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Forty-two days.

You know exactly how many mornings you've reached for your phone before opening the curtains, and how many nights you've fallen asleep with one earbud still in because his voice was the last thing you wanted to hear before exhaustion claimed you. You can put a precise number to how many photographs he has sent you from dressing rooms in Madrid, airports in London and hotels in Munich that overlook places you have never seen before. 

Now, you could probably name every city he had stayed in over the past few weeks, but you can’t tell a soul the real reason why.

The driver glances into the rear-view mirror. "About twenty minutes now, miss,” he informs you with a polite nod. 

Your heart somehow manages to beat faster. You shoot him a quick nod back, unable to trust your voice, and look back through the dark tint of the SUV window, spending the remainder of the journey repeatedly counting to sixty, as if that might make the minutes speed by quicker. 

The airport is already lively and awake despite the early hour. Trolleys rattle over the pavement, automatic doors breathe open and closed with barely seconds in between. Families gather around the arrivals with bouquets of flowers and signs, impatiently scanning the constant influx of returning passengers with hopeful eyes, rocking on the balls of their feet impatiently. 

Everyone here is waiting for someone, and you feel a pang within you. How freely everyone else seemed able to display their emotions, from anticipation, longing and eagerness, right up to ecstacy when their loved ones finally emerge. It isn’t that way for you, because you must keep it all wrapped in. It comes with the territory, the price you have to pay for being in love with someone everyone wants a piece of. 

Your fingers smooth invisible creases from your jeans for perhaps the hundredth time. You had changed outfits at least five times before leaving the apartment, even though you knew he wouldn’t care —but you did.

Forty-two days ago, to the day, Kim Seokjin had kissed your forehead in the hallway before leaving for the airport in the waiting car. "I'll be back before you know it,” he’d said, giving you a smile you knew he hoped was reassuring. You wince at the memory, because as you had looked back at him, your heart had been tearing apart. 

You had smiled back though, because you also knew he wouldn’t be fine if you weren’t. "I know,” you had told him. “I’ll have some peace for six weeks.”

You were teasing of course, trying to keep the mood light, and he had laughed then —that uniquely bright laugh that seemed to erase tension from a room. "You'll be sick of hearing from me.”

But as you had expected, the opposite had happened. There were video calls squeezed between rehearsals, messages sent at impossible hours, photographs of meals neither of you could eat together and voice notes recorded while one of you was half asleep. Every conversation ended the same way, "—Soon."

Soon had felt painfully vague, until today. 

Day forty-two. 

You check your phone again, and a message from someone in his staff waits at the top of the screen. This was a carefully coordinated effort, and you had needed help if this was really going to work. Everyone on his team knew how much you had both struggled with the distance.

The message told you that the aircraft he was on was taxiing and giving you a gentle reminder to hold back from sending any texts. Your stomach flips. It's real —he’s really back. Here at last. The driver quietly starts the engine, easing the vehicle closer to the privately reserved collection point. The windows are so heavily tinted that nobody outside could possibly see you, and the thought steadies you for a beat. 

But then the terminal doors slide open and you feel your heart racing expectantly. It isn’t Seokjin, it’s just a group of cabin crew members, then a weary looking family tugging with them a rather irate looking child who is complaining rather loudly that she wants to go back home. The elderly couple who follow shake their heads at the scene, muttering amongst themselves as they seek out their ride, and you can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself as you wonder whether someday you and Seokjin might be like them. You hope so, the thought warming you. There was nobody else you wanted a future with. 

A very tall businessman clearly in a rush streams out next, phone to his ear, eyes darting around before he breaks into a brisk run towards a vehicle further down. His obvious hurry further exacerbates your impatience, and you bite at your lip. Everyone that isn’t Seokjin who emerges from the doors sends your pulse leaping. You laugh under your breath at how hopelessly ridiculous you’ve become. You rest your forehead lightly against the cool glass and sigh. 

Forty-two days —not that you had been counting. Well, not out loud anyway. That was just over a thousand hours. Just as you are about to work out the minutes for the millionth time, your phone buzzes again. It’s the same staff member, her message simply reading ‘five minutes’.

You tuck the phone into your bag before temptation convinces you to text your boyfriend something ordinary, such was your growing desperate impulsiveness. You want to ask how the flight was, let him know you couldn’t wait to see him, and tell him to hurry back to you. But you hold back enough, he was close now. 

Another black vehicle pulls away, and you watch as security staff begin positioning themselves closer to the entrance. The driver's posture straightens as the flurry of activity outside heightens. “They're coming,” he tells you. 

Your breath catches instantly. A small group appears first. Bodyguards, managers, more staff and a moving band of photographers, cameras at the ready. You hate it already, the way they crowd around, pushing and yelling, shoving cameras and microphones into people’s faces as if they have the right. Expecting to get smiles and conversation, when the only thing anyone wants is to be able to get home. 

And then you see him. Even from thirty metres away, you recognise him instantly. A black baseball cap shadows his eyes, a dark face mask covering the lower half of his face, oversized cream hoodie hanging comfortably over those broad shoulders that somehow still look familiar enough to make your chest ache. One hand adjusts the strap of the black backpack that is slipping from his shoulder. 

Worriedly you spend several agonising minutes watching him from behind the tinted glass. He looks tired, like somebody who had crossed continents and time zones so many times that his body has forgotten where morning belongs. Somebody that needed to be home, needed to be held so he found his bearings and entered that space and normality that kept him grounded. 

You survey him further. Despite that fatigue, there's still that unmistakeable ease about him. He bows politely to airport staff, eyes down shyly when fans call his name excitedly from behind the barriers, waving to everyone a few times before security gently encourages everyone in his party to keep moving.

Your throat tightens. He's close enough now that if you stepped out of the car, you would reach him in seconds. But you refrain, willing yourself to stay still and wait, just a little longer. You remain hidden, watching as the cameras find him immediately. Clicks and flashes go off everywhere, and you wish you could be at his side, shielding him from the constant brash intrusion. 

Questions fire towards him that he doesn’t answer, his shoulders squaring instinctively as he slips into the public version of himself. You know that version well. The charming performer with the reassuring smile and endless patience. You also know what happens the moment the cameras disappear, when his shoulders lower and he sighs —asking for dinner before he's even got changed or showered.

The contrast makes your chest ache with affection. "I've missed you, Jin," you whisper to yourself so quietly the words barely exist. The driver gives you a reassuring smile. Outside, one of the bodyguards opens the rear passenger door —your door— and your breathing nears stopping point, heart hammering so hard it’s almost painful. The seconds are going by like hours.

You see him smile for the camera, bowing and waving to fans gathered behind barriers. He looks immaculate regardless of the twelve-hour flight. You long to rush into his arms, press your face against his chest and let him hold you —but you can’t touch him. Not yet. The fact that he’s only metres away and you can’t go to him eats at you. You have to stay hidden in the background while the man you love belongs to everyone else, and that hurts so badly it feels like a physical wound. 

You tear your eyes away and move over at the back of the car to the other side, trying to console yourself with the thought that he would be with you in a matter of moments, not days or weeks. 

The door opens and you gasp. Seokjin thanks someone over his shoulder without looking inside, and ducks his head beneath the frame, sliding expertly onto the leather seat beside you. You hear him exhale heavily, relief and tiredness all at once. Then he turns, and for one suspended heartbeat, none of you move. 

His eyes widen slowly, the tiredness vanishing as if someone has switched on every light inside him at once. "What the—?" he breathes. 

You laugh because his expression is somewhere between astonishment and complete disbelief. “Hi,” you say simply, with a tiny finger wave. "I thought I'd come and collect you."

Seokjin’s eyes search your face as though convincing himself you aren't another symptom of jet lag, but he scoffs lightly, shaking his head. Then his eyes soften into that smile that you’ve only seen through screens for too many weeks. “You’re unbelievable,” he says tenderly. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

It's such a Seokjin thing to say. Teasing first because if he doesn't joke, perhaps he might become emotional. The silence that extends between you seems desperate with a longing there aren’t any words for. Before you can answer, he reaches for you as if every instinct he possesses has decided that six weeks apart has been quite enough. 

The moment his arms find you, the rest of the world quiets into nothing. His arms close around you with such quiet certainty that your body almost forgets how to breathe. It’s both familiar and not, the weeks apart having dulled the memory just enough that you had started to fear you'd imagined it. That maybe nobody could really feel this safe, protected and loved. Yet here it was again, undeniable and fiercer than ever. 

One strong hand cradles the back of your head carefully, while the other wraps around your waist and settles low against your back, drawing you across the short distance between the leather seats until you're tucked against him, as though there has never been anywhere else you belonged. The weight of his arms around you is surprising, those forty-two days must have been lifetimes. 

You are so aware of the breadth of his shoulders, and how warm he feels compared to the chilled airport air. You inhale the scent of him, musky cologne and fresh laundry now layered with the dry, recycled smell of a long-haul flight. 

The driver begins to ease the car away from the terminal, and everything blurs past in a slide through the darkened windows, but you’re not really paying attention. Seokjin lets out a long breath, his chin resting lightly against your temple. Long fingers reach out and touch your hair, twirling strands idly between them. Your eyes close at the touch, you had missed that. 

"I thought I was losing my mind for a second," he murmurs, his voice roughened by sleep, flights and too many nights spent performing endless routines under a million stadium lights. "I was expecting a non-eventful ride back home. You said you were working?"

A giggle escapes you, muffled against his hoodie. "I know, baby, I’m sorry,” you say. “I wanted to surprise you.”

"So you planned this, hm?"

"I had a little help,” you say mysteriously. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you properly. “The staff, right? You got them all on board, didn’t you?” he says knowingly, bopping the tip of his nose onto yours. “I was thinking they were acting a bit strangely.”

“They all told me that watching you realise I was here would be worth keeping it a secret,” you state. 

His eyebrows lift. "I'm going to have words with them."

“I’m sure they'll probably be very grateful words, won’t they?"

A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he reaches round to find your seatbelt and pulls it around you, clicking it into place. "Unfortunately—" he begins, fumbling with his own belt which he locks in before gathering you in to him again, fingers grazing across your shoulder. “You’re probably right.”

You drink him in now that you're close enough to notice everything the airport had hidden. The faint shadows beneath his eyes, the way his hair has escaped beneath his cap after hours on a plane, and the tiny crease beside his mouth that always appears when he's trying not to smile too much. There are signs of the effects of such a heavy tour everywhere if you know where to look. Not exhaustion exactly, but miles. Endless flights, different hotel pillows, and the relentless rhythm of concerts and interviews.

But underneath it all, Seokjin is still him. The man who insists on making coffee every morning despite never measuring anything, who continually forgets where he leaves his reading glasses and sends you photographs of strange snacks from airport lounges because he knows they'll make you laugh.

Your hand rises almost without thinking, fingertips skimming gently across the line of his jaw. "You look tired, baby,” you say affectionately, your heart hurting with the longing to soothe and protect him close to you. 

"I am,” he replies, his answer a matter of fact. "But not anymore."

You smile faintly. "Now you’re lying.”

“A little less then,” he concedes. “I am still incredibly tired though." His warm gaze lingers on your face. "But I don't feel so far away anymore."

His words reach that place inside you somewhere so deep that you had kept closed since he left, and the door reopens, your emotion flooding out in waves. You had seen his face every day, heard his laugh, watched him eat breakfast while you were brushing your teeth before bed, and yet none of it had prepared you for the simple reality of sharing the same air again. There had always been a delay, a screen, and an invisible countdown until one of you had to hang up. Now that was gone, and in its place a sense of generous fulfilment that felt indescribable. 

You find yourself leaning into him again without conscious thought. His hand moves slowly up your back in a gentle rhythm, as if reassuring himself that you really are there. "I missed this," he says quietly. “I thought about this every day.”

You close your eyes again. "The hugging?"

"The weight,” he says.  

You look up. "What?"

Seokjin smiles, softer than before. "The feeling that you are actually here." His fingers lace through yours. "I kept reaching across hotel beds expecting you to be reading beside me."

A small, helpless laugh escapes you. "And I kept sleeping on your side of the bed."

His expression folds into something wonderfully sweet. "Did you?"

You nod. "It still smelled like you for a while."

For several seconds he says nothing. Then he lowers his gaze in that cute way that made your heart bloom. "That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard in weeks, baby.”

Heat rises into your cheeks as his fingers caress yours gently. "It’s true,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry you waited so long.”

The traffic slows as the motorway thickens with commuters. The driver keeps his attention fixed ahead, giving the two of you the privacy only professionals know how to provide. You become aware of your joined hands resting between you. Seokjin’s fingers are warm and comfortingly familiar, hands you wanted to hold forever.

He notices you studying them. "What?"

"Your hands,” you tell him. "I missed them.”

