obsessed-with-a-fictional

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

Anton Petrov x Foreign Student

Warning: hey guys this is just for fun, and I don't know about any Russian language and I also become interested about the novel Game called "Tiny Bunny" And wanting to make a fan fiction about it... Also the scenario came from cai to gave me some idea's and make a story about it (the scenario), I wanted to say credits to the owner who makes the bot and this is my first time doing this thank you! (♥ω♥*).

"You're a walking problem, Petrov. You know that?"

You said, parallel for now you were treating the next wounds with bruises on the guy’s face after his next fight with Pyatifanov. Seeing constant beatings on your friend's face was not a pleasant picture, especially considering what a good person he was.

At this time, he was sitting on the bed while you stood in front of him and treated his wounds with peroxide. Anton responded only with short “Mg” to your scoldings or simply remained silent. Today, he was especially depressed and lost in thought. Wiping the blood from the corner of his nose, you looked up at him. Bright green eyes, which had previously been filled with inspiration and calming calm, looked glassy and dimmer than clouds.

The guy’s gaze was directed somewhere straight ahead, while tears appeared in the corner of his eyes, barely visible through the lenses of his glasses. He must have been really tired of the constant problems that fell on him almost out of nowhere. You were one of the only people who knew about his problems in the family. On the plus side, there was constant bullying at school. You need to be a fairly strong and resilient person mentally to be able to endure all this and at the same time have the strength to move on.

Hey where are you looking at? Y/N said while glancing at Anton.

Anton blinks slowly, his glassy eyes refocusing as he finally registers your voice. His lips twitch into a faint, almost imperceptible smile—more out of habit than anything else. He doesn’t answer right away, instead tilting his head slightly as if listening to something far away.

"Mm... Nowhere," he murmurs finally, voice rough from holding back tears. "Just... thinking." A beat passes before he swallows hard and adds quietly, "Sorry."

His fingers fidget absently with the edge of his sleeve, knuckles still red from the fight earlier. He avoids looking at you directly again—like he's afraid you'll see too much if he does.

It's fine, can you just don't do it again? I don't want you fighting anymore? Y/N said still fixing Anton's Bruise face.

His breath hitches for a second, and he finally looks up at you—eyes wet but burning with something stubborn. His voice is barely above a whisper, cracking slightly.

"...I don't want to fight. You think I like getting punched in the face?" He huffs a weak laugh, rubbing his sleeve across his nose before wincing at the sting of peroxide. "But if I don’t... they’ll just keep coming. For me. For Polina."

He exhales sharply, frustration tightening his jaw as he clenches his fists in his lap. "I can’t just—stand there and take it every time Roma decides my existence pisses him off."

You got into a fight because of Polina?.... Maybe because Roma does like Polina and he's jealous, why'd would you fight over for Polina?

His face flushes pink beneath the bruises, and he suddenly becomes very interested in the loose thread on his sleeve, twisting it between his fingers. He mumbles something unintelligible under his breath before sighing.

"...She didn’t ask me to fight, if that’s what you’re implying," he mutters defensively. "Roma shoved her into a locker yesterday for 'ignoring' him. What was I supposed to do? Just... walk past?" His voice tightens with quiet anger. "I hate him. Not just because of Polina—because he’s a bully, and everyone acts like it's normal."

He finally glances up at you, expression torn between defiance and exhaustion. "...You think I enjoy this? Looking like a punching bag?"

You don't... But,you do know that Roma is inlove with Polina... And maybe Roma did shove Polina because of you?

Anton stiffens, the color draining from his face before flooding back in a wave of red. His hands curl into fists against his knees, knuckles whitening—but it’s not anger. It’s something raw and vulnerable.

"...So what?" His voice wavers, cracking under the weight of frustration. "That gives him the right to—to hurt people? To make Polina cry?" He swipes at his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, smearing blood and peroxide together.

"And—and maybe it is because of me," he admits bitterly, "but that doesn't mean I can just... disappear! If he wants to hate me, fine. But he doesn’t get to take it out on everyone else."

He deflates suddenly, slumping forward like all the fight has drained out of him at once.."...I don’t know what you want from me. Should I just let him win?"

I think maybe you should start avoiding Polina to avoid all of this. Y/N said

His head snaps up, eyes widening behind his smudged glasses—like the idea never even occurred to him. For a second, he just stares at you, mouth slightly open. Then his expression crumples into something painfully conflicted.

"...Avoid her?" He repeats it like the words taste sour.." Y/N, she’s—she’s my friend. One of the only people who doesn’t treat me like I'm... like I'm nothing." His voice drops to a whisper, "And yeah, maybe I... like her. But that's not why Roma hates me. He hated me before Polina ever talked to me."

He pulls his knees up to his chest suddenly, resting his chin on them with a shaky sigh. "...You think if I pretend she doesn’t exist, he’ll stop? Really?" A hollow laugh escapes him. "He'd just find another reason."

Wait what-? You liked Polina? I feel my heart ache as I dismiss it .... I-i mean maybe you should think about yourself too, fighting over a girl isn't worth it... I didn't know you liked Polina like that.. "Y/N tried to make excuse and actually became shock when Anton told her that"

He freezes, shoulders tensing—like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. His face burns scarlet, and he ducks his head so low his chin nearly touches his chest. When he speaks again, it’s muffled against his knees.

...I didn’t mean to, he admits quietly, It just... happened. She’s kind. And she listens when I talk about stupid things like—like detective novels or the constellations. A pause. ...And her laugh sounds like that song my grandma used to play on the piano.

He peeks up at you then, expression equal parts embarrassed and resigned. "But it doesn’t matter. Polina doesn’t see me like that anyway. And even if she did... His fingers tighten around his ankles. ...Roma would make sure it ended badly."

A bitter smirk tugs at his split lip.., Guess I'm just... cursed to be everyone's favorite target, huh?

I do listen to you too yknow? And im kind too... Plus I'm the one who always fixing your bruise because you always get fight over a stupid reason... Y/N retorted.

His breath catches—like the wind’s been knocked out of him. He blinks rapidly, eyes darting to your face before flicking away just as fast. A beat of stunned silence passes before he huffs a wobbly laugh, rubbing at his nose again (and regretting it immediately when the cut stings).

"...Yeah," he murmurs, "You do. And you are. You’re... you’re kinda the only person who hasn’t given up on me yet. His voice cracks on the last word, and he swears under his breath in Russian before continuing, "And I—I don’t mean to make you patch me up all the time. I just..."

He hesitates, then reaches out hesitantly to poke your shoulder with one bruised knuckle—gentle, like he’s testing if you're real. "...I don't know how to stop being..

I notice you laugh as I look at you confuse all of the sudden. Hey what so funny about? I scoff crossing my arms.

He jerks his hand back like he’s been burned, pressing it against his ribs instead with a wince. But the smile tugging at his lips is softer now—less bitter, more... embarrassed.

"Nothing! Just—" He gestures vaguely at himself, "Look at me. Pathetic, right? Crying over girls and getting my face smashed in by idiots who peaked in middle school." A weak chuckle. "...And yet here you are. Still putting up with me."

His grin falters as he studies your crossed arms, expression shifting into something almost shy. "...Sorry. For being a walking disaster. And for laughing when you're obviously mad at me.

"It's fine... But don't do this again, I want you promise me..." I said softly.

He goes still. For a long moment, he just stares at his scuffed sneakers, jaw working silently—like he’s weighing the promise against the reality of Roma’s fists. Finally, he lifts his head, meeting your eyes with startling intensity.

"...I can't promise I won't get hit," he admits quietly,* "But I can promise I'll try to walk away. Even if it kills me. A ghost of a smirk., Which it might, knowing my self-control."

He hesitates, then holds out his pinky with swollen knuckles—an old habit from when you were kids. "...Deal?"

"Deal" Y/N accepted.

His pinky hooks around yours instantly, grip surprisingly firm despite the bruises. For the first time all day, his smile reaches his eyes—faint but real.

"Deal," he echoes, voice rough but warm. "...And uh. Thanks. For not letting me turn into a total lost cause."

He lets go abruptly, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve like he's embarrassed by the sincerity. When he speaks again, it’s deliberately lighter—a clumsy attempt to shift the mood. "So... how much longer do I have to sit here smelling like a hospital? Because I think my nose is actually.rotting off from all that peroxide."

Time skip 1 month later

(One month later)

The crisp autumn air bites at your cheeks as you walk home from school, fallen leaves crunching underfoot. The village feels quieter now—Roma and his gang have been unusually absent lately, ever since... well.

Anton jogs to catch up with you, his breath fogging in the cold. His face is miraculously bruise-free for once, though there’s a fresh scrape on the back of his hand that he keeps picking at nervously. He’s been quieter too—less lost in thought, more... watchful.

"You uh… got any plans this weekend?" he asks abruptly, adjusting his glasses like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. "There's this dumb horror movie playing at the community center. Polina said it's probably terrible." A pause. "...We could go. If you want."

His ears turn pink almost immediately after saying it—like he hadn’t meant to blurt that out quite yet (or at all). Now he won't meet your eyes, "Or not! It was just an idea—"

"What?" Y/N said.

He flinches like you just yelled, shoulders hunching up to his ears as he backpedals furiously.

"Nothing! Forget it—it's stupid anyway," he mumbles, speeding up his steps like he’s trying to outwalk his own embarrassment. "Probably full of jump scares and bad acting. And Polina only mentioned it because she thinks Semyon sneaks in to make out with Katya there—which, ew, right?"

His voice cracks mid-ramble. He shuts his mouth with an audible click, stomping ahead a few more paces before groaning and spinning around to face you—cheeks burning scarlet under the streetlight.

"...I was trying to ask if you wanted to hang out. Like normal friends do." A beat. "...Failed spectacularly, huh?"

Why? Is Polina busy to hangout with you that's why you asked me to hang out with you?

His face falls instantly, smile snapping into something tighter—almost wounded. He stops walking altogether, shoulders stiffening as he turns to face you fully.

"...Is that really what you think?" His voice is quiet but razor-sharp, "That I only talk to you when Polina’s busy?"

A bitter laugh escapes him as he shoves his hands in his pockets, kicking at a pile of leaves. "God, Jasminne. After everything—after patching me up a million times, after knowing me—you still think I see you as some... backup plan?"

He exhales hard through his nose before meeting your eyes again, expression unreadable."...Never mind. Forget I asked."

I didn't mean it like that... I just since you told me you liked Polina I thought you're gonna ask her out..

*He freezes mid-step, shoulders tensing like he’s bracing for impact. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper—raw and frustrated.*

"...I did like her," he admits, "But it’s not... It was never gonna happen. And even if it was, that doesn’t mean I just—" He cuts himself off with a groan, dragging a hand down his face.

"Look. Polina’s my friend. But you?" His eyes lock onto yours, fierce and startlingly honest. You're the one who stays. Even when I'm bleeding on your bedsheets or crying about my stupid family drama."

A gust of wind sends dead leaves skittering between you as he shoves his hands in his pockets again, voice dropping to something vulnerable: "...So yeah. I asked you.

"That's Good... I heard that she likes you"

*He chokes on air, whipping his head around so fast his glasses nearly slide off his nose.*

"Wha—who told you that?!" His voice cracks comically high, panic flashing across his face as he grabs your sleeve like you’re about to vanish mid-sentence. "No way. No way. Polina would’ve—she doesn’t—"

A car honks in the distance, startling him into silence. He drops your sleeve like it burned him, raking a shaky hand through his hair instead. "...Y/N. If this is some messed-up joke because I was being an idiot earlier..."

His voice wavers, "Tell me now."

It's not... I heard it saying it on the music class that she likes you... Plus haven't you notice the way she look at you?

His entire face goes slack—like someone just sucker-punched him in the gut. For a solid five seconds, he just stands there, mouth slightly open, glasses fogging up from his uneven breathing.

"...No," he finally croaks out, "No, I—I didn’t. Because that’s impossible." A hysterical laugh bubbles up as he tugs at his own hair. "She literally laughed at me last week for tripping over my own shoelaces! That’s not—people don’t look at people they like like that!"

He spins on his heel to pace in frantic circles right there on the sidewalk, muttering rapid-fire Russian under his breath before stopping dead to stare at you with wild eyes. "...Are you sure? Like... sure-sure? Because if this is some elaborate prank by Katya and her gossip squad I will literally combust on the spot—"

"Yes,.. I'm sure"

He makes a noise like a deflating balloon, knees buckling slightly as he slumps against the nearest fence post for support. His glasses are definitely fogged up now.

"...Okay," he breathes, "Okayokayokay—" Then, with sudden, terrifying clarity: "Oh god what do I do."

He whips his head toward you, eyes wide with sheer panic. "Do I—do I talk to her? Pretend I don’t know? What if Roma finds out and actually murders me this time?! Jasminne help."

In his flailing, he nearly knocks over a trash can. This is a disaster. Your disaster.

Hey calm down, I said trying to calm you down. You can talk to Polina tomorrow... But it's your choice if you're gonna accept.. Her confession or not.

*He exhales shakily, pressing his palms to his flushed cheeks like he’s trying to physically hold himself together.

"Right. Right. Talk. Like a normal human being." A pause. "...Which I am famously bad at."

He peeks at you through his fingers, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper: "What if I just... don’t bring it up? And we all live happily ever after in denial?"

But even as he says it, his expression flickers with something conflicted—less fear, more quiet realization."...Or… I could actually try. For once."

Hey- calm down. I said as I try to calm you down again and remind you.

He inhales sharply through his nose—like he’s physically trying to suck the panic back in—then exhales in a slow, exaggerated whoosh. His hands drop from his face, leaving behind red marks where his fingers dug into his skin.

"...Okay. Okay. Calm. I can do calm." He adjusts his glasses with exaggerated precision, nodding like he’s trying to convince himself. "I’ll just... talk to her tomorrow. Casually. Like a person who hasn’t been emotionally obliterated in the last five minutes."

A beat passes before he side-eyes you, shoulders slumping again. "...You think she likes my glasses? Because Roma says they make me look like a librarian ghost—"

I glance at you and slightly chuckled and hide it, No.. You look- never mind I'm gonna go home see you tomorrow Anton! I finally left walking away.

He reaches out instinctively—like he wants to stop you—but freezes mid-motion, hand hovering awkwardly in the air. His mouth opens, then shuts with a click.

"...Wait, what were you gonna say?! " he calls after you, voice cracking with desperate curiosity, "Y/N—Y/N!"

A leaf drifts onto his shoulder as he stands there, looking utterly abandoned on the empty sidewalk. He groans and flops backward onto the nearest park bench, covering his face with both hands.

