left it on the pillow in his room.

He tried not to spiral, he really did, but it didn’t take long for the old thoughts to creep in. You don’t deserve her, you’ve ruined your friendship by mauling her last night, now she doesn’t want to speak to you. He’d spent the last three days worried he had pushed you too fast that night; he had meant to teach you how to kiss, goddamnit, not lose himself in you. He’s like an addict where you’re concerned, and he worries he won’t be able to return to any sense of normalcy now that he knows how you sound when you come. The way you’d whimpered his name has been the soundtrack to his life every day since, and now, as he shrugs off his jacket in the hallway of yours and Caleb’s grandma’s home, he is itching to see you again.

“Zaynie, you’re here,” A small, white-haired woman walks through the archway and grabs Zayne’s hand, smiling up at him before reaching up to pat him on the cheek, “You’re too skinny. You need to eat more,”

He smiles down at her indulgently, “I’ll be sure to do that, granny,”

“Good,” She sniffs, letting her arm hang off the crook of his elbow and dragging him through to the living room, “Caleb is already here. Dinner will be ready soon, once ___ is here we can eat. Where is that girl?”

Zayne let’s Granny wander through to the kitchen, muttering to herself, and walks over to the sofa opposite Caleb, who watches him with a familiarly blank expression. Zayne isn’t sure when the two of them went from friends to…whatever they are now, but he does know that they’ve grown to tolerate each other for your sake, and Granny’s.

He feels uneasy under Caleb’s eyes, as if he knows every little secret - as if he knows about what he did to you the other night. He wonders with a faint sense of alarm whether you would have told him, but he doubts it. Even so, he busies himself looking at his phone to avoid Caleb’s assessing stare.

Dinner is painfully awkward, and you can’t even bring yourself to look around the table. Just being in Zayne’s presence puts you on edge, his eyes trailing over your form as if he is touching you.

When you’d walked into granny’s house, you had immediately sensed Zayne was already here. Walking into the living room just to see him sitting there, one long leg propped on his knee, his black shirt stretching over the same broad shoulders you’d dug your fingernails into as you’d rocked in his lap the other night. A shiver works its way through you at the memory, and Caleb leans over.

“Cold?”

You look up only to immediately lock eyes with Zayne for half a second, darting them towards Caleb instead, a stiff smile on your face, “No, I’m okay,” you say, but your gaze is soon magnetised to the man opposite you once again.

Zayne doesn’t take his eyes off you, chewing his food slowly. His ears are pink, and you wonder briefly if he’s thinking of that night. You wonder if he’s mad you left, and that you haven’t returned any of his texts, but your worries are washed away when you remember that Zayne doesn’t get mad. At least he never has with you, but maybe now it’s different.

You really hadn’t meant to leave him hanging - that night had been such a whirlwind you’d barely processed it by the time you were unlocking the door to your apartment and walking in wearing the same clothes from the night before. You had never done the walk of shame before, never had the chance, but what you did with Zayne didn’t make you feel shameful. Quite the opposite, you felt hot, charged with a painful desire you hadn’t felt before. The same desire that had led to your hands working their way into your panties the last two nights, trying and failing to recreate the magic that Zayne’s fingers had worked on your body.

The reason you couldn’t speak to him after all that was because you weren’t even sure what you were meant to say, or do. You’d never done this before, never even had a crush on a friend before, and you had realised each time you’d opened up your message thread with Zayne only to close it again in frustration, that you’re out of your depth.

You want him - your thighs ache with it, your underwear already dampening each time you watch Zayne’s fingers shift around his chopsticks, and you know he’s watching you. But he’s your best friend, he’s one of the most important people in your life, and you can’t bear the thought of somehow messing up and losing him.

What if you’re bad at sex? What if he gets impatient or annoyed when you don’t know how to make him feel as good as he made you feel? You’ve heard horror stories from your friends about their first times, and you’d gotten close to having sex with a guy back in college, but you had chickened out the moment you walked into his dorm room and saw the condoms on his nightstand.

He hadn’t even kissed you, and he’d bought condoms.

But there’s a part of you that thinks it would be different with Zayne. He’s a man, not a boy, and the raw, feverish way he’d kissed you the other night makes you hope that maybe it would be enjoyable. Maybe you wouldn’t be writhing around in pain like your college friends used to describe their first times.

The idea of it suddenly makes you clench hard; new, foreign muscles locking tight at the idea of Zayne’s hands on your body again. When you shift in your seat, Zayne glances over at you again, his eyes trailing from your lips, lower and lower until he’s staring at the part of your body hidden by the table. His hand clenches tight into a fist and he pushes back from the table suddenly.

“I should go, I have an early shift at the hospital tomorrow,” He doesn’t look at you after that, smiling warmly at Granny and waving at Caleb, who waves back half-heartedly, more focused on his noodles.

Your lips part in surprise, and when Zayne disappears into the hallway to grab his coat, you stand too, “I should go too, Granny. I have some work to do before tomorrow,”

The lie stains your insides with guilt, but you can’t let Zayne leave, not without apologising. Pushing the chair back in, you leave your near empty plate and walk briskly into the hall, finding Zayne just as he’s slipping his jacket, adjusting the collar before he pauses, staring at you.

Granny and Caleb are still within earshot, so you nod towards the door, indicating for him to go outside so you can talk. He does, his eyes wide and unguarded, darkening with that familiar heat, but he blinks, and it’s gone. He nods back, turning to open the door, keeping it wide for you to slip through, grabbing your jacket on the way.

It’s chilly outside, but you let your coat hang from your fingers, staring up at Zayne. The confidence from a moment ago has vanished, and you’re left standing before you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His breath leaves his parted lips in a soft cloud of white, and when he speaks, his voice is strained.

“Please put on your coat,”

You shrug into it, gasping softly when Zayne reaches forward, as if he can’t stop himself, grasping the buttons and silently doing them up until his hands brush your chin. The contact of his skin on yours has a heady, warm feeling gathering in your stomach, and his hands linger under your chin for a few moments. When he moves away, you can finally breathe.

“I just wanted to, ah, apologise,” You begin, cheeks warm. It’s like you’re a teenager all over again, “I shouldn’t have ignored your messages, I was just…” Words fail you, and you lift your eyes to meet his soft gaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, I understand, ___. You don’t have to explain,” His eyes shutter, the softness that was there now replaced by something haunted, “I went too far. I shouldn’t have done that, I don’t blame you,”

His words throw you for a loop, and you’re struck into silence, wondering if you read him wrong, “What? Why would you think that?”

As soon as the words leave your lips, you realise, shaking your head. If you hadn’t gone radio silent after leaving his apartment, he wouldn’t have assumed the worst. Zayne has always been like this; shouldering the blame, running on this misguided belief that he should know better, that he isn’t just human like the rest of the planet.

Stepping towards him, your hand lands on his chest, “Zayne, no. You didn’t…I wanted that. What we did,” you feel warm again, but you push on, desperate to wipe that tortured look from his face, “I want you. I…I’m sorry for making you think otherwise. This is all new to me,”

As the words spill from your lips, you watch as Zayne’s pupils dilate. You get a hint of the man he became the other night when he kissed you senseless, and you want him to do it again. You need his lips on yours like you need the air in your lungs; it’s a part of your chemical make-up now, this need for Zayne. It’s knitted in your bones, tucked beneath your ribs, throbbing hot and wet between your legs.

“Zayne,” You murmur, tugging his coat gently, desperate for him to touch you, “please, kiss me again. Just like the other night,”

A harsh breath leaves his lungs, deflating his chest as it caves in under your hand. His palm lands in the dip of your waist and you instantly decide there are too many layers between you. He’s breathing deeply, his breath ruffling your bangs as you gaze up at him, “___, please,” his hand grips your coat, fishing the material like he needs to steady himself, “I c- if I kiss you right now I’m - I’ll never stop,”

“Don’t stop,” You plead, running your hands over his chest, moving under his jacket, “I don’t want you to stop,”

His jaw clenches, and he grips your hand, tugging you along towards his car. Your stomach dips with excitement, nerves, arousal, you’re not exactly sure which exactly, but you know that whatever is about to happen will wreck you, ruin you for anyone else, and you think you might already be half in love with Zayne as he tucks you into the passenger seat, his knuckles brushing your thigh through your stockings.

With a hard swallow, he backs away, closing your door and walking around the front of the car. He gets into the driver’s seat, silent save for the ragged way his chest rises and falls, and pulls out of the parking spot so fast you have to hold on.

Zayne is going to fucking combust if he doesn’t get you naked within the next thirty seconds. He’s sure he broke several traffic laws driving to his apartment, and as he pulls you to the elevator in the lobby of his building, he wonders whether he can bribe security to turn off the camera in there.

He forces himself to hold it together, not even able to speak to you for fear he will spew all the filth that’s currently rolling around in his head. He needs to remember you’ve never done this before, that he should be gentle with you, but the words you spoke to him outside your grandma’s house taunt him.

I want you, I want you, I want you.

He’d already been half hard when he left that dining table, thinking he was deluding himself to believe that you were squirming in your seat because of him. Because of the way he was unable to rip his eyes from your pretty, pink lips the moment you turned up. An image of them wrapped around the head of his dick has him bracing against the wall by the elevator for support, and you reach out, a hand on his forearm probably thinking he’s ill or something.

The elevator dings, and he wastes no time pulling you inside and waiting impatiently for the doors to close. He can hear you almost panting, and that little voice in his head tries to convince him you can’t want him as bad as he want’s you. That you don’t feel this unbearable fire running down his spine simply because he’s standing beside you. He wants to push you against the wall, to take your mouth again, to make you taste like him, but he tries, using all of his mental fortitude, to remain in control.

It feels like it takes an hour to reach his floor, and he threads his shaking fingers through yours, needing to feel your skin on his in some way. You have this uncanny ability to ground him and knock him on his ass all in one breath, so by the time you both make it to his door, his cock is pressing eagerly against the fly of his jeans. He almost drops his keys twice trying to open the door, and as he drags you inside, you surprise him by gripping the back of his neck and tugging his lips to yours.

White hot need courses through his veins, the keys are dropped somewhere on the floor, the door is kicked shut and within seconds he’s got you up in the air, dropping your ass down on the console table by the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” His hips are rocking between your thighs, the the table knocking into the wall, his heart thudding hard when he notices you’re panting just as hard as him. Your lips parted, hands grasping and tugging his coat into you both successfully get it off his shoulders, letting it land in a heap on the floor, forgotten in the haze of heat and lips and tongue.

He feels like he’s drunk; his coordination is impaired, vision blurry when he pulls back, looking down at you. The rough sound of his voice cuts through the mayhem, “You want this? You really want this?” He asks because he’s, honestly, in disbelief that this is happening right now. He can’t quite comprehend how the angel in front of him, gazing at him with dilated pupils, red lips and a blush coating your neck and chest, wants him.

“Yes,” You whine, and he just about fucking comes, “Please, Zayne, I need it. I’m aching so bad,”

He might cry if you keep talking, so he kisses you instead, picking you up and walking you blindly in the direction of his bedroom. He murmurs against your lips the whole time, so gone for you that he’s not even sure what he’s really saying, “I’ll be so good for you, ___. I’m gonna make it so good -”

You moan against him, grinding your clothed pussy against his stomach. He finds his bedroom, knocking into the door frame in an effort to get you in there as quickly as possible. When he drops you on his bed, he just has to stare at you for a moment, catch his breath, maybe, but mostly he just wants to convince himself that this isn’t some twisted fucking dream.

His eyes flare and he has to bring his hand to palm his erection when you start wriggling out of your clothes. He almost wishes you would stop, because he’s dreamt about peeling every layer off of your body himself, but he can’t quite bring himself to step towards you. His brain jump-starts back into action once you get down to your underwear, and he plants a knee on the mattress, a hand on your wrist when you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. He’s in a trance, eyes locked on the little bow in the centre of your panties.

He wants to put his mouth on you so badly.

“Zayne,” You whisper, it’s almost a moan, your soft thighs rubbing together as you squirm under his stare, like him just looking at you turns you on. The feeling is fucking mutual.

His thumb brushes the bow, his other hand dropping beside your waist. He can feel the heat of your skin, soaking into his bones, and he knows that he won’t come back from this. He thought that what you did on Friday night would be the end of him, but he was so wrong. This right here will obliterate him.

He sighs shakily, thumb running over your mound, his teeth sinking into his lower lip when he reaches the dampest part of your underwear. You’re soaked, all for him, so wet that he can smell the sweet, huskiness of your arousal, and he abandons all prior concerns about his control, dipping his head to press his nose directly into your wetness.

“Oh,” You murmur raggedly, wiggling your hips to try and get his nose to rub against you just right. He inhales you deeply, pondering in insanity that he may need to find a way to make a candle out of this scent, before he lifts his head a little, looking up at your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” His voice is unrecognisable, and he swallows in an effort to moisten his vocal chords enough to tell you all that he has kept bottled up. If he scares you off now, it’s no matter, it’s far too late for him, “I’ve fucked my hand so many times thinking of this, of you,”

You don’t say anything, but your thighs try to close around where he is currently seated between them. He runs his palms up your thighs, gratified beyond belief to see goosebumps following his path.

“I need to eat you out,” He says simply, eyes boring into yours, waiting for you to give him even the barest hint of consent. He needs to taste you on his tongue, needs to lick deeply inside you until you come again, until he's haunted by the feeling of your cunt clenching against his mouth. He’s out of his mind over the smell of you, the wetness that coats your pretty, white panties with the little bow that he’s sure will haunt him for the rest of his life. “Tell me I can, ___, please,”

“I’ve never…” You don’t need to finish, because he already knows. He witnessed you get soaked from just his kiss, watched enraptured as you came wetly over his fingers. He knows you’ve never had it and there’s a primal roar of satisfaction in his chest at the knowledge that he’s the first man to taste you.

“I know, beautiful. Do you want it? You don’t have to say yes,” He murmurs, even as he licks his lips. He wants to make this good for you, he meant that, and if he’s going to have the privilege of fucking you today, he needs you to be ready for him. He needs you soft and pliant and comfortable - the idea of causing you discomfort makes him want to keel over.

A swallow works down your delicate throat, and his eyes flare, another wicked idea flitting through his mind. If you let him, he will mark you up, he will lay his claim on you, no matter how much he might not deserve to.

“Yes, okay,” You say, brows knitting together. He doesn’t move, hands settling on your knees, pausing your movements as you part them for him.

“You’re frowning,”

A flush paints your cheeks, and you groan in frustration, head hitting the mattress as you stare up at the ceiling. You’re so fucking cute, he can hardly take it.

“I don’t know what - …like, what do I do?” You’re watching him, eyes wide and blown out, almost black. He can tell that you meant it when you said you wanted it, and he smiles softly at you, parting your legs with a palm on each thigh.

“Just lay back,” He says softly, “I’ll take care of you,”

The closer his face gets to your pussy, your face relaxes into a look of concentrated arousal. You’re watching his every movement, gasping quietly when he licks a trail up the wet patch on your panties. He keeps his eyes on you as he kisses you slowly, filthily through the material, taking it as slow as he can, his cock throbbing, angry and eager to be inside your tightness. He ignores it to the best of his ability, keeping his hips lifted off the bed - he doesn’t want to come too fast, but as soon as you moan, head thrown back, hands fisting his bedsheets, he slams his hips down into the softness of his bed. Desperate for friction, it’s near painful with how badly he needs to fuck, and he abandons all thought, pulling your panties to the side to suckle at your swollen clit.

“Oh my god, Zayne,” Your voice is reedy, whimpers breaking every word, and he groans into your pussy, hips punching into the bed.

Your thighs start shaking soon after, and you’re already close. He can feel the way you’re clenching when he dips his tongue inside you, relishing in the arch of your back, the way your hands fly up to grip your breasts. It’s such an erotic sight, Zayne can feel his cock twitching, he’s gonna come too soon, again, but he can’t help it. You turn him into this needy, helpless mess, and he’s coming with you within a few more seconds of your tight pussy squeezing his tongue, his body rocking into the bed, so hard he can hear it squeak a couple times along the carpet.

Next time, he thinks wildly, unhinged in his desire, he’s gonna eat your pussy with you on all fours, he’s gonna make you ride his face while he fucks his hand. He doesn’t care if you never touch his dick as long as he can spend the rest of his life with his face between your legs.

He pulls away from you after a few more licks, the stickiness of your arousal is a sweet syrup on his lips, and when he raises his body off the bed, he can only stare at you. Legs twitching, skin shined with sweat. He can feel his cock getting hard again, and he hasn’t even got his jeans off yet.

You’re opening your eyes then, a hazy gaze running from his flushed face to his panting chest, all the way down to the wet patch on the front of his jeans. You nibble at your lip at the sight, and - yeah, he’s hard again.

“Is it…,” You glance down at his crotch again, “Are we done now?”

He licks his lips, tasting you again, “Do you want us to be done?”

You’re shaking your head, sitting up on his bed. There’s a wet patch under your ass that he wants to lap at, and you wriggle away, further into the centre of the bed until you’re laying your head on his pillow. He lets himself think it now, pulls down the wall guarding him from the truth that he’s devastatingly in love with you. Seeing you laying on his bed in your underwear, fucked out, blushing and smiling as you wait for him to join you - it sends him into a tailspin.

A smarter man would realise he’s not good enough for you, that he doesn’t deserve something so heavenly. But Zayne isn’t very smart, it turns out, because he crawls onto the bed, caging you in with his arms and kissing you deeply. He lets you taste yourself, lets you taste the flavour of what he’s done to you, and you groan, tugging his black shirt out of his jeans.

He helps you as the two of you tackle his shirt, peeling it off of his shoulders, smiling against your lips when your hands immediately explore his skin, grabbing and digging your nails into his shoulder blades. He has to stand up to take off his jeans and his ruined underwear, his cock springing free, already hot and hard again. He watches as you assess him, your tongue wetting your lips has a bead of precum forming on the tip, even as his earlier orgasm already coats it.

You open your mouth as if to speak, but then you snap your lips shut. He can’t have that.

“What is it, ___? Tell me,”

“I want…” Your eyes fall to his dick again, “Can I taste you?”

He almost falls to the floor, all feeling gone in his legs thanks to the blood rushing directly to his cock. He wonders if you could make him come simply by speaking, by asking him questions in that innocently curious voice of yours.

It’s not a good idea, not with his track record with you, but he swallows hard, nodding and watching hungrily as you crawl across to him. He pauses you, desperate to see more, needing to see all of you, and unclips your bra, tossing it aside, forgotten. Your breasts sway before him, his hands reaching out with no hesitation, gripping them both as his cock bobs with another warning twitch. You watch it all with a heated look in your eye.

When you lean forward, letting your tongue flick out to taste the head, Zayne immediately buckles, pushing you back on the bed so you’re on your back. He climbs over you, a barely caged animal.

“You -” He groans when his cock brushes your underwear, “I cant - Maybe another time,”

“Did I do it wrong?” You frown.

He almost laughs, a pained wheezing sound bursting from his throat, “No, you’re - everything's perfect. You’re perfect- “ He’s babbling now, the desperation to be inside you taking over, as he rears up, tugging off your panties and dropping them at the bottom of the bed. A crazy parts of him wants to keep them as a memento of tonight.

He shakes above you, his arms trembling as his tip brushes your entrance, and he worries you might be nervous. He’s not small by any means; thick as well as a decent length, his cock isn’t gonna be easy for you to take for your first time, and so as a form of self-preservation and to help make sure you’re ready, he drops his head to take your soft nipple into his mouth, his fingers skimming your stomach to enter you in one thrust. You buck against him, whining, begging him to fuck you, and he growls, kissing up to your neck so he can suck a couple of marks into your skin.

“So fucking good for me- God, ____, you’re everything -”

“Zayne,” You tug on his hand, trying to pull his fingers free from inside you, “I need you. Please, please -”

He can’t resist you begging, he can’t help himself when you start mewling those words against his lips, your hands digging into his lower back. He positions himself at your wet heat, shuddering with each inch you accept him. You gasp when he thrusts a little too hard, but when he checks your face to make sure he didn’t hurt you, you’re watching him with a searingly needy expression. You want him, you tell him so with every clench of your walls around his cock, and so he lets his dick slide inside you all the way, his thighs already shaking.

He’s pathetic.

“Fuck, fuck - hgn - oh god, it’s so good, ___. So fucking good for me,” He begins a steady pace, slower than he needs, but it’s enough to have you arching into him, your pretty tits lifted to his waiting mouth, and he moans loudly, without abandon, as your hands reach up to flatten on the headboard. You’ve never done this, and yet he’s the one who feels like he’s never been fucked before. You’re rolling your hips, rocking up to take his cock, and he can feel his balls clenching with the need to come, “Tell me I can come - tell me - let me come, please, beautiful, I need to fuck my cum into this pussy,”

“Please,” You groan, “you can come. Please, I need it so bad -”

“Fuck,” He’s going to come, he’s reaching the point of no return and he’s barely been inside you ten seconds. He slides his hand between your bodies, rubbing at the hard little nub above where he’s sliding into you. You’re gripping him so tight he can barely speak. He’s dreamed of making you beg for his cock, of making you tell him how bad you need it, but in the end he’s the one begging you.

“Please, please, oh fuck, ___. I’m coming -” He grunts, “Say my name, fuck - hgn, please. Please say my name - I fucking love you. Say it for me -” His words break off into a moan as you come all over his cock, your body clenching, eyes rolling back. You’re chanting his name, calling it into the empty room, making his fucking life.

He follows you with several jagged, deep thrusts, fucking you up the bed until your head reaches the headboard. He has a few brain cells left to place his hand between you and the wooden surface, and then he allows himself a couple more rough rolls of his hips that have you shaking.

The silence afterwards is broken only by your breaths. Zayne’s head is on your chest, listening to the way your heart hammers beneath him. He can’t move, his legs have lost all feeling and he enjoys the way you run your fingers through his hair. He nuzzles into your sweaty skin and glances up at you. You’re smiling, glowing like you do in his dreams, and he almost wants to pinch himself.

He raises himself up onto his forearms, just about managing to make his legs work enough to hover over you, his lips pressed to yours. He whispers how much he loves you, how long he’s loved you, and you don’t say it back yet, but you kiss him deeply. He relishes in this sweet moment, a whole new beginning, and for the first time when it comes to you, he’s not scared.

#love and deepspace #lads ff #love and deepspace ff #lads fanfic #love and deepspace fanfic #zayne fanfic #zayne ff #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x mc #zayne smut

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midnite-c6 · 3 months ago

Note

OKAY SO I THOUGHT ABT IT AND IM GONNA SRS NEED A THANOS AND PLAYER 333 SMUT LIKE IN THE BATHROOMS AND SHIT?? HELLO??