He turns one over, looking at it with exaggerated suspicion. "These old things?” he jokes. “You missed these?” 

You nudge him playfully. “Hey!” you say. “These hands are mine to miss.”

He considers that, his eyes sparkling proudly. "I suppose they are,” he says. "You always remember the important things."

"And forget the little ones,” you smile, entwining your fingers more tightly with his. "I forgot how big your hands are."

His grin appears at last, slow and genuine. “I was hoping you would say something that made you smile instead of cry.”

You blink. "I wasn't crying."

"You were about thirty seconds away."

"You know what, Mr. Kim —I bet you were too,” you retort. 

"Oh, absolutely,” he says without hesitation, not even attempting to deny it. 

Instead, he lifts your joined hands and presses a grateful, lingering kiss against your knuckles. When he looks back at you, his eyes hold that unmistakable softness reserved for moments no audience will ever witness. "I've thought about this drive home every single day," he says. 

“Really?”

"Yeah. I imagined it differently each time."

"Did any version include finding me sitting in the back seat?"

A quiet laugh escapes him. "Not a single one."

"Then I successfully surprised you."

"You completely ruined my expectations,” he states. “They weren't nearly this good.”

The words hang gently between you, the airport long since disappeared as you both settle into the silence together. Forty-two days of distance continue to dissolve slowly with every smile, every touch, and every quiet whisper that only makes sense once you're close enough to hear each other's breathing again.

As the drive continues, the city unfolds beyond the tinted windows in soft blurs of grey and gold, the morning still rubbing the sleep from its eyes, but neither of you has looked outside in several minutes, because the world can wait. Your fingers remain threaded through Seokjin’s. You had forgotten how naturally your hands fit together, how your thumb instinctively traces over the ridge of his knuckles while he strokes tiny circular patterns across the back of your hand. It isn't a conscious gesture, it’s muscle memory.

He smiles faintly as though he'd been thinking the same thing. "I kept picking up my phone."

"So did I."

"I'd reach for it every time something happened." He glances at you, amusement warming his tired features. "Like when I found the world's worst coffee in London."

"I remember— you sent me a picture,” you laugh. "You said it was a 'crime against coffee beans’.”

"It was." His expression becomes mock-serious. "I will forever stand by that statement.” He shoots you a pointed look. “You would've agreed if you'd tasted it."

"I trust your judgement,” you tell him. 

"You know, I ate airport sushi in three different countries,” Seokjin says, wincing and blinking as if the memory was so horrendous to conjure up. “That’s a record that surpasses even my debut days.”

Your eyes widen. "No way!” you exclaim. “What happened? I thought the great Kim Seokjin had taste.”

"Hey, don’t judge,” he says, wide-eyed. “I was hungry."

"You have absolutely no survival instinct,” you tell him, tutting softly. 

"But I did survive,” he protests. 

"Barely."

He chuckles, the sound quieter now than it is on stage or in interviews. This laugh belongs to the version of him that almost no one sees. You realise with a strange rush of gratitude how much you had missed making him laugh in person. Not hearing it through a speaker, but feeling it, watching the corners of his eyes crease and seeing the way he unconsciously tilts his head when something genuinely amuses him.

“You have no idea how many airports I wished you'd be waiting in,” he states unexpectedly. 

“I wanted to be there,” you say. “I wish I could have been.”

Your gaze lingers on his handsome face, wondering how on earth you had managed to go so long without seeing him right in front of you like this. 

"Do I have something on me?” Seokjin asks, hands flying up to pat at his cheeks in alarm. 

You shake your head. "No,” you reply. “I'm just looking at you."

His face breaks out into a soft, gushing smile. "I approve,” he tells you. "You've been looking at me through a screen for six weeks." His voice drops. "I'd rather you look at me like this."

Without thinking, your fingertips brush a loose strand of hair away from his forehead, and he closes his eyes for the briefest second beneath the touch. "So that's what I've been missing,” he murmurs. 

"What?"

"This." His hand lifts, resting lightly against your cheek. "No screen." His thumb strokes your skin with the lightest of touches. "No lag in internet connection." His eyes drop to your mouth. “No countdown until someone has to hang up."

Your throat tightens. "So many nights—,” you whisper. You still, and he waits for your next words. "So many nights I nearly asked you to come home."

His expression doesn't change, his attention fixed on you patiently, so you go on. "I knew I couldn't," you continue quietly. "I know how much the tour means to you guys, and I knew there were thousands of people waiting for you, but..." You laugh softly at yourself. "Some nights I was so selfish."

"You weren't selfish.” 

"I wanted you here."

"I wanted to be here,” he says huskily. "I'd finish a show, hear all those people cheering, and then I'd get back to the hotel." His shoulders lift in a small shrug. "—and it was just a room without you."

You understand immediately because you had felt just the same. Your apartment had still been home, but it had simply felt quieter, the silence shaped like someone missing. 

Seokjin edges closer to you. "I brought you something." He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and produces a tiny paper packet, folded several times over.

"What's that?"

"A souvenir."

"You've been carrying that through airports?" you smile. “You didn’t pack it with everything else?”

His expression grows serious. "I wasn't trusting checked luggage."

You unfold the paper carefully. Inside sits a tiny silver charm shaped like a compass, delicate enough to rest in the centre of your palm.

"I found it in a little shop near the river in London," Seokjin says. "The woman selling them told me sailors used to carry compass charms because they believed they would always find their way home."

You stare at it. "It's beautiful, baby."

"I thought—" He pauses, searching for the words. "I thought even when I'm away, I still know where home is."

Emotion rises so suddenly that you have to blink several times before speaking. "You can't keep saying things like that,” you say, your voice strained. "I'm trying very hard not to cry."

"I noticed," he smiles. "You've been trying since the airport."

"You are absolutely insufferable!" you say, a laugh escaping you through the threatening tears. 

"I’ll take that,” Seokjin says. “But do you like it?” He stares at you expectantly.

You close your fingers around the charm before looking back at him. "I love it,” you sigh. “Thank you."

"It’s me who should be saying thank you,” he states, his eyes meeting yours steadily. "For today. I thought I would be spending the drive home alone, thinking about how much I missed you." A tiny smile touches his lips. "But you’re here. You came.”

Your eyes drift to his mouth, and his do the same. There is a slight hesitation, maybe because the first kiss after weeks apart feels incredibly significant, too precious to rush. Your hand settles against the side of his neck and his breath catches. The space between you disappears a fraction at a time until you can feel the heat of his breath fan your face. 

You reach up and take off his cap, biting at your lip as you look at him. 

"So this is real?" Seokjin says in wonder. 

"It had better be,” you reply. 

"I've been asleep on planes all week,” he says softly. “If this is a dream, I'll be furious."

“Me too.”

His quiet laugh ghosts across your lips, and then finally, he kisses you. It’s slow and sensual, full of recognition, like someone rediscovering a favourite song that triggers off a happy memory after not hearing it in a while. It's gentle enough that you feel the smile he can't quite suppress, and you kiss him again before he has the chance to speak, moaning softly against his mouth. 

This time he answers with a little more certainty, one hand sliding behind your neck while the other remains intertwined with yours, unwilling to let go as the kisses go on. You had forty-two days’ worth to catch up on after all. 

The familiar streets slip by until the driver turns into the quiet lane leading to your building. Seokjin’s hand is still in yours, and it strikes you that this more than anything is what you've missed, the effortless habit of existing beside each other. The car comes to a smooth stop, and the driver tells you gently that you’ve arrived. 

Seokjin lets out a quiet groan. "Can’t we just stay in the car?” he complains. “I don’t want to move.”

"For how long?"

He pretends to think. "Mm… maybe until my next flight."

"I don't think the driver signed up for that."

With obvious reluctance, he reaches for the door handle and exits, holding the door open for you. The morning air is cooler than you'd expected as you follow him out. He waits while the driver lifts his suitcase from the boot, then instinctively falls into step beside you. There aren’t any cameras or fans —only the two of you walking through the lobby as though you were any other couple returning home from a trip.

The lift doors close, and only then does Seokjin visibly relax. His shoulders drop, head tipping back against the mirrored wall. "I forgot how quiet home is."

You glance sideways. "You really do look exhausted,” you say with concern. He might have been kissing you for the last fifteen minutes, but you knew how much the travelling had taken out of him. 

“I’m fine, baby,” he says. “I just need you, that’s all.” 

"You've crossed I don’t even know how many time zones," you tell him. "And you've been performing almost every other night."

"I’m okay,” he insists. 

"You look like you’ve barely slept."

Seokjin smiles without opening his eyes. "When you give me lists like that, it sounds so unhealthy."

"It probably is unhealthy."

The lift dings and you head out. Seokjin unlocks the front door which clicks open, but nobody crosses the threshold. He’s home. As you both walk in, the silence is almost startling after weeks of stadium noise, airports and hotel lobbies. 

You both stand there for a moment, taking in how ordinary the apartment looks, but how extraordinary it feels simply to be there together. There’s the faint scent of the candle you had been burning last night; your cashmere shawl draped over the couch and the shelf Seokjin had put up which was marginally lopsided. Nothing has changed, but everything has changed.

Seokjin steps inside first, setting his backpack on the floor before toeing off his trainers. His suitcase stays abandoned and unopened in the hallway because unpacking can wait. You close the door behind you and the soft click of the lock echoes through the apartment. Seokjin turns at the sound. For the first time all day, there is absolutely no one else. No schedule waiting outside, no microphones, no arrival photos already circulating online and no need to watch what either of you says or does.

His eyes meet yours and a slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face as he brings you to him. Your hands slide beneath the soft fabric of his hoodie, resting against his sides. "Welcome home,” you say quietly. 

He smiles, but something fragile flickers across his expression. "I missed hearing that."

You draw him closer, eager for more of his touch. "I've been saving it."

He laughs quietly. "I should leave more often."

"Don’t you dare!” 

"Oh yeah?”

"I’ve come to the conclusion that six weeks is my total limit,” you tell him. 

"I think I passed mine a while ago.”

"You didn't sound very convincing on the phone."

"I was trying to be brave."

"Me too."

He studies your face for a long moment. "I could tell,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don't ask how. People who love each other rarely need explanations for those things.

His hand lifts to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It’s such a tiny gesture, one he'd done countless times before, but in this instant, it carries the weight of every missed morning, every missed goodnight and every conversation cut short by rehearsals or time differences. 

Without speaking, you rise onto your toes and kiss him, wanting to rediscover the quiet rhythm you had been starved of for so long. That gentle tilt of his head, the warmth of his smile against yours, and the way he pauses between kisses simply to look at you as if you were the most beautiful sight in the world.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to tours,” he confesses.  

"You don't have to."

"But I've done this for years,” he states. “And it never gets easier.”

His honesty catches you by surprise. "I thought you'd say it was part of the job,” you say. 

"It is,” he says, shrugging. "That doesn't mean I enjoy living in hotel rooms."

You smile sadly. "I used to listen to your songs after we came off the phone,” you admit. “It made the apartment feel less empty. I think I know every word to every song now.”

He exhales slowly. "I wish you'd told me."

"I didn't want you worrying before a show."

"I worried anyway,” he tells you. 

“And I worried that you did,” you laugh. 

Seokjin’s stomach chooses that precise moment to make its opinion known, and a long, unmistakable growl fills the silence. He sighs dramatically. "I am hoping you will ignore that."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"It was exceptionally rude timing,” he says, running a hand through his hair with a shake of his head. 

"But I think it's telling you something that you need to listen to."

He looks hopefully towards the kitchen. "I've been dreaming about proper food for days."

"I have exactly four eggs, half a cucumber and some half-eaten yoghurt to work with,” you say sheepishly. “Although we may have to rule the yoghurt out. It’s been there since Monday. I sort of forgot about it.”

He turns back to you in mock horror. "You've been living like this?"

"I've done okay,” you answer. “It’s not been that bad. I didn’t starve.”

Seokjin appears unconvinced. "All this time, baby. You were probably waiting for me to come home and cook for you."

"Well, I've been waiting for you to complain about my fridge."

"That too."

You both laugh and the sound fills the apartment in a way it hasn't for weeks. Seokjin wanders to the couch instead of the kitchen and collapses onto it with theatrical relief. "I'm making an executive decision,” he announces. “We're ordering takeout."

You grin. "I thought you might. Sounds good.”

"And while we wait," he says, patting the cushion beside him. "Come here."

You settle next to him, expecting conversation, but instead he gently stretches out, resting his head in your lap with the trust of someone who has done this dozens of times before. You smile to yourself as your fingers drift into his hair.

He closes his eyes almost instantly. “This is the best part,” he sighs. 

"You've just flown halfway around the world, and the best part is lying here?”

“Hmm.” Seokjin sounds half-asleep already, his eyes remaining closed as a sleepy smile plays about his lips. “But I wasn’t talking about lying here really. I meant you.”