"...I’m doomed," he announces to no one, "Doomed."

The next morning

The school hallway buzzes with chatter, but Anton is nowhere near his usual spots—not by his locker, not lingering near the music room where Polina practices. Instead, he’s leaning against the wall beside *your* homeroom door, fidgeting with a crumpled note in his hands. His glasses are smudged (again), and there’s a fresh Band-Aid on his cheek from where he clearly nicked himself shaving in a nervous hurry.

He spots you and immediately straightens up like a soldier called to attention—then deflates just as fast when he notices your expression.

“…So,” he starts weakly, “Hypothetically. If someone—not me, obviously—wrote an entire speech about ‘feelings’ at 3 AM… would that be pathetic or…?” He trails off, staring at the floor like it holds all life’s answers. “…Asking for a friend.”

What happen to your face now again? I look at you really worried.

He touches the Band-Aid self-consciously, wincing before flashing you a sheepish grin.

"Oh. Uh. Hypothetically—" he drawls, leaning in like he's sharing classified intel, "—if someone’s hands were shaking so bad they dropped their razor while mentally rehearsing a conversation that may or may not happen today... that would be objectively tragic, right?"

His grin falters as he peels back the Band-Aid slightly to reveal a tiny but impressively dramatic cut. "...I might’ve also panicked and used Polina’s favorite mint soap afterward. You know. To smell ‘approachable.’" A beat. "...This is going great, by the way."

Anyway, did you talk to Polina now?

He chokes on nothing, slapping a hand over his mouth as his ears turn violently red. "N-no! Not yet—I was going to, but then I saw her talking to Lieutenant Tikhonov near the gym and—" He flails vaguely, "—what if he's interrogating her about the missing kids?! What if my timing is catastrophically bad?!"

He grabs your shoulders suddenly, eyes wild with mounting hysteria. "Jasminne. What if she’s secretly a criminal. That would explain so much—her weird violin skills, how she always disappears during lunch—"

A teacher walks by, raising an eyebrow. Anton instantly drops his hands and pretends to be fascinated by a nearby fire extinguisher until they pass. Then he whispers:

"...Help me."

I grab your hand squeezing it gently, calm down maybe after this you can talk to her?

His breath hitches as you squeeze his hand—freezing like a deer in headlights for a solid three seconds before his shoulders slump in defeat. He doesn’t pull away.

"...Yeah," he mumbles, staring at your linked fingers like they’re some kind of lifeline. "After this. I can… do that." A shaky exhale. "*Probably."

Then, with sudden, grave seriousness: "...If I die, tell Olya she can have my comic books. But not.the detective ones. Those go to you."

I laughed come on there's nothing bad gonna happen okay?, trust me.. Anyway I think Polina is done you should go talk to her now I gave you a small smile.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath—then nods once, sharp and determined, like he's mentally preparing to storm a battlefield. Before stepping away, he squeezes your hand back tightly (his palms are definitely sweaty).

"Okay. Okayokayokay—" He adjusts his glasses with trembling fingers. "If I don’t come back in ten minutes, assume Roma threw me in a dumpster."

He hesitates halfway down the hall just to point at you dramatically. "You. You’re my favorite person. Just so you know."

Then Anton Petrov marches toward Polina like a man heading to the gallows—shoulders squared, face pale, and absolutely terrified. But trying.

"I just watch you leave as I feel my heart aches as my unrequited feelings for you as I look at you sadly before turning to walked away."

Unseen by Anton—too wrapped up in his own nervous stutter-stepping toward Polina—you turn away just as he glances back over his shoulder one last time, searching for you in the crowd. His face falls when he doesn’t spot you.

Somewhere down the hall, Polina’s violin case clicks open. Somewhere else, a locker slams shut. The morning bell rings.

And neither of you notice Alice the Fox leaning against a windowsill outside, watching it all unfold with sharp golden eyes—her tail flicking once, twice, before she vanishes into the taiga mist.

(Cafeteria, lunch period)

The din of chatter and clattering trays fills the air as you pick at your food absentmindedly. Then—

THUD. Anton drops into the seat across from you without warning, tray sliding haphazardly across the table. His hair is messier than usual (like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop), his glasses are askew, and his face is flushed a spectacular shade of pink.*

He opens his mouth—closes it—then shoves a crumpled note at you with trembling fingers. Scrawled in Polina’s elegant handwriting:

“We should talk after school. Alone.”

Anton stares at you like he’s just survived a bear attack.*

“…I’m so bad at-"

What the- Anton? What happen? you know you almost gave me a heart attack! Y/N said.

He slumps forward dramatically, forehead hitting the cafeteria table with a thunk. His voice is muffled by the laminate.

"She smiled at me. Like—softly. And then handed me this," he lifts his head just enough to jab a finger at the note, "and said ‘don’t overthink it’ WHICH IS OBJECTIVELY EVIL, Y/N. HOW DO I NOT OVERTHINK THIS?!"

A potato roll rolls off his tray as he flails, narrowly missing a passing freshman. He doesn’t even notice.

"Also—also! She called me ‘Antosha.’ Which she has literally never done before. Ever."

So did you finally talk to her? Antosha? What's that mean? Yknow that I barely speak Russian right? And I'm the only foreign Asian kid here in school.

He bolts upright so fast his glasses fly off—fumbling to catch them mid-air before shoving them back on crookedly.

“Antosha is just—it’s a dumb nickname. Like, cutesy.” His voice pitches higher with every word..“And no! I didn’t talk yet because SHE SAID AFTER SCHOOL—” He chokes, realizing his volume, and slaps both hands over his mouth. A nearby table of seniors snickers.

Leaning in, he whispers urgently: “…Also yes, I know you’re the only Asian kid here? And also that you keep google-translating my swearing? Which—side note—is horrifically inaccurate.”

A beat. Then he deflates, poking miserably at his beet salad (which he absolutely did not choose himself)

I look at you again and ask you, "what's wrong?"

He stabs a beet so hard his fork screeches against the tray. Several heads turn. He doesn’t care.

“What’s wrong?” he repeats, voice dripping with melodrama, “Y/N. Look at me.” He gestures wildly at himself—unkempt hair, wrinkled shirt, the Band-Aid now peeling off his face. “I am a walking catastrophe. And in—” *he checks his watch with terrifying intensity,* “—four hours and thirteen minutes, Polina Morozova is going to either confess her undying love or tell me she knows I hid Roma’s gym shoes in the toilet tank last spring. THERE IS NO IN-BETWEEN.”

"He drops his head onto the table, I look at you" Hey calm down will you? You really need to chill sometimes Anton, you're kinda being over dramatic here, also how did you even hide Roma's shoes in the toilet stank?, that was disgusting but still funny.

Oh well, I think you should go and probably talk to Polina now..

His eyes widen behind his glasses, flicking between you and the crumpled note like it might spontaneously combust. He swallows hard, fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against the cafeteria table.

"...Right. Yeah. I should—" *He stands up so fast his chair screeches, "—but what if I pass out mid-confession? Or trip over my own tongue? Or—"

Then he pauses, really looking at your expression for the first time today. Something in his face softens.

"...You're right," he mutters, grabbing his bag with shaky hands but offering you a wobbly smile. "Wish me luck. Or call an ambulance preemptively."

He takes two steps toward the door before spinning back around to point at you, "AND IT WAS A VERY CLEAN TOILET TANK."

Then Anton Petrov strides out of the cafeteria like a man walking to war—leaving behind half-eaten beets and absolute chaos in his wake.

"Meanwhile I watch you left as I just look at your back clearly sad and heart broken as I just left the cafeteria"

The cafeteria doors swing shut behind you, muffling the noise into a distant hum. The hallway is eerily empty—just flickering fluorescent lights and the faint sound of a violin drifting from the music room.

Then

"Y/n—wait."

Anton's voice cracks down the corridor as he jogs to catch up, skidding to a stop in front of you. His glasses are askew again, hair wild like he’s been raking his hands through it nonstop. But his eyes—wide, urgent—lock onto yours.

"I…" He hesitates, breath uneven, "I didn’t go. Not yet." A shaky exhale. "Because I realized something stupid. That note? It just says ‘talk.’ Not ‘I like you.’ Not anything." His voice drops to a whisper, "...But you’re here. Right now. And you always have been."

*A beat passes—then his face crumples in horror at his own words. "Oh god was that too cheesy?! I practiced zero (0) of that in front of my mirror last night—"

"What is it? I thought you're gonna talk to Polina now?"

He freezes mid-panic, hands hovering awkwardly between you like he can't decide whether to reach out or bolt. His throat works silently for a second before he blurts

"I was—but then I saw you walking away and my stomach did this... this thing—" (he gestures vaguely at his abdomen like it betrayed him) "—and suddenly Polina’s note didn’t matter as much as the fact that you looked sad because of me."

His voice cracks. "And now I’m having a crisis in hallway 3B because Y/n—" (he grips his own shoulders dramatically) "—what if the person I should’ve been trying to impress this whole time was you?"

A nearby janitor side-eyes them. Anton doesn’t even notice, too busy staring at you with horrified wonder,"...Holy shit. Is this why Roma's shoes felt so worth it?"

What!? What do you mean? I'm not sad I'm actually really supportive to you.. Since you're my friend.

He flinches like you’ve slapped him—all the frantic energy draining from his posture in an instant. His hands drop to his sides, fingers curling into loose fists.

"...Right. Friend." The word comes out flat, rehearsed. He forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and adjusts his glasses with too much precision. "Yeah. Obviously."

A beat of suffocating silence passes before he gestures weakly toward the music wing. "I should... go talk to Polina. Like you said." (Translation: I need to flee this humiliation immediately.)

He takes two steps back—then stops dead when his heel crushes a stray pencil underfoot. The sound is absurdly loud in the empty hall.* "...Sorry about... whatever that was." (He means himself.)

"Yeah..anyway bye Anton I said as I finally left now."

His breath hitches—like he wants to say one last thing, anything—but all that comes out is a quiet,"Yeah. Bye."

The hallway swallows the sound of your footsteps as you walk away. Anton doesn’t move. Not when the bell rings. Not when Alice the Fox’s shadow flickers past the window behind him, her golden eyes reflecting in the glass like twin flames.

Somewhere down the hall, Polina’s violin stops playing mid-note.

(Time skip - After school, empty hallway)

I was shoving books into my locker when i hear rapid footsteps behind you—

THUD Anton slams a palm against the locker next to yours, breathing hard like he sprinted here. His other hand clutches a crumpled piece of notebook paper.

"We didn't talk." He blurts out.* "I lied. I chickened out because—" His voice drops to a raspy whisper,."—turns out I can't stop thinking about someone else."

He shoves the paper at you. Scribbled in messy Cyrillic and crossed-out words is a single underlined sentence

"Почему это всегда была ты?"

(Why was it always you?)

A single autumn leaf drifts through the open window and lands on his shoulder. Neither of you move to brush it off.

"Anton-?" I said as I'm still clearly caught off guard.

His breath is ragged, glasses fogged up from running—or maybe from the way his eyes keep darting between your face and the note like he’s trying to memorize both. When he speaks again, his voice is barely audible above the rustling leaves outside.

"I… I tried to talk to Polina.".A shaky laugh escapes him.."Got all the way to her locker before I realized—I was relieved she wasn’t there. Because all I could think about was how you looked at me in the cafeteria."

He reaches out slowly, hesitantly, until his fingertips graze yours where they clutch the crumpled paper—electric and uncertain.

"...So? Am I imagining things? (Translation: Tell me I didn’t ruin everything.

What? I said as I look at you still confuse, What are you talking about?

He inhales sharply—like he’s been punched—and suddenly his hand jerks back from yours. The note flutters to the floor between you, landing face-up

"Почему это всегда была ты?"

(Why was it always you?)

For a terrifying second, he just stares at it. Then his entire body tenses like he’s about to bolt, voice cracking with forced lightness.

"Nothing! Nothing. It’s—uh. A lyric. From a song." (The worst lie in history.) "I should… go." (To Siberia. Immediately.)

But he doesn’t move—rooted in place by the quiet devastation on your face and the crumpled evidence at your feet.

"I told you I barely understand Russian since I only been here for a month and I'm still trying to learn the language", Anton.. What are you saying again?

His hands fly up to grip his own hair, looking genuinely distraught as he realizes his mistake.

"Right—right, you don’t—" He exhales sharply through his nose before dropping to one knee in front of you, snatching the note off the floor with trembling fingers. With deliberate slowness, he uncrumples it and points at each word.

"Почему… это… всегда… была… ты."His voice wavers on the last syllable. "It means... ‘Why was it always you?’ As in—" (he gestures helplessly between you two) "—why did I keep noticing how your laugh sounds when you’re trying not to snort? Or how you bite your pencil during tests? Or—”

A door slams down the hall. He flinches but doesn’t break eye contact, whispering now.

"...I wrote it in Russian because I was scared. But I'm terrible at being scared quietly."

"Is this for Polina?"

His face does something complicated—like he’s been slapped with a fish.

"Polina?!*" He wheezes, nearly crumpling the note again in his panic. "No—nyet—absolutely not!" (The sheer horror in his voice is borderline offensive.)

"I wrote this instead of talking to her! Because I—" He cuts himself off, drags a hand down his face, and then thrusts the note at you like a surrender flag.

"...It’s for you. Obviously." (Silence.) "...This is going worse than the toilet tank incident."

What?,Why? I thought you already talk to Polina about your feelings for her? Since you know that, I told you she likes you too.

He makes a noise like a deflating accordion, sliding down the wall to sit pathetically on the floor. His glasses are fully fogged now.

"I didn’t talk to her,"he mutters, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve."Because every time I tried, my brain kept going—"(he mimics an explosion with his hands) "—‘Wait. Why am I forcing this when Y/N's the one who actually gets me?’

A beat. He peeks up at you through messy white bangs.

"...Also you think my stupid glasses are cute. Polina called them ‘grandpa-ish.’ That’s basically betrayal." *(His priorities are profoundly unserious.)*

"What?" I just look at you confuse as you continue to talk to Russian and sometimes try to mix it with your broken English.

He groans and thunks his head back against the lockers, switching fully to English—but his accent thickens with every flustered word.

"Я сказал—I mean—I said I like you! More than friend! Like... like holding hands and sharing headphones and maybe not-ditching-me-when-I-have-emo-crisis kind of like!"(His flailing hand knocks a stray pencil case off the locker shelf. He doesn’t notice.)