-🍰

SO REAL THEYRE BOTH SO HOT.. WHY ARENT THERE MORE MYUNG-GI FICS? SMUT SPECIFICALLY? LIKE THE BREEDING KINK IS CRAAAZY

thanos (player 230) & myung-gi (player 333) x reader imagine!!! 💜 warnings: 18+, ((myung-gi is your baby daddy)), dubcon (read at ur own riskk<3)

it was clear you were myung-gi's bitch, everyone saw how he would immediately run over to you whenever a game's finished or how he'd always give you an extra portion of his lunch. he knows he'd already gotten you pregnant, it's only been a few couple weeks, but he still wanted to take a close eye in case you get hurt. unfortunately, to both of your demise, you've gotten into the games with apparently one of his biggest opps, and he just can't stop bothering the two of you!

as usual, myung-gi & thanos were already fighting inside the mens bathrooms, thanos just couldn't stop bothering about that crypto scheme your boyfriend had posted about.. being such a jerk.. "MG coin, you better watch out, i can see that bitch you keep runnin' around with." "fucking leave her out of this!" thanos tilted his head with a wide grin, guess the topic of you makes myung-gi more fired up. "don't worry 'bout that, dude. if she got with a person like you, no doubt i'd make her mine easily." he'd lean in to whisper into your boyfriend's ear. "i'll make your bitch, my bitch, and she will love it." he pushes thanos, "fuck off, shithead!" thanos just laughs, "...and word got around you knocked her up, jeez, pussy so good you forgot to pull out?" thanos gets hit with a punch in the face in response. so now your boyfriend always come back from the bathrooms with a bruised face, you feel soo bad for him :((, but there's really only one way you could think of to make him feel better.. prolly why you got preggy in the first place,.. and maybe there's an extra tag-along this time!!

nsfw below!! -> 🫶🏻

now in the late nights inside a tight-spaced stall in the mens bathrooms... your thighs were getting so tired, bouncing up and down on myung-gi's dick, both only your pants on the ground. his lips muffling your moans, he truly loves you, sososo much, though you both immediately stop when you hear the bathroom door being opened. "w-who would be awake at this time..??" you whispered, looking into his eyes with alot of fear despite your shameless act inside a place like this, he quickly covers your mouth with his hand. not gonna lie, when he saw that fearful look of yours, he almost nutted inside you (..again.)

you hear the footsteps getting closer to your stall, the two of you were shaking, (you'd both think it'd be a guard or something) but..nope! it was that fucking purple-haired, blue-eyed jerk. his eyes widened, before he'd smile widely showing his teeth. "hell yeah!" myung-gi wraps his arm tightly around you, as if to protect you. "you've got some fucking nerve, boy!" thanos stepped in closer, grabbing you by the hair, making you look up at him. "stop whoring around from this, scum. i'll treat you soo much better." and before myung-gi could jump at him for an attack, he felt you clench tighter around his dick, making him moan out loud. thanos just smiled from that, "woah, dude, i didn't mean you." "shutthefuckup!" he laughs. "c'mon, i'll stop bothering you if you offer her." you whimpered, like you were saying "please, myung-gi, no.." but your cunt was gushing all over him, he dick was suffocating! your pussies saying something definitely different.. "go." he'd order you. thanos' already pulling his dick out from his pants, "just jerk him off, you'd like that, won't you?" you whined, no way... you will never confess that you do like it! but myung-gi knows you the best! so now your hairs getting pulled, and your hands were hastily trying to make thanos cum, his low groans were sexy though, you admit. all while myung-gi sloppily fucks into you from underneath.

it felt insane, fucking your lover and also fucking your lovers number one enemy. 10/10 experience. all three of you would be breathing heavily, tired out.

thanos can't get enough though.. "c'mon, man, let me hit that! fuuck." myung-gi would absolutely not let allow another man inside your perfect cunt. thanos just can't stop begging..! "pleaseeeee." you'd only watch as you try to catch your breath from the absolutely wildest experience you've ever had. "pluusss, what if i fuck her hard enough, the baby's gonna end up lookin' like me?"

expect more posts 2 come dis weeek i have so many drafts. i love all requests mwmamawamwa <3333

#player 333 #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #squid game smut #squid game #thanos #thanos smut #thanos x reader #player 230 #myung gi #myung gi smut #myung gi x reader

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girlgenius1111 · 9 months ago

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casts, broken arms, & snuggles

alexia putellas x reader - part of the mila verse :)

an accident at the park pulls alexia from training and to the hospital, where she finds both her girls not doing their best. everyone is very overwhelmed with their feelings, and maybe don't handle it the way they should. basically, protective panicked alexia and insecure reader. a bit of angst / injuries / concussions symptoms, mostly fluff.

------

You knew Alexia would panic. There wasn’t much you could do about that. Especially not when the only way you had to reach her was through the staff. It was somewhat of a bad omen within the team, having a staff member walk outside with a phone call for you. It only happened in an emergency, and unfortunately, this definitely counted as an emergency. When one of the assistant coaches, Xavi, answered the phone, he seemed to be on the same page as you.

“Try to act calm, otherwise she’ll just freak out.”

“I am not sure there is much I can do to avoid her having a nervous breakdown.” Xavi stated. You heard him call Alexia over, and tried to shush the very upset almost 3 year old in your arms.

“Amor, what is wrong?”Alexia asked, practically tearing the phone out of Xavi’s hand as soon as she heard who was calling.

“Everything is fine, okay? There was just a little accident.” You began, speaking in a soothing, calming tone, the same one you’d been using on the baby.

“What kind of accident?”

“Meels fell at the park-”

“¡AY DIOS MIO!” Alexia shouted. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Ale, breathe. She fell off the slide and I think her arm might be broken. She won’t let me touch it and she hasn’t stopped crying.”

“Broken?!” Alexia squeaked.

“Ow.” Mila whimpered, frowning unhappily at her arm from where she sat in your lap. “Hurts, Mama.”

“I know, baby.” You told her. “Ale, the ambulance is here to take us to the hospital do you-”

“What were you doing? Were you not watching her? Why weren't you watching her, why did she fall?” Alexia snapped.

You bit back the retort you had ready, knowing this was just a result of her fear for Mila. You weren’t happy with what she’d said, but that could be dealt with later. “We’re leaving now for the hospital. Meet us there.” You said coldly, before hanging up the phone without saying anything else. Alright, you were pretty upset, and you let it show. You had already been beating yourself up for what had happened, thinking the things that Alexia had said.

As you and Mila got loaded into the ambulance, you realized you hadn’t mentioned something important to your wife. No doubt, she was hauling ass to the hospital, so she’d find out soon enough.

-------

Alexia burst into the room in a flutter of chaos, throwing the curtain aside and looking around frantically. Mila was sitting in your lap, holding her arm awkwardly away from her body, while you ran your fingers through her wavy brown hair and tried to keep her calm. Both of you looked at Alexia when she walked in, her panic clear on her face. She was sweaty, still in her training kit, and her eyes were only on her daughter.

“Mila, mi bebé,” she said gently, moving closer to the bed.

“Mami!” Mila cried, a pout on her small face, holding her arm out for Alexia to see. She squirmed in your lap, trying to get closer to your wife, but you both made sure she stayed carefully where she was.

“Pobrecita,” Alexia murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing repeated kisses to her baby’s head. She stared hard at Mila’s already swollen arm, trying to stifle her own tears. You weren’t pleased with Alexia, but you weren’t particularly upset that she hadn’t even glanced at you, her attention fully on Mila. “What happened?”

Mila’s voice wobbled as she began to talk, reaching out with her good hand to grip onto a few of Alexia’s fingers.. “Fell! Off the slide. Mama tried to catch me, but now she has an ouchie too.”

Alexia’s eyes flew to you, seeing for the first time the towel and large ice pack pressed to the back of your head. Her heart sank. She knew before that she would have to apologize for what she had said, and now she knew she’d have to do even more groveling. Especially if the hurt look on your face was any indication.

“Amor,” she sighed, reaching for your hand. You pulled it away, refusing to make eye contact with her.

“I’m fine.” You dismissed. “Mila’s got a basic fracture, just a month or so in a cast to fix it. They’ll be in to put it on soon.”

“Mama needs stitches.” Mila whispered conspiratorially to her Mami.

Alexia’s face grew, somehow, even more upset. “What happened, mi amor?”

Still avoiding her eyes, you spoke quietly. “I was going to catch her at the bottom of the slide, but she stood up at the top and fell off the side.”

“And your head?” Alexia asked, leaning closer to try and inspect your injury. Mila looked up at you with concern, her expression matching her Mami’s almost exactly. Where Alexia’s fingers were gentle as they cradled your head, Mila’s were clumsy and clunky as she tried to run her fingers through your hair. It was something you did to make her feel better, and she thought that maybe it would make your frown go away, too.

“I tried to catch her in time, but I slipped and hit my head on the edge of the slide. And I didn’t really catch her.” You admitted, slightly embarrassed at that fact. Alexia would have caught Mila, you were sure.

“It’s okay, Mama, you tried your best!” Mila said encouragingly, parroting back something you and Alexia must have told her a hundred times. Her arm temporarily forgotten, Mila shifted so she could lean up and press a kiss to your cheek, before she snuggled closer to your chest.

Your wife’s eyes were stuck on your daughter, practically turning into hearts as she took in how sweet and caring her baby was. You couldn’t blame her; you felt the same. That you had created such a perfect little person would never cease to amaze you.

“Thank you, my baby.” You mumbled, wincing slightly as you shifted, trying to keep Mila’s arm in a safe position. Every movement of your upper body sent waves of pain through your head, but you didn’t want Mila to know how upset you were.

“Mi amor, I-”

Whatever Alexia was about to say was cut off completely as the doctor entered the room, introducing herself to your wife, and beginning to talk Mila through the process of getting the cast put on. There were some tears, wiped away quickly by her Mami, as they began to wrap up her arm.

Once the nurses had taken over, and began adding the colored plaster to the cast, and Mila was suitably distracted, the doctor regarded you.

“Alright, let’s get that head wound taken care of.” She said kindly, motioning you over to a chair in the corner of the room. She stood by your head, beginning to clean the wound and prepare to stitch it up.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to keep your wincing to a minimum. Alexia watched on worriedly from her spot next to Mila, knowing how much you hated needles. The midfielder so wanted to comfort you through this, but she also didn’t want to leave Mila alone if she was still upset. So, she did what you’d spent many years helping her do, and communicated.

“Milabear? Can I go hold your Mama’s hand while she gets her stitches?” She whispered, heart melting at how Mila looked over at you, and nodded enthusiastically.

“Go help Mama.” She said bravely, feeling much better now that she had her red cast on her arm, and that the nurse had given her some goldfish. Mila munched away happily, her eyes trained on the TV hanging on the wall, and Alexia had never been more grateful for having such an independent and resilient child than she was in that moment.

Your eyes were still shut, a few tears escaping as you tried very hard to act like the adult you were. You startled a bit when Alexia crouched in front of you and took your hand. Opening your eyes, you tried to breathe deeply, feeling the doctor begin to thread the needle through the skin of your scalp. A small, rather pathetic whimper fell from your lips, and Alexia brought your hand to her lips, pressing kisses to the back of it. Her adoring gaze only made more tears fall, and you felt completely ridiculous.

“You are okay, amor. It will be over soon.”

Every tear that fell was gently swiped away by your wife. The doctor worked as carefully as she could, but there were still tugs on your skin that had shivers running down your spine, and your stomach churning. There was only so much Alexia could do to help, but luckily, it wasn’t a very large wound, and the doctor was done within a few minutes, cutting the excess thread and reaching for a white bandage. She wrapped that around your head, holding a piece of gauze in place, which really felt like overkill.

“Okay, done.” The doctor announced, removing her gloves and stepping away from your chair. Alexia’s earlier words forgotten, you stood shakily to your feet, allowing yourself to fall into your wife’s open arms.

“You did so good.” She whispered, smiling despite herself at the bandage wrapped around your head. You looked adorable, frowning up at her with tears in your eyes, looking somewhat like a disgruntled mummy.

“Mama?” Mila called from her spot on the bed.

You wiped at your eyes quickly, plastering a smile on your face as you walked over to your daughter. “Hi Meels.”

“All better, Mama?” She asked, reaching both of her arms out for you to pick her up, which you did easily.

“All better.” You confirmed, holding her as close as you could.

“Almost all better.” The doctor smiled, turning to your wife. “She has a mild concussion with the impact on the ground, so she’s going to need to take it easy for a few days. I am assuming you know concussion protocol, Ms. Putellas?”

“Yes, yes of course.” Alexia said, her eyes squinting with concern as she studied you. “I will take good care of her.”

“Me too!” Mila added, squirming in your hold until she could loop her arms around Alexia’s neck and shift over into her arms.

Your wife very hesitantly pulled you into her as the doctor left the room. You tilted your head to make eye contact with her, still with a small frown on your face. It was clear that you were still upset with your wife, but the determination in her eyes told you she’d do anything to fix it.

------

Apparently, anything consisted of making you sit on the couch next to Mila, holding an ice pack to your head, and not daring to move. Your wife went from room to room, collecting anything she had determined you or Mila might need. It was endearing, but also somewhat frustrating when she’d appear to hand you something, and go flitting off before you could just ask her for what you really wanted: for her to sit on the couch with the two of you, and relax.

Stressed Alexia made you stressed, but you knew this was just how she was coping with what had happened today. Alexia always held a lot of guilt for the little moments she missed while at work; any milestone that Mila achieved while Alexia wasn’t around was downright painful for your wife. She was a protective person, and you knew she was even more bothered because both you and Mila were hurt, and she hadn’t been there to help either of you.

You and Mila sat side by side, heads moving back and forth like you were watching a tennis match. In fact, you were just watching Alexia disappear and reappear with Mila’s favorite toy, a blanket, your favorite sweatshirt, a snack, some water, more ice, more painkillers and 6 different pillows for Mila to rest her cast on. You were exhausted just watching her.

She appeared back in the living room like a ghost the minute you stood up, her hands grabbing onto your shoulders and gently pushing you back down onto the couch.

“Ale, just let me-”

“No! Sit.” Alexia insisted, ignoring the small giggle from her daughter.

You rolled your eyes, shrugging out from under her grip and standing anyway. “Alexia, I have to go to the bathroom. You can’t do that for me.”

Alexia had the decency to blush, at least. “Okay. I’ll walk you there.” She decided, grabbing your hand and beginning to escort you to the bathroom. Honestly.

Always her mother’s shadow, Mila got up too, and grabbed your other hand. “Mami I can-”

“No. Sit!” Alexia repeated, though with a small smile as she regarded her daughter. “Mila, you stay there. I can take care of everything.”

“But Mami-”

“No! I can help Mama, you need to rest.” Your wife said, ignoring the amused look you were giving her, too focused on the attitude suddenly radiating off your daughter.

“Mami. I have to go potty too.” Mila said exasperatedly. Ale blushed further, nodding as she allowed Mila to accompany you both towards the bathroom. You turned your snort of laughter into a fake cough, knowing that Alexia could be sensitive to being teased about her over protectiveness. And, well… it seemed Mila was holding her own in showing her Mami how ridiculous she was being.

Once you’d arrived at the bathroom door, which took significantly longer than was necessary due to your wife and her mini-me insisting on walking slowly so as to not aggravate your head wound. You indulged them, only putting your foot down when both of them began to follow you into the bathroom.

“No. Enough. I can do this myself.” You sighed, looking between both Alexia and Mila’s skeptical expressions.

“But what if-”

“Mama, I can-”

You interrupted both of them by shutting the door and letting out a deep sigh. If you didn’t have a scar across your abdomen that told you that you’d birthed Mila, you’d be sure she was Alexia’s genetic clone.

------

The rest of the night consisted of overwhelming amounts of hovering, from your wife and daughter both. Alexia took turns fussing over you, and fussing over Mila, until you were sure you were going to make her sleep on the couch or something, before she suggested waking you up every 20 minutes and performing a cognitive test.

Alexia had just barely put Mila down in her toddler bed when she heard you call for her. There was urgency in your voice, but it was still obvious that you were trying to keep your voice down for Mila’s benefit. It had been hard enough to get the toddler to sleep; she had become suddenly very tearful once it was time for bed, because her favorite pajama shirt didn’t fit over her cast. It had taken one of Alexia’s t-shirts, around 45 minutes of cuddles, and 4 different stories, for her to finally settle.

“Alexia,” you whisper yelled, shutting your eyes as the dizziness got worse. You heard Alexia rush down the hall towards you and willed yourself to hold on just a moment longer.

Alexia ran into the room, seeing you with your head in your hands, sitting up in the bed. “What is it, amor?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” you managed, pressing a hand to your mouth as Alexia sprung into action.

“Okay, okay, just hold on one second.”

Just in time, Alexia thrust the bedroom trash can in front of you. You were sick, retching into the trash can uncomfortably. Your wife pulled your hair back, being careful to not jostle the skin around your stitches, tying it into a very loose bun. She rubbed your back soothingly, pressing kisses into the side of your head until you were done.

“Oh, amor, I am so sorry.” She murmured, taking the trash can from you once you were done. She was going to take it out of the room, but then she noticed the tears in your eyes, and decided that could wait until later.

You curled into her when she sat by your legs and pulled you into her arms. Within a second, you were sobbing brokenly into her shirt, incapable of resisting how comforted you felt when she held you.

Alexia whispered soft reassurances into your hair, beginning to think you were upset about more than just feeling so unwell. “Amor, is it your head? Or something else?”

You shook your head weakly into her chest, sucking in a few breaths before you tried to respond. “Meels broke her arm and it’s all my fault.” You said miserably.

“No no no, do not say that. It was not your fault, you did the best you could.” Alexia rushed to make you feel better, but that’s all it felt like; something she was saying just to make you feel better.

“You would have caught her.”

Alexia’s chest squeezed uncomfortably, knowing that she was partially at fault for how guilty you felt right now. Even if what she’d said had been in the heat of the moment, and it was just a reflection of how upset she was, of course you’d taken it to heart.

“It was an accident, mi amor. It is no one’s fault. Sometimes kids fall, sometimes they get hurt. It happens.”

“But Ale, it wouldn’t have happened if you had been with her. You’re just… so much better at this than I am.” You mumbled, refusing to untuck your face from Alexia’s shirt, even as she tried to get you to.

“That is so not true.” Alexia insisted. “You cracked your head open trying to make sure Mila didn’t get hurt. That is not something a bad mother does.”

You ignored her logic, wiping a tear away with that back of your hand. “You were right earlier. I should have been watching closer.”

Alexia shook her head again. “No. I was-“

“You blamed me then, what’s changed?” You snapped, not quite sure where all of these negative emotions were coming from, or why your mood was changing at the drop of a hat. Sad and guilty one second, angry the next. It wasn’t fair to Alexia, who was just trying to make you feel better, but there wasn’t any room for rationality in your jumbled head.

Luckily, your wife didn’t seem to take your words or your tone personally. Instead, she tucked a piece of hair back behind your ear and softly kissed your forehead, showing more patience than you were sure you deserved.

“I don’t blame you. I was terrified earlier, but that is no excuse. This was not your fault and I’m sorry I made you feel like it was. So sorry, amor.” Her voice was sweet and you could feel how sincere she was, just from the way her hand gently cradled your cheek.

Nodding shakily, you took a deep breath, suddenly feeling more than a little exhausted. “I’m sorry, Ale, I just-”

Alexia cut you off, though, placing her index finger over your lips. She looked stern again, like she had before when she was making sure you stayed on the couch and didn’t move. “It’s okay. No apologies. You are overwhelmed and hurt and exhausted. You need rest, we can talk about this more tomorrow if we need to.”

You nodded your agreement, shifting uncomfortably as you glared down at your pillows. Your head absolutely throbbed, and you hadn’t even tried to rest it on the pillow yet.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna sleep.” You mumbled, brow furrowing in confusion when Alexia smiled cheekily at you.

“I do!” She said enthusiastically, quickly tucking herself under the covers and pulling you to lay on her chest. Your head was completely safe from any contact with anything, and you found so much peace in the steady thump of Alexia’s heartbeat in your ear.

She was a miracle worker, Alexia. Just when you thought you were going to explode with the amount of thoughts swirling around in your head, she quieted your brain with a few words and a few kisses.

Unfortunately, as comfortable as you were, sleep did not seem to be in the cards for either of you. At least, not yet. No sooner than your eyes had fallen shut, and Alexia had settled comfortably into the pillows did you both hear the creak of Mila’s door opening.

You exchanged a glance with your wife, keeping completely silent, knowing that sometimes Mila would come check on you both during the night, before heading back to her room. You heard her little steps padding down the hall, a small gasp, and then a loud thump.

Alexia was out of bed before Mila could even cry out. “Stay there!” She threw over her shoulder, causing you to sit back down on the bed with a grumble. You were glad Alexia hadn’t turned the light off earlier, as she sprinted carelessly out of the room towards your daughter.

“Mama!” Mila sobbed, her little voice breaking your heart. She wanted you, and it took everything in you to not go to her in that moment, knowing that Alexia would bring her to you.

“It’s okay, cariño, I’m here.” Alexia soothed, Mila’s cries becoming muffled by her Mami’s shirt.

Still, you could make out her next words very clearly. “I want Mama,” Mila demanded.

Alexia just shushed her, a few seconds passing before they both appeared in the doorway. Mila’s face was red and stained with tears, her cast cradled to her chest. She reached for you as soon as she saw you, and Alexia wasted no time in bringing her over.

“Careful, Milabear,” she reminded softly, handing the toddler over to you. Mila curled up against your chest, and you rubbed her back soothingly, exchanging a worried glance with your wife.

Mila was a rough and tumble kid; she fell often, and really only cried if she was actually hurt. Sometimes, not even then. She was like her Mami in that way, so her inconsolable tears now terrified you.

“I think she tripped over my shirt.” Alexia murmured, running her hands through her daughter’s hair. Dressed in one of Alexia’s old warm up shirts, Mila surely had tripped over the hem of it. You could see this information really sinking into your wife’s head, as she began to gnaw on her bottom lip, worry and guilt clouding her face.

“Baby, did you trip?” You asked, easing Mila away from your body so you could get a good look at her face. She nodded, looking between you and your wife, her bottom lip jutting out adorably.

“Woke up and my arm hurt, and I wanted to sleep in here but I couldn’t see and I fell.” Mila said. “Mama’s shirt is too big.” She continued forlornly, as if just now realizing this piece of information.