His answer steals your breath away. You continue stroking his hair, watching the tension gradually leave his face. “I missed you so much,” you say, your voice catching. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Seokjin nuzzles against you like a cat. “I missed you too,” he breathes. “You feel so good.”

He’s asleep in minutes, and you don’t wake him. The takeout menus stay unopened, his suitcase still waits patiently in the hallway, and you are reminded that the next part of this tour will eventually call him away from you again. 

But not just yet. Today there aren’t any countdowns or departures, no important meetings to rush to, nothing to take him away from you —just the quiet comfort of being together again, and the rare luxury of knowing that for one precious stretch of ordinary time, home is exactly where both of you are meant to be. 

You smile, bending down to place a gentle kiss on Seokjin’s brow. “I love you,” you say softly.

You had made it, gotten through the emptiness without him, and now they’ve been left in the past. 

Those forty-two days. 

thanks for reading |

JASON TODD

He doesn't get it.

He doesn't fucking get it.

You— you— want him? All the time? Every second of every day? You, with your soft hands and your pretty smile and your laugh that sounds like something he doesn't deserve to hear— you want Jason Todd, the dead Robin, the black sheep, the one with blood under his fingernails and a body count longer than his book collection?

"Again, sweetheart?" he rasps, and his voice cracks, actually cracks, because his throat is raw from moaning your name, and his thighs are shaking, and there's a bruise forming on his hip from where you grabbed him too hard and he didn't even notice because he was too busy moaning like a whore.

You nod. Just nod. Like it's nothing. Like you're asking him to pass the salt.

His heart lurches.

He's scared. Not of you— never of you— but of the moment you realize you can do better. The moment you wake up and think why am I wasting my time with this broken, angry, fucked up excuse for a man when I could have someone better?

So he fucks you like his life is depended on it.

Every time. Every single time.

"Alright," he says, rolling on top of you even though his arms are jelly, even though he came so hard ten minutes ago he nearly blacked out, even though he's so tired he gonna pass out at any moment— "Alright, c'mere, I got you, I got—"

"Jay." You catch his face in your hands. "You're crying."

What? No he's not. He's not— shit.

He scrubs at his eyes, pissed, embarrassed, and you're looking at him with that soft, worried expression and he can't handle it, he can't handle this.

"I'm fine," he lies, "I'm fine, I just— I got something in my eye, it's fine, do you wanna do it from behind this time or—"

"Why are you crying, baby?"

Baby.

The word break something in his chest. Something that was already cracked. Something that's been held together with spite and rage and the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he's allowed to have nice things.

"I-I don't know," he chokes out, and now he's really crying, ugly sobs tearing out of his throat, "I'm just s-so overwhelmed and I-I *sob* I don't d-deserve you *sob* you should be with someone who isn't a—a—a—"

You kiss him.

You kiss him through the tears and the snot and the self loathing, and you don't pull away, and you don't look disgusted, and your hands are so gentle on his scarred skin, and he just— he just breaks down.

But it's just because he's overwhelmed by sex, okay?

He buries his face in your neck and sobs and you hold him, you hold him like he's something precious, something worth keeping, and his stupid dick is still half hard against your thigh because he doesn't know what else to do.

"I want you," you whisper into his hair, "just you, Jay. Always."

"...Promise?"

"Promise."

He pulls back, eyes red, face blotchy, looking like a mess.

And then he laughs— his cracked, broken laugh.

"Okay," he says, "okay. But if you're gonna kill me with sex, at least let me grab some water first. And maybe a snack. I'm not dying of dehydration before I make you come again."

You grin.

Yeah his girl's so pretty.

"Alright."

He's still crying a little. He's still hard. He's still certain he doesn't deserve this.

But you're here.

And you want him.

So he'll keep going until his heart gives out, because dying in your arms sounds like the best way to go.

TIM DRAKE

He has a spreadsheet.

No, wait, hear him out— it's not weird, okay? It's organized. It's practical. It's what any rational person would do when confronted with a girlfriend who wants to have sex literally all the time and he needs to make sure he's— that he's—

Meeting expectations.

Performing adequately.

Being a good boyfriend.

Column A: date. Column B: time of day. Column C: position. Column D: duration. Column E: number of times you said his name (sub column for "just Tim" vs. "oh god Tim" vs. the rare, precious "Timmy" that makes his whole body shudder). Column F: notes. (You like it when he flick his tongue. You didn't like when he tried to flip you over and almost dropped you. He needs to work on his upper body strength. He'll add more pull ups to his training regimen. Done. Noted.)

He's on his third coffee and it's 3 AM and you're asleep next to him— finally, finally asleep, worn out after four rounds and a fifth that he had to tap out of because his vision started doing that staticky thing—

And he's updating the spreadsheet.

Because he loves you. And love means making sure you're comfortable. Love means making you happy. Love means making sure he's the best possible version of himself for you, that he's anticipating your needs, that he always make you cum, that he never, ever falls short—

"What's that?"

Oh fuck him.

You're awake. You're squinting at his laptop screen. He slams it shut, but it's too late, you already saw the color coded tabs, the pie chart (yes, there's a pie chart, he was curious about the distribution of positions, sue him).

"Tim." Your voice is still sleepy and it does things to him, weird things, his body is already responding and he just finished updating a row that said he couldn't go again, scientifically, medically, his body has limits—

"It's nothing."

"Timothy Jackson Drake."

Full name. He's in trouble. He's so in trouble. His stomach flips and his dick twitches and god, why does you being like this make him harder—

"It's— a spreadsheet."

"Of our sex life."

"...Yes."

...

Why aren't you saying anything?

You're in shock aren't you? You're in so much shock you can't even talk.

Of course. You just saw your supposed normal boyfriend as the obsessive freak that he is.

"I'm sorry," he blurts, "I know it's weird, I just— I wanted to make sure I was doing a good job, that I wasn't missing anything, that you were— satisfied— because you want it so often and I thought maybe I wasn't enough and I had to do something—"

"Tim."

"—and I know it's creepy, I'm creepy, I'm a creepy insecure little bitch who can't just enjoy things—"

"Tim."

He shuts up.

You're smiling. A soft, fond, adoring smile.

"You want to know if you're doing a good job?"

He nods, throat too tight to speak.

"Come here."

He crawls into your arms and you pull him against your chest and he can hear your heartbeat and it's the most beautiful sound in the world.

"You're doing amazing," you murmur, stroking his hair, "you're perfect. You're so good to me, Tim. The best."

Best.

The words hit his bloodstream like a drug. He makes a sound— a high, needy, embarrassing sound— and presses his face into your collarbone, his whole body trembling.

"I love you," he whispers, "I love you so much, I'm sorry about the spreadsheet, I'll delete it—"

"Don't you dare. It's hot."

"...What?"

"Knowing you put that much thought into making me cum is honestly..." Your hand slides lower, and he sucks in a breath. "The sexiest thing anyone's ever done for me."

What the fuck?

"You— really?"

"Mmhmm. Now... you said that you couldn't go again, but maybe we should test that hypothesis?"

He's already kissing you before you finish the sentence.

He's going to need a new row. And a new coffee. And possibly a medical professional.

Worth it.

DAMIAN WAYNE

This is absurd.

You are absurd. Your libido is absurd. The fact that he— Damian al Ghul Wayne, heir to the League of Assassins, Robin, the son of the Batman— is currently hiding in the bathroom like a coward because his Beloved crooked her finger at him for the seventh time today is—

"Damian~"

Tt.

He clenches his jaw. His body betrays him instantly, heat pooling low in his stomach, his cock stirring traitorously against the zipper of his tailored slacks.

He is not a beast. He is not ruled by base urges. He was trained from birth to master his desires, to transcend the weakness of the flesh—

"Habibti, please, if you need release I will happily provide it, I am more than capable, but we have already—" his voice drops to a whisper, "—six times today, and I have a Wayne Enterprises board meeting in an hour—"

"And?"

And. You says and like it's nothing. Like his legacy, his reputation, his carefully constructed facade of professionalism isn't crumbling around him because of a woman who looks at him like he's a three course meal she hasn't finished.

He emerges from the bathroom.

Big mistake.

You're on the bed. His bed. Dressed in nothing but his shirt— the one with his family crest embroidered on the pocket, the one he wore the first time you fuck him— and you're looking at him with those lustful eyes—

"I missed you."

"You saw me twenty minutes ago."

"Too long."

He's already walking toward you.

Why is he walking toward you?

He should be walking away. He should be asserting dominance. He is a master of seventeen forms of martial arts and he cannot, for the life of him, make his feet move in the opposite direction of you.

"I have a meeting," he says, but his voice is pitiful, needy, and he hates how much he wants you, hates how you've turned him into this— this creature who craves your touch more than anything—

"Cancel it."

"I cannot cancel a board meeting, Beloved, there are protocols—"

"Tell them your girlfriend needed you."

"They will not accept that as a valid excuse—"

"Then make them."

Make them.

The sheer, casual authority in your voice sends a shiver down his spine.

You speak like you own him. Like he should do as you say. Like he should obey every order, as if—

He has his phone out before he can stop himself.

"Pennyworth. I will be... indisposed this afternoon. Inform the board the meeting is postponed."

"Very good, Master Damian. Shall I prepare a nutrient rich smoothie? You've been quite occupied lately."

He can hear the amusement in Alfred's voice.

Very amusing Pennyworth. Very amusing indeed.

He wants to die. He wants to crawl into a hole and never emerge. But then you're crooking your finger again and all thoughts of dignity evaporate like morning mist.

"I canceled the meeting," he says, approaching the bed, trying to maintain some shred of his pride, "I hope you are satisfied—"

You grab him by the tie and pull him onto the bed.

He yelps. He yelps. Like a startled cat. Like Titus when the vacuum cleaner turns on. And then you're straddling him, pinning him down with your body, which shouldn't be possible given his training but his muscles have apparently decided that being pinned by you is exactly what they want—

"I am never satisfied," you murmur against his lips, "not when it comes to you. You know that, right?"

His heart— his cold, closed off, carefully guarded heart— warm up a little.

"Beloved..."

"You're mine, Damian. Every inch of you. Every minute of your day. And I'm going to enjoy what's mine. Understood?"

He swallows hard.

"...Understood."

"Good boy."

His face flushes a deep, humiliating red, and his whole body trembles with the desperate need to hear those words from your lips, to know that he has pleased you, that he is worthy—

One day, he'll tell you. One day, he'll confess how much he needs your approval, your praise, your love. One day, he'll stop pretending he's above these feelings.

But not today.

Today, he'll just lie back and let his Beloved have her way with him for the seventh time, and he'll bite his lip until it bleeds to keep from begging, and when it's over he'll hold you like you're the most precious thing in the universe—

Because you are.

Tt.

He's getting hard again.

Pathetic.

But at least he's happy.

Happier than ever.

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝖼 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𖹭

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

As you shut the door to your apartment, the lock clicking shut behind you, all you could think about is the last few hours and how much they feel like such a fever dream. Seokjin acting so kind towards you was making your heart beat incredibly fast, faster than your head could catch up with- you knew that you had been attracted to him prior, but something about how kind and gentle he is was sending you into a semi spiral. On the drive home you had to make a conscious effort to keep your eyes on anywhere but him and his beautiful face. The way he was was soft yet stern enough with you in the hospital for you to actually agree to rest was surprising to you, especially as you let everything that just happened process in your mind. When you think about your past, with your ex, and as a teenager with your parents, a panic attack would cause eye rolls, your ex in particular telling you to not be so dramatic rang in your mind. The thought made your chest pang in hurt you had not allowed yourself to feel about your relationship with him. He was the type of person to never tell you to rest, he never expressed care at all, really now that you think about it. Seokjin was the first person to look at you and state the obvious: that this life style was going to kill you.

It made you want to know Seokjin more.

After all these years, even after the tendency for your body to shut down and faint formed, not a single person brought you to the hospital until today, let alone shared any amount of concern for your well being. You had been fainting for a decade, and yet everyone in your past had let you sleep though it. Was Seokjin a really good person, or was everyone in your life terrible?

It made you want to find out.

Your thoughts were paused, your phone ringing from inside of your pocket on the side of your leggings. Unlocking your phone, you realize your father had been blowing up your phone the entire time you were in the hospital, you hoped Seokjin didn’t see these messages, especially as you read them. Your heart dropped at the thought of someone seeing your father act like this- especially as you read the messages, a frown forming as you were reading them, the type of verbal assault being sent was something you were used to for years now, but you didn’t particularly want your coworker knowing about this either.

“My useless daughter, the hospital called me saying you were there. How are you supposed to make money for us in the hospital!”

The longer you went without responding, the more cruel the words were.