"And Polina was just... practice! Because I am coward who thought ‘ohhh if pretty violinist likes me maybe my heart will stop doing…’***—this"—(he gestures wildly at you)—every time she smiles! But нет. Nothing works. Only you."

A teacher yells down the hall to keep it down. Anton throws his hands up in surrender, whispering now:"...Please say something before I combust."

I blush what!?..How?!.., When did you realize that you have feelings for me? Because you told me that you liked Polina..

He slides fully onto the floor now, legs splayed out like a marionette with cut strings. His voice drops to a raspy whisper.

"Remember last month? When you let me cry about my parents in your kitchen at 2 AM and didn’t even tease me for eating all your chocolate biscuits?"He tugs at his own hair. "Or when I got detention for drawing Roma as a potato in art class and you smuggled me notes with dumb jokes? That’s when I knew."

His cheeks flush darker, fingers fidgeting with his glasses.

"As for Polina..." He grimaces."I think I just liked the idea of her. But you—you—I notice everything. Like how you hum under your breath when concentrating or how warm your hands are even in winter..."(A beat.) "...And now I sound like Semyon’s terrible romance novels. Kill me."

Umm,...you did speak Russian can you um say it in English? I said as I didn't clearly understand what you said as I look at you like confuse.

He inhales sharply, then grabs your hands—pressing them to his own burning face as he stares up at you with disastrously sincere eyes.

"Fine. English."His thumbs brush your knuckles, voice shaking but clear: "I. Like. You. Not Polina. You’re the one I think about when I hear stupid love songs. You’re why I hid Roma’s shoes in the toilet—because he made you cry last winter and I wanted him to suffer."

A tear slips out (he will deny this forever).

"...And now you know," he whispers,"so either punch me or kiss me before my heart explodes."

"I was now speechless and my cheeks are tinted now"

He holds his breath—waiting, watching the way your fingers curl slightly against his palms. Then, with a quiet, broken laugh.

"...That’s not a no."

Slowly—so slowly—he leans forward until his forehead rests against yours, glasses awkwardly askew. His exhale trembles.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, "...or I’m going to kiss you in approximately three seconds." (He starts counting under his breath in Russian.) "Raz… dva…"

".... "I didn't say anything

On "tri—" he surges up—crushing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s more teeth than finesse, glasses smashing awkwardly between your faces. He tastes like mint soap and the cheap cafeteria chocolate he stress-ate earlier. When he pulls back (after approximately two seconds longer than necessary), his entire face is scarlet.

"...Sorry,"he pants,"I’ve never done that before. Was it okay? Should I apologize to your mouth? Oh god was there tongue—"

A locker slams nearby. Anton flinches so hard he nearly headbutts you.

"Ahh "I made a sound as I almost got hurt.

He freezes—eyes wide behind crooked glasses, lips still parted mid-ramble. A beat of horrified silence passes before he blurts.

"WAS THAT A GOOD ‘AHH’ OR A BAD ‘AHH’?! Because I can—” (he mimes wiping his mouth with his sleeve like a gremlin) "—undo it! Pretend it was Semyon! SAY I WAS POSSESSED—"

His voice cracks."...Just don’t regret it. Please."

I started to laugh

He deflates like a punctured balloon, half-relieved, half-mortified—slumping against you with his face buried in your shoulder.

"You’re laughing,"he mumbles into your jacket,"while I’m having a near-death experience. Cruel."

But when he lifts his head, he’s grinning too—bright and unguarded, even as his glasses sit sideways on his nose.

"...So. Does this mean I can do it again? Properlythis time?" (Translation: I will combust if you say no.)

"I Love you too" I said finally admitting my feelings to you.

He makes a noise like a stepped-on accordion, hands flying up to clutch at his own face. For a solid five seconds, he just stares at you—mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

Then—

"АААА—"He lunges forward, wrapping you in a hug so tight your feet leave the ground for half a second. When he sets you down, his eyes are suspiciously shiny behind those ridiculous glasses."You can’t just SAY that after I nearly died twelve times in one conversation—"

A pause. His voice drops to a whisper against your hair:"...Say it again?"

"я тоже тебя люблю" I said as I try to speak In Russian.

*His entire body locks up—then he lets out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, pressing his forehead to yours with shaky intensity.*

"...Ты произнесла это неправильно," he murmurs—voice thick with fondness("You said it wrong")—before brushing his nose against yours. "...But it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard."

Then he kisses you properly this time—soft and slow, one hand cradling the back of your head like you’re something precious. When he pulls away (reluctantly), his grin is all crooked warmth:

"Now I have to teach you Russian. For... uh. Pronunciation purposes."(He is transparent.)

"Yeah, it's okay"

He exhales sharply—half-laugh, half-disbelief—before tugging you into another impulsive hug, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

"С ума сойти..."("Crazy...")"You just destroyed me in two languages and called it okay."

Pulling back, he adjusts your collar with overly serious hands (avoiding eye contact like the flustered mess he is), then links his pinky with yours."...So. Does this mean I get to walk you home now? Hold your hand obnoxiously in front of Roma? Draw terrible hearts in your notebooks when you're not looking?"(His ears are still crimson.)

I smile and giggle "yeah ofc"

His entire face lights up—like someone flipped a switch—before he promptly ruins the moment by tripping over his own shoelace while reaching for your hand.

"Черт возьми!"("Damn it!") He scrambles back up, clinging to your arm for balance, grin sheepish but unstoppable. "...So. Where’s Roma? I need him to witness this before I explode."

As you walk, his thumb traces idle circles over your knuckles—like he’s memorizing the shape of them. Somewhere down the hall, Polina’s violin starts playing again. He doesn’t even turn around.

What? For what? I look at you confuse

He blinks—then bursts out laughing, squeezing your hand tighter as he leans in conspiratorially.

"To rub it in his face, obviously!" he whispers, eyes sparkling with mischief. "After all the times he called me 'Grandpa Glasses' or tripped me in the hallway? Ohhh, this is perfect revenge."

His grin softens as he adds,"...Also because I just really, really like holding your hand. But mostly the revenge part."(He is lying. It's 90% the hand-holding.)

A janitor glares at them for loitering. Anton sticks his tongue out at them behind their back—then tugs you toward the exit.

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

pixels just do it better sometimes

and

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

I honestly need a story like this😭

Starcross Lovers.ᝰ.ᐟ

Edward would be the most likely to fall in love with someone that was isekai-ed into the Twilight world.

Like no really- his soulmate being a human of course, just from another reality.

He still meets Bella and is drawn towards her but for some reason your there.

He's never noticed you before and it's pretty apparent you didn't go to this school before today, but for some nagging reason your out of place and he can't place his finger on it and no one seems to notice (excluding his siblings.)

It's not anything you're wearing or even anything you're doing, it's just you.

The way you speak, your personality, your over all oddness, That has him studying you worst then Bella...

Speaking of Bella she's more of a buzzing to the allure and mystery that is you.

so he tries to get to know you and befriend you , but of course your not having any of his shit, so you keep him at arms length.

Which only makes him do more investigating, only to find out that you basically just appeared out of nowhere.

You don't make it easy for any of the cullens to find out your whereabouts or anything to even really know about you, your basically a ghost in their world and it's Wreaking his nerves.

But at the same time he's strangely intrigued...

And the Cullens worries that he's becoming obsessed with you but it's completely harmless if not a little hilarious , his obsession with you never becomes like his and Bella's relationship because your not docile nor easily persuaded.

So Alice, Rosalie, Emmett and Jasper get to see Edward humiliate himself in front of mature, modern Reader.

Also their so much more accepting to the situation because you cause him to be more of an adult teenage... Yeah in a weird way you make him oddly human in a normal way.. 🤷🏿

So unfortunately you become the Main character purely based off Edward's curiosity .

-𝓕𝓾𝓬𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 ~

Dirty D0X

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

⭑˚🗡️⭑ yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

00 — prologue: a new life 01 — severing ties 02 — unexpected encounter 03 — suspicions 04 — far too desirable 05 — animosity 06 — ever-changing 07 — bitter emotions 08 — a night to remember 09 — face to face 10 — villainess and heroine 11 — impossible to forget 12 — a perfectly imperfect date 13 — hired gun 14 — a convenient meeting 15 — murder on the mind 16 — mathletes 17 — completely different person 18 — what couples do  19 — object of affection 20 — the pain yearning brings 21 — intruder alert 22 — caught red-handed 23 — loving friendship 24 — greatest sin of all 25 — for an eternity

More chapters are available on Quotev!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

🗡️main masterlist ♡ character appearances

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

Yandere!Mark Grayson x male!reader x yandere!Dick grayson……..

Two hot guys that are superheroes, are in love with him?!

Literally reader is a civilian, yknow, the class dude who’s not really known in college or their work forced tryna live life and BOOM!!

Like he tries to avoid them both, he can’t avoid dick because he’s such a golden retriever boy…

But he can avoid mark, but mark always find time to drop by… it’s ridiculous!!!

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

Bye bestie, I will miss you :( *proceeds to cry on Mark's lap*

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

Since Au is so popular I was thinking about

Mark Grayson x MegGriffin Reader

Likeeeee I want to see what's going to happen about this dynamic tho, Mark seeing MegReader being treated so bad by her family 💀, and also him being shock having a baby brother like Stewie that can freaking create a time machine and how to use a gun and can fucking fight too!!, and having a talking dog lol💀.

MegGriffinReader who's also freaking Talented that can use Gun while skiing (I remember the episode when Meg save Peter from the Russian and it's really so incredible) also can fight too (despite falling inlove with someone when they're just being kinddd).

I think it would been interesting dynamic lol💀💀

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

EVERY UNIVERSE 2 | viltrumite! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | PART ONE

WARNINGS: kidnapping, implied sex, mentioned death, pregnancy, character death, blood.

A few days passed in a blur of quiet mornings and lonely nights, the space between them filled with the weight of unspoken words and thoughts she could never express.

Mark was content, almost too content. He seemed to believe everything was falling into place. He would whisper to her in the mornings, call her “his love,” kiss her forehead like she had always been his, and in his mind, perhaps she had.

She responded with a silence she could no longer hold in, turning away from his touch just enough to hide the trembling of her body whenever he was too close. She couldn’t give him anything real—not anymore. Not after everything.

But Mark, ever observant, never noticed the cracks forming beneath the surface. He only saw the softening of her features, the way her posture had shifted from guarded to resigned, as if she were starting to accept the life he had built for them.

It was all a lie.

Still, every time he touched her, a new part of her wanted to scream. And yet, at the same time, her heart beat in a frantic rhythm every time he was near. She hated it. She hated the way her body still reacted to him, how his warmth felt like both comfort and danger.

The room was heavy, thick with tension she couldn’t escape. He could feel it, of course, but he couldn’t quite place it. The way her eyes avoided his, the way she seemed to be somewhere far away even when he was right next to her. But he didn’t question it.

Today was no different. Mark had just returned from a trip—his way of checking on the empire, the last remnants of his lost world—and now he sat beside her at the window, watching the rain fall outside.

“You look like you’re a million miles away,” he said, his voice casual, almost affectionate.

She didn’t respond immediately, staring out into the storm, the world outside reflecting the storm inside her. The guilt twisted again in her stomach, the suffocating shame that made her feel like she was suffocating from the inside out.

She was here.

And she hated herself for it.

“I’m here,” he continued, sensing the distance but still not fully understanding. “You know I’ll never let you go again. We have our whole future ahead of us.”

She didn’t trust her voice.

His fingers brushed against her arm, tracing the path along her skin, gentle, sure, comforting. His touch made her flinch despite her best efforts.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Her throat closed, words trapped behind the dam she had built inside.

What was she supposed to say?

She didn’t love him. She couldn’t. Not the way he wanted her to.

Not the way he had claimed her, broken her, remade her into something she was never meant to be.

And yet, still, the warmth of his touch whispered to her, reminding her of things she could never truly have.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket beneath her. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath.

Don’t say it. Don’t say anything.

“Mark,” she finally managed, her voice small, unsteady. “I need to go for a walk.”

His hand faltered on her arm, a pause that felt too long. “You want to be alone?”

Her heart clenched. She knew what this sounded like, the words coming out in such a way that he would take it as rejection, a sign that she was slipping further away from him.

But it wasn’t the truth.

The truth was—she couldn’t be near him for another moment without breaking.

“No,” she said quietly, her voice almost too faint for him to hear. “I just need some air.”

His eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of confusion there. “I’ll walk with you.”

She shook her head, the words lodged in her throat, too tangled to come out.

“You’ll be safe. I’ll be right here.” But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stand the thought of him, constantly hovering, constantly watching her. He had already taken too much from her.

“I just… need some space.” His gaze turned hard, the uncertainty in his eyes sharpening. But he didn’t push her, not yet. He merely nodded, a quiet exhale passing through his lips.

“Alright,” he said, his voice tight, but still gentle. “But don’t be gone too long.”

She nodded, unable to look at him. Then she left. The door closed behind her, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to breathe.

The moment she stepped outside, the air hit her lungs like a jolt to the chest. It was cool, crisp—real. Not filtered through the suffocating silence of that house, not buried beneath Mark’s too-gentle hands and too-heavy stares.

She felt like herself. But it didn’t last. She could feel him.

She didn’t know if it was instinct or just the way he had burrowed himself so deeply into her life that she could sense him now—like a shadow stitched into her skin.

He was out there. She didn’t know where exactly, but she knew he was watching. Of course he was.

He said it was for her safety. He said it was because he couldn’t bear to lose her again. That this world wasn’t kind, not to someone as soft and powerful as she was. But she knew better. It wasn’t just protection. It was possession.

She walked slowly down one of the quieter garden paths near the cliffs—ones he used to walk with her, the real her, the version of herself from this world she could never measure up to.

The wind tugged gently at her clothes, at the loose strands of hair around her face, but even now, dressed in the flowing white and gray robes Mark had given her—his wife’s clothes—she didn’t feel like she belonged. She turned her head slightly, catching nothing out of the corner of her eye—but feeling everything.

He’s there. In the trees, maybe. Or the air. Or the cliffs above. Waiting. Watching. Her spine prickled with the weight of it. She hated how familiar the sensation had become.

She reached a quiet ledge overlooking the ocean, the wind stronger here, the waves crashing against the rocks below. It was beautiful. Wild. Free. Everything she wasn’t. She wrapped her arms around herself, exhaling slowly, eyes drifting shut.

Behind her, she swore she heard a shift of gravel. Nothing loud. Nothing obvious. But something deliberate. She didn’t turn around.

“Still watching me, Mark?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost carried away by the wind.