Alexia looked truly distressed, opening her mouth to apologize for allowing Mila to sleep in her shirt, even though you knew the toddler had cried and cried until Alexia had finally given in to what she wanted, if only so she could sleep. You spoke before Alexia could, though, pushing a lock of hair out of your baby’s face.

“Did you bump your arm when you fell?” You asked. Mila nodded, sniffling sadly. “Does it hurt a lot more or just a little bit more?”

“A lot at first. Just a little bit now.” Mila said bravely, peeking at her Mami out of the corner of her eye. She loved to act tough, your little girl, but she was only three, and broken bones hurt.

Alexia still hovered on your side of the bed, looking like she wanted to cry.

“Alright, Mami will go get you some ice, and you can sleep in here with us tonight. Deal?”

Mila nodded, flopping forward again to rest on your chest. The fact that her mood didn’t even really lift when you told her she could sleep with the two of you told you that she was really hurting.

Without a word, only a soft kiss placed on Mila’s forehead, Alexia headed for the freezer. She walked calmly out of the room, but both you and Mila heard the unmistakable sound of her running her way to the kitchen, and running back.

“Mami’s running.” Mila said, a small smile adorning her face. You laughed quietly, doing your best to keep your smile in check as Alexia slowed to a walk just before walking through the bedroom door, acting as though she’d walked the whole way.

The blonde had returned with the biggest ice pack you had, the one that she’d used on her knee. She wrapped it meticulously around Mila’s arm, handed her a small sippy cup [of what looked suspiciously like juice, even though Mila was only supposed to have water this late at night], and some children’s pain medicine.

It was only when Alexia slipped back into bed that she spoke, addressing her daughter with a deep sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry about your shirt, cariño, I shouldn’t have let you wear it.”

Mila gave her a strange look, scooting out of your lap to lay directly on top of your wife. Her little fingers grabbed onto her Mami’s shirt, even the one’s restrained by her cast twisting into the fabric. “It’s okay, Mami. Was an accident.”

You smiled at your girls, watching Alexia’s face melt from guilt into adoration as she leaned down to kiss all over Mila’s face. Your daughter giggled, and your heart soared at the sound, more than happy that she had stopped crying and cheered up.

Mila settled back down against her Mami, reaching one hand out to latch onto your shirt and attempt to pull you closer. “Mama, closer.” She complained, huffing when you didn’t budge.

Alexia frowned, worried you would put yourself into an uncomfortable position with your head in order to make Mila happy, but luckily, your daughter seemed to have the same thought.

“Not on your back Mama! You gotta lay on your front. Here, lay on Mami.” Mila offered, whacking Alexia in the face with her cast as she struggled to move over. You snorted at the disgruntled look on your wife’s face, ignoring the fake glare she sent back your way.

It took some maneuvering from everyone involved before Mila was curled up against one side of Alexia’s chest, and you were resting with your cheek pressed into on the other side. Only once you and Mila were both comfy did Alexia kiss Mila on the forehead, and you chastly on the lips.

And it was only when Mila had drifted off, soft puffs of air leaving her as she gripped onto both you and your wife, that you relaxed. Alexia gave you a knowing smile, well aware that your daughter's insistence that you hold her when she’d gotten hurt, and that you be included in the bedtime snuggles, had put to rest your worries that you’d failed her today.

It all evened out, in parenthood. You couldn’t forget that. Tomorrow, when Alexia would turn away for a split second too long during breakfast and Mila would end up with syrup in her hair, you’d be even more sure of that. Mistakes didn’t change how much you or Alexia loved Mila, or how much she loved both of you.

Mila didn’t keep score. She just loved you both, and that was that.

-----

this has been in my drafts for genuienly several months so i apologize if it doesn't feel very cohesive. hope you enjoy anyway 🙂🫶🏻 thanks for reading 🫡🥰

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

1K notes · View notes

mintyys-blog · 1 month 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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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

i think it would be adorable seeing a conversation of spencer freaking out about pregnant!bombshell and hotch just calmly telling him all about different ways to help and them talking about new dad fears :((

pregnant!reader, 1k (sorry it was more about the pregnant part than the new dad fears!)

Hotch doesn’t know what Spencer’s going to say when he knocks, but he ushers him inside his office regardless. He has the appearance of someone with grief to share; Hotch immediately starts to think of the people he and Spencer have in common.

“I need your advice,” Spencer says desperately.

Hotch puts his pen in its holder. “Of course.”

“She won’t sit down.”

Hotch lets himself relax. “Ah.”

“She’s acting like she isn’t pregnant at all. I want her to be happy, but she keeps running up the stairs. What if she falls?”

“Y/N has very likely thought of that possibility already.”

“Then why doesn’t she stop?”

Hotch chews his cheek for a moment. “Spencer, sit down.”

The chair squeaks as Spencer sits, scrubbing at his face roughly.

Hotch has watched Spencer grow up, in a way, moving from twenty three to thirty quick as blinking, and he’s watched him fall in love with you, and now he gets to watch Spencer have daily conniptions over your apparent lack of self-preservation. He’s enjoyed it, genuinely, and he doesn’t mind offering some wisdom now as a partner who’s made enough mistakes to know better.

“Spencer, you can’t make her sit down if she doesn’t want to. And she’s four months pregnant. Pretty soon, she’ll have no choice but to sit down. It’s best if you let her stay active as long as she can, so she stays as healthy as she can.” He leans back in his chair. The smirk is unbidden, but he can’t help it. “But you know this.”

“Her ligaments are weakening, because of the baby. The pregnancy. It’s about to get much more painful for her,” Spencer says.

“So?” Hotch prods gently.

Spencer nods. Glances out the window down into the bullpen, before dragging his chair closer to the desk. “Hotch, it’s like she’s two different people. Or three. There’s the crying one, and the happy one, and the…”

“The hates you one?” he offers.

“Yes. Which is luckily quite rare, but terrifying.”

“Just hormones, Spence.”

Spencer breathes out. Hotch can’t help the immeasurable wave of fondness he’s feeling for his colleague. He genuinely wants to round the desk and pat Spencer on the back. This is all a learning curve, a way of life. Partners have been wrestling with their scary pregnant wives for long before he and Spencer came around.

“The happy one is worth it, though,” Hotch guesses. He had some lovely days with Hayley.

“You know what she’s like,” Spencer says.

Hotch can imagine. Before your pregnancy, you adored Spencer. You’ve doted on him since you met him, and if the glimpses Hotch has seen of you these last few months are any indication, you are immovably in love. Yesterday, you brushed the sesame seeds off of Spencer’s sandwich one by one because he doesn’t like them. The day before, you’d pushed your chair next to his and drawn circles into his arm the entire workday (while, impressively, still managing to finish your assigned consults).

“There’s a common theme, I think, when she’s angry. She’s usually uncomfortable. I’ve started to go through a checklist,” Spencer says. He sounds guilty.

“I think it’s a good idea. I noticed you’ve been keeping candy in your bag.” Hotch laughs. Spencer joins in.

“Just the essentials.”

Hotch doesn’t doubt that you’re on every prenatal vitamin you could ever need, that Spencer has researched pregnancy from the latest journals to the very rarest myths. He has no doubt that you’re well taken care of. You’re going to be fine. Spencer has no need to worry about you. Hotch might have cause to worry about Spencer, though.

“Reid, I’ll tell you a secret. It might not work for you, but it worked for me.”

Spencer holds his hands together. “What is it?”

“The next time you want her to slow down,” —Hotch lays it out carefully, without judgement for you or any private teasing, just genuine care for the both of you— “you can distract her with the baby.”

“I’ve tried that,” Spencer says. “She tells me I’m worrying.”

“Not about the baby’s health. If she thinks everything is alright, it likely is. I mean about the future.” Spencer doesn’t seem to understand. Hotch searches for an example. “Baby shoes, clothes. I once calmed Hayley down from an hours-long meltdown by telling her I thought Jack would have her eyes.”

“That works?”

“It’s probably much nicer for her to have you encouraging positive thoughts than negative,” he says gently.

“I guess I worry too much.”

“Not too much, Reid. I’m just telling you what worked for me. When it’s over, you’ll miss it. A few years later.”

They smile. Hotch watches with a distinct fatherly pride as Spencer retreats down into the bullpen where you stand talking animatedly to Anderson. You’ve been on your feet all day, in kitten heels no less, and you look tired but not unhappy.

Spencer joins you for a while. You show no signs of moving. Hotch figures he’ll give Spencer time to act on his advice and goes back to his paperwork, losing track of time, ignoring the beep of his watch that signals lunch time.

He finishes his paperwork a little while after.

“I wonder what she'll have,” he hears Spencer saying.

“She’ll have my hands,” you insist suddenly, your voice floating up the steps. You’ve always had one of those tones that attracts attention, even when you aren’t shouting. “Don’t girls often get their mom’s hands? And their dad’s noses?”

He’s expecting Spencer to cite an article on genetic lottery, but he doesn’t. He sounds the polar opposite of how he’d panicked in Hotch’s office. “I think so. I got my mom’s hands, too. She had short nail beds.” A pause. Hotch glances out the window to find you sitting in Spencer’s chair, a sandwich laid out in two halves on a napkin, a tray of vegetable batons in your hands where they rest on your bump. “I hope she has your everything.”

You lift your chin. Spencer taps your noses together.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes, please. Anything you’re having.”

Hotch isn’t smug, exactly, but he is admittedly very pleased at the outcome of his advice.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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helenazbmrskai · 2 months ago

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Once bitten, twice shy. // Han Jisung (m)

—Pairing [ Shy!Han Jisung x Reader ]

—Genre [ Smut, fluff, angst, University AU, Slice of Life ]

—Summary [ He’s shy number one and you’re shy number two, tiptoeing around each other despite the efforts of your friends you remain dense and it doesn’t help that he can’t act normal around you. Fortunately the universe is on your side and here to make all your wishes come true.]

—Warnings [ insane amout of mention of shy, embarassing and awkward is used in this work, shy and crybaby jisung, first time, oral (f and m rec.) unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk ]

—Word Count [ 11,8k ] — The story got out of hand, read my other skz fanfiction -> gifted comfort (m) I don't have an skz masterlist for now, but I'll make one if I write more, for now, I only have two works but I would definitely want to write more about other members too!

You always liked the shy types. Cute ones who blush when someone flirts with them, a guy who doesn't realise how gorgeous he is. A man who’s unaware of how attractive he is even if women try to get his attention he’s blind to all advances. Han Jisung is exactly it.

The only problem is you. Your questionable taste in men is bad for your heart. You're not brave enough to flirt with him even if he's exactly your type. Opposites attract well, you wouldn’t know as you are both circling around each other like moths to a flame.

You can't muster up the courage to ask him out and he surely won't walk up to you asking you out on a dinner date.

Liking shy guys is a curse running through your family line, knowing that you're a coward scoring Jisung is like a one-in-a-million possibility. Girls braver than you asked for his number and got rejected, beautiful outgoing girls. You're not a mind reader but you doubt he declined their invitation because he's not interested in girls. You know that feeling well, that insecure feeling that you're so inexperienced that it feels awkward to try but for Jisung you would endure the awkwardness of it all.

It's depressing that he's so close yet so far away. He's only two tables down from where you sit. Instead of studying like you intended you keep staring at his handsome face. Han scrunches his nose when he's concentrating and his round reading glasses slip down his button nose, he pushes it up with his index finger before scratching behind his ear and flipping a page. You can watch him all day and not be tired of it but you remind yourself that if you do that you’ll be creepy.

"How long are you planning to ogle at him? It’s getting creepy." You dart over to your friend, eyes big, like a deer caught in headlights. Is she reading your mind? It became natural to look for him everywhere so you often don't realise your little habit. You look down at your textbook forgetting what you were reading. It’s so embarassing getting caught.

"Are you being shy now? You creep." You know your friend is teasing you about your little crush on him but you still pout. You don't want to be a creep and you don’t find her entertainment funny at the least.

"I was just lost in my thoughts." Even you know that it's a poor attempt to make an excuse.

"Sure, you were. More like lost in his eyes." You groan when she keeps pulling your leg. To be fair she's the most supportive of your little crush out of your friends’ group. Being Felix's girlfriend and a close friend of Jisung she knows more about how deep your interest runs unlike your other friends who probably think this is just a temporary thing.

She offered to be your wingwoman numerous times considering the connection, but you declined out of fear. You don't want to appear as a mess in front of Jisung and considering how shy he can get things would get awkward real soon since you will be overly conscious of him.

"Let's study, okay? We can't fail this exam." You get serious as you glare at the textbook trying to focus. You don't want to talk about Jisung, every time she brings him up and tries to make you confess you tell her that's not happening and the circle repeats itself.

She's very consistent. You give her that, and you know that she means well by it, so you're not annoyed. It’s just scary, gathering the courage to ask him out is more than you could handle.

"Explain this to me, please?" You chuckle at her antics but grateful for the distraction. Even without her convincing eyelash flutters, you would help her.

Thankfully after you explained some terms to her you were able to bounce back to studying without the urge to look in a particular direction where a boy with curly hair sits. His fit today looks so comfy that you want to cuddle him. There's a little smirk on your face when you imagine how he would jump at your hug get all red by the ears and stutter your name.

The big difference between you and Jisung’s shyness is that you’re only shy until you’re unsure. If by chance you could confirm that he likes you too you would be able to make a move maybe.

You're so hopeless(ly in love) that you can't deny when Jisoo calls you a fool for daydreaming again. At least in your head things turn out the way you imagine them; the real world is too scary to live in. It's much more comfortable to think about dating him than asking him out for real.

Also, what's the possibility that he won't reject you too?

You only exchange greetings since your friend's group interact on occasion. Jisoo and Felix are inseparable most times so of course since you're her best friend and he's Felix's best friend you tag along as third and fourth wheels but he never tries to initiate a conversation with you. He can hardly answer you when you do ask him a question.

The things you know about him are mostly learnt from his friends who are friendly to you. Recently you tried to avoid get-togethers because you get jealous of how easily he converses with his friends but barely looks at you without looking like a cornered animal, you swear you’re not trying to eat him. He can joke around and talk just fine with the boys, and you hate that you're not included in that circle.

It's stupid because you always say how cute his awkwardness is towards girls, but you hate that about him sometimes.

You're aware of how delusional you are to hope that he would try. You want him to like you enough that he would endure the awkwardness.

A shadow appears over the books as you explain the content to Jisoo she brightens up when she sees her boyfriend. He probably came to collect Jisung but spotted you two in the library.

"Hello girls, care to join us for lunch?" Felix greets you with a friendly wave before pecking his girlfriend. Behind him, Jisung waves a little to the both of you as you say hi.

There's no room for you to object as she agrees on your behalf immediately. You listen to their chatter as you gather your things following the couple to a nearby cafe. As usual, you and Jisung don't talk even when walking side by side so you can give the lovebirds some room. Before the silence can get stifling Jisoo asks you what you will get to eat and you smoothly join the talk about food.

You're not that hungry so you order a chicken salad and coffee while she opts for a pizza slice and the boys get burgers with cola. You don't give it a second thought as you slide in beside Jisung at the booth.

Knowing that Jisoo would like to sit beside Felix. You take pride in how nonchalant you can appear on the outside even if your heart is beating like crazy inside your chest.

You ignore the pang in your chest as he twitches beside you.

"I can't wait for the movie night! I chose a film that you will both like, y/n, you will come this time? Right?" Felix is so enthusiastic that Jisoo has to wipe his face with a napkin to avoid getting ketchup everywhere. She complains that he’s gross but you can see the heart eyes.

"I'm not sure. I will come by if I have the time." You offer politely, not wanting to outright reject the invitation. You're hesitant to attend, and it's not because of his friends—they are nice and funny—it's just that you don't want to bring down the mood by getting pointlessly jealous.

"You said that last time too! You must come. The others asked about you too." He's acting like a baby whining like that. You can't help but laugh at how funny it is as he tries to throw a tantrum.

"Stop it, you're embarrassing us. I will make sure to drag her out, okay?" Jisoo puts an end to his act by pushing some fries into his mouth and you lose the opportunity to make up excuses as a new topic comes up. You talk about classes and plans to go to the gym. It was a very peaceful afternoon. Or so you thought.

You didn't think that things could get any more uncomfortable between you than this.

Walking side by side in complete silence. After you finished lunch Jisoo and Felix decided to go back to the dorms to spend some time alone and that's fine, they're a couple after all. However, you were not ready when Felix suggested Jisung walk you home to your apartment. It's not even that late to be concerned for your safety. If you had to guess they schemed again to get you two to spend some alone time together. You hate when they do that since each time they try it doesn't go how they intend it to be. You can't put the blame entirely on Jisung because you're not much better. This tension is killing you.

"Sorry, they roped you into this." You sigh, it puts a damper on your mood as you scurry for things to blurt out, you can't help but feel down whenever he becomes unresponsive. You had to say something, anything to break this heavy silence.

"N-No, it's fine." He avoids your eyes when you try to make contact. His robotic response is like a knife twisted in your heart. After so many failed conversations you started to think that he's maybe not shy just simply doesn't like you.

No matter how awkward he is with girls at least he tries to reply to be polite but with you, he always feels kinda reluctant.

"You don't have to lie I know you probably don't like being around me." You can't help the pout that follows your bitter statement. You're so upset for no reason that your usual nerves around him seem to evaporate. It feels like you lost all chance with him, so the words come out easier today.

You look ahead momentarily lost, wallowing in your self-pity party that you don't realise how fast he turns his head your way, eyes wide open in surprise. Jisung can tell by your mood that things are going in a weird direction, he’s speechless, he wants to deny your claims but no words leave his mouth.

"W- What? Why would... why would you think that? It's not..." Jisung stutters through his words the more he tries to say the more unsure he is how to express it. His face could be red from the cold but were his ears red before? This might be the first time he keeps eye contact with you that lasts more than five seconds. Round in utter disbelief.

"It was pretty obvious. You never talk to me, and you avoid me. Everyone says that you're just shy but even if you're shy you try to continue the conversation, but it feels like you're running away every time I show up." It feels good to finally get the frustration that built up out of your system. Even if you sound pitiful this is how you've been feeling. It hurt more considering your hidden feelings for him.

His mouth opens and closes without saying anything. He looks like he would rather let the ground swallow him than say another word to you.

His silence is confirmation enough. You know you shouldn't take your anger out on him it's normal that not everyone likes you. It's best if you leave first, it should make things easier for him too.

"My apartment is just around the corner, so you don't have to come along. Thank you for walking with me." Without waiting for a reply, you power walk out of there.

What were you even thinking? Dumping your feelings like that on him. Even if he doesn't like you, it will be inevitable to cross paths since your friends are dating. You shouldn't have said anything. You should have just endured the silence and shouldered through with your emotions.

Jisung stood there even though you were long gone.

He felt like the biggest idiot out there. This was all a misunderstanding and instead of denying your claims he just stuttered like a fool not making anything clear in the end. You looked so hurt too.

He wanted to go after you but after taking a few steps ahead he realised that he had no idea where you lived.

Jisung walked back to his dorm with a long face, acting like a kicked puppy as he put his shoes aside. He's not surprised to find Felix at home knowing that the little stunt he pulled was most likely to get you two together alone.

"What's with your face? Don't tell me you failed to talk to y/n again?" Felix looks slightly concerned as his roommate never looked so depressed before even if he claimed that he made the biggest fool out of himself in front of you. Jisung looks like he's about to cry.

"I messed up real big this time." Jisung buries his face into his hands, your expression repeatedly shows up even under his closed eyelids. He regrets not saying anything.

He was just not expecting that you thought he hated you.

"What happened?" Getting into protective mode Felix pats his friend's shoulder offering comfort and putting aside his usual teasing demeanour. So Jisung tells him everything that happened.

In your home, you try to distract yourself by doing your laundry and cleaning the few remaining dishes in your sink. Now that you feel more sane you regret leaving him there just like that.

You should have at least waited for him to collect his thoughts and tell you. You know he's been struggling with how to communicate because of his anxiety. You don't want to be another person to misunderstand him.

Next time you see him you should apologise but otherwise, you brushed it aside and didn't think he would be so affected by your words.

Don't want to overcomplicate it you tell Jisoo you will talk to Jisung about it so she shouldn't pester Felix too much. There’s hardly any secrets between the four of you. Yet it's not always good to have so many people involved.

She agreed to let you handle it when she heard how serious your voice was. You don't want to leave bad blood between you and Jisung and don't want your friendship with either Felix or Jisoo to take a hit or worse create friction between the couple.

Jisung is a sweetheart so you doubt he would make it a bigger issue.

After talking big about how it's a small matter catching him alone appeared to be a bigger challenge than you anticipated. You don't think it was his fault per se as you had a few exams coming up, but you have to admit it felt like he tried to avoid you.

You did see him steal glances at you when he thought you weren't looking. He didn't ignore you but there was this unresolved tension whenever you exchanged greetings.

Just like now.

You were hesitant but decided to attend the movie night and everyone seemed happy that you made it. It was a good distraction as you conversed with Chan and Hyunjin. The popcorn is popping in the microwave, and Felix sets the mood with fairy lights and a good movie.

The living room is as lively as ever. No one is awkward except for the two of you. It's painfully obvious how you two seem more skittish around each other, even more than usual.

You want to grab him by the collar and corner him against the wall so he won't be able to avoid you anymore. If he steals a glance and sighs one more time in your direction you might lose all your patience and do it.

You can tell he wants to talk but each time you attempt to make eye contact he freaks out.

Felix also sees it and visibly face-palms himself.

You blink after them dumbly as he grabs Jisung and excuses themselves to 'talk'. He said something that made up Han's mind as he approached you this time around. Now you're very curious about what he told him. Jisung shyly grabs your sleeve as you are in the middle of a conversation but Chan ever the gentleman got the signals from Felix wildly gesturing behind your back and excused himself to leave the two of you alone. Still invisible to you as Felix gives Jisung an encouraging thumbs up.

Jisung uses every fibre of his body to not hide behind his hands out of sheer mortification as everyone clearly understands what's going on. Well, except for you - who is clueless. You're always clueless.

You follow him into his room for some privacy.

This is the first time you're visiting his room, so you look around with interest. The bed is messy, and his desk is littered with knick-knacks but it feels cosy. The action figures and games on his shelf are cute decorations.

He looks embarrassed as he tries to make his bed in haste. "Sorry for the mess." Even his cute high-pitched apology is adorable. He looks so tense standing in the middle of his room that you're afraid he will break down in a cold sweat at any moment.

"Your room is very homey." Your voice is calm and friendly in hopes that it would lower his anxiety levels which are skyrocketing at the moment. Unsure what to do you stand dumbly in the entrance as you watch him try to adjust some things in the room that he deems is somewhat out of place. You don't care about the state of his room if you're honest. Even if it were messier, you wouldn't mind it.