“Heard a boy brought you there, bet he wouldn’t like if I showed him that you exist to make money for this family”

You gulped, scrolling through each jab, the wound penetrating deeper and deeper in your heart. When your father called you mid scroll, you didn’t hesitate to pick up the phone, knowing that if he just yelled at you already the text messages would stop.

This was a cycle that repeated at least once per week, without missing a beat. As the phone picked up, the screaming started, it always did every time your dad would call you on a drunken rampage. It wasn’t even 4 o'clock in the afternoon and yet he was completely trashed, words slurred as he hurled insults in your direction, insults you had begun to take to heart after hearing them for so long, yet you began to become numb to the words- there was only so much drilling in your head that you’re useless before it no longer makes you cry. After screaming your ear off about how he was going to starve because you don’t send enough money, he hung up, leaving you with no room to respond.

Not that you planned to anyways.

You had decided it was for the best that you turned off your phone and disconnected for the time being. Any positive mood you had from being with Seokjin was instantly soured from your interaction with your father. You just needed to work hard to pay off the debt and you would finally be free, right? He would stop insulting, yelling, putting you down once the debt was paid off, you were sure of it. You were envious of childhood you for taking the good times for granted.

You busied yourself for the rest of the evening, making dinner which consisted on whatever you had in the back of your fridge that was still good and some noodles, and then cleaning up afterwards. As you turned the sink off from doing the dishes, you heard a knock on your front door. Drying your hands, you had raised your eyebrow as you opened your door. Since moving into this place you can’t think of a single visitor. Your confusion went further as the man at your door was holding a giant bouquet of red and pink flowers.

“Someone ordered you flowers” the delivery man flatly said and handed the bouquet to you, as you went to ask who, the man had already walked away.

Bringing the bouquet of flowers into your apartment, you noticed a little note card in the back of the bouquet. As you pulled the card out of the holder, your breath caught as you recognized the handwriting as the same handwriting who left you a note at work yesterday. Nervously you set the bouquet down on your counter and read the note over and over again, this time it clicking that this was not a prank at all, and that the person was serious about this. Yesterday was easy to dismiss, but sending what looked to be an expensive bouquet to your home fell out of petty prank territory, and the note proved as much.

“When I saw you smile at my note yesterday, it made my day. I can’t wait to make you mine one day.”

Your cheeks turned a crimson shade of red as you continued to read the note multiple times in a row. You were so distracted on the fact that the person was serious about courting you that you failed to realize that only one person you work with had your address. Yet your mind went to the brown haired man when reading the note. For some reason, since it was anyone at work, you hoped it was the one person who you couldn’t keep out of your mind. You wanted to scold yourself mentally for even thinking that it could be him after he just spent the better part of his day making sure you were okay, yet as you found a vase to place the flowers in and trimmed the ends to keep them healthy all you could think of was him and his stupid smile.

You were fucked.

Finally allowing your head to hit your pillow and your eyes to close, the image formed back in your mind of your coworker, and you allowed yourself to smile. It wouldn’t be a crime if it was only a dream, right? Slowly you felt your eyes get heavy as the world shrouded into black around you, and the last thing you saw before you slept was his damn smile.

As you rested on Sunday, all you could think about was the flowers sitting on your counter. Through the day you would smell them, read the note, smile, rinse and repeat until the beautiful roses were the only thing clouding your mind. You had even turned your phone back on to take pictures of the flowers and the card, capturing every angle imaginable- and as you let the warmth of your blankets engulf you Sunday night, the smell of roses pushed you off to dream land.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Your morning alarm came sooner than what you desired. Groaning, you stretched your arm out, reaching for your phone and shutting off your alarm. It was going to be a long week, maybe, anyways- a lot had changed in the past 48 hours.

As you arrived to work, your eyebrow raised as you noticed a cup of coffee sitting on your desk, one you know you didn’t accidentally leave over the weekend, especially as you picked up the warm cup and under it was a sticky note. Much like you did on Friday and how you wanted to on Saturday, you looked around for the culprit but don’t see anyone looking out of place or even paying attention to you. You picked up the sticky note, reading the words on it

“I’ve never been good at telling people how I feel, but you make me want to try.”

You smiled to yourself reading the note, opening the top drawer of your desk you lifted the note from Friday, comparing the handwriting and making the conclusion they were in fact from the same person, reaching inside your purse, it also matched the handwriting from Saturday. Your grin was wider than you can recall smiling in many years prior, your heart was jumping beyond what would be considered normal for 8 AM on a Monday morning as you were thinking about who in the office may have noticed you, yet only one person came to your mind, and god, you hoped it was Seokjin so bad. You would be a liar to say that it didn’t make your morning a lot better- it made you work harder and better than you had in months, somehow, a simple kind note was enough to fuel you to work hard.

What you didn’t expect was the coffee and the note to become an everyday occurrence, and yet as Friday rolled around you had collected a note from whoever was leaving them for every day of the week, each of them sugary sweet and causing you to grin like an absolute idiot as you read them. You felt like you were flying every single day.

Tuesday’s made your heart flutter as you read it: “If I could only feel one thing for the rest of my life, I would choose the way I feel when I’m with you ♥”

Wednesday’s made you want to cry from the words you wanted to hear from someone, literally anyone in your life: “I will believe in you, even if no one else does. Even if you don’t believe in yourself”

Thursday’s made you think about every interaction you had in the office in the several years you have worked here: “You have never left my mind since the day we met”

Each one of these notes landed in your drawer, though they didn’t exactly stay in the drawer collecting dust. Through the week you found yourself re-reading them as a way of fuel to keep you going- reading the notes was almost a shot of caffeine to your body that caused you to have the motivation to keep going. As you strolled into work Friday, you no longer could even contain your smile as the cup of coffee and sticky note was on your desk once again. You were getting to a point that you had to start keeping your composure as you walked towards your desk; if it was up to you, and you didn’t have to keep up a professional appearance you would have started running to see the notes by now. As you lifted the coffee, taking a sip, you read the note with an expression you had slowly become more used to yourself making though the week.

“I’m 100% convinced that if I lost my memory, I would fall in love with you all over again.”

Whoever was leaving these notes was having a serious affect on your day and yet it had only been a week. You needed to know the motivation behind the secret admirer, even if they didn’t want to reveal themselves to you right now, knowing why would cause your heart to stop fluttering so much every time you walked into your office… maybe. Pulling out a pen and one of your own sticky notes from your desk, you wrote a simple question and stuck it to the bottom of your monitor.

“Why me?”

You were not sure if you would even get a reply, and yet you made a conscious effort to leave your desk as much as possible. The first couple times you returned the sticky note stayed in place, however by the time you had left and come back from your lunch break the sticky note was moved and had new text scribbled on it in the same handwriting you were starting to adore.

“Because I can see the beauty in your eyes, even through the sadness that shines through them. Your soul is as beautiful as you are. There’s so much more but I’m running out of space…”

You could see the handwriting start to get smaller and smaller as whoever left the note was in fact running out of space. Somehow the answer eased a lot of your anxiety when it came to the notes, so you opened your top drawer and placed the note on top of the others with a smile. As you closed the drawer, you didn’t get the chance to sit down as suddenly your boss was calling your name.

“_-ssi, Seokjin-ssi please come to my office”

You raised your eyebrow but bowed and followed your boss to his office, Seokjin following behind you. Seeing Seokjin in such close proximity after the events of last weekend making you nervous.

“Sit. Both of you” he said as you both nervously shuffled into your bosses small office. The chairs were so close together in the space that as you both sat, your knees were touching each other. You did your best to keep to yourself, pulling back at the times that the space would allow it.

“So” your boss started “As you both know, we have a management position available, both of you have been recommended for the spot”

You stay silent, nodding along to your boss as nerves struck your entire body. Was it the time to learn who won the promotion?

“I wanted to let you both know that Manager Kim had resigned this morning… meaning we now have two open manager spots”

Your boss, who started the conversation serious was now suddenly smiling and you felt your entire world spinning… does that mean that… there’s no way. Your brain was short circuiting.

“We have a management spot open for both of you”

Your boss then pulled out two paper contracts from his desk drawer, handing one to Seokjin and the other to you. Your mouth was agape, hardly believing this was happening. Had you finally gotten your own good luck in the world?

“I will leave you two to review your contracts in peace. Please take the time that you need to read and sign” he said walking out of his office and shutting the door. Once you heard the click you spoke to yourself somewhat forgetting Seokjin was next to you.

“Holy shit”

From your side you heard a snicker, turning your head he was sporting that signature smile he always carried. “Great job, _. I told you I wouldn’t go easy on you” which you playfully rolled your eyes at with a smile and then turned to look at your contract. It didn’t take long for your mouth to run agape once again though once you saw the salary and sign on bonus.

“Fuck” you whispered to yourself, cursing in front of Seokjin for the second time in approximately two or so minutes. You didn’t know when it happened, but streaking hot tears fell from your eyes. The sign on bonus alone would be enough to finally pay off the family debt you have been working tirelessly for. As the realization hit you, sobs fell from your body involuntarily. You felt a soft hand on your shoulder.

“_. Are you okay?” Seokjin asked, concern sketched over his entire face. In the moment your walls had been completely broken down from shock, so you spilled to him what you would likely never burden others with. “My family debt… it will finally be gone.”

Your impulsive nature suddenly got the better of you as you turned to the last page of the contract. You didn’t need to read any more, you would walk straight into the depths of hell itself if it meant you could live without working yourself to death again. As to sign it, Seokjin’s hand landed on yours. You shot him a look as if he personally offended you. Offering a sheepish smile, he explained.

“Please read it. As your friend I won’t let you sign anything without reading it.”

You stared at him dumbfounded, at both the fact he called you his friend, and the fact that his hand was burning hot on your own. Slowly your eyes moved to your hands touching, his eyes following yours. It lingered longer than either of you should have allowed. His fingers were soft and warm on yours, causing your entire body to be set on fire from the smallest touch. As soon as the feeling came however, it also went as he softly drew his hand away from you. Subconsciously you had allowed yourself to peak at him as he withdrew his warmth. Neither of you said anything but you noticed his ears turning red from the corner of your eye.

You didn’t know why, but all you could think of in that moment was how cute he looked when flustered. You bit the inside of your cheek as you forced yourself to look back to the contract at hand before you got caught staring.

In the end, you both ended up signing the promotion contracts. Instead of competing for a place higher up the ladder, you would now both work side by side in leading your teams. Achieving what you have been working tirelessly for since your family fell into debt as a teenager, what you have sacrificed your entire late teens and most of your twenties for, has left you feeling elated in a way that you never thought was possible to feel. “Finally” you whispered to yourself with a smile.

As you both stepped out of the office, Seokjin cleared his throat. Your head turned to look at him with an eyebrow raised, however you found him staring at the floor as he spoke.

“I was wondering if possibly you wanted to get a celebration dinner together after work?”

You couldn’t see his face as he kept his head tilted to the ground, his shoe apparently being very interesting to him. Normally this would be something that you would reject without a second thought if it was anyone else, but seeing him looking so shy, and the fact that you absolutely did want to get dinner with him caused you to yell “yes” much louder than you had intended. The reaction that came from you was seemingly involuntarily as you brought your hand to your mouth.

“Yes! I mean- sure we can do that. I will uh, let you pick the place”

This time it was your turn to look down at the floor, biting your lip to shut yourself up before you embarrassed yourself more. What you couldn’t see is how his head turned up to look at you wide eyed, a light dusting of pink spread over his cheeks as he stuttered.

“Wait r-really?”

You looked up to him, eyes meeting his as he stared at you with such a burning intensity you have never felt from another gaze before. You swallowed instinctively as your eyes scanned his face, his shoulders, anywhere which was not directly into his gaze.

“I-If that’s what you want. Sure.”

You let out a nervous chuckle as you waited for his response, however he just stared at you for several seconds longer, his mouth slightly agape before he seemingly was able to snap out of it.

“I will, uh, I will wait for you to be off then and we will go together”

He quickly scurried away after saying that, leaving you dumbfounded on what exactly just happened. All you knew is you were very much looking forward to dinner tonight.

If that meant you worked from the moment you woke up, to the moment you fell asleep for the minimal amount of hours required for your body to not shut down, then that’s what you would do. You needed this so you could live again. You knew you couldn’t live like this forever. The same family you worked tirelessly for bugging you about marriage and kids when you didn’t even have time to sleep. That’s why no matter what it took, you needed this promotion. You had been working tirelessly from 16 years old, studying and working part time until college was over, and then you worked overtime at your low tier office job, because any job was money you could make, and with unlimited overtime you had managed to eliminate about 80% of the debt in the six years since starting this job.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Stretching your arms, your eyes scanned to the bottom right hand corner of your work computer. 2:34 AM, a sight that has been common for you for years, in which you had no intention of stopping, not when the opportunity for promotion was up on the table. Though this had become the normal for you, now was not the time for you to suddenly quit, not you had to do everything in your power to show your hard work. Your competition was a man far more charismatic and lively than you, life clearly not sucking the soul out of him like it had you. He was lucky to not have to be here at two in the morning, but you were determined, so you found yourself working extreme overtime to show your devotion to the job, or as far as the company you worked for was aware. The promotion hardly mattered to you, but the opportunity to pay your family debt away was what really mattered. Your dad had gambled away your parents retirement and put your childhood home on the line when you were 16 years old. It’s been twelve years since then, and at 28 you were almost through the daunting amount of debt. Your boss described the sign on bonus as “life changing.”