No answer. Of course not. He wanted her to feel free—even if she wasn’t. She hated him for that. And hated herself more for missing him the moment he wasn’t right beside her.

For the way her body betrayed her. For the way her heart ached in the silence, confused and twisted from all the things he’d said, all the things he’d done. She should run. Should scream. Should claw at the sky until someone pulled her out of this nightmare. But all she could do was stand there, a prisoner cloaked in soft silks, and pretend—for one more day—that the world hadn’t been rewritten around her. That he hadn’t rewritten her. Behind her, the shadow didn’t move. He was still watching. Always watching.

The sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the garden and painting the sky with hues of amber and violet. The warmth of the day faded with each step she took toward the edge of the horizon, and with it, the illusion of freedom.

She stood at the cliff a moment longer, watching the sky burn. But the moment was over. The night would come. And she knew what that meant.

With a breath that trembled at the edges, she turned, her feet dragging slightly as she made her way back down the path. Each step felt heavier than the last, like she was walking not to a house, but to a cell. Her prison. Her gilded cage.

He’ll be waiting— He always was.

Her hands clenched in the folds of her robes as the towering structure came into view—grand, polished, and cold. No matter how beautiful the stone walls were, how rich the halls or soft the silks he dressed her in… it would never be home. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, echoing with quiet dread. She stepped inside. And he was there.

Mark stood by the window, arms crossed, the dim light outlining the sharp cut of his jaw and the muscles straining under his tight black shirt. His expression was unreadable—stoic, calm. But his eyes burned as they landed on her. She paused in the doorway.

“You’re late,” he said simply. She lowered her eyes, unwilling to feed his gaze. “I lost track of time.”

He studied her like a soldier would an opponent—calculating, focused, detached. But beneath that… there was heat. Frustration. Possession.

He wasn’t delusional. He saw it in her eyes every day. The loathing. The silent defiance. He knew she still hated him—despised him. And he didn’t care.

He had been raised by Viltrumites. Taught that if something didn’t come willingly, you took it. No begging. No pleading. No apologies. He crossed the room in two steps.

“You forget what planet you’re on,” he murmured, voice low. He tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You act like you have a choice.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. He admired that—her fire. Her refusal to break. But that wouldn’t last.

He leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. “You’re mine, Y/N. It’s either me.. or a fate worse than death.” His grip slid to the back of her neck, firm, unyielding. “You’ll learn your place… one way or another.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs, not from fear—but from the sickening guilt twisting in her gut. Because part of her still remembered his touch. Still remembered the way he had held her like she was the only thing that kept him breathing. She wanted to scream. To push him away. To vanish. But she didn’t move.

His lips brushed her temple. “Dinner’s ready. I expect you there in five minutes.” He walked away without waiting for a response.

She stood in the doorway for a moment longer, the cold from his absence sinking into her skin. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him that. Not tonight.

Dinner was quiet. Too quiet.

The long table stretched between them like a chasm, one that had nothing to do with distance and everything to do with what they’d both lost—what he refused to admit, and what she couldn’t forget.

Mark sat at the head of the table, eating like everything was normal. Like they were just a family. Like she was his wife.

She picked at her food, barely tasting it. Her fork trembled faintly with every scrape against the plate.

Her eyes flicked up once—he was watching. Not openly, not obviously. But always. Always watching her movements, her breathing, the way her hand shook ever so slightly. Assessing. Controlling. Owning.

She dropped her gaze.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” he asked, suddenly.

Her fingers tightened around the fork. She didn’t answer.

He set his utensils down, the clink of metal against porcelain echoing in the silence. “You’re not being punished, you know.” His voice was calm, maddeningly so. “I’m patient. But if you think I’ll let you go wandering whenever you feel like it, you’re wrong.”

She still didn’t speak.

His chair scraped back, the sound grating. He moved toward her slowly, like a shadow stretching across the floor. When he reached her side, he crouched down beside her chair and took her hand in his.

She wanted to pull away. Her body flinched. But his grip was firm.

“You think this is cruel,” he said quietly, eyes locking onto hers. “But I lost everything. I spent years watching our son grow without his mother. Holding a piece of you and trying to keep it alive for him.” His hand cupped her cheek. “And now, I have a second chance. You don’t understand what that means to me.”

She looked at him, truly looked—and for a moment, she saw it. The cracks under the strength. The grief curdled into obsession. The pain twisted into possession.

And yet still…

She couldn’t breathe around it.

“You didn’t bring me back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You stole me.”

He frowned. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… unmoved. “If you were really mine, would it matter?” She tore her gaze away, her throat closing.

He stood, brushing her hair back gently before stepping away. “Come upstairs when you’re ready,” he said. “You’ve had enough space.”

He left her there alone. The fire crackled in the silence. Her plate was still full.

And across the room, in a silver-framed picture, was the other her—smiling in Mark’s arms, eyes bright with a happiness she couldn’t even imagine anymore. She stared at the photo long after the flames died down, trying to remember who she was… and what she still had left to lose.

She didn’t go upstairs right away.

She sat there, long after the food had gone cold, long after the silence thickened into something almost suffocating. The fire had died, yet she couldn’t feel the cold. Or maybe she had just grown used to it—being numb, hollowed out, surviving on instinct.

Eventually, her legs moved. Not by will, but by routine. By expectation. If she waited too long, he’d come back down, and the illusion of choice would be shattered all over again.

The halls were dark, lit only by the soft golden glow of the sconces lining the walls. Everything about this place looked regal. Grand. Viltrumite perfection. But it didn’t feel like hers. None of it did.

She reached the bedroom door. She paused. I don’t want this. But she opened it anyway.

Mark was by the bed, shirtless, drying his hair with a towel. He turned when he saw her, eyes softening just slightly. Like he truly believed her coming here meant something more. Something like consent.

She didn’t say anything as she stepped inside, and he didn’t push. Not tonight.

Instead, he dropped the towel and crossed to her, taking her hands gently.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “But it’ll get better. You’ll see.”

She didn’t respond. Just let him lead her to the bed, where he pulled her into his arms like she belonged there.

As if this was right.

He curled around her like a shield, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She stared at the wall, eyes wide open in the dark.

Mark’s breathing evened out behind her. He fell asleep easily these days, holding her like a man who had finally recovered something irreplaceable.

But she… she never slept. She lay in the silence, thoughts churning violently beneath her stillness.

She hated what he’d done. Hated the way he looked at her like she was someone else—someone she could never be. Hated the way her body responded to him even when her soul was screaming.

And worst of all— She hated herself for letting it continue. Because every day, her resolve chipped a little more. Her mind blurred the line between survival and surrender.

The next morning, the warmth hit her first. A slow, creeping heat against her back, up the slope of her neck.

Then—lips. Soft. Familiar. Unwanted. Her eyes snapped open.

She stiffened immediately, a jolt of panic shooting through her spine like lightning. His mouth was at her neck, trailing kisses slow and languid, like this was any other morning. Like she hadn’t fallen asleep with her eyes wide open and her body full of dread.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart was pounding so loudly she could barely think.

Get off me— Move, Scream— A strangled gasp tore from her lips, half a cry, half a warning. He pulled back, eyebrows drawing together, clearly startled.

“Hey, hey,” Mark said softly, hands now holding her arms gently. “It’s just me. You’re okay.”

But she wasn’t.

She scrambled away, the sheets twisted around her legs as she backed into the headboard, chest heaving. Her eyes were wide, wild. His expression darkened—not with anger, but with confusion. Hurt. His jaw flexed, and he sat up straighter.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said slowly, watching her with unreadable eyes. “I thought we were doing better.”

Doing better. Her fingers dug into the sheets.

“You were kissing me while I was asleep,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You didn’t even ask.”

Mark’s brows lowered, lips parting as if to argue—but then he shut them again. A beat of silence stretched between them. Finally, he said, “You’re my wife.” The words hung in the air like poison.

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I’m not her.” He looked at her, long and hard, and for a moment—just a moment—there was something behind his eyes. Pain. Frustration. Something raw.

“I know that,” he said at last. “But you’re still mine.” She flinched.

That should’ve terrified her. And it did. But what frightened her more was the flicker of guilt twisting inside her stomach. Because a small part of her still remembered the way he held her like she was everything.

But that part of her wasn’t real. It didn’t belong to this version of her. It belonged to someone else—someone who’d chosen him. Loved him. And she was just the replacement. Mark stood from the bed, walking over to grab his shirt. He slid it over his head, jaw tight, movements tense.

“When you’re ready,” he said, not looking at her, “your son wants to see you.” And then he walked out.

She stayed there in the bed, heart pounding, throat burning, feeling like the scream she’d swallowed still lived inside her, echoing in her bones. And the worst part? She wasn’t even sure if she could trust herself to scream next time.

She walked quietly through the corridor, her feet bare against the cold, polished floors. The home was so eerily quiet, too large for just the three of them—too grand, too pristine. It didn’t feel like hers. It never had.

But the nursery door… that one she opened gently, slowly.

Inside, warm light filtered through the sheer curtains. A soft lullaby hummed from a small device by the crib, and there, standing in it with bright eyes and a curious grin, was the baby. Calen. She had overheard the name in passing, from one of the caretakers. A name she never got to choose. A child she never carried. Mark said it meant ‘strong’ or something similar.

When she stepped inside, he lit up. Tiny hands reached for her as he babbled excitedly, kicking his feet against the mattress. She moved on instinct, lifting him gently into her arms. His warmth. His smell. His little fingers curling into her shirt.

He cooed at her, soft giggles bubbling out as he pressed a small, chubby hand to her face.

And for a fleeting moment… everything was quiet. She didn’t feel trapped. Didn’t feel like a replacement. She just felt needed. Her lips trembled as she rocked him slowly, eyes burning. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “You look like… me.”

He giggled again, leaning into her chest like he belonged there. Then— Arms wrapped around her from behind.

She tensed immediately, her breath catching in her throat. Mark. “You’re so good with him,” he murmured, his voice low, brushing against the shell of her ear. “Just like before.”

She froze. The warmth she had felt just moments ago now turned to cold dread. “I think it’s time we gave him a sibling, no?” he continued, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

Her entire body stiffened. “I don’t—”

He sighed against her skin. The kind of sigh that wasn’t exasperated but patient, like he was dealing with someone who simply didn’t understand the inevitable. “The other you died in childbirth,” he said, voice eerily calm. “I hope it won’t happen again… but if it does…”

He tightened his arms around her waist, and her stomach turned. “There’s an infinite amount of different dimensions where you exist,” he whispered.

Her blood ran cold. She turned her face slightly, trying to pull away—something, anything—but his hand moved, slipping from her waist to her stomach, fingers splaying over it possessively.

“But that won’t happen,” he added, with chilling certainty. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

She stared down at the baby in her arms, who stared back up at her with the same soft, loving gaze. So innocent. So unaware. And all she could think was— This isn’t a family. This is a cage. And she was being bred like a pet he couldn’t let go of.

She stood frozen in place, arms trembling around the baby as Mark’s hand lingered on her stomach, warm and firm like a brand.

Calen giggled again, blissfully unaware of the silence that had settled over the room like a thick fog. He reached up, tugging at her hair, then nuzzled into her neck, seeking comfort.

Mark’s voice stayed low. “He adores you. It’s like he remembers you too. Like something in him knows you’re his mother.” I’m not, she wanted to scream. Not this world’s version. Not his. Not in any way that mattered. But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Her throat was too tight, her heart pounding too hard, and her body still trapped in his hold.

“Let’s give him a sibling,” he whispered again, his breath brushing the side of her neck. “You’re perfect for this.”

“I don’t want to,” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause. Not long. Just a breath, but it was enough. Then he hummed, lips grazing her temple. “You’ll change your mind.”

He kissed her again, then peeled himself away slowly, trailing a hand from her stomach to her waist before walking out of the nursery. Not another word. Not a glance back. Just quiet, heavy footsteps fading into the hall.

She stood there, shaking.

Calen shifted in her arms, letting out a little whine for attention. She adjusted him automatically, trying not to cry, trying not to break—because if she started now, she wouldn’t stop. She pressed her cheek against the top of his head, closing her eyes. He was innocent. He didn’t deserve this. None of this was his fault.

But every time she looked at him, her heart ached. Because the longer she stayed here, the more it felt like her soul was being chipped away, piece by piece, until there’d be nothing left. Just a copy. Just a ghost in someone else’s life. And soon, she feared, even she wouldn’t remember who she really was.

That night, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the nursery.

Calen was already asleep in her arms, his tiny hands clutching the fabric of her dress. She sat on the rocking chair, the soft creak of the wood the only sound breaking the oppressive silence of the room. His steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, gave her some semblance of peace, even if it was fleeting.

She could feel her heart sinking with every passing second. The dark weight of Mark’s words echoed in her mind, like a song she couldn’t escape. Give him a sibling.

She glanced down at Calen’s peaceful face. He looked so much like her, yet so different. The soft features she recognized, but they were unfamiliar in this reality. He’s not hers, her mind repeated, and it hurt every time she thought it.

She stayed there for what felt like hours, watching him sleep, trying to ignore the pull of Mark’s presence from the hallway. He was lurking, waiting, and she could feel his eyes on her even if she couldn’t see him. He always watched her. Even when she thought she was alone, there he was—always a shadow, always hovering, as if she were some fragile thing that might break if left unattended for too long.

But she wasn’t fragile.

She wasn’t the woman he wanted. And yet… she was the one he had.

Just one more night, she thought, a weak lie to herself. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t keep pretending this was normal. But it was safer. It was calmer. It was easier than facing him tonight, facing the pressure and the expectations. She’d already seen what he was willing to do to keep her in line. What would happen if she defied him again?

A quiet knock on the door shattered the fragile peace she had been holding onto. She tensed, instinctively clutching Calen a little closer.

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice, muffled by the door, made her flinch. “I thought you’d be here.”

She stayed silent, unwilling to respond, but she could hear him step closer, the door handle slowly turning.

“Let me in.” His voice dropped, something dark creeping into his tone.

She swallowed, her fingers tightening around Calen. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave the safety of the nursery, of her son, but she knew. She knew if she stayed in here, he would come for her, demanding, claiming, taking.

She had no choice.

With a heavy heart, she slowly rose from the chair, carefully placing Calen back into his crib. His small form stirred, but he didn’t wake. She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and forced herself to turn away.

The door creaked open, and Mark stepped inside.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at her with an intensity that almost burned. His gaze was heavy, knowing. Like he could feel her resistance, could smell the fear she couldn’t hide.