"Sorry, please come in. Shit- Sit wherever you like." You second guess if you should sit on his bed so you go for the chair at his desk. He gives you a pillow to put behind your back so it would be more comfortable and this time you can't help but chuckle at his clumsy kindness.

It's painful and amusing to watch as he goes from panicked to nervously playing with his fingers.

"I'm sorry too. For leaving so abruptly like that." You take a deep breath mentally put on your big girl pants and start talking. If you wait for him to speak up you feel like you will be in his room all night - not that you would complain but you doubt his little heart would survive your company.

"C- Can you close your eyes? I swear I don't mean anything weird by it! It's just … I'm very nervous so…" He's explaining with his hands in the air like you're the police. It's very cute.

"Sure, take your time." You close your eyes, biting back a laugh, not even waiting for him to finish his explanation. Your smiling expression puts him at ease. He was afraid after you left like that with that sad expression that you hate him now.

The air was always awkward with you but he never in his deepest dreams would think you believed that he hated you. Quite the opposite.

"I don't hate you." It's good to hear that but you would like some context. The silence drags on and you're getting afraid that he just left you there in his room but when you open your eyes, he has his hands covering half of his face, he's bright red and has the most pitiful expression on his face that you've ever witnessed. You swear you can see unshed tears there.

"You always avoid me though and even now you can't even look into my eyes. Am I that scary to you?" You try not to sound too hurt, but you can't hide your expression very well.

"I w- wouldn't say you're scary." Even when he says that he's still hiding behind his hands you can barely see his two eyes poking out under his fringe - so you're not particularly convinced.

"If you want me to believe that you should at least try to look at me without hiding." You feel bad for finding this situation kind of funny more so since he looks so - jittery?

"That still doesn't make sense if you don't hate me then why are your reactions to me so -" In the middle, you got a dangerous thought but there's no other explanation that can describe his weird behaviour. "that could be my delusion but- perhaps? Do you like me?"

His eyes go so wide that you can see your reflection in them.

"I'm sorry." He's full-on crying now - and it shouldn't be pretty but damn, he's so pretty even when he cries. Pushing those thoughts aside you jump up from your seat going on instinct as you cradle his face into your arms.

"Don't cry, why are you even apologising?" You don't know how to console him other than patting his hair and letting him push his face into your chest muffling his cries into your t-shirt. Can you even call this a conversation as you get more confused as the minutes tick by? He shouldn't cry because he likes you or is he hating the fact that he likes someone like you?

"I'm pathetic and I'm a nerd. I know I'm way out of your l-league." You can barely understand what he's bubbling about as his voice is muffled by your shirt and you need to figure it out between hiccups.

"Stop crying. I like it even if you're pathetic and a nerd. I even like your crying face, but you should stop because I don't understand what you're saying." You cup his face after you successfully push him away from between your boobs.

"You're such a crybaby. I like you too. Stop crying." You make sure to force his eyes on you as you confess so he can know that you're not lying just to comfort him. Even as you repeatedly tell him to stop crying, he can't stop that easily, but you brush his tears away with your thumb each time it tries to slide down his cheeks. He freezes and stops; it looks like you broke him but after he seems to process your words he gets shy again his cheeks burn under your touch with embarrassment yet you don't let him look away.

"Don't dare look away. I want to look at the pretty boy who will be my boyfriend." Hoping that your cheeky comment can lighten the mood, and he lets out a little shy laugh. He tries hard to not avert his eyes.

"I'm sorry it's so embarrassing, I'm even crying right now." You bonk his head lightly with yours as if you are trying to convey that he should stop thinking such useless thoughts.

"It doesn't matter as long as you promise to not avoid me. If you like me then talk to me, hug me, you won't get better at expressing yourself if you don't try to get used to me. I get shy too and my heart beats really fast since you're so close. Do you feel it?" You place his hand over your wildly beating heart, you want to show him that even if you're not as obvious as he is you get shy and nervous too. It's normal to feel that way.

"I didn't know that your heart can beat so fast." You chuckle at his visible astonishment.

"It's because of you."

"Really?" His nose slightly grazes yours as he leans in without him noticing. He gets flustered when he realises how close he got but you don't let him pull away as you surprise him with a peck on his lips. You don't dare to do more as you're afraid he will go into cardiac arrest if you continue.

"It's getting late so I think I will go. I don't want to overwhelm you too much." You take a glance at the clock before you decide to draw the line for today. You can't help but rake your fingers through his hair for the first time as you've been fantasising about that for so long. His hair is fluffy and feels good to touch. Jisung seems to like it too as he pushes his head into your hands for more pets.

"You don't have to!" He catches your hand before you can go too far, his hands are shaking but his expression is firmer than ever before. He's even looking at you now.

"Can't you stay? I promise I will behave." The tint of his cheeks only deepens. You feel like he's trying to push himself too hard for your sake, but you don't have the heart to let him down when he looks so determined.

You can't help but worry that he's trying to go beyond his limit.

"We have all the time in the world so I hope you won't push yourself too hard because you think that's what I want from you." He acknowledges your sincere concern with a genuine smile. Despite his shaking hands and hammering heart, he wants you to stay.

"Even if it's awkward I want you to stay. Help me get comfortable?" Seeing how determined he is you don't have the heart to say no, so you nod your head and join him on the bed. It's been quite a while since you walked away from the others and the movie is probably halfway on, yet no one tried to check on you.

They're probably trying to give you two some space.

"Alright handsome, come here." You get comfortable between pillows laying down on his bed like it was second nature. His entire body is shaking as he hugs you.

"Don't say things like that it's making me shy." It's so cute how he tries to hide his face in your neck. He's so tense that it feels like it's a brick wall that's lying on top, but you don't mind. All you can do is lay motionless hoping that it will help ease his nerves and after a while, he starts to relax next to you bit by bit.

"I had no idea you liked me all this time. Honestly, Jisoo teased me forever for having the fattest crush on you. Always egging me on to ask you out but you usually rejected everyone, so I wasn't going to act on my feelings." You were hoping that your chatter would relax him and it felt good to finally be honest.

"T- They were not you." It's barely audible but you still catch his clumsy profession of love. Knowing that he will be conscious of his words if you try to respond you gloss over his cute confession and he sighs in relief that you don't tease him. He endures enough teasing from the boys day by day.

"I always thought they tried to set us up because Jisoo convinced Felix to help her - but he was actually trying to help you!" Jisung groans as you bring up embarrassing things when he's trying to forget how he cried because he thought you didn't like him. All those times they tried to set you two up he remembers how painfully awkward he's been with you and he wants to cry again.

You're the only one who finds this amusing.

There's a short knock on the door before it swings open, and four heads appear at the threshold each trying to take a peek into the room.

"What are you guys doing, get out!" Jisung tries to cover you with his body like you're naked under him or something. Everyone laughs at his actions, but you try to hold it in for his sake.

"Dude you're just cuddling what will you do if you want to have sex?" Felix elbows Chan in the ribs pushing him behind his body so he could get the situation under control.

"Sorry for the interruption, I wanted to ask if y/n will stay, or if she needs a ride home but I guess she will stay over?" You look at Jisung expecting him to say something as you didn't talk about sleeping over. He did ask you to stay but it doesn't mean he wants you to stay over all night. It's clear Chan and Hyunjin are ready to leave, and Jisoo will stay over like usual with Felix. Normally you would catch a ride home with one of them.

"Do you want me to go?" Unsure if you should decide it's best to ask as you don't want to overstay your welcome.

"Don't- Well - only of course if you want to." You don't want to think about if it's going too fast for the two of you. You do want to stay so you will.

"Sure, I want to." You grab his cheek pulling him so you can rub your noses together affectionately. Jisung pushes his face into your neck to hide when you hear cooing noises from behind. They love teasing him a bit too much.

"Give the lovebirds space." Jisoo shoos everyone out of the door after quick goodbyes from the boys who are leaving. It's silent after the door shuts behind them but for the first time - it's not awkward at all to be alone like this.

You wish he would get used to you soon, so he won't shake or be surprised when you touch him. You thought you were nervous but compared to him you're Mrs calm and collected.

"Can I borrow some of your clothes?" Jisung scurry to his feet looking through his closet to give you a long T-shirt and some pants to wear. You would pay to see his first reaction to you wearing his clothes again. You can tell he's trying hard to appear nonchalant but fails miserably.

"You're staring." He can tell you're smirking even though he hides behind his hands he can just hear it from your voice alone.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising or I'll punish you." Did he just shiver?

You were not attempting to set the mood but the face he makes is just something that you cannot resist.

You need to kiss him.

His entire body freezes the moment your lips touch so you pull back in case it is too much for him but he chases after them shyly moving his plump lips over yours.

"Stop tempting me." You whine against him it takes everything in you to pull aways, it hasn't been a minute since you promised not to rush things.

It's too soon it hasn't been a full day since you realised each other's feelings. You shouldn't be so greedy.

"You don't need to hold back." You like his confidence but you're not changing your mind about this. Puppy eyes begging you or not.

"You can't even look into my eyes more than a minute. If you can hold my gaze while talking for at least 10 minutes I will consider it." You have to hold his chin in place and even then he averts his gaze after a bit.

He's not ready even if he wants it.

You're content with just cuddling him. He relaxes when you both get ready for bed and it's dark. It's nice to have a real conversation with him. You get to learn about him as you share childhood stories and talk about favourite shows and hobbies.

Your first date is full of mishaps and awkward moments but even those are fond memories. You can never forget the first time he initiated a kiss, you remember he almost passed out from the nerves.

It's been months since you first confessed to each other and while he's still rather shy he doesn't jump away when you hold his hand or peck his lips.

After your classes are over Felix and Jisung pick you and Jisoo up at the faculty building so you can grab something to eat.

"I missed you." You melt into the kiss Jisung plants onto your lips it's short but sweet and you melt into his embrace. You can't help but smile at how fast his heart is beating as your head rests against his chest.

"Missed you too Hanie." His hands don't shake anymore as he pulls you closer into the hug but his heart continues to beat wildly at your touch.

He did come a long way.

It took a lot of joint effort and special training for him to get to this point. Late-night cuddles and little kisses stolen are now more than welcomed by him. You remember fondly at the memories you spent touching and kissing his blindfolded body nothing too heated as you made a little bet with him regarding anything more.

Thanks to your stern scolding the guys did toned down on the teasing as it became normal to see you two lovely dovey.

Freshly out of the shower with a good book in your hands is what you call a relaxing night. Jisung is getting used to staying over at your place. It has more privacy than the dorms so most of the time you invite him over. You cook together and watch movies or if he needs to catch up on studying you let him borrow your desk as you wait for him while reading like today.

You can't get used to how handsome he is with his lips pursued concentrating on the book flipping his pen between his fingers.

You want to kiss him.

"Ji, I'm bored." Rolling to your other side you push your book away. You want some attention.

"I'm almost done." You pout when he doesn't even look your way. Your naked feet pads on the floor as you approach him from behind nuzzling your face into his hair. The pen stops moving in his hand but his eyes are still trained on his book stubbornly.

"You said that not long ago." Jisung chuckles at your antics. Your fingers bury in his fluffy locks scratching against his scalp with your nails.

He leans into your touch but he picks up where he left off writing his notes.

"Fine, I'll leave you to it." You huff when he doesn't give you the attention you want. This is why he usually studies in his dorm, whenever you get bored you use your tactics on him to distract his workflow and gives in to your pouts too easily making it impossible to get real work done.

You insisted that he study here tonight as you wanted to binge that new series with him afterwards. Both of you were busy during the week so it was hard to get some alone time and of course, he missed you too.

"Where are you going?" He turns around since you sounded quite disappointed and he doesn't want you to think he's ignoring you.

"Getting some snacks. So finish quickly or I'll start the show without you." Jisung smiles at you, good, it doesn't look like you're upset with him if he can assume from your playful jest.

"Just need a moment baby." You hum half heartedly. He said that already but you don't point it out. You know you're being impatient. He did say that he wanted to study but you insisted he should come over so it's not like you can complain.

You make some fruit salad in the kitchen with honey and chocolate syrup on top, you make two bowls and place one on the desk careful not to get his notes dirty.

"Take your time." You kiss his cheek nuzzling into his side to get charged so you can let him do his thing.

You promised you wouldn't hinder his academics. This is one downside of dating a nerd. He makes it up to you so you're not too disheartened as you pick up your novel again.

This time you can concentrate as you get to some steamy scenes between the main characters it's been hours and Jisung finally finished with his work but when he looks your way you look entirely engrossed in your book.

You barely register his kiss as he makes himself comfortable pressing himself to your side.

Now he kind of understands how you felt before it's frustrating when you don't look at him when he's trying to get your attention with touches and kisses.

"Is it good?" You hum flipping to the next page the bedroom scene is almost over. His kisses paired with the words you read are turning you on, you can feel your panties dampen as Jisung caresses your sides and kisses your exposed collarbones. You can tell he's just frustrated due to your lack of reaction. You keep it up a little more, it's a small payback from before.

"Ouch, behave." You push his head away in surprise. Did he just bite you?

"I won't ignore you next time so please pay some attention to me. I finished my work so I'm all yours."

"Alright, come here." Jisung crawls into your open arms with a delighted expression now that you're finally looking at him. His hand holds your hip bone smacking his lips needily against yours.

He's straddling your hips bravely even though his cheeks burn from his bold display the book forgotten and thrown to the other side of the bed by Jisung so you won't try to reach for it again, he's holding you close with fingers buried in your hair as the kisses get messier. You sigh when he grinds his semi into you and he uses the moment to push his tongue into your open mouth, intertwining your tongues.

"What about- ah, the show?" He nips at your neck, the air around you is growing hot, and his wet tongue is moving down your throat he's so into it that he probably doesn't register the small mewls he lets out against your skin. You can tell that watching the show is the farthest away in his mind.

"I missed you." He's shaking, twisting on top but his kisses are so sweet and his words are even sweeter.

"I missed you too, H-Han." You can feel his breath against the shell of your ear, he's letting out little whimpers at the friction. Heat is pooling between your thighs thanks to his growing bulge pressing on you.

"Hanie, wait a moment." This is getting out of hand. You need to stop him before he gets you too horny. It takes every inch of self-control for you to pull him back by the hair.

"Jisung." He finally looks at you.

He kisses you. "y/n." Peck. "Can't we do something else?"

"What do you have in mind?" You have ideas, it doesn't take a nerd to see the clues. He's watching you with half lidded eyes practically undressing you.

"Don't tease me, you know what I want." He's whining again. You can't help it you just like his reactions so much.

"Can you look into my eyes for 10 minutes? I remember making that condition." You're smirking and he hates you, you're so sexy when you're being mean. He loves you so much, these months were pure bliss and he can't wait to spend more time with you. Your kisses, your voice those sweet gestures you do for him without realising everything about you is driving him crazy.

The first time you suggested to practice before he's been full of nerves. He couldn't see you but felt you kiss your way up his waist and neck. You kissed him deep till he panted and drolled aching to be touched by you so much that he started to shake because of the anticipation instead. He knows he's ready this time.

Practice makes perfect and he perfected the art of wanting you.

"I can do it." Even if he's feigning confidence you don't see it, he does look determined his hand boldly clasps yours to guide it over his body, he's watching you with glistening eyes, lidded and heavy but he's watching.

"Okay, if you're sure." You giggle when he jumps at your touch, your fingers gliding under his t-shirt touching his warm skin.

"You agreed so easily." Jisung huffs and puffs but lets you push him flat against his sheets you hover over his body calmly exploring his skin. "I had a whole speech planned out, I was ready to hold your stare to prove it. Don't you think you agreed too easily, uh- wait, fuck." His reactions are so entertaining even though he's sulking he's arching into your touch. Your hand hold down his hipbone pressing your lips first to his abdomen admiring how his muscles contract under your touches. Moving up you slurp and smack your lips weting his skin and making lewd kissing noises on your way up to his neck. Goosebumps appear where your saliva started to dry on his skin making him shiver as you envelop an erect nipple in your mouth. He's rock hard underneath you flushed all over as you kiss him silly.

Then you stop.

"Why did you stop?" Annoyed he reaches for your hand to press it on his stomach.

"You're all talk but no action. Did you realise that you're hiding behind your arm?" You click your tongue, he realises his mistake and lets his hand fall limp next to him no longer pushing his arm over his eyes he looking at you pleedingly.

"I'm l- looking now-" What a brat, he closes his eyes as soon as your lips touch his lower belly.

"Liar." You pout he's all talk the minute your lips land on him his eyes close like it's mandatory.

"I won't have sex with you." It's for the best you want him to enjoy it fully and you can't make him forget about his shyness which is a part of him at this point after just a month of practice.

It takes time but you're sure you can make him relax.

"Come here." You open your legs beckoning him to sit between them. He expects you to continue cuddling but the minute his back rests against your front your hands snake around his body pushing under his sweats gripping his cock.

You pull it out rubbing the tip that oozes plenty of precum.

"You- what - you s-said you won't have sex with m-me?"

You confirm his statement with an affirmative hum. Your thumb playing with the wet tip in slow circles. Your lips find the side of his neck sucking pretty marks all over whilst your fingers work over his length.

"I didn't say I won't let you cum." He's tensing you can tell by his fingers gripping your thighs hard and the way his breath hitches and his voice reaches an octave higher that he's very close.

Your cute little virgin boyfriend.

"S-stop, I'll-" He's trying to push your hand off but you intertwine it with your free one placing it firmly down on the mattress so he won't interfere with your movements. His cock is nice and slick it makes a wet sound each time your fist moves up and down pulsing in your hold.

"It's okay to let go, don't fight it." Jisung buries his face into your neck it can't be comfortable as he twists his body to get as close as possible. He's moaning right into your ear if you weren't already you would be drenched down there by now.

"Is it nice? Aren't my smaller hands feel better than yours?" You stroke his cock nice and slow listening to his sound of pleasure and the wet squelches your tempo creates.

"Uh-huh." Nods. Fervently rolling his hips bucking into your touch, he's grabbing your thighs so hard that it might bruise.

"I c-can't hold it." He releases ropes of cum over your hand and his stomach, it's wet and sticky as you pop a manicured finger into your mouth tasting him.

"You did so well. My perfect shy baby." You press kisses all over his heated cheeks and face, kissing him deeply when he needily pushes his tongue into your mouth.

"Did you like my hands baby?" You chuckle when he shyly hides in your neck, not denying your claims, he's clinging to you in all his post-orgasm glow. You don't mind that he's getting his cum over your clothes.

Thankfully the sheets are safe so you don't have to change it as it is pretty late by now.

After he calms down you help him clean up and dress in fresh clothes before you cuddle under the sheets.

That show needs to wait for another day as you're both exhausted.

"What is it, Ji? I could hear the cogs in your head turning from over here." You pull him closer unsatisfied with his awkward way of laying next to you like a lifeless floorboard. It didn't seem like he had any problems when the two of you were cleaning up. He's overthinking something again and you can't let him do that.

"It's stupid. You will laugh at me." Oh my god. He's sulking. How is he so cute? You want to eat him up.

Thank god it's dark because you can't control your expressions very well.

"You know I won't and you're a nerd you can't be stupid." He huffs at your joke but accepts your hug melting when you rub his stomach over his t-shirt and just like you always do you drape your leg over his middle so you can get comfy. He's so used to you clinging to him like a koala in your sleep that your weight is comforting.

"You didn't cum, earlier." You can feel him turning his head away on your shared pillow even though you can't see him in the dark.

"So what?" You mumble into his skin sleepily, you don't see the issue here.

"It makes me a bad boyfriend."

Huh?

"What does?"

"I'm supposed to make you cum first before I do." He's getting frustrated that you don't get it. He's feeling bad about it and you don't even care.

"Says who?" You're getting confused why he's getting so worked up over this but it manages to get the sleep out of your eyes, you need to talk about this before you sleep because if you don't you're sure it will eat away at him.

"The boys." Uh-huh. The boys. You think you get it. They probably told him it's polite to make you cum before he shoots his shot but it's not like you were having sex. It was just some practice.

You never went so far before as you usually stopped at some heavy petting and make-outs.

"Look. You enjoyed it. I enjoyed it. You don't have to feel bad for not making me cum." As to prove your point you kiss his cheek, trying to make him relax.

"Did you really enjoyed it? It was me who recieved everything though." You kiss his pout. This can't go on.

You need to prove a point.

You grab his hand and guide it to your panties hidden by the long t-shirt you wear to bed. The pad of his finger rubs over the wet patch with your help.

"Feel this?"

Nods. Your breathing hitches when he presses his finger at your sex.

"Do you still doubt that I enjoyed it?" He shakes his head. His surprised gasp when he felt how wet you are is such a cute reaction. He's just too easy to tease.

You let go of his wrist thinking that he will pull away and finally go to sleep. You couldn't be more wrong.

"Ji-" You sigh, his name comes out with a puff of air as he keeps pressing his thumb at the wet patch.

"You're so wet y/n." You hum confirming his words even though it wasn't necessary in the first place. It's torture how carefully he's rubbing you over your panties. It doesn't give enough and your clit is throbbing for his touch.

You're sure you can put his long pretty fingers into good use.

"If you want to make me cum you need to do more than that." Your leg is already spread as you throw it over his hips but you angle your hips to get his hands more room.

"Like this?" Unsure fingers dip under your panties and make direct contact with your pussy. His fingers get coated by your wetness with each swipe.

"A g-good start." You moan clearly encouraged by your sounds he gets rougher and his pressing is firmer.

"Rub my clit, y-yes Hanie just like that." He focuses on your little nub just like you asked, pressing his thumb glided by the wetness gathered there.

"Would you think I'm being selfish if I wanted your mouth on me, like, right now?" His ministrations stop at your words, you can't see his expression right now so you're even more unsettled by his silence. You shouldn't have said that in the heat of the moment.

You're going to apologise before things can grow awkward when he pushes you on your back kissing you with reckless passion.

His tongue is in your mouth exploring hotly he swallows your moans when he resumes abusing your clit. His clumsy fingers are getting you there.

"Not you. You're never selfish." You can barely register his words as he pushes the duvet off you with the same fervour he pulls your panties down your legs his hands caress your inner thighs as he gets comfortable.

"You don't need to." You feel like you should make sure he knows. Usually, guys don't like to do this. You wouldn't like him less if he didn't want to do this. It's hard to think when you can feel his breath against your exposed heat.

"Do you not want me to?" Fuck. He's pouting again you can just tell.

"God, I do. Believe me that I really want you to. It's just- that..."

"What is it? You can tell me y/n." You take a deep breath. Right. He's your sweet boyfriend. Jisung rests his cheek on your right thigh waiting for you patiently, his kisses litter across your skin as a little reminder that he's there, lying between your legs waiting for you.