You don’t know how once upon a time you had squeezed romance between all this, but perhaps that’s why it ended.

Most people would go home by now and leave the seemingly endless work for tomorrow, but you didn’t, instead sliding your chair out from under your desk and making your way to the makeshift office kitchen. When you work for such a large company, there’s always some data that needs to be entered somewhere, some spreadsheet needing to be fixed, some math error. You figured the more your name was on things the better. Brewing yourself a cup of coffee on the Kurieg, you waited for your coffee to brew as you did the mental math in your head; if you completed an all nighter today, at 6:00 PM you could clock out and sleep your weekend away, enough to give you that renewed energy to pull you into the next work week and keep this cycle going.

As you moved back to your desk with your cup of coffee in hand, you continued to work into the early hours of the morning. Your coworkers shuffling into the office, mummering “good morning” to each other, blissfully unaware that you were still wearing the same clothes that you were yesterday, that your eye makeup was slightly melted, or that your eyes were clearly blood shot from lack of sleep. No one exactly talked to you, but you didn’t make yourself approachable either. After college you had realized that if you stopped texing people first, if you weren’t the first to say good morning that they would never speak to you again. Watching everyone you knew fade out of your life strengthened your resolve to double down on work.

Sliding out of your seat, you made your way to the vending machine to pick yourself up some breakfast, whatever the cheapest protein bar was stocked today would be your fuel to keep you alert until lunch time, maybe some coffee too, but you’re not too sure if you should have anymore after consuming coffee all night.

You passed by promotion your rival on the way, looking way too cheery for first thing in the morning, he was smiling and laughing with everyone in the office in a way that looked unreal for first thing in the morning. He even flashed you a bright and wide smile as you walked past him. You didn’t return it, not because you didn’t intend to, but because you were so tired that before you could process his smile, he was gone. Sometimes you wished you could be like him, you were envious of someone who could smile that easily, who could look so incredible first thing in the morning. You would be lying if you said you weren't attracted to the man, you had eyes, and anyone who laid eyes on Kim Seokjin knew how dangerous he was to look at. Sometimes you wondered if he was a siren set to draw people in. That same draw though is why your brain can’t comprehend talking to him, he probably thinks you hate him or something. Maybe that’s for the better than ever admitting your school girl crush on the man when you didn’t even have time for yourself, besides, according to your ex: you were unapproachable, lacked any charm, and in his words, completely boring.

You didn’t need to look in the mirror to know this, to see this fact yourself. When your ex told you this, it had stung but you knew he was right. There was no point in denying it when you had no idea who you were anymore. Your ex leaving was unsurprising when you had become a shell of a woman, someone completely unlovable. You knew it, and he knew it too. You wished you could be the woman he wanted of you, someone deserving of love. You wanted it so bad. To feel. To love.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Making your way back to your desk, sad protein breakfast bar in hand, you noticed a pink sticky note placed on your keyboard. You raised your eyebrow as you approached your desk. Picking up the pink sticky note, there was text written on it with handwriting you didn’t recognize, not like you would recognize anyone’s handwriting, anyways, but that’s beyond the point. The words on the sticky note made you furrow your brow, looking up to scan the room, to see if anyone was looking at you, but no one was, and that confused you further. Shaking your head to try to wake yourself up, you scan the note again trying to make sense on what you were reading.

“For as long as I exist, you are loved and cared for ♥”

You scanned your eyes over the sentence several times, refusing to believe that this could possibly be real and not a joke. Your brain was short circuiting in a way it hasn’t for a long time. Heat obviously and clearly spread over your cheeks as you pressed the back of your hand to them to test the temperature, your suspicions confirmed at the temperature of your now rosy cheeks. What didn’t cross your mind was that whoever left the note could probably see how much you were affected, if you didn’t sleep deprive yourself, you may have conducted yourself more tactfully. Holding the note in your hand, you slid back down to your desk, opening the top drawer and placing the note neatly on the top of the stack of papers sitting in there.

Right now it was hard to believe that something like that was real, let alone for you. The words of your ex hung over your head like a dark cloud. “Boring. Unlovable. Shell of a woman.”

You slumped back in your chair. It was clearly meant for someone else. A thick foggy rain cloud hung over your head for the rest of the day, you felt stupid for even believing for a second that was for you. As your body graced your apartment, you allowed tears to slip from your eyes, slowly trailing down your face as the door shut behind you. Fuck, the feeling of love and being loved was something you dearly missed. If it wasn’t for the fact that you had pulled an all nighter before you would fall into the gentle embrace of slumber, but through quiet sobs you showered yourself until you were satisfied enough. With wet hair and cheeks, you cradled your body to sleep.

You didn’t know how a simple note could affect you so much, but fuck, it did.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

By the time you had woke up, it had been a full 17 hours, now noon on Saturday, and the streets of the vast city outside of your window were bustling and busy. You had laid in bed for a moment, scanning the bare walls of your bedroom as you thought about your day ahead, guilt pinging your heart subconsciously for sleeping so long. If you had gotten up earlier you may have been able to look for a part time job for the day, but you couldn’t, and you didn’t know what to do. Your mind went back to that note as you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom, and all you could think about how you wished that was for you. Despite your situation, the one thing you knew about yourself anymore was how much of a hopeless romantic you once were. Honestly, you were not really sure what went wrong with your ex, even though you thought everything was going well he started to call you bland and boring. It was easy to bury yourself in work after that, to focus on paying down the family debt you had.

Since it was too late to bury yourself in work today, you were not sure what to even do with yourself. You know what you used to enjoy, perhaps giving something that you used to enjoy a go wouldn’t be a bad idea, right?

You stared at the blank walls in your apartment. The place you shared with your ex used to be filled with your personality, your chosen art and decor filling the house. When you split, you didn’t take those memories with you, deeming them too painful to deal with at the time. This apartment felt less like home and more like a place to sleep. What was the point of decorating a space that didn’t feel like home?

Pushing the blanket off your body, you walked over to your dresser and scanned over your clothes. Most of them unworn for years at this point, but you did notice your running vest in the corner of your top drawer, and that decided it for you. So you went on a run, a long winded run by your local lake, like you used to before your life turned what it was now, before you buried yourself in work to forget. The run started normal, feeling the wind under your feet again after a long time feeling freeing, your heart feeling lighter.

This was a feeling you missed deeply. However as you ran further your breathing started to destabilize. Fuck, you could feel panic settling over your body as you ran harder and faster than your body and mind could coordinate. Every emotion you had suppressed over the past few years was finally coming to fruition in this very moment.

Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, you had dropped to your knees, your chest heavy as you held it with the palm of your hand. You needed to stablize your breathing, you needed to-

“_?” A familiar voice called out to you, one you only heard in passing, one associated with a smile you would only allow yourself to take glimpses at when he wasn’t looking. You blinked your teary eyes a few times, clearing the water from your vision as you looked up at Seokjin, still on your knees from your panic attack.

“Seokjin?” your voice cracked as you spoke his name for the first time out loud in months. Speaking out, you said probably the dumbest thing you could in the moment, your brain still trying to process your surroundings.

“Are you okay, Seokjin?”

He wasn’t sure if he should be happy that you knew his name or not, at least in this scenario. He swallowed the spit that he had in his mouth before replying back to you.

“I feel like I should be asking you that more, _.”

For the first time since meeting him, his voice didn’t carry the usual sing songy, happy go lucky tone that it normally did. He was either upset or was concerned, and you were not sure which one you would prefer, or if you were reading entirely too much into this.

“I’m fine” you quipped out, an obvious lie, one you at least at the time thought to be believable. Standing up, you brushed off your knees, clearing what little dirt was on the sidewalk off your skin. “It was uh, nice seeing you Seokjin” you softly spoke out, going to bow politely and turning the other direction. You didn’t make it very far though before the world started to spin around you, and you felt your body drop in the grass people sighing around you as the world went dark.

When you wake up again, the bright florescent light of the hospital graced your vision and you instantly shot up, your features settling into a panic as you observed your surroundings. Tender fingers touched your shoulder and you looked to your side to see familiar long brown locks and tender eyes looking at you.

“Please lay down, I’ll tell the doc you’re awake” Seokjin softly pleaded with you. Sighing, you agreed and laid back down as he pressed the button on the remote of your bed. “How long have I—” you asked, unable to complete your sentence. “It’s only been a few hours” he responded to you. The doctor knocked on the door and allowed himself into the room.

“You’re lucky this young gentleman was able to bring you in fast” the doctor spoke to you seriously as your eyes widened at the fact Seokjin was the one who brought you here. Your coworker who you had a semi crush on but also couldn’t bring yourself to talk to this entire time. Your thoughts were spinning out of control already, the machine beeping quicker behind you as your blood pressure was spiking from overthinking.

“Your cortisol levels are extremely concerning, miss _. You’re malnourished, dehydrated, and your body is showing physical signs of you not sleeping.”

You cringed internally at the doctors brutal words, wishing that Seokjin was not in the room and had to hear the most venerable parts of your life. You could feel his soft brown eyes on you, concern riddling his features as the doctor continued.

“You need to rest, miss _ I recommend taking a few days off of work to rest, recover, and allow your body the time it needs, but if you do that, you will be fine”

Both relief and panic simultaneously washed over your features as you started doing math in your head to see if you could take the time off the doctor said and still pay off the loan sharks coming after your family in time. The answer to that was no. There was no way, but you knew how this went and knew you had to put on your most convincing smile and tell the doctor that yes you would rest, which the doctor seemed to take and told you that he would get you discharged momentarily. As the doctor left the room you could see Seokjin’s eyes burning towards you, and his face had a hardened expression you had never seen before.

“I know you didn’t go home Thursday night” he said to you bluntly, which caused your eyebrows to furrow in return. You didn’t deny it as you replied back, there was no need to lie when he already knew the truth “It was necessary” was all that you could speak out, not wanting to spill your entire life’s shame to Seokjin, the coworker which you blew off and never spoke to you again until today.

“Why were you crying?” he asked softly, which caused you to completely evade eye contact with him. You didn’t know what, or if you should say something at all, but something deep within your chest walls hurt and the pain you were holding in was threatening to spill over once again. “Life is not kind” was all you could muster out to him, feeling a deep sense of shame that you had let your coworker see you like this of all people. If it was a stranger you could at least make sure you never saw them again, a luxury you didn’t have when it came to the man with long brown hair.

You were expecting him to ask more, but he didn’t. He let out a small sigh as his eyes raked over your form in the hospital bed. “I’m responsible to take you home, but I won’t make you tell me anything you don’t want. Just please eat your meals and don’t work all nighters again. I know we are competing for a promotion, but… not like this, please _.” He pleaded with you before continuing.

“I won’t compete with someone who’s going to kill themselves over it, I’ll tell the director I’m out.”

Your eyes shot up, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Wait Seokjin— no!”

You were surprised at yourself for nearly yelling, your voice hadn’t projected like that in a long time, you were not even sure you still had it in you until this moment. “Listen… I’ll take care of myself just please don’t tell anyone about this, I’ll stop working over nighters, I’ll compete with you fairly… just keep this between us, okay?”

Your eyes were watering again, tears threating to spill out in front of Seokjin for the second time today. You never intended for him to feel guilty, the ripple effect of your actions hitting you all at once. All you could think of is how pathetic you probably looked in this moment. Much to your surprise, however he nodded, agreeing with you.

“That’s better” he said with one of his signature smiles he sported at work “don’t worry we’ll still fight over that promotion, I won’t let you get away that easy” he said with a wink which caused you to let out a chuckle, smiling softly to yourself, a small kick of your feet as they hung off the hospital bed.

Seokjin smiled back at you, his heart swelling, filling up as he saw you smile genuinely for the first time that you met him, even more so that he was the one that made you smile. He was absolutely, completely, going to throw his head into his pillow and scream a little when he got home. He needed to keep his composure and act like you didn’t fill every thought in his mind. Getting you to smile would be the fuel to keep him going for a long time. As the doctor headed in and handed you your discharge paperwork, you thanked the doctor and was on your way out of the hospital.