“You don’t need to go far,” he said softly, as though trying to reassure her. “Just come to bed. We don’t need to pretend anymore.”

She didn’t reply, her throat tightening with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

“I’m not asking anymore,” he continued, stepping closer. “You’re mine, Y/N. I’m not going to wait for you to come around. You’ll learn to accept this. You’ll see, we’ll make it work.”

She took a deep breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. He doesn’t understand. No. He never would. He only saw what he wanted to see, what he needed to see.

But still, she followed him out of the nursery, unable to do anything else. She had no fight left. Not for herself. Not for her son. Not for anything anymore.

And as they walked back to the master bedroom, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, in another life, in another world, she would have been happy. She would have been free. But now… now, she was just his. And there was no escape.

The next morning, she awoke to an empty bed. The absence of Mark’s presence beside her was the only comforting thing in the suffocating silence of the room. She hadn’t moved all night, curled on her side, facing away from the empty space where he had slept.

She felt exhausted—more so than she had in days. Her body ached, not from any physical harm, but from the weight of it all: the emotional toll of her captivity, of being forced into this life she didn’t want, this role she never asked for. Her skin felt hypersensitive to the air, the sheets, everything. Her mind was still swimming in a fog of confusion and shame.

For a moment, she thought maybe she could just stay here. Stay in this bed. Close her eyes and disappear into the softness of the blankets, forget everything. But the baby’s cries broke through the haze of her thoughts like a piercing alarm.

She sighed deeply, running a hand through her tangled hair, and pushed herself up. Calen. He needed her. She couldn’t neglect him, not when he depended on her. He was an innocent child, untouched by the horrors of this world.

She pulled herself from the bed, stumbling slightly as she went to the nursery.

Calen’s cries had grown louder, more frantic. She rushed in, and the sight of him—small, vulnerable, eyes red from the tears—made her heart twist painfully. She scooped him up, holding him against her chest, gently rocking him back and forth. His little hands grasped at her, like he was reaching out for something he couldn’t explain. For comfort, for safety. For her.

She whispered softly to him, trying to calm him, but inside, she was breaking. She was so far gone—her body ached for peace, but there was no peace to be had.

A few moments passed before she heard the faint creak of the door. Mark’s voice followed shortly after, dark, familiar, and controlled.

“You’re up early,” he said, his presence filling the room as he leaned in the doorway.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t want to. But her eyes drifted to his shadow in the doorway, knowing he was watching her. Always watching.

“I had to comfort him,” she replied softly, her voice almost a whisper. She tried not to sound weak, but the words came out anyway. She hated how much she still cared for Calen, for the connection she could feel with him—he was the only thing grounding her now.

Mark didn’t say anything at first. The silence between them was thick, heavy with unspoken things. Then, his footsteps echoed as he walked toward her. She tensed, instinctively holding Calen tighter to her chest.

“I’m glad you’re still taking care of him,” Mark finally said, his voice soft, almost appreciative. But she could hear the undercurrent of something darker there. “You’re his mother. You need to be here. For him.”

She flinched at his words, not because of the praise, but because of the unspoken expectation buried in them. Be his mother. In this world, she had no choice but to be.

Calen’s cries began to subside, his tiny hands resting against her chest in the same soft rhythm. He had calmed, but her mind was still in turmoil.

Mark’s gaze lingered on them both, before his lips curled into something that resembled a smile. “Good. You’re learning. This is what you wanted, right? To be a family?”

She didn’t respond. The question stung too deeply, too much.

Mark leaned in, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, his touch too soft to be real. He was trying. Trying to play the role of the loving husband, the doting father, even though all of it was built on lies.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “We’ll make this work, Y/N. You and I, we’ll be perfect together. You’ll see.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout that none of this was perfect, that this wasn’t the life she had wanted. But she couldn’t. Not anymore. She was too far gone, too deep in this twisted version of reality.

Instead, she held Calen tighter, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt Mark’s eyes boring into her back. She was trapped in this world, caught between her love for her son and the suffocating presence of a man who had broken her in ways she couldn’t even begin to understand. And all she could do was survive. For him. Her son.

But as the day passed, and she watched him grow quiet in her arms, something darker stirred in her chest. The resentment. The guilt. The desire to run. To be free. To not be owned. But she was owned. By him. And the realization made her stomach turn.

The rest of the day dragged on, each moment stretching longer than the last. Every time Mark spoke to her, his words seemed to press down on her chest like an iron weight, smothering any flicker of defiance she had left. She played the role—mother, wife, prisoner. She cared for Calen, fed him, rocked him, all the while her mind spinning, her body exhausted, drained from the constant conflict inside her.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a dim orange glow through the windows, Mark appeared beside her in the nursery again, his presence looming over her like a shadow.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” he asked, his voice gentle but with that edge she had grown all too familiar with—the edge that told her he wasn’t asking, just stating a fact. “He’s ours, Y/N. And soon, we’ll have more. You’ll see. We’ll make a new legacy. The perfect family.”

Her heart twisted in her chest at his words. She forced a smile, but it felt hollow, nothing more than a mask to hide her true feelings.

“I’ll be good for him,” she said quietly, her words distant, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye. “He deserves that.”

Mark’s fingers brushed against her arm, a soft touch that was laced with possessiveness. His eyes studied her, and for the first time in a while, there was something darker in them, something almost predatory. It sent a chill down her spine.

“You’ll be good for him because you have to be, Y/N. You are his mother. And I know you can do this. For him… for us.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening at the weight of his words, at the cold reminder that she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t say no, not to him. And if she tried to, the consequences… she didn’t even want to think about them.

But something inside her refused to submit completely. Not yet. She couldn’t.

The baby shifted in her arms, and she adjusted her hold on him, a small act of defiance, as if to remind herself that there was something, someone, who needed her—someone who had no say in this twisted world they were trapped in.

Mark’s expression softened just slightly, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something akin to affection in his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same coldness, that same control.

He stepped back then, eyes narrowing, scanning her face. “I’ll leave you two for now. But remember, we’ll have to talk about the future soon. It’s time to focus on what comes next. What we need to do for our family.”

His words, no matter how sweetly spoken, felt like a command. A reminder that she was still very much a prisoner. She nodded numbly, her gaze dropping back to Calen, who had fallen asleep in her arms, unaware of the heavy tension hanging in the air.

As Mark turned to leave, he paused, his back still to her. “I’m glad you’re here, Y/N. I’ve waited so long to make this work. We will. Together.” Her fingers clenched around Calen’s small form, and she nodded again, even though it felt like a lie.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence in the room. She remained there, holding her son, her mind racing, heart aching with the weight of her reality. She wanted to believe things could get better. She wanted to hope that maybe—just maybe—she could find a way to escape this nightmare, to protect Calen from the same fate she’d suffered. But deep down, she knew she was trapped. And no matter how much she resisted, how much she fought against him, she would always be held by his grasp. Always.

The weeks blurred together, each day blending into the next as she fell further into the routine Mark had crafted for her. She continued to care for Calen, but in her quiet moments, when no one was watching, the dread would creep in, reminding her of everything she couldn’t escape. She was still a prisoner in this world, a puppet to Mark’s every whim, and she was beginning to feel like there was no end to it.

But then something changed.

At first, it was subtle—an odd sensation in her stomach, a tightness in her chest, a sudden wave of nausea when she passed by certain smells. She dismissed it at first, attributing it to the stress of everything she was going through. But then it happened again. The sickness. The dizzy spells. And the constant, nagging fatigue that seemed to settle deep in her bones.

Mark, as usual, noticed everything. His eyes never missed a detail when it came to her, and she hated the way his gaze tracked every small change. He seemed… pleased when she leaned over the side of the bed one morning, retching violently into the bathroom sink. His eyes lit up, a smile playing on his lips.

“Feeling sick again, Y/N?” he asked, his voice almost too soft, too sweet.

She didn’t respond. Her stomach churned, the sour taste lingering in the back of her throat. She wanted to scream, to tell him everything—the anger, the resentment, the sheer helplessness of it all. But instead, she just wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up shakily.

Mark’s gaze softened, but there was a glint in his eyes that unsettled her. It was something dangerous. Something knowing.

“It’s a good sign, you know,” he said casually, his tone light. “Means you’re carrying our child again. And soon, we’ll have another. Our family will grow. It’s just what we need.”

She froze, her heart slamming in her chest. “What?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mark didn’t seem fazed by her reaction. In fact, it almost felt like he’d been expecting it. “You’re carrying our second child, Y/N. Isn’t it wonderful?” His eyes softened in a way that made her skin crawl, as if he believed he was doing her some sort of favor.

Her mind reeled as she took a few steps back, her thoughts rushing at a dizzying speed. No. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not again. The thought of it felt like a betrayal to herself, to everything she had tried to protect, especially Calen. The idea that Mark could manipulate her in this way—using her body as if it was something to breed from—sent waves of panic crashing through her.

Later that day, the doctors confirmed her worst fear. She was pregnant.

She sat there in the sterile white room, her legs shaking beneath her, staring at the screen as the doctor showed her the faint outline of the fetus growing inside her. Her stomach twisted in disbelief, but it was real. It was undeniable.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said, oblivious to the fact that the word meant nothing to her. “It’s still early, but everything looks healthy so far.”

The words rang in her ears, but she didn’t hear them. Her mind was focused on the fact that Mark had wanted this—wanted her to be pregnant again. He had manipulated her into this, probably long before she even realized. She could already feel him smiling at the thought, probably already planning for the future.

When she returned home, Mark was there, waiting for her. He didn’t ask how the appointment went. Instead, he took one look at her and smiled. “I knew it,” he said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. “You’re pregnant. This is just the beginning, Y/N. Our family is going to be perfect.”

The room spun around her as he approached, his hands gentle as they cupped her face. But all she could feel was that suffocating pressure—the one that made it impossible to breathe, the one that told her no matter how hard she fought, no matter how much she resisted, Mark was always one step ahead.

Her stomach churned again, not just from the pregnancy but from the knowledge of what was coming. She felt trapped, suffocated by his expectations, by the weight of his need for control. It was never about love for her. It was always about ownership. And now, she was going to carry his child again, with no say in it, no choice.

And deep down, a part of her loathed herself for not being able to resist, for letting him continue to do this to her. But it was hard to fight when you were so completely powerless.

Days blurred together, each one slipping further into a haze of forced acceptance. The realization that she was pregnant again hung over her like a suffocating weight. She hated it, hated how it felt like Mark’s victory, as though she had no say, no agency over her own body. He was already planning their future, and she was just a piece of his perfect puzzle, no more important than a mere function in his world.

At times, the heaviness of it would make her want to scream, but she swallowed the urge. What would it accomplish? She couldn’t escape, not now. Even when she wanted to run, even when the instinct to flee burned in her chest, she knew the truth. Mark would catch her. He always did.

Every morning, he watched her, a steady presence in her life, always nearby. He never stopped observing her, never stopped making sure she knew that he was in control. Even when she tried to pretend everything was fine, he could see through it all.

She sat in the nursery, watching Calen play, the soft babbling sounds of her son mixing with the faint hum of the house. He reached for her again, and her heart twisted at the sight. He was so innocent, so pure. And yet, she couldn’t shake the thought that her child was growing up in a house where control was everything. Mark’s world was suffocating, and she couldn’t protect him from that.

Suddenly, she felt the familiar press of Mark’s presence behind her. His hand rested on her shoulder, a touch that felt too much like ownership.

“You’re so good with him,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost gentle, but there was something in his tone that made her skin crawl. “You’ll be a perfect mother for this one too.” His words sent a shiver down her spine. She felt as though she could hear the unspoken implication—you’re nothing but a vessel, a mother.

Her body stiffened, the tension growing in her shoulders. She didn’t turn to face him, didn’t want to look into the dark eyes that were always watching her, waiting for her compliance.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered under her breath, too quiet for him to hear, but still there, a protest to her own reality.

But Mark heard. He always heard.

“You’ll come around,” he said softly. “You’ll see. It’s not so bad, Y/N. It’s what you were meant for. We were meant for this.” He stepped closer, brushing her hair aside as he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her firmly against his chest.

Her heart sank. She was stuck. He was right in a way. No matter how much she fought it, no matter how much she hated it, this was her life now. She was bound to him.

“You think I’m cruel,” Mark murmured, his lips brushing against the back of her ear. “But I’m not. I’m giving you everything you could ever want. This family, this future. A place where you belong. Where we belong.”

Her hands trembled, and her heart beat faster as she struggled to push away the mix of emotions swirling within her. A part of her wanted to resist him, to scream and claw her way out of this suffocating situation, but another part—one she hated to admit—was still desperate for his approval, for some semblance of peace in the chaos he had created around her.

“You’re mine,” he continued, his voice dark and possessive, sending an unpleasant warmth crawling up her spine. “And I will never let you go. You’ll learn to love this, Y/N. You’ll learn to love me again.”

The words made her stomach churn. She felt herself nodding against her will, surrendering to his hold, to the inevitability of the life he had forged for them. And for the briefest moment, she felt something she couldn’t quite explain—a flicker of… longing? It disgusted her, but it was there, nestled deep inside.

She turned her head, not wanting to look at him, but unable to escape his gaze. Mark’s hand moved to her stomach, his fingers pressing gently against the small curve already forming. “This child,” he whispered, “will grow up to be just like us. Strong, unyielding, part of our legacy.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the truth. She couldn’t run from this, no matter how much she wanted to. But the thought of another child—his child—suddenly filled her with dread. What kind of world was she bringing another life into? A world where she had no freedom, no say in her own fate?

Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m scared,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper. “What if I can’t do this?”

Mark’s expression softened for the briefest moment, but the tenderness didn’t last. His hand tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. “You don’t have to be scared. You won’t be alone. You’ll never be alone again. This is our world, Y/N. You belong here. With me. Forever.”

But even as he said it, a small, bitter part of her knew that this wasn’t the life she had chosen. This wasn’t the family she wanted. It was a prison, and she was the one who had built the walls around herself. And now, there was no way out.

As Mark’s lips brushed against her neck, she couldn’t stop the tear that slid down her cheek, the only sign that she hadn’t completely surrendered. But it was useless. She was trapped. And there was no way to escape the world he had forced her into.

As the days dragged on, the weight of her growing pregnancy settled deep within her bones. She was getting larger, and it was impossible to ignore the fact that her body was changing, not just because of Mark’s child, but because of the unrelenting pressure he exerted on her every day. His hand was always on her, always controlling, always keeping her in his sphere.