"I'm worried you won't like it. What if you think I taste weird?" You cringe at your own words. Usually, you're the brave and confident one.

"Not possible." Jisung squeezes your thigh his nose is scrunched up as far as you can tell.

"You don't know that." You argue but Jisung is having none of it. You can feel his hair brush against your inner thighs. The cold air hits your folds as he takes a sniff, so bold. You shyly want to push his head away but he's surprisingly stronger than you.

"You smell very erotic. To be honest I'm already hard just touching and smelling you. There's no way you taste weird." He's gaining his confidence at odd times but if his goal was to reassure you he did a good job as you start to relax.

You brush his hair to the side gripping the ends to ground you. "Alright, if you're sure. Please taste me."

The first lick makes your hip elevate from the bed he needs to push you down as he parts your folds with his tongue. It's all over the place but feels very nice.

"I told you not to worry." He doesn't wait for you to answer before he delves back in, you part your legs further opening yourself up for his exploring tongue.

"Fuck, Ji just like that. Try to suck- yes like that." You're so wet you can feel your slick slide down your ass as he ruins you. His lick speed increases as your legs shake around his shoulders. He sucks on your clit just like you asked him.

It takes a few more before you come undone cumming on his tongue.

"Ji, coming. Fuck, don't stop." He doesn't. Even when your legs close around him he keeps his pace, your wetness all around his lips, chin.

Your moans are getting muffled by your thighs around his head but he could tell you're close as you keep squirming and shaking with each lick, you react strongly when he switches it up with harsh sucks around your clit.

He continues to pleasure you until you push his head away to avoid feeling too sensitive.

"Fuck, you got so wet." It's embarrassing hearing him say that with your juices all over his face.

"Thank you. It was so good." You kiss him to show your appreciation, tasting yourself on his tongue.

"I liked it too." You smile at his shy confession. He was not so shy when he was eating you out.

"And you're hard again." He gives you a sheepish grin welcoming your touch over his boxers.

It was a long night.

You choke on your coffee when Jisoo mentions that the two of you look so tired. You know she probably thinks that you binge-watched a tv show as you said you would.

Only you two know that the plan changed and you ended up, well, 'practising'.

"Even if it was a good show you should have gone to sleep earlier." You can't say anything to her scolding.

You're not about to reveal that you had some fun under the sheets.

"So about the project, we should finish it this afternoon." You were hoping no one would point out the sudden subject change. It doesn't seem Jisoo caught on as she agreed and started talking about what needs to be researched before handing it in.

"You two can come over finish the project and later we can hit the movies." Felix has tickets to a new romance movie and he thought it would a perfect double date idea. You can tell that they are very excited.

"Sure, we will go right?" You look at your boyfriend with puppy eyes. He can hardly resist you not that he was going to say no to some movie.

"Hm." He confirmed as you placed a short peck on his lips.

"Dude, you're so whipped." Jisung can't even deny it. He sure is. Felix is right.

"Oh, y/n! Is that a hickey on Han's neck I see?" Everyone's eyes automatically zero down on his neck and just your luck it does contrast against his skin. You didn't realise he had such a low-cut shirt on him. You did try to make them in a less visible spot to protect Jisung from this kind of teasing.

"Stop right now, if you tease him he won't let me leave a mark next time." Safeguarding his body you try to pull his shirt up so it would cover your marks up. His ears are already flaming hot from the attention. He wants to hide in your neck but he resists. He needs to get himself together.

"Sorry, it's just so fascinating. I can't believe our shy baby finally got a girlfriend." You know Felix doesn't mean it in a mean kind of way so Jisung doesn't take it too seriously. They always tease him anyway because he's so shy.

"There's no 'our' he's my shy baby." Jisung's heart flips when he hears you being so territorial. You get very cute when you're jealous.

It doesn't happen often but sometimes girls do come up to him to ask for his number like before but you get pouty when he stammers to say he has a girlfriend so you always step up to sho them away.

You sometimes pretend to be mad at him but you always forgive him. Sometimes it only needs some flowers and kisses other times when it's a more private setting he would apologise to you on his knees.

What bothers him is that you still don't have sex with him. He knows that it's partially his fault since you made that 10-minute rule that he's still struggling with.

After he endures the movie holding your hand watching as you laugh when it's a funny scene.

He decides tonight will be the night.

You gave him handjobs and even blowjobs before and he can initiate when he wants to eat you out. You showed him how to set the mood and made sure he was comfortable enough with you that it was not awkward to ask for sexual things. However sex just never happened.

Everyone can tell from a mile away that he wants to bounce.

Yet he doesn't want to ruin it for you so he tries not to show it as the four of you go to eat after the movies. Jisoo and you talk animatedly about the plot.

Jisung couldn't concentrate on the film as his eyes kept searching for you so he's glad you never asked for more details about how he liked the movie. Jisoo was more than happy to analyse the plot and swoon over the romantic scenes with you.

You had a great time. You spent time with your friends talking and laughing while holding your precious boyfriend's hand. You liked the awkward chuckles and the cute hand holding dates too but it's just good to see how far you come.

Jisung is still a hot mess but it's palable how much he changed over time. The things that were awkward and clumsy are now more sweet and comfortable.

Everything's great and you're more than satisfied with his performance. With a few pointers his hands and mouth became a dangerous weapon that he uses against you every time he gets the chance.

"You look so happy." It's unexpected but you welcome Jisoo's goodbye hug. You can tell she's genuinely happy for you just like you were for her when she started dating Felix.

The boys stepped aside to give you time. It's about time to wrap up the date.

"I am. Thank you. I guess. You and Felix did try your best to help us. It feels like it's been so long ago that you tried to set us up with ridiculous excuses." She laughs along with you as you both recall the fond memories.

"At least you acknowledge that we worked hard! You have no idea how hard it was to create those situations just for you two to mess it up." Jisoo slaps his boyfriend across the chest to make him stop talking and doesn't ruin your girl's moment.

"What matters is that you worked it out. I knew you would be such a sweet couple." Jisoo puffs her chest out proudly.

"I can't deny that." You pull Jisung at your side getting ready to leave after you exchange hugs.

"We're just simply remindig you that we helped you a great deal. Don't look grumpy Sungie." Felix is just pulling his leg, he realised he's been trying to speed up things to get you for himself.

"Hard to forget since you bring it up every chance you get." Even when he's showing an attitude you can't help but plant a kiss on his cheek. He's so cute.

It's comical how his expression softens the moment you do that. As if he forgot his initial annoyance he places a kiss on the back of your hand smiling timidly into your skin that only you can feel.

"See you guys tomorrow." You wave as the couple starts walking in the other direction. Jisung doesn't waste time in steering you in the direction of your apartment, he got so familiar with the route that he could find you with blindfolds on.

"Did you enjoy the movie?" You're in a good mood after the date. You finished your most important tasks at uni too so you can enjoy your boyfriend's company in this chilly afternoon.

The cold is not that biting as before and you think it has to be because of the warm hand you're holding as you walk.

"It was good." You poke him. He's giving you the same short answer like before. Ever since the movie he's been acting strange but you can't phatom why.

"Don't tell me you don't remember. Was staring at me so distracting that you missed the entire plot?"

Big perplexed eyes look back at you. You can't believe he thought he was being sneaky with it. He was so obvious.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" He can't even complain about your smug expression as you caught him red handed.

"Am I that pretty?" You enjoy teasing him, his reactions are so cute that you can't help yourself.

"Yes, you're the prettiest." You didn't think he would actually agree or say it while looking at you with such a smitten expression that you're getting shy yourself.

"What do you want? You propbably need something as you so clearly try to butter me up." You get close, enough that your breath mingle.

"Don't know, Is it working?" Your noses touch as his finger angles your faces with a thumb under your chin.

"You can just exist and it will still work on me." You're so in love that everything he does makes your heart skip a beat.

His boyish giggle at your confession is warming his skin. Despite the cold air you feel warm as you stand toe to toe. "Good to know."

You think he will kiss you but he pulls back before it can happen and you frown, disappointed. Jisung laughs at your obvious disdain and presses a finger to smooth the ceases of your brows.

"What about my kiss?" You still complain when he gets hold of your hand and starts walking, your apartment complex getting into view after a few short steps. You didn't realise you were almost at home.

"You will get your kisses once we're inside." He's getting miserious, it's clear he has a plan in mind that you're unaware of.

It's unusual for him to guide you like this. He normally takes everything you do with grattitude but this time it feels like he has other plans.

You don't have to wonder for long as he attacks your lips the moment the door closes behind you. You didn't have time to toss your shoes away before he crowds you against the wall kissing your breath away.

Lifting your thigh you curl it around his hip his hand keeping it secure as he grinds pushing your bodies extremly close. His little grunts are lost in your mouth as he works up your sexual desires. Your hands wander, gripping his shoulders then burying your fingers in his hair.

"This is why you were so distracted during the whole date? Were you this horny the entire time?"

He let you pull away but kept impatiently marking up your neck as you speak. He never ceased his rocking movements.

"I remember helping you out with your problem this morning. Yet you're so needy." You sigh when he nibbles on a particularly good spot.

"I want something different. I want to come inside you." This is the hottest shit you've ever heard.

"Yeah? I've been waiting for you to say that." Your kisses grow needier as you don't have to hold back anymore.

"Really? So I could have just asked and you would give it to me?"

"I wanted to wait till you were ready." Your caress is full of love for him. He leans into your touch turns his head to kiss the inside of your palm. His eyes halfway closed, fogged with need as he looks at you.

"I'm so ready I'm about to burst." You giggle at his eagerness. Let out a squeel in surprise when he swipes you off your feet holding you steady by your thighs as he goes for your bedroom.

You use that time to kiss down his neck make his steps falter as he can't help but relief some tention by rocking you against his hard on.

He puts you down on your bed clumsily getting rid of his pants and shirt can't get naked soon enough. You laugh when he almost slips while he tries to get out of his jeans.

"Keep the glasses on." You pull him down kissing his swollen lips, even as the rims of his cold glasses cut into your skin you want him to see everything even if it fogs up later. You get hold of his cock your hands travel up and down collecting his precum as you swallow his noises with your kisses. He's so ready you can feel him pulse in your grip, you can't have him finish so soon.

He needs a minute to breathe as you release his cock, he's hard, leaking and throbbing.

"Are you not going to take off my clothes?" It's all the invitation he needs.

Idle fingers grip the side of your top revealing the black bra you have on. His fingers glide over the intricate details before he reaches behind you to unclasp it. The moment it gets off Jisung's mouth attaches to one nipple as his other hand squeezes the other, kneading the flesh. Wantom moans spill from your dry throat as he dutifully gives you pleasure. He switches sides not neglecting the other as he doesn't stop until both peaks are wet with his saliva and erect from the attention of his tongue.

"You're so pretty." You blush at his earnest words he enjoys your reactions each tremble and shiver his touches ignite in you, you're so wet that your panties are surely soaked through.

"More." Rubbing your thighs together is not near enough, in your impatience you grab his hand and push it into your underwear, hoping that he will divide his attention elsewhere.

"Want your fingers." You don't need to say more as he's helping you out of your remaining clothes. Your legs open wide for him inviting his long fingers to rub your clit. Two of his digits bury deep in your walls as his palm is angled to rub your clit each time he thrusts his fingers in you.

It's easy for him to find the spot that has your thighs shaking and your walls convulsing.

"Fuck, you're so good at this. I will come if you- continue." He's smiling into the skin of your neck, proud of how easily you fall apart on his fingers. His mouth alternating between sucking a nipple into his mouth and giving you wet kisses with full of tongue.

"I learnt it from the best." His pace picks up your essence gushes from you as he keeps pumping his fingers in you, the wet squelches are getting louder, your juices coating his palm.

"Fuck, I'm close. Jisung-ah." Han kisses you deep, his tongue fickle and messy as he devours your mouth his fingers never relenting even as your walls keep convulsing and tightening around it. He makes sure you're cumming hard, slowing down but keep his thrusts deep as you ride out your orgasm.

"You'll be the death of me." You pant into his open mouth, gripping his wrist so he will stop overstimulating you.

You take your time to catch your breath holding his body close in a sweaty embrace.

"Come on, sit. Time for your reward." You make sure he's resting comfortably on the pillows as you straddle his lap one hand grabbing the headboard as you take your position.

"Ready?" You ask cheekily. Your bare sexes touch as you grind, coating him entirely in your wetness.

"S- So ready." Jisung throws his head back in a silent moan. You lean in for a kiss as your hand goes down between your bodies and grab his base to position the tip to your heat.

You lower your body, taking him in slowly. His eyes follow the motion rendered into a moaning mess as you squeeze him with your walls. ”So wet.” You hum, hear it as you roll your hips. Your mixed arousal aids your descent on his cock until he’s buried to the hilt.

”I c- can’t…” Gripping your hips tightly Jisung halts your bouncing body afraid that if you move like that he will come soon. ”You’re so warm and perfect and tight. I will come.” You seal his words with a kiss, you place your hand over his—

making that he guides your hips rather than stopping you from moving—you lean into his chest, slowly bouncing on top of him. His cock is deeply nestled in you as you move your hips.

What started as the slow rock of your hips now got more hurried and desperate. Getting addicted to the feeling of his swollen cock reentering you, stretching your core rubbing on the perfect spots.

He can’t help his instincts to push into your rhythm from below meeting your thrusts with each of his own clumsily. The force of your joint efforts getting you close to your release.

You take his pulsing shaft riding him until he losses his mind and cums in you.

Your inner walls squeeze him tight milking him of every last drop he’s got. ”Did I just— came inside.” You playfully roll your eyes at his obvious statement. ”I came inside.” His palm flat against your tummy he could feel the outline of himself in you. It’s the hottest thing.

”I noticed honey.” Kissing his cheek you rest your head against his heaving chest waiting patiently for his breathing to regulate. His cock softens inside you, making the mess you made start to ooze out.

”How was it for the first time?” You push his hair back from his face wiping the sweat off as you sweetly kiss his face all over. Earning cute little giggles from him.

”Good. I bet it was short for you, I’ll do better next time.” Reciprocating his kisses you melt into his arms. His hands rubbing shapes into your back, he keeps you as close as possible.

”The time doesn’t matter. You made me cum so you’re already better than most men.” Getting off him you reach for a towel to clean yourself so you won’t get the stuff on the bed more than it’s already got on it.

Jisung grabs your hand before you can get out of reach pulling you back to kiss. ”Can we do it again?”

You freeze mid-cleaning.

That’s how you realise you created a monster.

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specialgradefckr · 3 months ago

Note

nerd!gojo is so cute! please give him a kiss on the cheek for me.

you stare at the note you found in your locker. it's written in glittery purple ink, which only adds to the insult.

gojo, "cute"??? give him a kiss on the cheek???

like an ill omen summoned by its name, a terrible presence looms over your shoulder, "watcha got there?"

"hate mail." you say dispassionately as you quickly shove gojo away.

when you face him, you see gojo's face change - smooth features and rounded eyes hardening into anger.

"hate mail?" gojo frowns, "in your locker? who would send that?!"

"you want a list?" comes geto's snarky voice. "she's kind of a bitch."

you shoot him a glare, but gojo speaks before you can.

"don't talk about her like that."

the room feels a little bit colder. since when did gojo sound so... mean?

"i'm just saying," geto says, shrugging, "you'd know better than anyone, she's always on your ass."

"yeah, my ass," gojo turns to you, a pout on his face, "you're not bullying other people, are you? i don't have any other bullies."

only satoru gojo could get into an argument this stupid.

"no," you drone, "your drain on my time and attention is uncontested."

rather than being ashamed of this, gojo looks absolutely tickled.

even when you punch him in the shoulder, his good mood is undampened.

"nerd," you grouse, stalking off to your next class, which gojo naturally follows.

it sucked being in the same classes as him, but at least it meant you could get his help. he really is a huge nerd. all those hours you put into it, and he seems to understand everything effortlessly.

the class feels like it takes hours. you pay diligent attention, take so many notes, and somehow, gojo comes out of it completely chipper.

you're left in peace for a few blessed minutes afterwards as he bolts out of the room for some reason or another.

is he finally starting to fear you as his bully? took him long enough -

"here!" pressed into your hands, your favorite snack from the campus vending machine.

gojo smiles at you, that big, boyish smile that makes him look extra stupid. "sorry i messed up last time."

you don't know what comes over you. maybe it's pure delirium brought on by hunger. or the joy from having something nice to eat.

maybe it's a new form of torture, humiliating him by making him endure a kiss from his bully.

it's just a kiss on the cheek. it's whatever.

he stands there, still, face completely red, blue eyes wide in shock. gojo looks even dumber than usual, which shouldn't even be possible.

you fan your face for a moment as you turn to leave.

"come on, you idiot. we've got a test to study for."

gojo whistles some unbelievably stupid tune, practically skipping the whole way to the library.

"i can't believe it! she kissed me on the cheek!!! a real kiss!" "uh-huh." "don't uh-huh me, suguru, it was REAL! anyways, it all makes sense now. she was just hangry. no wonder she shoved me into a locker. it's my fault for not taking better care of her..." "would you listen to me if i reminded you that you're not dating and this is all pure delusion?" "not dating yet." "so a no, then," suguru says, rolling his eyes as he returns to his work. satoru's already finished with the homework and scrolling through his text message history with you, no doubt spamming you again with memes or pictures or just remarks. but you haven't blocked him yet, have you? suguru smiles to himself, closing his notebook, tucking away a shimmering violet pen.

#answered asks #anon asks #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #x reader #nerd!gojo #nerdjo #bully!reader

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leviathanspain · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!! Would you be able to write a request for finnick? Just like he’s the capitols darling, reader is the capitals hound dog. Known to be fiercely protective and exceptionally violent and brutal. During the third quarter quell, katniss’ group is afraid of reader because they haven’t seen her all match, but they run into her and she defends them brutally against something? Sorry I know it’s specific:) love your writing!

my body is a cage

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: his focus was protecting katniss, but he sleeps with an eye open as long as you’re still out there..

a/n: i made some changes, jus go with it lmao

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“she’s still out there, katniss.” finnick had made this pointedly to katniss, who wanted to go out hunting for the remaining victors with johanna. you were shrouded in mystery, out of all the victors, finnick knew the least about you.

“where would she be?” peeta looked at finnick, who sighed, shrugging, “the arena is different than the arena she won in, i assume somewhere low to the ground-“ finnick sweeped the beach, eye catching on a rustle in the bush, straight across from them, “and close.” he remembered now how you had won your games.

you had tracked all the tributes like prey, manipulating their surroundings to kill them, it had been one of the most invigorating games for the capitol ever. “she’s a bloodhound, probably sniffed us out before we realized.”

johanna watched the area that finnick had saw you, but still offered her commentary, “she’s brutal, katniss.”

katniss looked at them all, surrounded by skilled people yet found herself doubting their abilities, especially her own. none of them were sure they’d win, not against her.

“the careers are the least of our worries with her out there.” peeta noted. finnick looked at him and shrugged, “she might just kill them herself.”

they knew getting back on the island was a bad idea. katniss ducked at the sound of a mysterious voice, feeling as something flew past her head, stabbing cashmere right in the chest.

“get up.” katniss looked up to see you, standing over her. you had an array of weapons on you, and you were reaching for another one. katniss felt the panic in her throat until you launched it at enobaria, who had thrown herself at katniss. “get up!” your voice sounded more frantic and katniss did, struggling from keeping her eyes off of you.

suddenly the island began to spin.

your grip was loosening, and you groaned with slight fear as you felt the cold water thundering against your feet. katniss reached out for you, “grab my hand!” she screamed, but the water trashing drowned her out.

you could see her hand amidst all the water and grabbed it tightly, closing your eyes as the island slowed to a stop.

you sat on the beach, alone as the others argued over you. katniss had defended you, deciding she wanted you as an ally. but finnick and johanna deemed it too risky, “she could kill us all in our sleep, then what?” johanna had made that point as one of your methods, and you inhaled sharply.

finnick glanced at you, noticing the solemn expression on your face. he had known that expression far too many times, and it made him change his mind.

“johanna.” finnick called her name and sighed, “she saved her life. that’s not something we can just ignore, we don’t even know her.”

there was silence between them all, katniss had looked to johanna, watching as she fought internally before giving in. “i’ll go get her, maybe threaten a little.” she stood up, taking her axe with her.

finnick looked to katniss as johanna left, “i’ll keep an eye on her. for you.” he knew that once katniss settled on allies, she settled. her choices weren’t always the best, but somehow it would work itself out.

“why did you save her?” finnick had taken the first watch with you. johanna had convinced him, as just having you as watch would be ‘asking for it’.

you shrugged, “why not.” there hadn’t been much decision making on the island. it was either her or cashmere, and you didn’t see much of a choice.

finnick looked at you, “i don’t believe that.” his eyes slid themselves back to stare at the beach and you scoffed, “and why is that?”

finnick shrugged, “no one would just randomly save someone without an ulterior motive.” he said it like a fact and you smirked, “do you have one?”

“have one what?” he looked confused, obvious by the furrow in his brow.

“do you have an ulterior motive?” you repeated the full length question and watched as finnick practically whipped his head around.

“no.” he stated plainly, and you rolled your eyes, “i saw you saved katniss, similiar to how i did. you and johanna can’t just be doing this,” you glanced back to katniss and peeta sleeping, “for nothing. whatever it is, finnick, is an ulterior motive.” finnick pursed his lips, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

“i’ll let you have yours if you let me have mine.” you finished, catching his gaze. finnick knew there were layers to you. you were different than most victors, your brutality is what made you like the rest of them, the willingness to kill. but you were turning out to be way more than what meets the eye. whatever your motive was, finnick sensed it wasn’t malice.

finnick settled to watch the sun rise upon your face, ending the conversation with a nod.

finnick watched as you sat by the beach. it had been post jabberjays, you, him and katniss had all been trapped with the birds, fluttering and screaming your names. now it seemed, like you had decided to decompress by the beach, just as he was going to.

he piled up next to you, close but far enough to give you a good amount of space.

it was then that finnick realized you had been crying, tears evident on your cheeks. he had heard katniss yell her sister’s name, and he had heard annie. you had just screamed in response, as if you were trying to drown out the birds with your own voice.

“i’m sorry.” you apologized to finnick, wiping your eyes as he settled down. you sniffled, watching as the waves moved.

“don’t apologize, there’s no need.” finnick spoke, “who did you hear?”

there was silence for a moment, until you spoke, “my best friend.” your mind shuddered back the sound of his screams and you laughed, painfully. “he’s been dead for years. i killed him.” you admitted, “he died because of a mistake i had made during the games.”

your mind flashed back to the games, where you had accidentally launched a knife to his chest, thinking it had been another tribute.