Seokjin drove you home in a comfortable silence, neither of you feeling the need to fill the void as he hummed to the soft rock playing from his car radio. Despite you insisting that he didn’t need to, he walked you up to your apartment, and made sure the door was locked before heading back to his car. As he slid into the drivers seat, he held his hand over his heart, the stammering part of his body ready to burst. He was fucked, completely and utterly in love with his coworker who barely looked at him. He had been from the moment he saw you. He felt drawn to you at first, attempting to strike up a conversation just to see your pretty eyes, and yet you didn’t seem interested not just romantically, but in any sort of friendship at all, so he gave you the much needed space it was clear you desired, because liking you from far away was enough for him.

Today changed his mind, his last conversation with his parents replaying in his mind

“Seokjinah, you’re 33 and you have a low level job and are seeing no one. When our friends brag about their sons it’s hard to listen to.”

He set his chopsticks down, looking at them deeply offended.

“I have someone I like Eomma” he simply responded, but his mother was quick to quip back “You’ve been saying that since you were in college, always in love but never with a lover”

He shook the memory as he looked back up from his car to your window. Today made him realize that space wasn’t what you needed, what you needed was for him to like you closely yet distanced at the same time; you just needed time to get to know people and to trust them. The way you giggled and kicked your feet in the hospital at so much as a joke and a wink proved as much to him.

He knew as he looked to your apartment window that his mother was right. This time he would do something about his constant unrequited crushes. He had already left you one note at work, so he came up with a plan to be in your mind while keeping the distance you needed. Sticky notes and a pen would be his feelings for now, he would fill your desk with all his unspoken love until your heart was full.

All that's been racing through my mind since watching the series is how strong Mark would be while in bed with you.

It's frightening and arousing just how much control it takes Mark to not physically hurt you when he has the absolute capability to do it. But you both know Mark would never dare to hurt you like that. Sure, his hands are big and strong but he's so careful with you.

Of course, he isn't abusive with his strength where you're left screaming in pain. Hell no, it's the type of strength a girl can only dream of when it comes to being manhandled and put in their place.

Mark, with his rough calloused hands gripping either side of your thighs as he eats you out. His hold on your thighs are too strong you couldn't close them even if you dared to try. In fact, he's so pussywhipped that he'll spread your soft flesh even further apart so he has more access to that pretty pussy, your bedroom light reflecting off the glistening of your juices as he takes a fleeting moment to pull back and admire his work.

And oh, will Mark enjoy every bit of your writhing as he takes nice, long strips from your dripping hole, through your folds and up to your clit where he'll flick and circle your overstimulated clit. Your pants, gasps and moans only fuel his neediness as he continues to eat you out.

"Fuck- Mark! 'S too much!" You moan out, your breath hitching in the process as your grip on your bedsheets tighten.

"You can take it, baby," He murmurs, only to then drag his tongue down from your clit and into your hole, thrusting his tongue deep inside of you as he tongue-fucks you. It's so good, too good that you cum so fucking hard from it.

But Mark isn't one to leave his girl waiting.

Because you won't even have finished orgasming when he pulls away and plunges a finger inside of you, his digit mixing in with the warmth of your walls and your juices that just tried to leak out of you. You'll choke, immediately melting into ecstasy as he makes 'come here' motions with his finger to reach that fleshy part of your g-spot.

The good thing about his strength? He can last for fucking hours. His stamina and endurance is incredible, especially when he's fucking you with his fingers.

Magic hands, they say...

Mark will milk out orgasm after orgasm from you until you're a crying mess. He can be a tease- some days he'll have three fingers inside of you, the next, only one. And you can't get away either, not when one of his hands is holding onto your waist, pushing you into the bed so you can't get away from his abuse on your pussy.

The best part, however, is when he fucks you.

You remember the first time you had sex together; you, naked, sitting on Mark's unclothed lap. And you're giggling while Mark was blabbering about how he was worried he was going to hurt you.

"Oh, Mark, you aren't gonna hurt me," You chuckled, your fingers tracing up to the nape of his neck.

Like walking on eggshells, Mark hovers over your waist as if touching you at all would leave bruises, "But...but what if I do? God, I'll feel so bad!"

And he wouldn't shut up, so, like any woman would do, you leaned down, your lips just grazing his ear as you whispered, "It's okay, I like it rough."

Mark hasn't looked back since that first day.

Especially not now that he can manhandle you in all sorts of different positions to his liking, his cock pounding into you like there's no tomorrow.

The good thing about his strength is you can be as much of a pillow princess as you want- he just does all the work for you.

Pinned up against a wall? Riding him mid-air or as he's carrying you to the bed? He just makes it so easy.

Even while you're riding him, he'll help make the rhythm you've started more rough and deep. He'll lift you up so effortlessly until your pussy is just coating his throbbing tip, and then he'll push you all the way down just in time for his thrust to meet up with you.

You can't help but let your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Mark also loves to fuck you when you're on all fours with your ass up, admiring how his cock fucks into your pussy so perfectly. He can get pretty lost in his strength too, the bed's probably broken, the walls might have cracked, and he's panting and groaning like a fucking animal too.

Beneath him, you're fucking shaking, letting out moans with each matching thrust as he sets a relentless pace, "Mark, please! So good, so- Mmh!" As he pushes your head into your pillows.

"Fuckin' taking it so well, aren't you?" He groans out, his hands gripping your ass so tightly that they'll bruise- along with that red handprint from when he slapped your ass not too long ago, "Gonna- holy shit, gonna cum, baby."

And as he should, it's been three hours since Mark started to begin to foreplay on you. As much as you love a man who can last as long as your boyfriend does, your pussy can't keep up with his superhuman strength.

Mark's empathetic to allows days for you to recover, knowing you won't be able to walk properly for the next few days.

Also, his aftercare is just as good as when he's fucking you senselessly.

Maybe you liked reincarnation and transmigration stories so much because it seemed so inconceivable of it being even close to plausible. Maybe if you knew the sheer fright you would feel in such a story, you wouldn’t have entertained the notion in the first place.

Well, being reborn into what you thought was a fictional world wouldn’t be too bad if you woke up in Pokemon. Now, that sounds like a good time. Getting to leave home as a minor and not having to worry about money when you can just beat the shit out of your fellow trainers seems pretty good, actually. Way better than your actual situation, cruelly so. In fact, you think God or whatever entity-concept-bitch that threw you into a new life should recompense you. Maybe if you monologued hard enough you’d be given what you’re owed—

Are you being dramatic? No. No, you’re not. And if you are, then maybe you’re allowed to be a little obnoxious when you have a bloodied behemoth of a man with a scarred face and metal arm staring down at you, expression not dissimilar to a feral animal with rabies.

Judging by how the screams and sound of buildings collapsing has long gone silent, you suspect that the alien world you were born into was now distinctly lacking its lifeforms. It’s almost a shame. Your new species looked like pretty space elves, like something out of a shut-in nerd’s erotic sci-fi fanfic.

You’re almost disappointed that you have to die as a toddler, you’re pretty sure you were going to grow up to be quite the beauty based on how your new mother looks—

Oh, she’s probably dead too.

You feel like you should be crying right now, but you remain motionless, pinned under the gaze of an apex predator that seeks to maul you, without the right to even grieve.

In the depths of your fractured mind, you realize that this doesn’t seem to be in character for the man, if you can even call him that, before you. You should already be dead, like an ant carelessly crushed by the heel of an uncaring giant. But you’re still alive.

He speaks, and your heart nearly stops.

“So, you are the one that your…mother sought to protect. Once, she was a fine warrior, ravenous and uncaring, but you made her…weak. Pathetic, even. It was almost a mercy to put her down, free her from the sad morsel of flesh she has degraded into.” He leans down now, fully looming above you, your wooden cradle acting less like protection and more like a trap, leaving you unable to escape.

“And for what? To nurture you beyond what her teat can offer—“

Does he have something against breastfeeding?

“—Viltrum had no tolerance, even when it came to weeping babes—“

Oh. You know who’s standing above you now, Negan voice be damned to the worst layer of hell.

“Yet, here you lie, a new generation of our dying empire; weak and disappointing. The only spawn I have sired, the only being in the universe that shares any blood with me—“

Anything else he says is drowned out by your own internal screaming. Your father is Conquest and he's a deadbeat. The unhinged psycho from yet another superhero comic that delights off suffering and broken bones.

But, this information, while horrifying, brings a clarity that washes over you like cold water. You’re currently a toddler, a Viltrumite one, sure, but a toddler, nonetheless, with a pathetic grip and too small limbs, reliant on your now dead mother to care for you. But you’re Conquest’s child. His family, even if the term is a foreign concept to him, and that makes you special. That gives you a chance to survive. You know his isolation, his loneliness. You know how easily Viltrumite pride crumbles when its few survivors found love on Earth, folding like a house of cards. Nolan was the outlier and then the rule.

The way of survival was clear to you, another remanent from your past life; play the fool, stupid and oblivious.

So, you embrace your new body and abandon shame, and throw your hands into the air, making grabby hands at the murderer, asking for ‘uppies’.

(You’d cry later.)

He ends his traumatizing soliloquy, going frighteningly silent.

Yeah. He looks like he’s going to kill you. So, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“Da!” You cry out, giving him a gummy smile.

Maybe you should have just let him kill you.

His face remains as impassive as stone but after another painfully long pause, he reaches down with bloodstained hands and picks you up, holding you from under your arms, large fingers completely covering your ribs.

“You are Viltrumite in blood only, your weakness would have had you purged—“

You let out a childish laugh, innocent and pure, desperate not to get ‘purged’ as he put it, “Silly da!”

That gets him to shut up. You ignore the way he flexes his fingers, the way they dig into your skin, more than capable of crushing your bones—

Your stupid, tiny hands grip his, as if willing—pleading him to not end your second life.

“You are so new to life, so sheltered, you cannot even comprehend who holds you, what I am even capable of doing. Your own mother has been slain by my hand,” he muses. “You truly…perplex me. Do you know who I am by sheer instinct? Does our blood tie us together so intrinsically?”

You kind of want to laugh at how much his words piss you off. What an annoying way to speak. Without even realizing it, your little fingers start to squeeze and you hear his surprised intake of breath. Your hand pulls away, to reveal the beginning of a bruise on his finger.

Oh, fuck.

“So young, and your powers are already appearing? This feeling, is it…” He lets out something similar to a laugh, ugly and unnatural, “There is value to you yet, child.”

He abruptly lets you go, and you fall back into your crib, too shocked to even yelp. Who drops a child!? The only thing you do is stare up at him in shock. He smiles down at you, and you almost piss yourself.

“You…are different. I will not take you with me. Do not fret, for I will be watching.” He promises, expression odd, “The being you will become, so unlike what we should be…I look forward to it. After all, you are mine.”

And as sudden as he appears, he’s gone. And you’re left, feeling slightly bruised, alone in your crib on a now dead planet.

How were you supposed to survive, exactly!?

*

You did survive. It seems like your planet had ties to the Coalition, who only arrived after everyone died. Pretty cowardly, really. But, you can’t really complain since they did retrieve you from your broken home , taking you with them. To fight for their cause, but beggars can’t be choosers in a brutal subversion of superhero media. Why couldn’t you have ended up in Venture Bros?

The cherry on top of this train wreck of a situation is that they immediately clocked you for being a half-Viltrumite, presenting you to their leader, Thaedus. Tad, as you sometimes called him, when you wanted to annoy him.

He trained you, along with many others, who drilled it into you to survive, to be stronger than the Viltrumites that threatened the safety of all life and freedom as you know it. You were their ace in the hole, their hunting dog, the hope of the Coalition. Mongrel and messiah in one. They made sure you were educated, well versed in their code of ethics. That your loyalty would always be to them. Questionable of them to do, frankly speaking, but they kept you clothed and fed, so you had no reason to protest.

The company wasn’t so bad at least. Under the Coalition, you’ve had the opportunity to meet a lot of people, from all ends of the universe, some kind, others absolutely terrified of your mere existence.

Allen fell into the former category, always seeking you out, sharing anecdotes from his missions and asking for you to share your own. And with Allen, came Telia, a higher ranking member than you both that you trusted to not spit on you for being ‘Viltrumite scum’ or whatever it was that some practically scornful cadets called you. Little did they know who their leader truly is.

*

You’d figure you wouldn’t see your ‘father’ after he killed your mom, but fate was unkind and Conquest is bat-shit insane. But at least he didn’t rat you out. You still wonder why he annihilated your home planet when you were clearly proof of compatible breeding. Honestly, genocide was a mercy compared to what you know they wanted to do to Earth, what they would probably do to you, if they caught wind. It was for the better they died, unfortunately. Even if their only survivor carried their legacy as recessive genes.