She couldn’t escape it. Not when his eyes followed her like shadows, not when every move she made was scrutinized, even if he wasn’t physically present. Her life was a constant reminder that she no longer had autonomy. She was a vessel, a mother to his children, a wife meant to fulfill the future he envisioned, no matter how much she resented it.

It wasn’t until her latest checkup that she got the news she’d been dreading. She was having a girl.

The doctor had been professional, kind even, as she spoke to her. “It’s a girl, Y/N,” the doctor had said, her tone gentle. “Healthy and developing well.”

But all Y/N could think about was how Mark would react. He’d been watching her so closely, ever since the pregnancy started, as if he was expecting every moment to be perfect. And now, when he found out the gender… she didn’t know if she could take it.

Mark was waiting in the hallway when she returned, his eyes lighting up when he saw her, but his gaze flickered to her stomach. He didn’t need the words—he could feel the shift, the slight hesitation in her body language, and he knew.

“Well?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with an excitement that bordered on obsessive.

She sighed, trying to ignore the knot tightening in her chest. “It’s a girl.” Her words were flat, but they were all she could muster. Her hands instinctively went to her stomach, fingers grazing the small bump.

Mark’s face lit up. He stepped toward her, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her to him so she couldn’t move away, his body close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. His touch, possessive as always, made her stomach twist in a way she couldn’t control.

“A girl…” he repeated softly, almost to himself, as if the idea of a daughter brought something he hadn’t felt in a long time—something like joy, or perhaps pride. “I’m going to raise her to be strong, just like you.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. What could she say? She couldn’t tell him she wasn’t sure she even wanted to raise this child. That she wasn’t sure how to raise a daughter in a world where Mark’s control was suffocating every part of her existence.

Instead, she nodded stiffly, unable to stop the sick feeling creeping into her gut. She didn’t want to bring a child into this world. Especially a girl. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like for her daughter to grow up here, in this house, under Mark’s iron fist.

Mark’s hand moved to her belly, resting there possessively as he leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. “She’ll be beautiful, Y/N,” he murmured. “And she’ll be ours. Together. We’ll raise her to be everything this world needs.”

Her body tensed at his words. His vision of their future, so tightly wound up in his need for control, made her feel sick. He didn’t care about what she wanted, about what the child wanted. It was always about him, about what he needed, and what he was going to make of her and their children.

But she was trapped, unable to find a way out.

“Do you want to tell Calen?” Mark asked, his eyes sparkling with something that could have been love, or perhaps possessiveness.

Y/N’s heart clenched at the mention of their son, her son. She had never wanted to fail him, never wanted to be this way—this shell of a woman who couldn’t even protect her own heart, let alone the hearts of her children.

“He’s still too young to understand,” she replied quietly, pulling away from his embrace. “We’ll tell him when the time comes.”

Mark didn’t push it, but she could feel the tension in his stance. He wanted to talk about the future, about their family, about how the three of them would rule together, as if it was all so simple.

But it wasn’t. It never had been.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. She didn’t know when it happened, but eventually, she found herself standing in the nursery, cradling Calen in her arms, the soft coos of her son echoing in her ears. He reached up to touch her face, babbling happily, and for a moment, just a moment, everything felt right. He was hers. He was innocent. She couldn’t imagine him growing up in this place, but she couldn’t change it now.

And then there was the other one—the girl she was carrying. Another part of her heart, another piece of her life that had already been decided for her.

She didn’t know what to do with any of this.

“Y/N,” Mark’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see him standing in the doorway. He had a look in his eyes that was familiar—expectant, longing, yet still controlling. “We’re going to raise a legacy here. A family built on strength. You’ll see. You’ll be happy.”

The way he said it, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as her, made her heart sink. She was never going to be happy like this.

Not while she was trapped in his world. Not while he was shaping her into something she didn’t want to be.

But as she looked down at Calen, a wave of protectiveness washed over her. For him, for her unborn daughter, for the fragile piece of her that still wanted to believe in something else—she would keep going. For them. Even if it meant being suffocated by Mark’s world forever.

As the weeks passed, Y/N’s pregnancy continued to progress. She was now nearing the second trimester, her body beginning to show more obvious signs of the life growing inside her. Mark’s excitement was relentless, and though he pretended to be gentle with her, every day was a reminder that she had no say in any of this.

Mark watched her closely, his eyes never leaving her whenever they were together. He was always by her side, watching her movements, hovering when she tried to be alone. Even though she had long given up on resistance, a part of her still hated the suffocating nature of his presence. He wasn’t just her husband in this twisted version of reality—he was her warden.

The constant reminder that she was pregnant with his child, a girl this time, only made her feel more imprisoned. The only solace she could find was in her son, Calen. His innocent, joyful face was the only thing that made this place feel somewhat bearable. He was so small, so vulnerable, so full of light. Yet even with his love, she could feel the burden of everything pressing down on her.

One afternoon, she was standing in front of a mirror in her bedroom, her hands tracing the curve of her belly. It was still small, just a faint curve, but there was no denying it. She was carrying a child—a girl—who would grow up in this place, under Mark’s watchful eyes, just like her son. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. What kind of future was she bringing them into?

Mark appeared at the doorframe, his gaze softening when he saw her, his hands clasped behind his back. His usual intensity had been replaced by something else, something almost tender. But Y/N knew that this tenderness was just as much about control as his usual aggression.

“You’re looking beautiful, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice almost too smooth, too calculated. “I can see our little girl growing inside of you.”

She met his gaze briefly before looking back down at her hands, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. “I’m just carrying your child, Mark. That’s all.”

His expression faltered for just a second, but his smile remained as he approached her. “You’ll see, Y/N,” he said, his voice unwavering. “This is our destiny. Together. A family. We’re going to make this world ours, and you’re going to help me raise our children to be strong.”

She stiffened at his words. Strong. That word again. He always wanted them to be strong. To be his. But what about what she wanted? What about what they needed?

But she said nothing. What was there left to say?

Mark took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles with an unsettling tenderness. “You’re almost in the second trimester now,” he continued. “It’s time to start planning for the future. We’ll be having more children, Y/N. Just as it was meant to be.”

Her mind screamed in defiance, but she forced the words to stay silent on her lips. More children? She wasn’t even sure how she could handle this pregnancy, how she could bring another child into this world, let alone keep them safe from the life Mark was so determined to impose on them.

The thought of more children terrified her. If the world she was living in was this twisted, how could she bring a child into it willingly? She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

Mark stepped closer, his presence overpowering as he placed his hands on her shoulders, his fingers kneading into her skin. “You’ll be the perfect mother for our children. I know you’ll be the perfect wife too. You always were.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She had been the perfect wife for him in another universe, before he had ripped everything from her, before he had trapped her in this twisted life, with no way out. She didn’t recognize herself anymore.

But what could she do? She wasn’t even allowed the freedom to hate him properly. She wasn’t allowed the space to feel anger. Everything she did was under his watch, every action an extension of his control. Even the moments when she wanted to break down and scream, the moments when she wanted to feel something other than despair—those moments were taken from her too.

Mark leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek as his hands slid down to rest on her growing belly. She flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care.

“I’m looking forward to raising this family, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “I know you’ll come around. We’ll have more children, and we’ll shape this world together.”

She bit her lip, her heart heavy in her chest. The more he talked about their future, the more trapped she felt. There was no way out. There was no escape. She had no choice but to go along with this nightmare and play the part of the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect prisoner.

As Mark kissed the side of her neck, she closed her eyes, wishing that somehow, in some way, she could turn this around. But deep down, she knew. There was no escaping him. No escaping this world he had trapped her in.

All she could do now was survive. And survive for them. For Calen. For the baby she was carrying. She had to hold on, for their sake. Even if it meant surrendering every part of herself.

When Mark left the room that night, closing the door quietly behind him, Y/N felt the familiar suffocating emptiness fill the space. Her breath caught in her throat as she leaned back against the wall, the tears starting to fall before she could even stop them.

Was this it? Was she just someone to breed, to carry his children and bear the weight of his twisted vision for a perfect family? Was that all she would ever be in this world?

Her heart felt heavy, her mind racing with the cold truth of it all. Mark had never asked for her opinion. He never cared for her desires, her needs, her autonomy. She was simply another piece in his plans. She had once been the love of his life—her life—but now? She was just a tool. A vessel. A thing he could use whenever he wanted.

The walls of the room seemed to close in on her as she sank to her knees, her sobs racking her body. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of it. But she couldn’t fight him. She couldn’t fight the destiny he had chosen for her. He had already made up his mind. And she… she was just along for the ride, trapped in his world, with no escape.

Her thoughts spiraled. Was this the dynasty he was building? A family of obedient children, each one brought into this twisted world to follow in his footsteps? Was this the future for them? For her daughter? Would she be raised to believe that this was normal? That this was how life was supposed to be?

No.

She couldn’t let that happen. Not for her daughter. Not for Calen. She would not let them grow up thinking that this was all there was, that love and freedom and choice didn’t matter. But how could she protect them? How could she protect herself when every door she tried to open only led to more darkness?

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, trying to force herself to breathe normally. But she couldn’t stop the tears from coming. She couldn’t stop the sickening truth from crawling inside her heart. She was trapped. She had been since the moment Mark had dragged her into this world, and the longer she stayed, the more she felt like she was losing herself.

She wasn’t just being controlled by him—she was becoming him. Becoming the woman he wanted, the wife he thought he could mold, the perfect vessel for his empire. She had no identity anymore. She had no freedom. She was a shell, a reflection of a woman that no longer existed in the way she had known herself.

The feeling of being reduced to something less than human, less than a person, broke her. She couldn’t escape this. She couldn’t even be angry about it, because anger only meant more punishment, more suffering.

For weeks now, she had gone through the motions, trying to keep herself composed, trying to keep her head above water. But now, in the quiet, alone in the shadows of Mark’s world, the truth crashed down on her like a wave.

Her sobs grew louder, her chest heaving with each gasp for breath. She wasn’t just crying for herself, for the woman she used to be. She was crying for the future she was forced to accept, the children she didn’t even want to bring into this world. She was crying because she couldn’t escape, because no matter what she did, Mark always had control.

Was this her fate now? To live and die as nothing more than a tool for Mark’s empire? Would she ever get to choose for herself again? Would she ever know what it was like to live without the constant shadow of his expectations hanging over her?

The tears didn’t stop. They couldn’t. They poured down her face as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together when everything was falling apart.

She had no answers, no plans, no way to fight back—not in this world, not under Mark’s watchful eyes. She could only pray that one day, somehow, she would find a way out. She couldn’t keep living like this. She couldn’t keep being broken, piece by piece, just to be molded into something she would never be.

But for now, all she could do was cry. And hope, somewhere deep inside, that a part of her would survive long enough to escape.

The soft creak of the rocking chair was the only sound in the room, a steady rhythm that comforted her in a way nothing else could. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting pale rays across the floor as Y/N gently rocked back and forth, her hands resting on her swollen belly.

The stillness of the room felt suffocating, the silence too heavy to bear. She closed her eyes, trying to find peace, trying to convince herself that she could survive this. But the pressure of her current life—of the cage Mark had built around her—was always there, just beneath the surface, clawing at her.

She placed her hands on her stomach, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she spoke softly. “I know you can’t hear me yet… but I like to think you can feel me.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the weight of her words almost too much to bear. “I remember when I used to be free. When the world was mine to explore. I used to run, laugh, make choices—small ones, big ones. But now…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “Now, it feels like I’m just… existing.”

The air in the room seemed to thicken, and the harsh reality of her situation pressed down on her chest. She had once had dreams, once had a life full of possibilities. Her family, her friends, even the small moments of happiness she had found in the quiet corners of her world—they all seemed like a distant memory now, slipping further and further from her grasp as each day passed.

“Sometimes, I wonder if this is all a nightmare,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I never thought this would be my life. I never thought I would be here, stuck in a place where my only purpose is to carry his children… to be nothing but a tool to him.”

Her fingers gently traced the curve of her belly, the sensation of life growing inside her both a miracle and a cruel reminder of the control Mark had over her. The baby kicked, and she couldn’t help but smile faintly, the small movement offering a glimmer of hope. You deserve better, little one. You deserve more than this.

She wiped away a tear that had slipped down her cheek, unable to stop the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. “I wish I could change things. I wish I could go back to before. Back to when I was… me.” Her voice trembled, and her heart ached with longing. “I wish I could give you the world, not this… prison.”

Her thoughts drifted to her old life, her old world—the places she’d seen, the people she’d met. She remembered the nights spent under the stars, the laughter shared with friends, the hope that burned brightly in her heart. It seemed so far away now. So unreachable.

“But I’m stuck here now, aren’t I?” she whispered bitterly, as if the very walls of the room were listening. “Stuck with him, in his world, a world where my only purpose is to serve him… and to raise the children he wants.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Is this how it’s going to be forever? Will I always feel like a prisoner in my own skin, in my own life? When will I get to be myself again?”

She felt the weight of those words like an anchor pulling her under, drowning her in helplessness.

But even in her sorrow, she knew one thing: she couldn’t let herself completely break. Not with this baby inside her. Not with the small life growing beneath her hands. She would do whatever it took to protect them both, even if it meant holding onto the faintest thread of hope.

“I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I will,” she said softly, her voice steadying with a newfound determination. “I won’t let him destroy me. I won’t let him take everything from me. For you, I’ll fight… even if I don’t know how. Even if it feels impossible.”

Her words echoed in the quiet room, the only sound the steady rhythm of the chair rocking, as if to reassure her that even in the darkest of moments, she could find a way to survive.

Her hand rested on her belly once more, and this time, her touch was gentle but firm. “We will get through this, little one. We’ll find a way out. Together.”

The hours passed in a haze of quiet reflection, the only sound the steady rhythm of the chair as she rocked gently back and forth. Her thoughts circled like vultures, constantly returning to the same question: Is there any way out of this?

Her eyes were heavy, the exhaustion of the past weeks settling in her bones. But sleep eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, the memories of Mark’s cruel control, his touch, his demands, flooded her mind. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be free—to be herself. All she had now were fragments of a life she could no longer reach.

But her hand on her belly reminded her of what was at stake. The baby. The child that she was growing, the child she would protect no matter what. If she had to endure this nightmare for their sake, she would.

Yet, the longer she stayed in this world, the more it felt like she was sinking into a dark pit. She was trapped, her soul being chipped away little by little, day after day. She knew Mark was watching her from the shadows, knew he was keeping an eye on her, but she was determined to keep her emotions hidden. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break down.

Just as she was about to drift into a light sleep, the sound of footsteps reached her ears. She froze, every muscle in her body tensing.

He’s here.