“he had spent all of his games searching for me. and once he found me, i had killed him.” it was cruel for him to be your district partner, for only one would survive, but you “never thought it would be me.” you glanced at finnick, who had been listening.

“it was supposed to be him.” you cried, “i killed everyone else to get to him, and when it was down to four, was when he came to get me.” you shook your head, “there is nothing in this world that i loved more than him, finnick. now that he’s gone, there’s nothing left for me.”

finnick shook his head, “stop. you know that’s not true.” he tried to comfort you, your words mirroring his own thoughts.

“that’s my motive, finnick.” you revealed, “my body is a cage, and i can’t stand to live in it much longer.”

johanna had woken up abruptly. she clutched onto her weapon, eyes glancing around before she settled on the two figures on the beach. she squinted and made out finnick’s hair, and you. the only two missing from the group. you had your head leaned on finnick’s shoulder, as the two of you watched the rising sun.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick odair smut #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x female!reader #thg #thg fanfiction #thg imagines #thg finnick odair #finnick odair oneshots #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #hunger games finnick #finnick odair

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tanpl-if · 4 months ago

Text

In the summer of 1986 you get a letter informing you of your mother's death.

The first and only letter you get in ten years since you left your hometown.

You stand in the middle of the old, tiny room that you can barely afford to rent and read it over and over again until the buzz at the back of your head quiets down. Until your hands stop shaking.

You think of what it means for you.

I hope you arrive soon. You know Marrowbone will always have a place for you.

The words spin in your head and you think of Marrowbone then—a secret, lonely place, standing at the edge of everything, surrounded by forests and fields, barely acknowledged on the maps.

But it is home.

And whether you like it or not, you are coming back.

There are no people left is an 18+ horror inerractive fiction game for language, themes and potential explicit content

• romance one of the 5 ROs or choose a platonic route

• choose between 3 preset personalities for MC that will open different paths in the story and exclusive scenes

• reconnect with your old friends and make new connections

• explore your hometown

• remember why you left

DEMO: (09.03.25)

Olya - Aside from working the bar left to her care by her parents, she isn't up to much of anything, the days passing by her seamlessly. You watch her work - pale fingers gripping the glass she is cleaning a bit too tight, lips pressed into a frown - and think how much she has changed since you last saw her.

She looks older. More tired too, but more than anything angry. With life perhaps. With you - for sure. The tension hangs between you, threads through every conversation, follows with every touch.

A decade of silence will do that, you think, almost guilty. You wonder if there was ever a chance of putting the fragile pieces back into place.

You wonder if the only thing left for you is to mourn.

Timur - Head held low, he keeps to himself most of the time. You remember him a sickly thing - his parents never letting him out to play, hiding him away in fear for his poor health. You remember sneaking into his room - muted laughter and hushed whispers, when you kept him company.

The memories taste bitter now, after all those years.

He seems more shut off now, and as much as you expected him to forget you, you're even more surprised when he gives you the same smile that reminds you of a sweet little boy that used to be your neighbor.

In the midst of half-forgotten faces and unwelcome memories, he still feels the same as when you were kids.

You're not sure if it brings you comfort or not.

The Doctor - He does his work well, and that's what matters, the doctor says, not in the most friendly fashion.

His face is lined with age, gray temples vivid among the black, as he runs his fingers through his hair, looking at another report with pursed lips and tired eyes.

You don't remember seeing him before, a hard thing to achieve for one of the few doctors of Marrowbone - a surprise and a revelation at the same time.

You know he is local, and your mind burns with questions. You can't imagine anyone in their right mind coming back here if they ever managed to leave - not by choice anyway - but you hold your tongue. It's not your place to intrude.

And it's definitely not your place to judge.

The Gravekeeper - As frail as she appears to be, she manages to be just as cheerful.

The keeper's granddaughter spends her days taking care of the dead - keeping them company, she says - the hem of her dress brushing against gray stone, as she moves around, steps light.

She is all sweet smiles when she talks to you, dimples catching your eye. And though you never saw her before, there is Marrowbone etched into her in a way you can't explain - dark eyes and a knowing pull of her lips - there is no doubt she has always been a part of this town.

The Widow - There is a rumor about her, almost a tale, nurtured by years of boredom from the residents of small town - not much to do in Marrowbone aside from gossiping about your neighbors - about a woman on the hill, lonesome in her manor, a number of husbands lying dead in the small graveyard in front of her home. About a woman always wearing black, forever in mourning. Some believe her cursed, though a more cynical crowd would call her much meaner names - a gold-digger with an exceptional streak of luck.

A witch.

You see her there, standing at the top of the hill - her dress swaying in the wind, black veil covering her face. And though you can't make out a single detail behind it, somehow you know - her eyes are on you.

Sonya - Your mother. You don't know what happened to her.

asks and scenarios are welcome!

tags: @interact-if

#interactive fiction #twine #there are no people left #if intro

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aurorawritestoescape · 5 months ago

Text

HARDER THAN YOU THINK

Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader || 4,7k

Written together with @milla-frenchy

Summary: It’s your first day at work and you feel nervous. But what can go wrong if your boss is your dad’s best friend, a person you’ve known and trusted for years?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, NON CON, Dbf!Joel, boss!Joel, dark!Joel, power imbalance, blackmail, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), oral (f), pussy slapping, use of a sex toy, degradation, unprotected piv, gangbang, creampies. Reader wears a skirt.

A/n: @milla-frenchy and I wrote this story for @romanarose ‘s Dead Dove December. Thank you for this event, celebrating dark fic, Roman❤️ Milla, baby, it’s always a pleasure to write with you! ILYSM🫂💖

Heed the warnings! If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. We are not responsible for the content you consume. This is not for everyone and that's okay. We don't condone the actions of the characters.

MILLA’S MASTERLIST || KATE’S MASTERLIST

Day one at your first job started horribly. You overslept, got in a traffic jam and arrived at the office panting and apologizing. Fortunately, your boss, Mr Miller, didn’t tell you off for your tardiness. Instead he greeted you with a wide, most charming smile. You’ve known him for a few years, him being your dad’s good friend and his employer as well as yours now.

Mr Miller was a successful businessman and your parents owed everything to his generosity and kindness. He helped your father out when your family was about to lose the house and your dad always talked highly of his ‘best bud’. You’ve been calling him Joel all these years, but wishing to show respect at the workplace, you decided to call him Mr Miller.

Now you’re attending a company meeting in a spacious conference room, taking bullet points of the discussion on your tablet. Mr Miller is sitting at the head of the desk, leaning comfortably in his chair, his thick thighs spread, piercing eyes narrowed. His perfectly tailored blue suit which probably costs more than your future year salary accentuates his broad powerful frame. Throwing glances at him from time to time, you can’t help but admire the way the fabric stretches over his arms and shoulders. You’ve never thought about Joel like that, he was much older than you, but it was hard to deny how handsome he was.

Joel is listening to an employee’s report, pouting his lips from time to time. Knowing him quite well, you read his face easily, so it’s evident to you that he’s not pleased with what she’s telling him. Joel’s always been nice and kind to you and your parents, but right now you feel like a volcano is about to erupt.

“Are you happy with all this, sweet cheeks?” He asks but doesn’t let the woman reply. "I’m definitely not. I hope I won't hear these numbers ever again. Or you're gonna lose your job in a heartbeat. I doubt your family will be happy with you getting fired. You just had a baby, right?”

The woman swallows loudly and nods.

“Get your shit together!” Joel barks and the employee looks terrified. You feel bad for her. You’ve never seen Joel be so mean before but that's probably part of the character trait that goes with his job.

When the meeting is over, some people leave but three men stay behind with Joel, still chatting to each other. You get up, ready to sneak out, but your boss stops you at the door, calling your name.

“Sorry, I thought the meeting’s over”, you explain, coming up to him with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, the main part’s done but we have something extra on our agenda today.”

Joel gets up and walks over to one of the cabinets. He takes something out of a drawer and puts it in the pocket of his suit pants. You raise your brows with a silent question and he turns his face to the managers,

“Gentlemen! Today is this young lady’s first day at our company and I’d like you to give her a warm welcome.”

You feel overwhelmed when all the attention is focused on you but, fearing to seem rude or disrespectful, you turn to the men and smile nervously, fumbling with your fingers. You wonder what Joel put in his pocket. You didn't expect to receive a gift on your first day, and you don’t know how to thank him properly.

The men hum approvingly but soon you feel uneasy noticing their eyes slide down your body and take you in with something more than simple curiosity. One of them smirks and your face falls. Fortunately, Joel steps up to you and his wide smile relaxes you a little. Knowing him for so long, you feel that he has your back. He takes your hand and holds it in his big warm palm.

“Sweetheart, we have a tradition in our company. We call it “Initiation”.

“W—What is it?” you mumble, smiling and blinking at him with confusion, while your stomach churns. You hope he won’t ask you to give a speech of some kind. You’d die of stage fright.

Joel explains, “Some of us gather here to celebrate our new employee and I’m happy that today it is you.“

Joel inches closer and you instinctively take a step back but he pulls you to him gently yet with unyielding determination.

“Usually one of our top managers does it, but of course, with you it had to be me. Also some of these gentlemen sent me messages during the meeting… Seems that they want to take part, now that they saw you.”

His face is inches from yours and he lowers his voice to tell you, “to be specific, we all are going to celebrate you and your body. Teach you some new things while we’re at it, too.”

Your gaze darts between his darkening eyes as you open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You can’t comprehend what he’s saying but your instinct is screaming for you to run.

Joel gently cups your cheek and turns to the other men in the room, “she’s adorable.” With that he places his hands on your hips, and mumbling “c’mon”, moves you to the head of the desk.

“Joel, what are you…?” Your voice is shaky, your palms placed on his broad chest push him off you but he’s too strong and soon your ass is perched up on the surface, your back turned to the other men.

“Joel, please, what are you doing?” you mumble as panic rises in your chest.

“Shh, we’re just gonna have some fun, you and me at first, then I'll let the others join us.”

He looks behind you, and you hear the other men react.

“Fuck yeah.”

“I think I will.”

“Give it to her, boss.”

You hear their words and you start to understand what’s happening. Or rather, you start realizing what your dissociated mind was trying to hide.

“Joel… You’re scaring me…” you stammer, eyes wide.

“Fear is a good thing. It means I'm in control. And I want control over you."

Now you feel Joel’s hands rubbing your thighs, covered by tights, slithering up and under the hem of your skirt, while his gaze is set on your chest.

“No, Joel, please,” you plead, searching for his eyes, hoping to keep his attention on you, break the spell that turned these people into wild animals, turned this office into a cage that you can’t escape from. Trying to make him come back to his senses and remind him that it's you, the person he's known for so long, that he is your father's friend, who you thought would protect you from all dangers, if he had to.

But his eyes remain black, cold. The more you beg, the brighter an unhealthy spark shines in them. As if he likes it, likes you begging.

“You’re my dad’s friend, don’t do this to me,” you whine, overwhelmed by his big body caging yours against the desk, terrified to your core at the realization of what he’s about to do to you.

“Yes, you’re right,” he stops, giving you a glimpse of hope, and looks into your eyes. “Your dad’s a great guy but he has a big flaw. He has this pretty little thing for a daughter.”

Your heart breaks when you hear him, your hope is dead.

Joel leans closer and you pull away but he grabs the back of your neck and holds you still, brushing your lips with his.

“If he only knew how much I want to stretch your little holes. And you know me, baby,” he pecks your lips and whispers, “I always get what I want.”

The men behind you chuckle, loving this display of power. The smell of Joel’s perfume hits your nose and your head spins for a second as part of you still struggles to understand what’s happening. You feel tears well up in your eyes.

Your new boss, a man you’ve known for years, wants to fuck you in front of other people on your first day here. You try to make your mind work, get you out of the situation.

“I’ll tell my dad. I’ll tell everyone,” you cry out, making your voice firmer, but Joel just laughs, enveloping you in his tight embrace. To your horror you hear the sound of the chairs moving behind you and then footsteps. You’re surrounded now.

“If you start yapping, sweetie, you and your dad will lose your jobs in a second and I’ll make sure no one ever hires you both.”

His voice is calm, his breathing steady, as if he were telling you the most mundane things in the world, and you shiver.

“Besides, your dad owes me a lot of money. Your family will lose everything.” He searches for your widened eyes and whispers, “you work for me now so it means I own you.”

Suddenly his lips latch onto your neck. His hold is too tight but the kiss is slow and gentle.

“No, no,” you start sobbing and Joel pulls away and takes your face between his big hands.

“Honey, calm down, imagine there’s only you and me here. No one else, uh?” His eyes are obsidian and full of lust and you understand that you won’t get out of this. He will have you.

“Please, Joel, I don’t want to…“

“But you do, baby, you want me,” he kisses your cheek. “You want my big cock in your little pussy. I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He drags his stubble over your cheek and you whimper when his hand snakes between your thighs.

“You really think I haven't noticed the way you look at me, the clothes you wear, when I have lunch at your parents’?”

“What? No!!”

“Shh…” he cuts you, brushing your lips with his finger. “You wanna get fucked by a man older than you. A man who will give it to you good.”

Through the material of your tights and panties you feel his hand caress your folds and you close your eyes shut, trying to escape the horror of the situation.

"Girls your age want that. A mature man,” he adds.

You mewl a quiet “no” again and he uses the moment to kiss you and push his tongue past your lips. With one hand keeping you close and the other gently massaging your pussy, Joel claims your mouth, licking into it, swallowing your soft cries.

As soon as he parts from you, your hands push him away but his strong physique overpowers you in seconds. He grabs your wrists and makes you lie down on the desk. You’re pressed to the wooden surface by his heavy body as his breath fans your cheek when he growls, “Don’t fight it. It’ll be my way or bad way, baby. Choose wisely.”

In your peripheral vision you notice the men next to the desk, one on the left and two on the right. Like hyenas they are waiting for their turn when the main predator is done with the prey.

You begin thrashing around on the desk and Joel slightly lifts his torso but holds you down with his hand wrapped around your neck. You freeze as panic grips your heart. He’s not squeezing it but the threat is swimming in his blown out eyes.

He smirks when you stop moving. “Good girl. Made the right choice.”

Joel straightens up, his figure looming over you, and then starts pulling up your skirt. You try to stop his hands but in vain.

“Let’s see what we have here. White lace. Fuck, it’s hot, baby. Innocence looks good on you. I know you’re not a virgin though,” he laughs and continues, “I remember a boy used to come to your bedroom all the time. Your old man was scared that you’d get pregnant. Fuck, I wanted to kill that little shit for touching you.“

You take a sharp breath, terrified of how long his obsession with you has lasted.

“I know you’re single now. It’s good. Now you have me. I’ll fulfill all your needs, baby. And will fill all your holes.”

With that he rips your tights between your legs, and you squeal scared to death. You try to slide off the desk but he presses his forearm over your belly, not letting you move away.

You hear the murmur of the others, watching you sob and fight the man twice bigger than you like it’s some twisted show.

When Joel grabs your hips to keep you in place, you turn your head, pleading eyes darting between the men but their expressions scare you. There’s not a trace of sympathy on their faces, not a chance that this vile group will help you.

With tears streaming down your cheeks you look back between your spread legs and find Joel’s hungry gaze there. He’s sneering at you, noticing your fruitless attempt to seek assistance from his employees.

“What’s that, baby? Looking for anyone to call an HR? He’s over there. Say hi, Steve.”

You hear a gruff voice somewhere from behind you.

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Aww, isn’t he nice?” Joel mocks and dread spreads in your chest. There’s no way out. You’re trapped. Your only hope is the man you thought to be a friend.

“Please, Joel. Stop. I won’t tell anyone. Let me go.” Your voice is barely audible, you sound pathetic, and Joel’s face softens. His brows knit together as he looks between your legs and talks while his fingers slowly pull your panties to the side.

“I think I’ve made a mistake.”

You gasp when his fingers graze your exposed folds and try to close your legs but he’s holding you securely.

“I haven’t explained your position in this company yet. It will help you to understand what’s happening and accept it.” His fingers stroke your seam and then push inside between your folds, leaving you shocked and breathless.

“From now on you’re my office whore. I tell you to suck, you suck, I tell you to bend over - you do exactly that.”

His voice is gruff and cold, eyes focused on the place where his fingers swirl around your hardening clit and you squeeze your eyes closed, fighting the fire in your core that’s burning brighter with every second of his caress.

“She loves it, your pretty pussy,” Joel smiles, looking up at you, “do you hear how wet she’s getting for me? You should relax, and let your body take what it wants. Stop fighting it, baby.”

He sinks two thick digits into your soft hole and you tighten your muscles, eyes wide, surprised by a heat spreading through your body.

You hear it too. When Joel begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, lewd squelching noises reach your ears, the sign of your body surrendering to his horrible act. A moan crawls up your throat and you muffle it with the back of your hand.

A sharp flick of Joel’s fingers lands on your clit and you cry out.

“Don’t. Don’t hide it. Wanna hear you enjoying it, little slut. I wouldn’t make my cock wait if I didn’t wanna hear some sweet moans from you.”

His hands leave your pussy and he places his palms on your inner thighs, spreading them wider.

“Now— Let’s have a taste.”

You watch him lower his head to your cunt and he licks a stripe between your wet folds from your clenching hole to your sensitive clit and sucks on it for a few seconds. Your back arches involuntarily.

“Delicious,” he mumbles, wet lips against your folds, and the vibrations send shivers down your spine.

You want to hate the sensation his mouth is giving you, but your whole body treacherously buzzes when his hot tongue laps away your slick. Joel kisses your pussy, his gentleness is a striking contrast to the situation. He’s eating you out to make you come, hungry to claim your pleasure as well, and you grit your teeth, fighting it with all your being.

He feels you holding back and growls before focusing all of his attention on your puffy clit, flicking it and rubbing it with his tongue, sucking it in between his teeth, and you can’t help but explode under his ministrations. You begin shaking against the desk, and through the sound of your heart pounding in your ears you hear cheers and clapping from the heartless audience.

“Good job, boss!”

“What a slut!”

“You’re the man!”

Their reaction makes your heart shutter into pieces.

Joel gives his employees his million dollar smile, pride lighting up his dark eyes, and absentmindedly rubs his hands over your thighs still partially covered by tights, ripped at the crotch.

He gets up from the chair and when you try to close your legs, he yanks you to the edge again, pushing his hips between your thighs.

Joel slowly unbuckles his belt with one hand and unzips his suit pants, talking to you, “I thought about asking you out on a date, honey. Making you my girlfriend.”

He chuckles and pulls his boxers down.

“Could be nice. You, waiting for me at home.”

His cock springs free and you feel even more scared if it’s even possible. His manhood is huge, long and thick, bigger than your ex boyfriend’s for sure. He holds it at the base and continues, “you’d greet me with a home-cooked meal and a wet pussy.”

You know what he’s about to do and all your being rises in protest so you slap his hand off and slide off the desk in a fast motion.

“Hold her!” Joel barks and a few pairs of hands grab you and push you down. Your back hits the desk and someone’s holding your wrists over your head, their hands keeping you still, at the same time gliding over exposed parts of your body - your neck, your chest, a slither of your naked belly.

Joel doesn’t stop them. His eyes are fixed on your bare cunt, glistening with the signs of your body’s betrayal.

A sharp slap lands on your mound and sends a bolt of pain through your body, and you squeal.

“Don’t do it again, naughty girl. Or I’ll let these heathens fuck your ass raw.”

You sob, trying to ease the steel grip on your wrists. Through tears in your eyes, you see Joel bring the head of his stiff cock to your pussy and in a second you feel him push it in, slowly, but not for the sake of your comfort. Only for his enjoyment.

His head falls back and he groans, “fuckk, she’s tight. You can’t find a pussy like that in an escort.”

Joel looks down at you with a hazy smile and you plead for him to stop but he ignores you and thrusts into your core. He takes out what’s in his pocket and brings his hand close to your stuffed cunt. You hear a “buzz”, when he turns on a bullet vibe.

“No, Joel, please…” you cry.

“I want you to come on my cock too. And with this little helper, I’m sure you will, baby.”

He begins rolling his hips, pushing his fat cock in and out of your dripping pussy. You whine, feeling your walls spread around his girthy member and your belly is heaving with a mixture of fear and arousal. Meanwhile Joel starts fucking you faster, talking to you like there’s no one else in the room.

“Your dad would mind if we started going out but who gives a shit? I could just throw some money his way. Money can buy everything.”

He winks at you and you sob, sliding up and down the desk with each mighty thrust.

“But — It’s not the main problem. I spend most of the time here. I work hard—Aahhh— and it’s nice to fuck someone between the meetings, right, guys?”

You hear sounds of agreement around you and squeeze your eyes shut, scared to see the faces of the monsters around you.

Joel’s cock is rhythmically brushing your g spot and you hate that behind the horror there’s pleasure, nauseating and terrifying, but pleasure nonetheless. Joel tilts his hips and you cry out when he grazes something ecstatic inside your core.

“You gonna come again, honey?” he coos at you and the pet name he used so many times before, visiting your father, cuts your heart with a sharp blade.

A river of fresh tears rolls down your face but your misery is not noticed by Joel who explains, after a loud grunt, “office affairs take too much time and effort. But you. You’d be perfect as my pretty cum dumpster.”

With that he grabs your sides, nails digging into your soft skin, and starts snapping his hips into you, violating your pussy with his fat cock.

“Fuck, gonna come soon. Pussy’s too good. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The men around you cheer again. Joel presses the vibrator to your clit and you whine, your walls clamp around his manhood and it sends him over the edge. With a loud grunt he begins spilling his hot cum into your pulsating pussy, pumping you more and more, pushing his cock deeper, while holding you with the iron grip of his hands.

You start sobbing again feeling the warmth spread deep in your core and it freezes your heart with another terror. You’re not on the pill.

Joel stays buried inside you for some time. You are so shocked that you don't react. You ignore his cock pulsating inside you. Ignore its last twitches. Until reality hits you and you cry harder. Your body betrayed you. Joel betrayed you.

“Joel, please… let me go.”

He finally pulls out and you feel some of his cum slide to your ass. You try to sit up but he grabs your wrists in his hands, keeping you down on the desk, leaning over you. His hazy gaze fixed on yours.

“Not so fast baby… we’re not gonna waste all this cum, are we? I want these men to remember who you belong to and fuck it back into you.”

You realize with shock that he really intends to throw you to them.

“Steve? You worked so hard this month. Enjoy your reward.”