Not that you would ever ask him, even if you did often have the opportunity. Whenever you least expected it, when you were too concentrated on your mission, whether it was peacemaking or inspecting a new planet to add to the Coalition, he would appear, killing whatever adversary you were facing gleefully, expecting your gratitude and admiration for it, so you’d grit your teeth and call him ‘father’, despite the humiliation. You were still too weak, too scared to act how you wanted to. Which was to cave his skull in.

Other times, he would just follow you. Silent, like a spectre. Or a fucked up looking dog.

It was worse when he tried to copy the acts of physical affection you shared with others. His hugs usually broke one or two ribs and his head pats left you with a bump. You’re not even sure how he learned about them in the first place. Other times, they weren’t…too painful, at least.

*

“Child,” he calls after slaughtering the fleet you were leading on a recon mission. “You grow stronger, yet you still lack the true strength of an Viltrumite.”

“Is that so?” You laugh, good natured, noting Shez’s head by your feet. He was your pilot. A good man and father from what little you knew about him.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should have taken you with me, if I still should,” Conquest admits.

“That’s an interesting thought,” you smile stupidly, trying to keep the murder off your face.

“But you are…more interesting like this.” He concludes. And you wonder why someone like him was committing probably the highest level of treason. For some daddy-daughter time? The Empire obviously didn’t do family, bonds were meaningless to them, but apparently not to Conquest anymore. Did the isolation from his race finally get to him? Was he really that simple? That…lonely?

Another long moment of silence passes before he leaves you with your broken ship and dead crew.

“Okay?” You whisper, making eye contact with Shez.

*

You were on your way back to base after surveying a planet of bug people, they had no warriors or weaponry to speak of and their technology was nothing to write home about. Unfortunately, they had nothing to offer to the Coalition. At least that meant Viltrumites would have no interest in them either. No, that sounds wrong——

Your thoughts are cut off when you’re suddenly tackled mid-flight, and before you know it, you find yourself in a stone cube your father apparently dragged around as shelter. A house? Just without a bed. And everything else. It was sad and barren, only having some supplies and what looks like a…cake? On the ground before you, messily frosted a deep red colour. You hope that isn’t blood, actually.

“You told me once how some species choose to celebrate their day of birth. A foolish sentiment,” he rumbles, sitting before you.

You can kind of remember rambling about birthdays. You usually just say whatever pops up in your mind so his thoughts don’t swerve into killing you. The most terrifying thing about him was how we could go from looking like the psycho killer he is to giving you big, sad eyes. It almost humanized him.

“Oh, it’s not my birthday,” you start to say before noticing his expression, “It’s— it’s your birthday?”

“I do not recall when I was born.”

Neither of you say anything for a moment.

“You said there would be singing,” he scowls.

“Oh, well, only sometimes, like rarely, actually—“ you notice his glare, and duck your head. “Happy birthday to you…happy birthday to you…”

*

While you didn’t have to worry about debt or making something of yourself like in your past life, your current life was uniquely difficult.

You were growing wary (and scared) of having to placate your ‘father’. You don’t believe he would snitch to the Empire about your existence, that would be mutually assured destruction, so you were finding little reason to continue your ‘hangouts’ with him and you were beginning to worry if you were impacting the plot too much, god forbid your existence becomes the reason he survives.

So, you’re going to Earth, to hide yourself being the bigger, flashing target that was Mark Grayson. Let him deal with Conquest when the time came.

…and maybe you missed having a home. And the PlayStation, you definitely missed that.

And after years of having Conquest rough you up (break your bones and rupture your organs) to test your might, you weren’t looking forward to him trying to give you some type of sick ‘becoming an adult’ beating.

So, you told Thaedus you were going on leave, a vacation, really. You needed a break from the continued mess that was your life. What better than reliving the mess that was your past life instead? When your biggest worries were meeting the disappointment of your parents rather than having to placate your colonizer father.

“You want to go to Earth…? The planet that inhabits the only other half-Viltrumite we know of, that is currently the Empire’s main focus?” Thaedus blinks at you. "For fun?"

“What, I’m not allowed to sightsee? Take a load off? I see, so I don’t even have the right to take time off! I mean, I’m already a child soldier so I might as well be under Thragg’s rule—“

“And that’s the only reason?” Your fellow Viltrumite interrupts.

“What? Worried I’m going there to revive our dying civilization with Nolan’s son?” you tilt your head, smiling blandly.

And the conversation ended pretty quickly, after that. Not before he tried to once again ask you to bring your sperm doner over to your side. Which was another hard no. You were not going to mess with canon.

At least Allen seemed a little more thrilled.

“They really do grow up so fast,” Allen wipes a tear from his eye. “But, look at you, finally putting yourself out there, getting some work-life balance! Earth will love you! Well, some of them are pretty paranoid after the whole ‘Viltrumite killing thousands’ thing, but you’ll be fine! Just be yourself! Well, maybe not ‘yourself’—“

“Worried?” You tease.

“No, not at all!” He laughs nervously, “It’s just that sometimes you can be just a teensy bit…mean? Which I love! Great banter between us! It’s our thing! But, maybe, the Earthlings will see it as psychological warfare…?”

“Me? Mean? I wouldn’t say that, in fact, others would describe me as nothing but pleasant!” You chortle, disregarding everything he said, and Allen awkwardly joins you, muttering something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like a prayer.

*

Allen told you to just hang around the moon and someone would pop up to greet you. You hope it isn’t the Immortal.

You internally curse when the Immortal appears, rage clear on his face as he shoot’s up, ready to attack. How embarrassing of him, really.

You tackle him back into Earth’s stratosphere in a sudden burst of speed, breathing in sweet, probably polluted air.

“Take me to your leader?” You ask, arms stilled wrapped around his shoulders. “Or better yet, have him head over to me. A welcoming committee would be nice.”

He only lets out another shout, throwing a punch towards your face, so you grab his arm, throwing him over your shoulder before deigning to fly away then waste any more of your time trying to talk to a knockoff…Vandal Savage?

You instead head to New York City, normally known as a magnet for trouble, in any other reality than this one. You definitely stand out in your Coalition uniform, but people barely spare you a second glance from the park bench you’ve currently claimed as yours.

You watch a group of nearby pigeons fight over a hot dog bun before a presence blinks next to you. Honestly, Cecil’s teleportation was comparatively primitive to other civilizations you’ve come across. A lot more wasteful too.

A moment of silence passes and you can at least commend him for taking a seat next to you. You’re sure that he has a bunch of weapons and satellites honed in on you, but it’s brave of him regardless. Maybe you should thank Allen for opening a bridge in the first place. You doubt he’d be as chill if you weren’t wearing your uniform.

“So, I hear you have a Viltrumite problem,” you start, smiling.

“And I should assume you’re not here to add on to that?” He asks wryly. “Not here to spread word of the Viltrum Empire?”

You laughed as if he actually said something funny, “You know that not all of us were raised like that. No, there are outliers that weren’t indoctrinated from birth. Not of pure blood. Me…and Nolan’s kid. Is he too busy to say hi?”

“Extremely.” He narrows his eyes at you, and you can tell you’ve unsettled him. Oh, Mark wasn’t here was he? Looks like little Oliver would be arriving soon.

He meets your gaze, “I’m going to be blunt. I already figured you weren’t a hostile force because of your ‘friend’ already popping by, but I thought your little group was too busy to grant us any aid. So tell me this. What the hell are you doing here? You’ve already gave everyone a heart attack, to do what? Watch birds fight?”

“I’m on vacation,” you reply brightly.

He stares at you. “You’re here…on vacation.”

“Yeah, Allen mentioned Earth was an interesting place, if not a bit…behind. My old planet wasn’t too different actually! I mean before we started stripping it for resources. Don’t worry, everyone was already dead,” you continue. “Honestly, it feels nostalgic being here. In more ways than one.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe you and believe you at the same.” The man rubs his face tiredly, but you don’t take it as him letting his guard down. It’s probably a signal for something, you’re guessing.

“I’m being pretty polite, you know. I could have just came here undetected. I’m fast enough and I have the tech for it, but I wanted to meet you,” you admit, still smiling, though you doubted it was comforting. “You’re in a pretty tough position here, friend. Viltrum believes you can help replenish what they lost and the only reason they haven’t is because Earth is continuously racked with…internal issues. And they trusted Nolan, too much, a mistake you guys made too. Your strongest fighter would die to any Viltrumite, including me. Honestly, feels like you guys just have horrible luck. And it’s not going to get any better.”

“So what? The Coalition is going to back us up now? From what I’ve heard you guys haven’t had much luck against the Viltrumites either,” he retorts and you laugh again, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him against your side. You can feel his tension despite his expression not changing. You doubt he’s ever been manhandled like this. “…awfully friendly, aren’t you?”

You’re being mean. But you have a lot of frustration that you aren’t able to take out against the one that wronged you. So, yes, you’re being a bully right now, making his weak, little heart almost go out, but you’ll make up for it. Someday.

You wonder if Donald is shitting himself right now. “I’ve killed two of them before. Viltrumites, that is.”

“Two?” He sounds unimpressed, but you can tell you only raised your danger level.

“Believe it or not, it was a major loss for them. Painted a target on my head the first time, the second time, they started getting a bit nervous,” you share, “The only way to kill one of us is to be stronger. Plain and simple.”

You’re lying a bit there, but you’re not about to share your weaknesses with him of all people.

“Roundabout way to sell yourself, I thought you were here to…relax,” he says, shifting in your grasp.

“I am, but even off duty, I took an oath to protect, especially when Viltrumites are involved. Don’t think of me as an enemy or something you need to worry about. If they come, I’ll help. And if I’m not fighting whoever they send, and they will send someone, I’ll just be enjoying the sights.” You pat his shoulder before pulling away. “I think we’ll become great friends…sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Cecil.” He’s playing nice, at least. “You can stay, we’ll even fund your…activities. But, the only way you involve yourself in any altercation, you wait for my call. Trust that you’ll be met with immediate consequences if you act out.”

With those final words, he’s gone. You’re amused that he only threatened you after you let go of him. He was definitely placating you the same way you did for your father.

“Some clothes and currency would be nice?” You call out to the sky, aware you’d be monitored during your stay. Voyeurs.

You were definitely going to take advantage of the taxpayers. Sorry, Americans.

*

You let out a sigh of contentment as you emerged from the ocean, heading back to where you left your towel. You’ve seen a lot of beaches over the years, but you never had the chance to actually enjoy any of them. So you figured you’d make sure of a private beach in Australia, uncaring of the actual owners.

Right as you bent down to pick up your towel, you had to dodge an incoming punch from the protagonist himself. Wow, he just got back on Earth and he came to visit you. You’re honoured.

“This isn’t your planet—“ you know he was about to make a speech about how colonization is bad, but he pauses, mouth agape as he takes in your form.

You meet his gaze, tilting your head. Ah, you understand now. In your last life, you weren’t a big fan of revealing outfits, but after interacting with a variety of cultures and species, you were comfortable in your skin, meaning sometimes you liked to wear sexy bikinis that didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

“Yes?” You smile.

“Uh, you, uh, I’m not—you’re a Viltrumite!” He barely gets out, obviously going red under his mask.

“You definitely didn’t let Cecil finish before hunting me down, did you? And did he really give you my location before at least saying I’m a friendly Viltrumite like you?” You pout, crossing your arms, already sure Cecil is shouting into his earpiece.

“You—yeah, he’s bringing me up to speed now,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’re friends with Allen? He didn’t mention you…like at all.”

“Viltrumites aren’t something you can freely talk about,” you reply, “I’m sure you can guess why.”

“Heh, yeah, for sure,” he says awkwardly.

When you don’t say anything, he speaks up again, “You, uh, don’t seem that different from a human. My mom said even my dad took a while to get used to Earth. But you look great— like you’re doing great!”

“Well, compared to the Empire, the Coalition is all about diversity. They made sure I wasn’t an emotionally constipated killer.” You take pity on him and ignore his slip up. A part of you wants to mess with him a bit more, mostly out of envy for him having a human mom and an actual childhood, but that’s twisted even for you. “Did you want to join me?”

Okay, maybe you did have it in you.

“Oh, me? Wow, that’s, wait, no, I have a girlfriend! Oh my god, Amber,” he starts to mumble to himself guiltily. Did he come see you before his girlfriend? You’re flattered, even thought those two are on the brink of a breakup.

“You should get comfortable having me around, Mark.” You mention casually, “Cecil wants me to help whip you into shape. Allen mentioned you were a late bloomer.”

His cheeks flush again much to your glee. “You? But you’re—“

“Doubting me, are you?” In an instant, you’re behind him, kicking his knee in, so he stumbles before whipping around to face you.

Oddly enough rather than offence, he’s giving you the same stupid look as earlier. You look done and let out an ‘ah’. You turn around, arm covering your now bare chest. You weren’t that secure.

“Can you pass me my top?”