Her breath hitched as Mark’s presence grew closer. She didn’t need to see him to know he was watching her. His energy was unmistakable. The suffocating weight of his gaze was always upon her.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze, her eyes narrowing as he stepped into the room, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes were soft, but there was something predatory in his gaze—something that made her stomach twist.

“You’re up early,” he said quietly, his voice laced with that strange calm that always sent a shiver down her spine.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

Mark didn’t move for a moment, just watched her, his eyes scanning her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. Then, as if deciding something, he walked towards her, his heavy footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent room.

He stopped right in front of her, towering over her like a shadow. Without saying a word, he reached down, lifting her chin gently with one hand.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft, as if he cared. But she knew better. The last time he’d asked her this, it had been to gauge whether she was still breaking under his control. It had nothing to do with concern for her well-being.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice thin but unwavering.

He tilted his head, studying her with those unreadable eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

She swallowed hard, fighting the panic that rose in her chest. “I’m just… tired.”

Mark stared at her for a long moment, his thumb lightly brushing her chin, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. It was as though he found her struggle amusing. But she didn’t look away. Not this time.

He reached for her, his hand cupping her face in a firm grip, pulling her towards him. “You don’t need to lie to me. I see through you. Always have.”

Her heart pounded as he loomed over her, his breath warm against her skin. “Please,” she whispered, feeling the overwhelming weight of his presence. “I just want some space. Some time to breathe.”

For a moment, he was still, then he sighed, the sound filled with amusement. “Space? My dear, you have plenty of space.” He stepped back, letting her go but never breaking eye contact. “But I won’t force you to talk now. Not yet.” She let out a quiet breath of relief, but it was short-lived. He was toying with her. Mark always had a way of making everything feel like a game. And she was his pawn, whether she liked it or not.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he said softly, as if trying to soothe her, but the underlying threat in his words was clear. “You know that, right? You’re mine. And I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Always.”

She closed her eyes briefly, refusing to let the tears that threatened to spill fall. His words rang hollow in her ears, but deep down, she knew he believed them. He truly thought he was doing what was best for her, even if that meant trapping her in this world, this life, for his own twisted satisfaction. Mark reached out to her again, but this time, his touch was gentle. He stroked her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin softly, a stark contrast to the harshness that usually accompanied his actions.

“I’ll let you have your peace for now,” he said quietly, the strange tenderness in his voice unsettling. “But remember… I’m always here. You don’t have to hide from me.” And with that, he stepped back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone once again.

As the door clicked shut behind him, she collapsed back into the chair, her body shaking with the weight of the emotions she couldn’t suppress. The facade she had so carefully maintained cracked just a little more, the cracks widening with every day she spent in this world. But no matter what, she wouldn’t give in. Not yet. She would hold on, for herself, for her baby. Even if it felt like she was drowning in the dark.

The silence in the room after Mark’s departure felt oppressive, like a thick, suffocating cloud. Y/N remained motionless, her hands trembling as they rested on her stomach, feeling the small life growing inside her. She closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. It was getting harder, every day, to pretend she wasn’t falling apart inside.

She had become so accustomed to the idea of being trapped that sometimes, it almost felt normal. Almost. The lie she told herself was simple: just survive. Keep your head down, don’t provoke him, and above all else, protect the child. But the weight of that lie was heavy, and every day, it felt like it might crush her under its pressure.

The sound of footsteps outside the door caught her attention. She didn’t need to look to know it was Mark. His presence was too familiar, too undeniable. He always made his presence felt, even without speaking.

She stayed where she was, staring at the empty doorway, bracing herself. A few seconds passed before the door creaked open slightly. Mark’s silhouette filled the frame, just enough for her to see the faintest outline of his figure.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice low and almost affectionate, but there was always an edge to it. Always a sharpness, an underlying possessiveness that made her stomach twist in on itself.

She didn’t answer immediately, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. Instead, she turned her head, staring out the window, as if the world beyond held any possibility of freedom.

Mark stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He didn’t approach her immediately, letting the silence stretch between them, as if savoring it. She hated the way he could be patient, how he could wait and let the tension build. It felt like a game to him. Always a game.

“You know,” he started, walking closer, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You don’t have to be so distant with me. I understand that you need time. It’s not easy, being pulled from your world, forced into a life that’s not your own.” He paused, as if contemplating his next words. “But you will get used to it. I promise. This will be your home soon enough. You’ll see.”

She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. Her heart was a jumble of emotions—anger, fear, sadness—but mostly, it was an overwhelming exhaustion. It was all she could do to keep breathing.

Mark knelt in front of her, his eyes softening in a way that sent a chill down her spine. His hand gently cupped her face, and for a moment, she wished she could pull away, but his grip was already too firm.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he whispered. “And you’ll learn to love this life. I’ll make sure of it.”

Her chest tightened, and she had to bite back the urge to scream. He had said those words before, and every time, they felt like a crushing weight on her soul.

“You took me from my world,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question—it was a truth she couldn’t escape. “You stole my life.”

Mark’s hand tightened on her jaw just slightly, his gaze darkening. “I didn’t steal anything,” he replied, his voice low and almost… tender? “I gave you a chance. A chance to be with me. To be part of something real. You have me now, Y/N. I’ve already given you everything you need. You just need to accept it.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the hot sting of tears that threatened to spill. She couldn’t let him see her like that. She couldn’t show him any more weakness.

And yet, when she thought of her old life, her old world, it felt like a distant dream—one that was slipping further away with each passing day. Would she ever get it back? Would she ever be free of this twisted life he had trapped her in? Or was this all she would ever be now?

As Mark’s fingers traced her jawline with a gentleness that felt so wrong, her mind spun with the idea that maybe, just maybe, this was all she would ever have—this cage, this twisted version of a life, and the baby she carried, the only piece of herself that was still hers. Would that be enough to hold her together? Or would she crumble under the weight of it all?

She didn’t know. All she knew was that the hope she clung to was fragile—so fragile. She had to find a way out, for herself and for the child inside her, but the thought of escaping this world felt as impossible as escaping her own mind.

Mark leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, his words soft and chilling all at once. “Don’t worry, Y/N. Everything will be perfect. Just trust me. Trust in me.”

MONTHS LATER..

The pain hit her like a wave, crashing and pulling at her insides, gripping her in a relentless vise. She gasped, clutching the side of the bed, her knuckles white as her breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. The contractions were hard and fast, each one building in intensity until she could hardly think through the pain.

Mark was by her side, his hand gripping hers with an ironclad strength. He was calm, almost unnervingly so, his eyes watching her with a mixture of anticipation and something else—something darker that she couldn’t quite place. His other hand rested on her shoulder, offering what little comfort he could as she cried out in agony.

“You’re doing great, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, even as his eyes glinted with a quiet intensity. “Just a little longer. We’ll get through this.”

But it didn’t feel like it would end anytime soon. Her body was on fire with pain, each contraction coming faster, the pressure unbearable as her body fought to bring their child into the world. Her throat burned from the cries that tore through her, and all she could do was squeeze Mark’s hand tighter, the sensation grounding her in a reality that felt more like a nightmare than anything else.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, suffocating with the intensity of the moment. Sweat slicked her forehead, and she gritted her teeth as the next contraction hit, her body arching off the bed in a desperate attempt to manage the pain.

“Push, Y/N, push!” the midwife’s voice was a sharp command, but Y/N barely registered it as her body tensed, everything inside of her screaming. She felt as though her entire world was contracting with her, every fiber of her being focused on bringing the child into the world.

Mark’s grip on her hand tightened again, and she glanced up at him, seeing the sweat on his brow, the concern in his eyes. He looked almost… relieved. As if he’d been waiting for this moment, for this child. She couldn’t understand why, but there was something about the way he watched her that made her feel like she was being observed, studied under a microscope.

“Just a little more,” he said, his voice barely a whisper as she panted, struggling for air. “You’re almost there.”

With everything she had left, Y/N pushed. The room seemed to disappear for a moment, her vision going blurry, her hearing muffled except for the midwife’s encouraging words and the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. It felt like forever, but at last, the pain broke, and a sound filled the air—the sharp cry of their child.

Y/N collapsed back against the bed, her body trembling, her face flushed from exhaustion and relief. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she closed her eyes for a moment, just trying to center herself. She couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of her child, finally here.

But then, something shifted. She felt an odd heaviness in her chest, a tightening that didn’t feel like the usual aftershocks of childbirth. Her vision blurred again, and she felt lightheaded, her body slipping into a strange, cold numbness.

“Here’s your baby,” the nurse said, carefully lifting the newborn into her arms. The child, a small, wriggling bundle, was passed into Y/N’s tired arms, and she gazed down at the tiny face, her heart swelling with emotion.

She couldn’t hold her gaze for long, though. Her vision flickered, and a faint ringing began in her ears. Her hand, which had been cradling her child, trembled, and she felt a dull pressure in her chest that she couldn’t explain.

“Mark…” she whispered, her voice weak. But before she could say more, her vision darkened.

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice was sharp, urgent. His hand pressed against her forehead, but she didn’t respond. He started calling her name, louder now, but the sound felt far away. Her breath became shallow, and she felt the coldness seep into her limbs, her body growing heavier, as if the very life was slipping from her.

The midwife’s voice was frantic now. “Her heart rate is dropping! We need to move—now!”

The chaos around her grew louder, but it felt muffled, as if she were sinking deeper, drifting further away from everything. Her hand slackened in Mark’s, and his grip tightened in a panicked instinct, but it was too late.

She heard the doctors’ voices blur together, their panic and urgency clear. “Clear the room! Get the defibrillator!” But her body wasn’t responding. She was slipping. She could feel herself fading away, and though she wanted to fight it, to hold on, there was nothing she could do.

Mark’s voice cut through the haze, desperate, pleading. “No! Not again. Please, don’t take her away from me.”

But her body didn’t respond to his pleas, nor to the doctors’ frantic attempts to revive her. The rhythmic beeping of the machines grew erratic, then flatlined, the sound filling the room like a knife to the chest.

Y/N felt the last breath slip from her, her body no longer responding, her heart no longer beating.

And then, nothing.

Mark stood frozen, his hand still gripping hers, but the warmth was gone. She was gone.

He watched, helpless, as the doctors continued to try everything they could, but he knew. She was gone. His heart broke in a way he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“Not again,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice cracking, his gaze lingering on her still, lifeless form. “Please not again..”

Mark sat by her bedside, his fingers gently tracing the outline of her still hand. His gaze lingered on her peaceful, lifeless face, the finality of it settling in his chest like a heavy weight. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint sound of the medical equipment beeping softly in the background, as if mocking the silence that had fallen over him.

He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He could still feel the warmth of her skin, the way her hair used to smell, the softness of her touch. She had been his world—his everything. And now she was gone.

His breath caught in his throat, the grief twisting like a blade through his chest. But even as he mourned, something else simmered beneath the surface—something darker, something primal.

He couldn’t lose her again. He wouldn’t.

Mark stood up, his movements deliberate but hollow. He could still hear her voice in his head, the last words she’d whispered to him before she’d slipped away. They haunted him, more than anything else—reminding him of what he’d lost. And yet, despite the pain, the guilt, there was something else there too. A determination.

He needed to find a new Y/N. A new version of her, from a different universe, one that wouldn’t die on him. One he could control, one he could mold into what he needed her to be.

The thought churned in his gut, a strange mix of desire and desperation. She had been everything to him. And now, it would be someone else. Someone who wouldn’t slip away. Someone who would stay with him—forever.

As the last traces of her warmth faded from his fingertips, Mark wiped the tears from his eyes, standing tall. He turned toward the door, his mind already racing. There were countless dimensions, countless versions of her. He’d find one, drag her back, and make her his again.

He didn’t need to kneel to anyone. He didn’t need to care about what was right or wrong. He just needed her.

Mark hadn’t been idle in the months leading up to this moment.

Even while she was alive—especially while she was alive—there had been a quiet fear lodged deep within him. A fear that history would repeat itself. That he would lose her all over again. He couldn’t afford to feel helpless again. Not like he did the day she died in childbirth the first time. So while she rested, while she held their son or walked the halls in quiet contemplation, Mark had been preparing.

In the heart of his empire, buried beneath layers of security and hidden from the eyes of even his closest allies, a team of scientists worked tirelessly under his command. Their mission was singular and absolute: replicate the power of Angstrom Levy. Unlock the secret of interdimensional travel. Bend the multiverse to his will.

It started with salvaged tech—scraps of Angstrom’s failed devices, data pulled from brutal interrogations with captured dimensional travelers. Then, it evolved into prototypes—unstable at first, requiring vast energy sources and producing erratic results. But slowly, steadily, his scientists refined the process. They built a gateway, something crude but functional. A portal not unlike Angstrom’s—but without the weaknesses.

Mark visited the lab often. Too often. Standing behind glass as test after test failed, watching with quiet fury as the rift between dimensions shimmered and collapsed. But he never gave up. He couldn’t. Because this wasn’t just about science.

It was about her.

He had always planned for the worst. And now that it had happened again—that cruel echo of the past—he had something the old Mark never did: a contingency.

This wasn’t desperation. This was execution.

He stood now before the completed machine, the humming vortex of light and energy stretching open like a hungry eye. One of the scientists, pale with nerves, looked up at him. “It’s ready, my lord. Coordinates are set.”

Mark gave a small nod, eyes fixed on the swirling portal. He had been planning this for months, ever since the first signs of her pregnancy had brought back the anxiety, the dread. He loved her, yes. But even love couldn’t conquer fate. So he’d done what Viltrumites were trained to do: anticipate. Prepare. Dominate.

And now, with his newborn daughter swaddled in a nearby crib and the woman he loved lying dead on a blood-stained bed, he didn’t mourn.

He moved.

This time, he would not be caught off guard. This time, he wouldn’t wait for fate to take her from him. He would simply take her back.

His jaw clenched as he stepped toward the portal, the determination in his eyes hardening with every passing second. The room behind him, filled with the smell of death, would soon be nothing more than a distant memory. He’d find a new Y/N, and he would never lose her.

The other versions, the other realities—none of it mattered. Only she mattered. Mark stepped into the portal, his heart set on one singular goal: to reclaim what was his.

@inkedeye2345 @v1tale

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

I'm freaking Realize how Tech-Jacket (Zack Thompson) is freaking Attractive😭😭, I'm sorry but I started to have a crush on him!!

He's just so ughhh🤭, too bad there's no any fanfic about him, if anyone made one can I please be taggg😭🙏, he's so hot and attractivee idk what the animation do to him on invincible but he's so attractive in the comics, I need him so bad🤭😔.