Looking down at you, he adds, “come on, baby, be a good girl. Steve deserves it. And we already know you're a little slut. You clenched so hard on my cock, mmm?” He wipes away a tear running down your cheek with his thumb and steps away.

You try to close your legs but Joel clicks his tongue.

“No, no, no. I made myself clear, didn't I? Jim, didn’t I make myself clear?”

“Yes, boss, very clear.”

“If you're difficult, your father can say goodbye to his income. To his job. Your parents almost got divorced that time, didn't they?” His dark eyes are fixed on you. Even colder than before. There’s no hesitation or remorse in him. “So if you don't want your father to end up under a bridge, and your mother to whore around with her slutty daughter, you're gonna stop whining.”

He points his finger at you. You remember the meeting earlier. How cold he was, how sorry you felt for that woman. But now, it’s you who is facing this terrible side of him.

“And you’re gonna let them take their turn. Final warning.”

You suppress a sob, even when Steve settles between your legs and places one hand on your thigh and the other around his cock.

“Go on Steve, give her a good fuck.”

You hear the men cheer when Joel's employee pushes his tip in your already sore hole.

“Come on man, give it to her good!”

“Fuck that bitch!”

He thrusts in, grunting. Excited by the cheers of the other men. He fucks you hard as soon as he grabs your thighs and buries his length in you. You keep your eyes closed, unable to meet his gaze, and unwilling to give them any more of yourself by letting them see your frightened eyes.

“Well damn, Steve, you got great moves!”

The man puts his hands on your hips for a better leverage, jerking you forward with each thrust.

“Fuck, she's tight…”

“Yeah? Tighter than your wife?”

They all laugh, and you feel nauseous.

“Come on, Steve. Shoot your load. Don't enjoy it too much. I just lent her to you.”

Steve obeys and comes in your cunt, mixing his cum with Joel's.

Then Jim uses you.

And finally, Paul. He turns you around and bends you over to thrust into you from behind. He’s already groaning, when Joel’s phone rings.

“Oh!” he chuckles when he sees the name on the screen. He picks up and, looking at you, brings his index finger to his mouth, ordering you to be quiet.

“Hey, man! Calling to check on your daughter?” He walks around the desk to sit at your side and starts jerking his cock as he watches you getting fucked by the third man.

You can’t hear what your dad is saying, and your mind dissociates again.

“It’s going great. She’s already showing some serious skills!”

Joel smiles in response to what your father’s saying, his hand still fucking his shaft.

“No, sorry, she’s with Paul. He’s showing her some new procedures, they will be very useful to me soon.”

Paul is growling, rutting into you, and you hear Joel say, “Yeah sure, I’ll tell her you called.”

Paul spreads your ass cheeks and spits on your ring.

“No!” Joel gruffs in a low, menacing voice, after hanging up. “No one fucks her ass.”

“Sorry, boss, she takes it so good, I got carried away.”

“Don’t forget your place. Fill her up, and then get out, all of you. She’s mine, got it? We all… welcomed her, but now she belongs only to me.”

After using you like a fuck doll, the three men leave the office chatting happily.

Joel gets up, his hand working his fat cock.

“Gotta fill you again, baby. I can’t stay like this, with a hard-on, it’s painful, you know?”

You can’t believe he’s telling you this.

“Pussy’s already ruined, anyway,” he says as he thrusts in and fucks you hard and fast in all men’s cum, until he sends his load into your owerflowing core for a second time.

You’re lying on the desk, not even realizing they all left, that Joel has pulled out, until you feel a jacket covering you. Joel pulls down your skirt back over your thighs and grabs your arm to help you up. He fixes your shirt and looks at your face, your makeup smudged, mascara running down your cheeks.

“You’re gonna need some rest, baby. Come back next week. I’ll be the only one playing with you, from now on. Don’t forget - a pretty girl like you needs a man like me.”

You shiver. His voice pulls you out from the depths of your mind, that is lying to you that none of this has happened.

“Are you on birth control?”

You shake your head, eyes empty.

“I’m gonna give you an after pill, I don’t want you knocked up by one of the guys. You’re too precious for me. Now get your stuff and go home. And don’t think of telling anyone. No one will believe you anyway.”

As you grab the handle, he adds “Oh, before you leave. Add to my calendar, tomorrow, ‘a barbecue at your parents’, at noon. Your dad’s just invited me. It’s gonna be great, baby. Can’t wait to pay you a visit in your bedroom.”

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

Other fics by @milla-frenchy and me

Keep on your mean side - Joel x f!reader - dark fic

The Burglary -Joel x f!reader x Tommy - dead dove, noncon

Bad Girl - Joel x f reader x Tommy - dubcon

The hounds of hell - Series - Javier Peña x fem reader x Steve Murphy

MILLA’S MASTERLIST || KATE’S MASTERLIST

Tagging some lovely people who showed interest in the wips: @koshkaj-blog @604to647 @megangovier @tateypots @sunshineispunk @thundermartini @pedge-page @mountainsandmayhem @iamasaddie @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @evolnoomym @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

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misssilversunny · 4 months ago

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Ok wait i just had a funny idea

Why stop at just a yandere batfamily? Why not all of Gotham?

Like, imagine Bane kidnapping you, calling you his "firefly" or whatever because you're a fleeting light in the darkness or something, and you're more guarded than the actual thing he stole.

And despite that, Poison Ivy manages to nab you, her "little rose", while Bane is busy dealing with Batman. She takes you back to her apartment, where you greet the plants you recognize and introduce yourself to the new ones (There aren't many, you were here 3 months ago).

At some point you take a breath of fresh air through an open window, and Scarecrow grabs you, taking you to his lair, into a room which is also pumped with a special strain of fear gas that makes you cling to him for safety.

And then, shock of all shocks, the one and only, motherfucking Joker snatches you from the lair, leaving behind a dummy for Scarecrow to find. Unlike the others, Joker's obsession is in the fact that everyone else is obsessed with you. He finds it hysterical how one person can have all of Gotham in a spin!

Eventually, the Batfam grabs Reader from the Joker, since he's not actually obsessed so he has them the least guarded, maybe a short conversation with Batman, but even Joker knows he's in water too hot to joke about severe injuries, especially since he doesn't know if Red Hood is nearby.

Batman might not kill, but he cannot guarantee that anyone else wouldn't if he killed their favorite person, and he does not have the influence where he could get away with that.

You get returned to your nice cage room in the manor, where the Batfamily scolds you yet again for another failed escape attempt trip outside getting you shipped around Gotham for weeks!

At this point, you're pretty sure you not only can't leave, but also any attempts at a normal life are pointless. You mostly do this because humans are animals and animals need enrichment, and no, the cycle of games/quality time they're giving you are not a suitable replacement for touching grass and seeing new faces.

Even the brief moments of time between kidnappings, the short moments of normalcy that the other villains, the other heroes and vigilantes give you, are a welcome change of pace.

Bonus points if it's literally everyone in neighboring cities/Justice League, so Superman finds you and you're just like "Well shit" because now you're taken to his house, maybe his parents' farm, and you're kept there until someone catches on that Clark has you.

Also if you tack this onto Spoiled!Reader, this becomes infinitely funnier because In my mind I'm treating that AU as 90% a crack/lighthearted fic, and another thing is I think of them as being ~12 sometimes, so it's the entirety of Gotham fighting over a middle schooler.

If it's an adult Reader, it's more of a "This is fine" as they are carted from villain to villain to vigilante to hero because their family literally has a fan club for them, so their perception of what is "normal" levels of interest is severely skewed.

If you want to go for the Neglected!Reader, then it would be really interesting for them to try and figure out where is a good level of "interested in your hobbies", and doubts whether they're so uncomfortable because they're actually too invested in their day to day life, or if it's because they were neglected for so long that any interest feels overwhelming.

Btw all asks about Spoiled!Reader and this Reader are welcome!

#yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batboys #neglected reader #spoiled reader #obsession reader #That's what I'll call them #I am not tagging all of the DC villains and vigilantes

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hazashiovo · 1 year ago

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Helloooo!! Can I request mako and bolín (seperate) being protective of their (s/o), thank you a lot<33

Ofc u can!

A/n: mako and Bolin have the most requests so far,I'm really glad tbh that people are submitting requests,keep em coming.i also added in Korra and Kuvira ,since this seems like a perfect imagine for them.

Genre: Fluff

Mako x reader, Bolin x reader, Kuvira x reader,Korra x reader (all separate)

Overprotective Lovers

Warnings: none.

Starting off with Mako,he's the kind of guy that doesn't take well to someone talking to you in some kind of mean way in front of him, especially if you're more a more naive person.

Even if you take care of yourself, he's still there making sure you're away from harms way.

If you ever get hurt or kidnapped,it's over for whoever did it, it's not like he's usually a calm person,but take away his favorite person and you got yourself a big problem to deal with.

Even when you're not exactly in danger, he's there. It's sweet really,but it can also be annoying when overdone.

You like being protected by him,but not all the time, he didn't like it when you talked to Korra, claiming since she's the avatar she would draw unnecessary attention over you and put you in complicated situations.

Of course you explain to him that you're a big girl and that you can watch over yourself,but he just can't understand it. {Sigh}.

Korra? Well she had her ups and downs. But she learned ,ok? Once you two got together ,this feeling that's she allways had grew stronger,her urge to protect you.

Of course she would blame it on the fact that she's the avatar,but really it was her being protective of you.

Even before dating her ,you knew this would draw a lot of attention to yourself, and potential enemies of the avatar would want to harm you. But that didn't stop you,after all you're free to love whoever you want even if it endangers you.

When Korra faced Amon she used to be Terrified something bad would happen to you, even her dreams would be hunted by dark images. She would see Amon preparing to take away your bending,but each time she would wake up before anything happened,in cold sweat,with you by her side.

If you're a light sleeper,you would assure her nothing happened to you,and that you're okay.

Even after she defeated Amon, more villains appeared,making Korra constantly worry about you. But one thing is sure, that she would always be there to protect you,and in case anything happens,to save you.

This boy is the most carefree of them all. He doesn't really have to worry that you would be kidnapped or hurt most of the time,but if it ever happens, either someone hurt you or something went wrong in the mission?

He's full boyfriend mode on. He wouldn't be like Korra or Mako, first thing he would do is bring you to safety, revenge not being his thing.

If you're okay ,that's what matters to him. But now if you're especially targeted by someone? He's not as chill as before. Especially since he recently learned how to lava bend, which makes him a pretty strong bender, definitely not the kind you would want to piss off by chasing around his girlfriend,nu uh.

Bolin knew it was a mistake to introduce you to his boss, Varrick.

That man would make flirty jokes with you,which always made Bolin roll his eyes and mock him quietly.

So what if he's smart and rich? You wouldn't like a prick like him.

Whenever Varrick got too close, your boy would be there to put distance between the two of you. It's not that he's jealous,but he knows how his boss is.

Yeah no. I doubt anyone would even try to threaten you while she's around.

After all the power and respect she gained, expect people to fear you just because you're with her. So mostly Kuvira doesn't have to worry that anyone is gonna try anything.

After all she made quite a name for herself.

Even so, being The Great Uniter's s/o came with it's disadvantages.

For example,if someone really wanted to hurt her,they would target you. You're her soft spot,and she knows it.

Yes,you have your personal guards picked by Kuvira herself. Just because she doesn't expect you to be attacked it doesn't mean she won't be prepared for it.

You're hers,and the world knows it.

A/n : I really enjoyed writing this,I might make another part with different characters :)

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atlabeth · 1 year ago

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(not so) simple pt 4 - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: SO. UM. once again this took fucking forever to come out which is kind of insane when you think about it because i've had 7000 words of this chapter written for like 4 months. truly wild. 2 babies have been born in the time that it's taken me to write this mini series but anyways there’s a lot happening here, shoutout to anthony for finally getting some more pov parts, the fun thing about your mc being out of commission for a while is that you have no choice but to write for the other characters. equality we love to see it. anyways most of it is angst, but it’ll all be wrapped up with a little regency romance bow i promise

wc: 7.6k

warning(s): aftermath of the end of last chapter which is angst. stab wound, talks of death, mentions of edmund's death, quite a bit of crying, anthony bridgerton's inner angst, miss worthing makes poor decisions. not a happy chapter but WHAT CAN YOU DO

“What were you thinking?” Violet demanded.

Anthony could barely hear his mother over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, the pure terror gripping his heart. He’d no idea how to respond to her. He doubted she would like to hear that he, indeed, was very much not thinking.

And he was certainly not thinking much now, what with you on the brink of death with their doctor and his apprentice the only thing there to stop you. He could be of no help to you, bent half over in his chair, head in his hands, the image of you collapsing burned into his mind.

“Anthony Bridgerton, answer me.” Violet stood over him, her face flushed and eyes filled with anger and fear. “What were you thinking, bringing Miss Worthing out into the city?”

“I cannot deal with your questions right now, Mother!” he snapped, something letting loose inside of him. Anthony would have been ashamed had he any sense. “My future wife is in that room fighting for her life, and it is because I was not able to protect her. I am hardly able to form words at the moment, Mother, so please—” Anthony’s voice broke, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Please just be quiet.”

It took a bit of nerve to be such an ass in front of his very own mother, but Anthony apparently had plenty of nerve at the moment. After you collapsed, he’d done the only thing he could think of in the moment and brought you back to Bridgerton House—it was closer than your residence, and if their physician had been able to keep his mother alive through eight pregnancies, then surely he could bring you back.

Now, though, he was not so sure. Every other option seemed to be plaguing his mind, for your blood still stained his hands and his clothing and Anthony didn’t know if he would ever be able to get it off.

His father died in his arms from something so small as a bee, and yet you had been stabbed. How were you meant to come back from that?

The door suddenly slammed open, and when Anthony glanced up, his insides twisted.

“Where is she?” Eloise demanded. Her windblown hair matched the wild look in her eyes, and the flush of her cheeks and haggard breathing told him everything. She was meant to be promenading with Penelope Featherington—her speed on foot was admirable.

“With our physician,” Violet responded. She seemed more subdued now, and though Anthony knew he would apologize profusely later, he could not find it in himself now. He could hardly find anything in himself apart from panic.

“With our physician—” She turned on Anthony, her gloved hands clenched into fists. “What in God’s name happened, Anthony?”

He allowed himself a moment to breathe before he responded. “She was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” Eloise cried. “She was with you! How could she have been stabbed?”

“I was not with her when it happened—”

She scoffed. “That is a likely fucking story.”

“Eloise,” Violet said, “language.”

“I do not care about my language,” Eloise spat, gesturing wildly with her hands. “My best friend has been stabbed— I will say whatever I please!”

And then, as if to just add fuel to their fire, Benedict rushed in. Anthony held back a slightly unhinged laugh and shook his head. You were dying and they were out here arguing.

“I’ve made sure this hallway is off limits like you said, Mother.” Benedict looked just as shaken as the rest of them, and in a strange way Anthony was grateful. You’d grown closer to his family than he’d known. “Your lady’s maid is outside the door alongside a footman ensuring privacy, and your driver is on route to the Worthing residence to alert her parents. They’ve all been sworn to secrecy—no one will be disturbed, least of all Miss Worthing.”

“Thank you, Benedict.” Violet sighed, and she collapsed into an armchair. “At least one of us is in order.”

Benedict sat down on the sofa, his words coming out in a mumble. “I am hardly in order.”

The fire seemed to have died down in Eloise, for however temporary a time, and she settled down next to Benedict. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her.

“She’ll be okay,” Eloise whispered, “right?”

No one answered for a moment. At last, Anthony looked up, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes,” he rasped, hoping with everything in him that his words would be true. “She will be okay.”

He would not have been able to live with any other outcome, not when it was his fault in the first place that you were in this position.

Anthony didn’t know what he should have done, but he should have done something. He should have brought you to your senses and suggested a promenade in the park instead. He should have called on you at your estate, safe and sound in your drawing room. He should have been arm in arm with you, his heart steadily melting as you smiled and laughed and made him aware of all things good in the world.

He could not lose you. Not when he still had so much to tell you, so many words left unsaid.

Not when you didn’t know he loved you.

“I’m sorry, Anthony.” He looked up at the sound of Eloise’s voice—though she did not look at him and her arms were still crossed, the sincerity of it was not lost on him. “I know it was not your fault.”

His chest tightened. It was his fault.

“You clearly care about her,” she said. “It is not fair to pin this on you.”

“Sometimes we hurt the people we care about,” he said, his voice hollow.

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But not this time.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Eloise had been at odds with him for nearly this entire season because of their ruse. Though she knew of its falsity, she still chastised him for taking up time that could have been spent with her, still rolled her eyes when he announced his leave to go see you, still questioned why he had to go after her best friend.

But Eloise was driven by her emotions, no matter how red hot or icy cold they may have been. At this moment, her concern for you outweighed anything, and she recognized the same in him.

So Anthony nodded. Once, twice, hardly moving but a clear acknowledgment. He glanced at his mother and brother, both unfocused with glassy eyes. His mother’s were red-rimmed, and she held a handkerchief tightly in one hand. The guilt hidden from earlier struck.

He silently thanked their governess for keeping Gregory and Hyacinth occupied, thanked that Francesca was on an outing of her own. The last thing he needed was for his littlest siblings to find out that the woman they believed to soon be their sister was one misstep away from death. And thank God for Colin’s decision to spend the day with Mondrich—one of his younger brothers in the heat of the moment was enough.

Anthony let out a shuddering sigh, screwing his eyes shut for a moment before he ran a hand through his hair then planted his palms on his knees. He could hardly sit still but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to get his nervous energy out.

All he could think of was you. Of how the last word you spoke was his name. Of your dried blood on his hands, staining his clothing where he had held you. Anthony barely kept you from hitting the ground when you collapsed, and he nearly did the same once he reached his residence.

Yelling at any servant in the proximity to call for the physician, unaware of his mother trying to calm him until she shook him by the shoulders, having to literally be forced out of the room by the physician’s assistant once they arrived because he refused to leave your side.

It all felt like a blur, and yet he remembered it perfectly. It all played on repeat in his mind no matter how much he tried to block it out.

The door slammed open this time, and when Anthony looked up, he felt as if he could wither away.

“Where is my daughter?” Cecilia Worthing demanded, her husband trailing after her. She was all out of sorts, with an even wilder look in her eyes and a deathly grip on her skirts. Mr. Worthing’s expression made his heart sink, with his haunted eyes and taut lips.

“I am so sorry, Cecilia,” Violet rasped, and she crossed the room and enveloped her in her arms. It took a moment for your mother to respond, but she returned the hug as a sob escaped her.

“Your footman said she had been injured,” your father said levelly, though his voice shook ever so slightly. “How?”

“She was stabbed,” Anthony spoke up, forcing himself to look at your parents. “Some zealot in the city. I brought her here as quick as I could.”

“The city—” your father started.

“Stabbed?” your mother interrupted, halfway into hysterics. “How?”

“We got caught up in the midst of a riot,” he said quietly. “We were separated, and I assume it happened then.”

Mrs. Worthing let out another sob as she pulled her husband into her arms, and though he kept a semblance of solemnity as he whispered to his wife and held her close, Anthony could see the fear in his eyes.

How could he possibly offer reassurance? It felt different, staring at the desperation of your parents. The horrific realization that they might leave a family of two, might have to bury their only child.

His stomach twisted and Anthony’s head fell into his hands again. He couldn’t.

Eventually, Philip helped his wife onto the couch, and she remained curled into his side. No one said a word—how could they?

Apart from whispered reassurances between your parents and even shorter conversations between Benedict and Eloise, their saddened group continued in silence for the better part of an hour. No one spoke louder than a whisper, no one rose and left—they just sat together in their fear, hoping and praying that the inevitable could be denied.

Until the door creaked open and each of their heads snapped towards the noise. Anthony shot up at the first glimpse of their physician’s assistant.

“What news?” he asked immediately. The tension in the room had grown to be near palpably thick.

“The surgery went well,” the assistant said, and all the air dissipated from Anthony’s chest. “Miss Worthing lives. The doctor is ensuring a final few things, but provided our treatment is followed, we believe she will recover fully.”

Anthony fell back against the couch with a breathless laugh, and Mrs. Worthing sank against her husband, wrecked by thankful sobs. Eloise’s smile was enough to brighten the whole room, Benedict’s relief just as obvious. Violet just let out an exhausted sigh, her hand pressed to her heart.

“Thank you,” your father said. “Can we see her?”

“Miss Worthing is resting,” he said. “You will not be able to speak to—”

“We do not care,” your father asserted. “I need to see that my daughter is still alive.”

The physician’s assistant nodded after a moment, and the tension lessened in his shoulders. He helped your mother up, their hands clasped tightly together, and Mrs. Worthing looked at Anthony. You truly had your mother’s eyes.

“Will you come with us, my lord?” she asked.

“Oh, I—”

“You are family,” she said softly. “You’ve a right to join us.”

Emotion swelled in Anthony’s chest, and it took a moment for words to come to him.

“Of course,” he finally said, inclining his head. “And it is just Anthony between us. Please.”

The slightest smile spread across her lips as she nodded, and they all stood up together. Anthony took her offered arm and they started down the hallway together, your father on her other side.

How strange it was to be arm in arm with your mother. She thought the man beside her would be her future son-in-law, when he was truly nothing but a liar.

No, he thought, not wholly a liar. Not anymore. Because they believed that Anthony was to be your husband. And if there was anything this had proven to him, it was that he wanted nothing more than for it to be true.

Anthony just had to figure out a way to tell you. How strange that it would be the most difficult part of this ruse.

Violet’s maid and the footman stepped aside when they arrived and the assistant opened the door. Anthony followed your parents in, and his heart nearly stopped upon seeing you.

Your mother’s eyes filled with tears as she approached your bedside, and, after a nod from the doctor, brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laid the back of her hand against your forehead.

“She’s burning up,” she whispered.

“It is typical after surgery,” the doctor said. “With any luck, she will sweat it out. I will monitor her throughout.”

Your mother nodded, a shaky sigh escaping her, and she took your hand.

“I am so sorry, darling,” she whispered. “I am so sorry I was not there for you.” She brought your intertwined hands up and lightly kissed the back of your hand. “I love you more than anything. Please, come back to us soon.”

Your father joined her, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I do not know if you can hear us,” he said, voice slightly shaky, “but we are here for you. We will be here when you awaken, and every moment onwards.”

Mrs. Worthing looked back at Anthony, inclining her head towards you. Anthony swallowed his doubt as he moved forward, but the breath was stolen from him when he could fully see you.

Your eyes were closed. Your chest rose and fell just so, hardly noticeable, thin linens provided by the doctor rested over you, and sweat beaded on your brow. Alongside the discoloration of your skin, you looked…

You looked as if you were dead.