In a flash, he’s holding up the piece of fabric, his other hand covering his goggles. For that act of kindness, you pretend not to notice how affected he is by the sight of your tits. Honestly, he’s acting like he’s a virgin, which you know he is not!

*

You’re having the most fun you’ve had in a while, or maybe even the most fun you’ve had in this life.

You get to laze around, eat good food, beat the shit out of Mark for ‘training purposes’. Going on vacation really was the best, especially since you were basically waiting to get drafted to fight in a war. Right now, the best thing to do is nothing.

“You don’t pull punches, do you?” Mark hovers above where you’re perched on a cliffside, watching the sunset after hours of tossing him around.

“That’s what makes me so good at my job,” you grin up at him. Surprisingly, he smiles back at you. You guess being associated with Allen is like a ‘get-out-of-jail’ card here. Well, for now.

“You sure about that? You just smack me around and yell ‘dodge this’,” he teases. “By the way, you’re supposed to warn me before you hit me, not after!”

“I’m Pavlov-ing you. In a good way,” you clarify.

“I don’t thinking saying it’s the ‘good way’ actually makes it good.”

“Hmm, yeah, I guess you’re—dodge this!”

*

“He smells like grape juice,” you breathe, hugging the purple toddler to your chest.

“He doesn’t smell like grape juice just because he’s purple,” Mark retorts, crossing his arms as he watches you nuzzle your face into Oliver’s hair. “I don’t get why you wanted to see him.”

“He’s another halfie, we’re like a super minority right now,” you explain, “And I didn’t really see too many kids growing up.”

“How old are you?” Mark asks suddenly before backtracking, “Oh, wait is that rude to ask? I don’t mean it in a bad way, just curious if, uh, I’ll shut up now.”

“Worried I’m as old as your mom?” You ask. “No, I only recently entered adulthood like you.”

“Cool, cool, cool.” Mark nods, attempting to appear casual. “So, uh, me and Amber broke up.”

That’s earlier than you thought it would happen.

“Why?”

“I’m going to drop out of Upstate, I barely have enough time with the super hero gig and training, as is, forget about actually being able to be there for her. It wasn’t fair to her,” Mark admits. “It felt like we were holding onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You did sound like a bad partner,” you hum and he shoots you a betrayed look. “But, life isn’t so simple for you. You’ll find your peace eventually, Mark.”

You’ve seen it, after all.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He rubs his neck sheepishly. It’s a cute habit, you hope it’s one he keeps even if it seems unlikely.

*

“—are you okay?” Mark appears in your vision, bloodied and bruised. “You…scared her off? Uh, asserted your dominance?”

“I’m not a dog,” you grumble, lifting yourself from the sand, as he collapses to sit beside you. “But, yeah, Anissa, was it? Older than us, way older. Any further confrontation between us would have led to more serious injury, so she cut her losses and left. Wish I could have bashed her head in permanently, but there’s always next time. If she was just a little slower…”

“You guys were faster than I thought was possible,” he shakes his head ruefully.

“Experience does count for something. At least, you’re good at taking a beating,” you console.

“Yeah, that definitely makes me feel better.”

“That’s what I’m here for; pina coladas and emotional support,” you grin mockingly before your face falls back into neutral dissatisfaction.

Mark pats your arm, “You’ll get her next time.”

*

“Wow, you really suck at this,” Oliver remarks, watching your character die for the nth time, the two of you sitting on the floor, engaged in the most broken game of all time. You'd rather play a RPG.

“Why do you even like playing shooters? Bullets are literally the most useless thing in space,” you mumble, tossing your controller away.

“Why do you keep playing with my brother when I’m the one that invited you over?” Mark wonders, slumped on the couch behind you.

“She just likes me better,” Oliver brags. “How long are you here for anyway? You said you were just on leave.”

“I’ve literally never taken any day offs, so like ten years, I guess. Or whenever they’re planning to take out the remaining Viltrumites,” you shrug, prompting Oliver to starting ranting about how he’s going to get the most takedowns.

“What are you going to do when it’s over? When there’s no threat?” Mark asks suddenly.

“What? Like, universal peace? I guess the same thing I’m doing right now,” you answer, unsure why he looks so pleased. Dork.

“Then I guess I’ll have to get to work,” he says as if he could just achieve it like that. Well, he would, but doesn’t know that.

“Maybe win a fight first.”

“Ohhhh!”

“Shut up, Oliver.”

*

Shit was going down. It was the average Ao3 user’s wet dream. Dozens of morally dubious Marks fucking everything up.

And, you were having your (Y/N) moment. And letting out some steam through violence. You can only blame your genetics.

“I’m gonna be real with you, babe, this is the most fun I’ve ever had,” a variant wearing a mask without lenses, revealing stupid Bambi eyes, admits, nose bleeding, staining his teeth red when he smiles.

“Aw, you’re going to make me blush,” you giggle after bringing a knee to his face.

“No, really! I thought the only kinda cool thing I could do was kill the Guardians again, but that was a bust! When you tackled me into a mountain, I think I got, like, a gratitude boner or something!” He exclaims, what a manic sweetheart he is. And he should be grateful, you saved him from having to survive the horrors alongside Darkwing Jr.

“Wow, you’re actually being serious about the boner thing,” you comment, doing your best to look into his eyes, and not at his—

“What can I say? You just do it for me, baby, maybe it’s your penchant for punching the shit out of me. Or maybe it’s those pretty legs of yours,” he admits shamelessly, “Actually, do you own any fishnet—“

You punch him into the ground and watch him bounce, but he only lifts his head to look at you like a lovesick puppy. “Marry me?

Okay, that’s enough. The sadomasochism thing was mostly a joke. He can get cannibalized. You’re pretty sure Rex is about to sacrifice himself and take that as an excuse to dip.

*

The day you’ve been dreading. Conquest’s arrival, and you do not want to stand ready for it.

People (and dogs) are going to die. Mark and Eve are going to get mutilated. And you don’t think you can live with that happening on your watch.

So when Cecil calls you for backup, you don’t ignore him. You cry a little, but you go.

When you see him about to tear Oliver in half, you dive down from the sky, landing a kick against his back, forcing him to drop Oliver, you’re barely able to catch him, watching Conquest land a couple feet away.

“That’s enough,” you declare, gently setting the boy down for retrieval, trusting Cecil to take care of him, and approach your father.

“It looks like you’ve improved at hide and seek, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, and you’re here? Your softness…I can only take responsibility for it,” he tells you, quiet compared to the devastation around you. His hand cradles your cheek when you’re close enough, gentler than he’s ever been with you. You raise an eyebrow at the absurdity. Did he miss you that much?

“That’s right, it’s your fault. You could have taken me in at any time, let me be molded into a ‘true Viltrumite’, but you didn’t. Why? All that loyalty to them but you falter now? I don’t understand,” you admit. “Families don’t exist for our people. You want me to be strong, but not enough that I be trained like the rest of you.”

“You were the only one to ever smile at me,” he states simply.

You really hated when you felt bad for him.

Your little moment is interrupted when you hear Mark shout.

“Get away from her!” You raise a hand, stopping his charge as he stares at you in confusion.

“Father, what are you doing? I thought maybe you wanted me to be the one to kill you, but it’s that not that,” you exhale steadily before continuing, “The day you didn’t kill me or take me, you became a traitor. You don’t care about the Empire, clearly, and based on the way you keep following me around like a sad, old dog, there’s more to you than just wanting to fight. What do you want?”

“I want you to live as you always have, without the influence of anyone but myself,” he says. “That way, you can still bear to look at me. That matters more than anything else. Treachery or even destroying this planet, it doesn't matter what I do, so you must remain as yourself.”

That’s almost sweet.

“I came here to drench myself in blood, but now, I will crush this planet against my heel, even if it’s against the Empire’s wishes, for attaching itself to you like a parasite, wasting away your potential and time,” he vows. “I will liberate you from this weakness.”

What?

“What!?” Mark, who was previously stuck in a shellshocked state, shouts.

Your father turns back to Mark, glee gone from his face, replaced with a look of loathing. Before he can move, you wrap your arms around him, feeling him stiffen in shock, as he stares down at you.

“Father! Dad! Dad, you’re right, I’ve gotten attached to this place, for better or worse. Maybe that makes me weak. But, I’m okay with that,” you nervously ramble, clutching onto the man like a lifeline, even thought you have to resist the urge to start shaking. You need to come up with something quick. “The truth is…that I want to start a life here. On a planet where blood and bonds ties us together, where families are forged. Because I’m…”

You silently apologize to Mark.

“I’m with child. Nolan’s son is the father,” you lie, looking your father in the eye. “Here, parents raise their child. They spend every day with them. And…and grandparents are very involved! They just pop up and spoil their grandkids…and that’s totally something I want.”

“A child?” Your father brokenly gasps, looking back at Oliver’s battered form.

“No, that’s not—obviously not! I meant, in my womb, dad!” You yell, pulling away.

He stares at your stomach like you have a bomb strapped to you. He stumbles back before flying away, concrete breaking under the impact. You wonder if canon even matters anymore.

You’ve saved thousands, but at what cost?

Mark finally regains the ability to speak, “We’re pregnant!?”

“I lie when I'm scared, Mark! You should know that!”

*

When you exit the washroom after a very long shower, you’re not surprised to find Mark in your hotel suite, awkward lounging on your bed, staring a bit too long at your fluffy bathrobe for it to be an admiring gaze.

“How was Rex’s going away party?” You ask, sitting next to him, crossing your bare legs.

“Great, I’m happy for him. They missed you, actually. Rex wanted to thank you for taking down that variant,” he smiles, and you take note that most of his injuries have already healed. You stopped the worst of it. “Rae too, looks like they’re a thing now. Didn’t see that coming.”

You hum, an urge to bully him hitting you. You turn to face him, “Do you want to have sex?”

“S-shouldn’t I buy you dinner or take you to a movie first?” He blurts out.

“You wanna take me out?” You ask.

“Yes, of course, I think we’re doing things a little…out of order?” He says. “I mean, sex is also, hmn, good. Really good.

“I was just thinking you should put a baby in me before Conquest comes back,” you explain casually. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I figured we might as well go along with it.”

He chokes, and you bite back a smile.

He’s too easy.

“You don’t have to. It’s a better alternative than fighting him, but we can figure it out,” you continue, “Maybe we could—“

You’re cut off when he presses his lips against yours, hands cradling the back of your head. Any noise you make is swallowed by him. He pulls away, nose brushing against yours.

“Let’s do it,” he declares.

“Uh, I think your line is supposed to be ‘that’s crazy’ or ‘how can we have a baby’,” you reply, face feeling hot at his sudden boldness.

“I mean, it’s like you said, it’s the best alternative. I’d rather have Grandpa Conquest showing up than the bloodthirsty version,” he says, hand already moving to untie your robe.

“Dude, no way do you want a baby,” you blanch. Is this a game of chicken? Are you losing said game of chicken?

“We can at least try,” he says dragging you further up the bed. “And we can figure out the money thing. I wouldn't let the mother of my child go hungry."

“Well, uh, I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try,” you bite your lip before he pushes you down by the shoulders, climbing atop you, pressing his mouth against your neck.

“We’re doing this for Earth,” he mumbles in between his sucking and biting.

“For peace,” you agree, a little breathless.

This was either going to cause Cecil a stroke or be some good wank material.

*

“I think I might be a little obsessed with you,” he admits from in between your thighs, face drenched.

Join the club, you think delirious.

Mc’s mom looking up from hell to see Conquest doing the same thing he shamed her for; loving their daughter: I’m going to rip his dick off

*

Mc:

Thaedus: what have you done

*

Cecil, after meeting mc: mass suicide?

*

Mc, bullying Cecil because she can’t kill her dad: damn I need therapy

Mc: I’m going to physically intimidate that old man again.

*

Mc, sobbing after hearing someone sing ‘happy birthday’:

Mark, the ‘someone’: I’m…sorry??

*

Mark: so you’re not pregnant 😔

Oliver, lying a couple feet away, bleeding out: can you do this shit somewhere else

*

Mark: why is that variant still here…and why is he holding roses

Mc: should we keep him as a dog or something

Mark: no??

*

GDA admins, after basically creating a sex tape: delete…or save🤭

*

Conquest: where is the womb??? Where is my grandchild being held!?

I feel like whenever I come up with a title before I actually write a fic, I end up changing everything and doing a rewrite, which is what happened here…I decided to make mc apart of the coalition rather than the empire, creating a more estranged relationship, the only way love could form since it would impossible if mc was raised the Viltrumite way…anyone still around from when I made the original poll? I prefer this version more since there’s more freedom to write the mcs personality when they’re not part of a regime

Anyway even the style of the fic changed from being manwha adjacent to becoming a mix of Gintama/adult swin humour lol

But yay over 6.6k words ughh lemme know about any errors, I’m so bad at editing