And Anthony knew that you were not—for God’s sake, you were breathing—but all he could think about, all he could see, was his father, all those years ago, dying in front of him while he could not do a single thing to stop it. And he felt that same helplessness with you; just standing there, watching, unable to do anything but hope.

“We are here for you,” he whispered. “...I am here for you. No matter what, I am here for you. Just know that, if nothing else.”

Your mother’s watery smile made him look to the doctor for fear of the same emotions eliciting even further in him.

“When will she wake?” Anthony asked. His voice sounded almost foreign to him.

“In a few hours, with any luck,” the doctor said. “At the very most, it will be the end of the day.”

“We will gladly host her until she is able enough,” Anthony said, looking at your parents. “And we have plenty of spare rooms for you to choose from if you wish to remain by her side during those days.”

“Thank you, Anthony.” Your mother placed her hands on his shoulders, though she had to look up at him, and she smiled. “You make her so happy. It will be my greatest pleasure to officially welcome you into our family.”

Anthony’s throat bobbed. God above, he hoped that was the truth.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “She… she means a great deal to me.”

“You’re a good man, Bridgerton,” your father said. “I’m thankful my daughter will end up with someone like you.”

“Your approval means the world,” he said, and he found he meant it wholly.

The doctor cleared his throat. “It would be best for her visitors to be limited as of now. The parents can stay, but…”

Anthony nodded, smoothing his lapels. “Of course.”

“We will alert you of anything,” your mother said. Anthony nodded again, and he allowed himself one more moment to look at you before he left.

You were alright. You would be alright. That was all that mattered.

Still, when he found himself alone in the hallway, finally able to breathe again, he still had that weight on his shoulders.

A revelation such as the one he’d had should have been a blessing, a relief. A man in love was meant to be a happy one. But a man in love did not usually find his feelings in the midst of season-long ruse whilst his beloved fought on her deathbed.

Anthony blew out a loose sigh, shaking his head as he continued through the halls. Being on his own, he found, was worse than sitting in silence with his family. He was trying to think of something to say, trying to gather his emotions and push them aside so he could be the man of the house as he was meant to be, but when he reached the room from before he was only met with Eloise.

She looked up from the floor, and he noticed the puffiness of her eyes, her slightly blotchy skin. His heart sank yet again.

“Benedict helped Mother to bed,” she explained, her throat bobbing. “All of this exhausted her. I’ve no idea where he is now.”

Anthony nodded, his mind still wandering. “Ah.”

“How is she?” Eloise asked, her brows knit in concern.

“As well as she can be.” Anthony sighed. “She has a fever, but she’s resting. Her parents are with her and the doctor is watching over her. He said she should awaken before the end of the day.”

The furrow softened as she smiled. It was good to see her smile. “Good. That— that’s good. I’m glad.”

“And how are you, Eloise?” Anthony asked, folding his arms.

“As well as I can be,” she responded wryly. Anthony’s lips twitched in a momentary smile, but she leaned against the couch and let out a sigh of her own. “This all certainly ended in the best way it could have.”

“The best way would have been for it to have never happened,” he said. “I should have prevented it—I was meant to keep her safe.”

“Brother,” she said wearily, “I already told you that you cannot blame yourself.”

“And I’ve never been one for listening to you,” he said dryly, “have I?”

Eloise huffed a laugh and shook her head. “I am not a fool, Anthony. I know what is happening between you two.”

Anthony frowned. “Eloise—”

“You love her,” she said bluntly. “Do you not?”

He tried to say something, but no words would follow. He could only stare at his sister and her nerve, resulting in a small smile from her.

“You are not that talented an actor, brother,” she said. “It is easier for me to believe the two of you are truly in love than that you could actually trick me in such a way.”

He blinked. “You believe she loves me?”

Eloise laughed, turning her head slightly. “I do,” she said. “And seeing as you are not denying it, I believe that means you love her.”

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. So the two of you could fool the entirety of the ton for over half the season, but apparently not Eloise. How typical.

He walked over and took a seat on the couch next to his sister, leaving a bit of space between them. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“I do.” He glanced at her. “I love her.”

Saying it aloud—admitting the truth of feelings he’d been fighting for so long—brought him an unexpected lightness. One other person knew both truths: that they had been lying about their love, and that Anthony had been lying about his lies.

It would have been laughable had he not been so unsure of everything else.

It took Eloise a moment to say anything back. For a while, she merely looked at him, unreadable depths in her eyes. He didn’t think he would ever be able to fully decipher his sister.

“I know my blessing means very little in the scheme of things,” she finally said. “But know that if this does come into fruition… I will support you two. Every step of the way.”

The smile that spread across Anthony’s lips was brighter than anything he’d experienced today, and he inclined his head. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly,” Eloise said, a smile of her own growing though she tried to hide it as she glanced away. “It is not a big deal. Do not make it out to be one. There are far worse men that she could end up with.”

“Alright,” he said, unabashed in his joy. For such a solemn day, Eloise had turned his mood around.

“And I will also keep your secret,” she said breezily, “again, so do not worry about that.”

“You say it does not mean much,” Anthony said, “but you are wrong. Your support means more to me than you know.”

She shifted, seemingly bolstered ever so slightly by his praise. “...I’m glad.”

He smiled as he stood back up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his outfit. Anthony grimaced as his hands came into view. He was in dire need of a bath and some new clothes. He could not deal with your blood on him for much longer.

“I must be going,” Anthony said. “I need to clean up. And,” he sighed, “ensure that none of this has spread to the rest of the ton.”

Eloise hummed, and Anthony was nearly at the door when she spoke up again.

“...Thank you. For being here for me.”

His expression softened as he glanced back at her. “I will always be here for you.”

Her lips curved just so. Anthony had never been so thankful to no longer be at odds with one of his siblings.

Your head hurt.

That was the first thing you could truly understand as your eyes slowly cracked open, squinting while you came to. You blinked a multitude of times, trying to regain your bearings and relieve the dryness of your eyes.

It took another moment for them to adjust to the darkness—the curtains were closed, but no light filtered through. How long had you been asleep?

You grimaced as you shifted ever so slightly, a dull but constant ache in your chest leaving you stiff, but there was a weight of a hand in yours. You glanced over and recognized your mother, asleep but still grasping your hand.

You smiled. She came for you after all.

But as you tried to shift further in the bed, you groaned, a sharp column of pain shooting through you. Your mother’s eyes shot open, her body starting from instinct, but it took a moment for her to truly realize it all.

“Nice of you to wake up,” you said wryly.

“You—” tears sprung in her eyes, and her lips spread in a grateful grin— “You must be alright if your first words are to antagonize your mother.”

“I am still here,” you said. You didn’t want to tell her you didn’t think you would make it. That you thought your fate was sealed when you pulled your hand away to nothing but blood.

“That you are,” she said breathily. “Are you alright, though? How do you feel? Does it hurt?”

“I believe I am alright,” you responded, “I feel… tired. And my chest aches.”

“The doctor said that would be expected,” she murmured. “What do you remember?”

“...That depends,” you said. “What do you know?”

Your mother gave you a look as she said your full name. “This is not the time for games.”

Your cheeks heated and you averted your eyes. “I was in the city with Anthony. I was stabbed after a riot broke out. That is all I remember.”

“Lord Bridgerton is the reason you are alive,” your mother said. “He brought you back to Bridgerton House, and their doctor saved your life.”

Somehow it was possible for your face to burn even more. You dragged Anthony out to that meeting, and you repaid him by making him drag your near lifeless body all the way back to his estate.

You were the worst fake fiancee a man could have.

You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears and you rapidly blinked them away.

“Where is he?” you asked quietly. “Where is Anth— Lord Bridgerton?”

Your mother gave you a knowing look. “It is alright to call him by his name, darling. It is quite clear how much he cares for you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You could not do this. “Where is he?”

“He is with his family,” she said. “You caused everyone quite a fright.”

“I can imagine,” you said hollowly.

“Would you like to see him?” she asked. “Because I am sure he—”

“No.” The haste with which you sat up drew out another wince. “No— I…”

You closed your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip. You could not do this.

Your mother said your name softly. “What is it?”

You opened your eyes, ignoring the wetness around them as you looked at her. “Anthony and I cannot marry.”

She blinked. It looked as if it took a moment for your words to sink in. “What?”

“We cannot marry,” you repeated. “We— we never could marry. Our courtship is a ruse.”

Your mother blinked again, this time wholly taken aback. “What?”

“It is a ruse,” you repeated, more forcefully. “I wanted to escape the baron, and Anthony wanted to escape a thousand desperate debutantes. I proposed a mock courtship between us, and he accepted.”

Her brows furrowed deeper than ever before, as if she still couldn’t fully believe it. “You lied to me.”

“To everyone,” you said. You hadn’t a clue what had gotten into you, tearing apart a story carefully crafted throughout nearly the entire season, but something burned inside of you. You couldn’t keep going with this—you couldn’t keep stringing Anthony along, not when your feelings were far more real than they had any right to be.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I did not want to marry,” you repeated. “The baron is nothing more than a lecher, and the thought of any sort of marriage to him disgusted me, but you and Father refused to listen to me. The only way to get out of it was for you to believe I had caught the affections of someone better. Anthony Bridgerton’s word was certainly better than mine in the eyes of the ton.”

Your mother stared at the floor for much longer than you anticipated, and you could not tear your eyes away from her.

“Mother,” you said quietly, “say something. Please.”

“I do not quite know what to say.” She finally looked at you, and your throat bobbed. “All of our plans have hinged on this marriage for the entirety of the season. What am I to tell your father?”

“Do not tell him,” you begged. “Please. It is enough that you know— I could not handle the shame if he were to as well.”

“I do not keep secrets as well as you,” your mother snapped. “Marrying into the Bridgerton family would have saved us, both in riches and name. Even your dowry would have gone to use for something of your choosing.” She shook her head, clasping her hands together. “And now you have almost died and we will have to control this and I just—”

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you interrupted.

That ceased her arguments quite quickly. “What?”

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you repeated. “He has both riches and name.”

Your mother frowned as she gripped your hands tighter. “You despise him. You got yourself into this entire mess in order to avoid him—you’ve said so yourself.”

“What choice do I have?” you asked desperately. “His name is enough to weather the scandal I’ve created. His money will secure a life for you and Father, and he has a fine pedigree. It is the only way to save the Worthing name.”

“Have you not considered the very man who has been courting you this season?” Your mother gestured with her hand. “Look where you are, darling! Lord Bridgerton has offered up his estate to us so we can be near you as you heal. Your courtship may have started as a ruse, but the man clearly feels something for you!”

“We have become very good friends over the course of the season,” you said, “and I am thankful for it. But I cannot taint the Bridgerton name further.”

“Dearest—”

“It is necessary,” you interrupted, but your quick movement brought on a sharp thread of pain in your chest and you winced.

“Do not push yourself,” your mother whispered, and you nodded.

“It is necessary,” you repeated, though slower. “My rebellion was just… naivete. I will not be the reason for our family’s ruin borne from my own stubbornness. I will secure our legacy, I will secure my future—I will marry Lord Cardew, and… and I will finally stop trying to resist my fate.”

Your mother stared at you, and you stared back. “You said it yourself—our family’s well being hinges on my marrying into wealth. What sane man would consider me after what I’ve done?”

She continued to look at you long and hard, her expression one of unreadable depths. “You are sure?”

No, you wanted to say. You had never been less sure of anything in your life. But you could see no other choice. So you nodded.

Your mother glanced away from you with a sigh, eyes searching the room for a moment before she nodded as well. “...Alright. If that is what you wish, your father and I will contact him once you are recovered.”

“Mother—”

“That is non-negotiable,” she said, and she smiled at you. “You may be blossoming into a true lady, but you are still my daughter. And I will not allow my daughter to do anything until she is fully healed.”

You nodded. “Alright.”

“I am sure that it goes without saying that you are never going to be allowed out of our sight until you are married and settled?” your mother said, and though it caused a sharp pain in your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I assumed just as much, Mother.”

Dearest Reader,

It is a fact well known throughout Mayfair that the social season requires the full attention of every single person, frantic mamas and bored bachelors alike. It is a game of wits unlike any other, and this season has proven no different. The middle of our merriment marks many of the most eligible debutantes as engaged — this author pays special attention to the season’s diamond, Lady Adelaida Kennington, who has found her happy ending with the young Earl Pembroke.

Though congratulations may be due to another lady of the ton, one of the simple yet highly discussed Worthing family — as it seems, Miss Worthing has tossed aside the much desired Viscount Bridgerton for the hand of the Baron Jonathan Cardew. One can only be left to wonder what Lord Bridgerton must have done to go from an obviously incoming proposal back to his rakish ways in little more than a night, but it most certainly has to do with Miss Worthing’s recent disappearance from society. Word has passed around of her frequent visits to the lesser parts of London, engaging in activity that can only be described as scandalous. Perhaps it was not the fault of the viscount indeed—Miss Worthing may have finally pushed Lord Bridgerton to his limits.

No matter the reason for the ending of the courtship, this author must extend her thanks to the pairing for providing such material for my pen. It is not every day a nobody in the ton manages to bring down two families at once. Perhaps Miss Worthing deserves congratulations for conducting this fantastical feat all on her own. If it was outrage she was searching for, she has certainly earned it.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

You huffed a sigh and threw the leaflet across the room, letting your head fall back against the wooden headboard. It was one thing for Lady Whistledown to criticize you, it was another thing entirely for her to bring your family and the Bridgertons into it. You deserved everything that came towards you for what you had done, but your parents, the Bridgertons, Anthony— they were not a part of any of it.

Especially when all your father had done was visit the Cardew estate to have a conversation with the man, see if he was open to the possibility of a marriage with you. Nothing was at all set in stone, but the way Whistledown told it, you were already steps from the chapel with a ring on your finger.

So now, as if it weren’t enough that you were bed bound until your physician deemed you recovered for regular activity, as if it weren’t enough that you were likely set to be married by the end of the season, as if it weren’t enough that you were constantly denying Anthony’s requests to visit you, every single one of your idiotic mistakes was revealed to the ton through a woman too cowardly to write without a pseudonym.

If you ever found Lady Whistledown, you thought bitterly, you would strangle her.

The silence in your room was broken by the door opening, and when you looked up you were greeted with Julia’s face. The usual smile she bore when around you was not there, but before you could ask she answered your unspoken question.

“I apologise for the interruption, my lady, but you have a visitor. He insisted on seeing you.”

A small part of you knew who it was even before she stepped aside, but when Anthony Bridgerton walked into your room your breath still hitched the tiniest bit.

“What are you doing here?” you asked immediately, holding back a grimace as you pushed yourself into a sitting position.

“I had to see you,” Anthony said.

“And you chose to do so by invading my privacy.”

“I have not heard a single word directly from you nor your pen since the accident,” he said, his voice not without a slight barb. But underneath it all, an uncommon hurt festered inside of him. You could not see it, exactly, but you could sense it. “Forgive me for wanting to confirm with my own eyes that you were still alive.”

“I will remain here as a chaperone,” Julia said, closing the door behind her. “You may talk as freely as you please — I will not repeat a single word.” Anthony nodded and pulled the stool away from the vanity so he could be closer to you, then sat down.

Despite Julia’s reassurance, neither of you spoke a word. The silence began to weigh heavily, the tension growing so thick it could be cut with a knife. For so long you had been rejecting Anthony’s requested meetings, not wanting to see him after what you had done. You feared for how he would react, both to your complete ignorance of him after your nearly fatal injury and your acceptance of Lord Cardew’s courtship.

You left Bridgerton House without a word mere hours after your ill-fated decision despite the protests of your parents—you could not stay there for another moment under Anthony’s good graces, not when you had doomed any possible future with him. You did not deserve a single millimeter of Bridgerton good will.

You stared down at the covers you laid under, fidgeting with your hands in your lap as you focused on everything except your visitor. You could not bring yourself to meet Anthony’s gaze, though you’d felt his own on you for the past five minutes.

“Is it true?”

You finally looked up at his sudden question, meeting the intensity of those dark brown eyes you’d lost yourself in so many times. “Is what true?”

“Your marriage to Jonathan Cardew,” he said stiffly. “Is it true?”

Just as quickly, you glanced away. It was near impossible to even be in the same room as the viscount since you had made the decision, even more so to think of the reason why it was that way. So instead, you just nodded.

“Yes. If all works out, we are to be wed at the end of the season.”

“Why?” Anthony leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees as his hands clenched into loose fists. “You openly despise the man—you asked me to court you to avoid him. Why in the name of all things rational would you willingly enter a marriage with him?”

“He will provide for me,” you said. “He has money, he has land, and he is a respectable member of society. He has already been content with the possibility of marriage once, and his name is enough to weather the scandal I have created. It is the smartest choice available.”

“And what of us?” He had an almost wild look in his eyes, and the worst desire took root in you to root your fingers in his hair and ease the troubles you’d caused him. “We have spent the near entirety of the season becoming closer, and you are willing to just throw it all away for a man like Cardew?”

“I could not trap you in a marriage you do not want,” you insisted. “You deserve more than a woman you share no love for, Anthony, and to be married to the woman who made a fool of your entire family. Lord Cardew is the only option.”

“Even if all of that is true, that does not mean it is a smart choice!” he exclaimed. “He is not a safe man to be around! If he has been pursuing you so strongly and only backed off because of my influence, what do you think will happen when you are his legal wife with no sort of protection?”

You swallowed thickly at his words. “He is not that sort of man, Anthony. He may be… horrid, and a complete egoist, but it will be a life of comfort. And that is the life that I need.”

Anthony laughed breathlessly, completely devoid of mirth as he frowned. “You cannot be serious. I have been by your side for an entire season of feminist rants and marriage complaints, half of which revolved around Cardew himself, and now you are telling me that you are just— just alright with this sort of compliance?”

“Nearly dying because of my own idiotic choices has forced me to reexamine my life,” you said plainly. “If I had been even the slightest bit unlucky, I would have perished on those streets, and what would I have had to show for myself? A rebellion that I was only able to take part in because of the privilege I so often fought against?”

“You have made a difference,” Anthony insisted. “You provided for women that no one has the gall to look out for. You’ve spoken out for your own rights, you’ve stood up for your own interests rather than sit around and take what you have been given.”

“I have been fighting against a life that so many less fortunate than myself would kill for,” you said. “I believed death to be a better fate than being forced to marry a man I did not love, but when I was on death’s door, I realized how foolish I was— how utterly selfish.”

“You are not selfish,” Anthony said, but you shook your head.

“I am. Unbelievably so.” You huffed a mirthless laugh as you looked at him. “My parents did not love each other when they married, but they were friends. They could tolerate the other’s presence, and neither of them were fortunate enough to be able to care about anything else. They have grown to love each other in their own way, of course, and they are in a better situation now, but they could not have known it would turn out that way. They did what they had to for the sake of their families and themselves, and it is time I do the same.”

“Love matches are rare,” you murmured. “And even if I were granted the opportunity… I would not deserve it.”

Anthony shook his head. “Do not say that.”

“It is the truth,” you said, letting out yet another humorless laugh. “I have been horrible to my mother when all she has ever wanted is a better life for me than she had. I have fought her for every step of the way for no other reason than my hubris and the dim belief that I deserved different than everyone else simply because I wanted it, no matter what the greater good was. How can that not be selfish, Anthony?”

“You do not have to do this,” he insisted. “You said you dreamed of unmarried life! You told me your fantasies of escaping from society, of living on your own and depending on no one but yourself. You are willing to give all of that up, just like that?”

“I was a fool for ever doing so!” you exclaimed. “Anthony, this world is hard enough on its own for married women — what do you think will become of my family if I do not marry? What do you think will become of me?”

“But you are strong.” Anthony leaned forward, his brow knit in determination. “You are strong, and intelligent, and fully capable of managing on your own. Spinster brand be damned, if it is what you wish, you will flourish completely!”

“Will I?” you questioned, and you gestured at yourself. “I am bound to this room of my own doing because I refused to see the truth of the world around me. I was young and naive to believe I could achieve anything of the sort I dreamed of without consequences, and I will be naive no longer.”

“If you insist on marrying, at least find somebody else,” Anthony begged. “You will be miserable for the rest of your life if you marry Jonathan Cardew.”

“I cannot afford to marry for love, my lord,” you said simply, “and even if I could find a man who loved me, I could never love them back. I would not force anyone into a marriage they did not want, not when…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

You shook your head, choking them down. “It is not important.”

“Please do not marry him,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I beg of you.”

“Then who should I marry?” you asked, almost brazenly. “Who should I marry, if not him? I am certainly not one for options.”

You did not know what you wanted Anthony to say. To marry him? That he felt the same for you as you did for him? That, while you were indeed a fool for falling for him, he was one as well. That he would not leave you, not now, nor ever.

But instead he just stared at you with those dark brown eyes that even now could make you melt, a million emotions brewing inside of them yet none of them being given an outlet.

“I do not know,” he murmured, and your heart sank. “But I beg of you, do not let it be him.”

“It is not your decision to make,” you said quietly. “Soon I will be engaged to Lord Cardew, and I will be out of your life.”

There was an underlying desperation in Anthony’s eyes as he looked at you now, that storm of emotions thundering inside of him begging to be expressed. “I do not want you out of my life.”

The words felt like poison leaving your lips. “You do not have a choice.”

Before Anthony could protest any further, you stood up and looked over at your lady’s maid. “Please escort Lord Bridgerton outside. I wish to be alone.”

“My lady, are you—”

“Julia,” you said, your voice strained, “please.”

She nodded and she gestured for Anthony towards the door, but he did not move a centimeter.

Anthony said your name with such pain that you could not even stand to look at him, the inside of your lip drawn so tightly between your teeth that you could taste blood all in the effort to prevent tears from emerging.

“Do not make this harder than it has to be,” you whispered. “I beg of you, Anthony.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Julia said quietly, “please obey my lady’s wishes.”

He stared at you with desperation before he finally nodded and walked out the door, Julia closing it behind him.

You screwed your eyes shut as you dug the heels of your palms into your forehead, letting out a frustrated sob as your hands dropped back down. The pinpricks of tears were already starting, and while you were thankful you were alone, you already longed for Anthony’s presence.

You wished, more than ever, that things could be how they used to be. You wished you’d never even made this ridiculous deal with him—then you would not be in such pain, yearning for a man you could never have while the reputation of you and your family was destroyed and your life fell to pieces around you. You could not do a single thing about it, and you could not blame a single soul for it other than yourself.

You’d never felt so useless.

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. pls dont ask to be added because i do not do tag lists anymore!! follow me or rb the masterlist or something idk @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

#this is so soap opera of me #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton fanfic #x reader #bridgerton imagine #sadie writes

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