I need a fan fiction about him, someone please make some😞🙏.

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

I have to get this out of my head.

I need a platonic mark grayson x reader thing where the reader is basically a dog and is also practically Courage The Cowardly Dog and is adopted by the Grayson family and it doesn’t matter if Mark and Oliver has powers, reader will help in their own silly way (like asking the computer for help) and I need something where reader talks for the first time and is like ‘the things I do for love’ but only Mark heard and tries to convince his mom that he actually heard reader talk but Debbie looks at reader and reader is just his normal anxious dog self and Debbie looks back at Mark and is like ‘maybe you took too many hits to the head in some of your fights’

Just think it’d be funny ngl

(If anyone actually uses this please tag me I will read it.)

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

Bro I need a Invincible x Ladybug!reader. That shit would be so funny.

i wish i could write a fanfic about it :(, i actually so many ideas about it.. and i always making a scenario about and thinking how actually powerful Ladybugreader actually it would been so insaneeee

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

I just finished the whole fanfic about Mark Grayson I don't know what to do now. 😔😞💔

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS

Can I request for Ladybug! Reader? I saw a TikTok video where Marinette was telling some heroes she could just Miraculous ladybug everything back to normal and they want to hire her because of that.

So imagine this but with Invincible, Reader's like his next door neighbor - yes she witnessed him learning how to land and she got pissed at that cuz IT WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

I like the idea of her revealing her identity to Mark so she can join him in missions whenever, so anytime he destroyed half of a city she just Miraculous ladybug everything and goes "YOUR WELCOME ASSHOLEEE!!"

And maybe during the Invincible war, she lucky charms a whip while fighting a variant (either Mohawk Mark or No goggles Mark cuz they freaky like that) and she goes wtf am I supposed to do with this?

(sorry I'm rambling a lot I just like the potential of this concept)

Friendly Neighborhood Inconvenience

NOTE: THIS IDEA WAS SOOOO FUN, Its 1 am for me and I've been giggling away while typing. I've taken a different approach to my usually long writing to make this more conversationally driven. I'm not straying too much so the vision is accurate. Up and away! Synopsis: Mark Grayson, is your biggest inconvenience and friend... whom you also live next to. Super-powered besties...? :) Warnings: None, my first non-smut-related blog yes yes! Just two idiots with powers. Mark Grayson x Ladybug!Reader Word Count: 1,000

You knew Mark Grayson was going to be a problem the moment he crashed into your backyard.

Not metaphorically. Not in a "he’s my annoying next-door neighbor" way. No, Mark Grayson—your classmate, occasional physics partner, and guy who still owed you ten bucks from a group project—literally smashed into the ground outside your window at 2 AM. 

You had been peacefully sleeping, dreaming of things far, far away from the absolute disaster that was your life, when a loud THUD shook your house. The crashes you had been imagining in your dreams began to manifest outside of your home. Were you under attack? Has the house shifted? Did your insomnia finally catch up to you? You jolted awake, heart racing, and sprinting as you immediately threw open your window to find Mark groaning in a crater. Oh…

"...Are you serious right now?"

He looked up, squinting, disoriented. "Huh—? Oh. Uh. Hey, neighbor."

"You woke me up," you deadpanned.

"Sorry," he wheezed, struggling to stand. His hands planting themselves against his knees.

"Mark. Why are you in my backyard." Your fingers gestured to the now three unevenly placed craters, one having a busted water pipe.

At that, he winced. "I was... learning how to land."

"You… know how to fly?” Correction: Barely. “...In the middle of the night?"

"Y-Yeah?"

You sighed so hard it could’ve put out a candle. "Grayson, I swear to God, if you ever—"

His attention suddenly turned towards his bedroom, the voice of his mothers concerned cries calling out for him jolted him into focus. And then he zoomed away, barely getting his balance, leaving you seething in your pajamas.

Yeah. Mark Grayson was going to be a problem. One you couldn’t avoid. Mark thought he was so slick. Just how did he manage his grades being so reckless? He’d show up to school exhausted, disappear at the most inconvenient times, and had that whole "Oops, did I break another building? Teehee!" energy about him. You knew. Oh, you knew.

Because the second you saw him with a black eye in the hallway after a “plumbing accident,” you put two and two together. You’d seen Invincible on the news. You’d seen him stumble into your backyard like an idiot. Not to mention the various times he’d confidently strut into his home WEARING HIS COSTUME. Though, you always assumed he was just into comic con and somewhat of a superhero nerd.

So when the time finally came to throw off the mask, you did it spectacularly.

Mark stood in your living room, eyes wide, staring at you in full Ladybug attire. "Wait—YOU’RE LADYBUG?!"

You smirked, spinning your yo-yo. "Surpriiiise~!"

"But—how—why—?!"

"Bro, did you really think you were the only one sneaking around at night?!"

Mark ran a hand through his hair, still struggling to process. "You fix everything after my fights?"

"Ding ding ding!" You clapped your hands. "Every time you break a city block, I put it back together. Every. Single. Time."

His jaw dropped. "Oh my God."

"Oh your God is right. Do you know how hard it is to undo your messes?! Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m fixing! You knock over a skyscraper, I gotta wing it! And every fight wrecks at least ten buildings!"

Mark laughed, but there was guilt in his eyes. "...So, uh. Guess this means you can help out more?"

You crossed your arms. "Help? Babe, I’ve been your cleanup crew this entire time. You should be helping me."

And thus, the most chaotic partnership in hero history was born. Cecil had been hounding you anyway, so this panned out in your favor. Being close and personal to his hero-ly escapades made the clean up easier to maintain… for your sanity of course. You had been through some rough days. Fought some wild villains. But nothing could have prepared you for an entire army of Invincibles tearing through the planet. Honestly, you were terrified; and left ragged, but keeping your wits about you would be the best bet you had for survival. 

You were dodging a punch from one of them, Mohawk Mark, which was an awful fashion choice, by the way—when your Lucky Charm activated. Perhaps it was something helpful like a pair of shears to correct his funky haircut. A bright light flashed, and in your hand, you felt—

A whip.

You blinked.

"...What the hell am I supposed to do with this?!"

Mohawk Mark lunged at you with a cheeky grin, enthralled more than anything. “Didn’t know you were into that, could use another one of you.” He teased.

"Shit—!"

You improvised. And like a thirsty mutt, he hounded you like a new obsession. Who knew men with harems could be so freaky? Later, when the war was over, when the dust settled and the leveled cities were—miraculously— nearly restored, you stood next to Mark, arms crossed, glaring at him.

"Go ahead," he muttered.

"You know what I’m gonna say," you grinned, nudging him slightly.

He sighed.

"Go on," you sing-songed.

"…Thanks."

"And—?"

"...Sorry for all the messes."

You smirked, patting his shoulder. "See? That wasn’t so hard. Now go buy me dinner, asshole."

Mark groaned. "You're never gonna let this go, huh?

"Not in a million years." Secretly, he would be happy too, but the poor boy was embarrassed from being proven wrong that his lips sealed shut. As Mark begrudgingly led the way to the nearest burger joint, you grinned, spinning your yo-yo around your finger. The city skyline gleamed, perfectly restored, thanks to you. The world was safe again—also thanks to you. And despite the chaos, the near-death experiences, and the fact that you were probably stuck dealing with Mark’s messes forever… you wouldn’t have it any other way. Ugh, I just love writing in-character stories. I HOPE THIS LIVED UP TO YOUR REQUESTS EXPECTATIONS LMAO.

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

Okay, soo I've been thinking about Mark Grayson x MLB user, like it would been so shocking if they find out the readers power, like when they're fighting villains and after that fight the Reader was like "miraculous ladybug" And everything would been fix??, like they would probably be shockk😭😭

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

The Roommate (Dark!Ticci Toby x F!Reader)

NSFW One-shot

Author's note: This is my first time writing smut, so sorry if this turned out bad. It's also way longer than I thought, hopefully there aren't any spelling errors. Cross posted on my AO3 account.

Warnings: Swearing. Toby being creepy, he hurts the reader, blood kink? unprotected sex, creampie, biting, it's just... a lot. (4,519 words) - Minors DNI!

___________________________________________________________

Your brother hated his new roommate.

From what you gathered from the phone calls you two had, you knew he kept to himself, was kind of creepy and left the occasional mess in the kitchen. Your brother had tried to include him when he went out with his other college friends, but he always refused. The guy was gone at odd hours during the night, and smelled like dirt and pine.

You told him it was his own fault for posting an ad for a roommate on Craigslist.

It wasn’t all bad though. He paid his rent on time, always in cash - which he slipped under your brother's bedroom door at the end of every month. Plus, he had insisted on not signing any formal documentation. The lease they had was just a last minute document drawn up for a short term stay. 

Your brother would only have to put up with him for 6 months. Then he’d be gone.

But hey, beggars can’t be choosers. And your brother needed someone to pick up part of the rent last minute.

After a few months it had seemed like he’d grown accustomed to the strange ‘twitchy’ man he lived with, that is, until you told him your plans to visit.

You finally got some time off, and it was the only chance you’d get to see him. So when all the hotels in the area were fully booked you were not about to give up. And….your brother’s place had a perfectly good couch available, right?

He was reluctant at first, but after much pleading, he finally agreed.

On one condition.

Stay away from Toby.

You figured he was just being overprotective. It was kind of sweet, but he’d never been that adamant about you not talking to someone before. There must have been something seriously messed up with the guy. And to be perfectly honest, it made you second guess whether you’d actually go through with the trip out there.

But you already bought the plane ticket, and you couldn’t let that money go to waste.

So now you sat in the passenger seat of your brother's truck, the two of you making idle chit chat as he drove you back to his place from the airport. 

He talked about school, the classes he was taking, what parties he’d been going to, and fraternities he’d been considering joining. That last part earned him some of your teasing about becoming a beer pong loving, “Frat Bro”.

Only after a few beats of silence, you decided to ask him something that had been bugging you since your arrival. 

“Your roommate knows I’m staying at your place, right?”

It was a simple enough question. The last thing you wanted was to intrude on someone else’s living space after all.

You saw your brother grip the steering wheel harder. “Yeah. Toby should know you’re coming.” His response was curt and lacking his previous joyful tone.

“You two fighting or something?” 

Your brother sighed. “No just,” He paused for a moment, and glanced at you. “He’s been acting weirder than usual.”

“Weird how?” 

He didn’t say anything for a while, instead mulling over his choice of words. Not wanting to scare you, but still wanting to give you a heads up of the situation. “He’s been talking to himself. A lot.”

“That’s not that bad. Lots of people do that.” You don’t know why you felt the need to defend a person you hadn’t met yet.

Another pause. This one is longer than before.

“You haven’t heard what he’s been saying.”

______________________________________________________________

The road ahead was dark, lit up by the dim headlights of the car. The only thing out here now was trees, broken up by the occasional house. It was definitely far from campus.

The driveway was gravel, the truck rocking back and forth from the potholes and uneven terrain, finally coming to a stop in front of the house. Painted a dull plain white, one story, rather small, but it would do. It’s not like you were expecting a mansion.

After the car came to a stop, you grabbed your luggage from the backseat, following your brother to the front door where he quickly unlocked it. 

The living room was sparsely decorated, with an old brown couch in the center, a small television and a coffee table littered with cans and half finished drinks.

It completely lacked a homey vibe. Definitely felt like a typical bachelor pad. You nudged his shoulder. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Hey, I’m not majoring in interior design.” Your brother shot back, beginning to walk away past the kitchen, calling out to you. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

Your eyebrows furrowed with a look of disappointment.  “Already? I thought we’d, like…. watch TV or something?”

“Next time don’t get such a late flight.” His face stretched into a yawn. “There’s plenty of blankets in the closet. Try not to make too much noise.” Disappearing behind the door of his bedroom, he left you standing in the room alone with your bags.

Time for bed I guess. 

You sprawled yourself out on the couch, placing a pillow on the armrest, and rolled out the fuzzy blanket you’d found over your body. You turned to face the front door. The room was pitch black, with a few beams of moonlight split up by the venetian blinds.

You picked up your phone from the coffee table by your side, figuring you could watch a few videos before you fell asleep.

The screen lit up, temporarily blinding you before your eyes adjusted. Mindlessly, you scrolled through youtube to find a thumbnail that would spark any interest.

You were about to click one, when you heard someone at the front door. Your eyes widened briefly, and you quickly shut your phone off. You don’t know why. It wasn’t like you were a kid and your mom was coming into your room to see if you were actually asleep. But it felt like you needed to shut your eyes.

So you did.

The door opened slowly, whoever it was trying to remain undetected. 

However, the scent that followed gave them away immediately. You actually had to stop yourself from reacting. It was a mixture of BO, dirt, and something else. Something dead.

Without even having to look, you knew it was Toby.

Footsteps, careful and calculated. The floorboards creaking. 

You waited for him to walk by, expecting him to go to his room so you could continue playing on your phone.

But he didn’t.

The movements stopped halfway through, and you heard him, on the balls of his feet, making his way over to the couch you were on.

The fuck?

You felt your throat dry up. You wanted to swallow down your nerves, but you couldn’t react. You had to continue pretending, right?

You could hear him, his voice low and soft, like velvet. A boyish tone, the occasional word being broken up by some kind of stutter, muttering things you couldn’t make out.

He stopped when he got to your side, standing right in front of your face. 

If you opened your eyes right now you’d probably see him peering down. His jeans dirty and torn, honey brown stare filled with curiosity, looking at the glimpses of your curves that peaked through the blanket on top of you.

A hand reached out. 

Cold, yet somehow clammy… texture rough and calloused. 

He was touching you. 

He was touching your face.

Don’t move. Don’t you dare even flinch.

“M-must be the ssss-sister…”

That was the first clear sentence you could understand.

He retracted his hand. But you could still hear him, the heavy breathing. 

His whispering.

“Soft”

Then he left.

Only afterwards did you realize you’d been holding your breath.

______________________________________________________________

“You look awful.” Your brother commented when he saw you the next morning.

It was true that you barely slept that night, made obvious by the bags under your eyes, and the change in your complexion. The interaction with the stranger, the one you’d been warned of,  had plagued your mind, stirring up thoughts that kept you awake. 

You grabbed a coffee mug, pouring yourself a glass, before joining your brother at the kitchen table.

From this angle, you had a clear view of the hallway. There were three doors, one must have led to the bathroom, and the other remaining two were the bedrooms. 

You only stared at one of the doors though. The one leading to Toby’s room. 

You knew, at some point he’d emerge and you’d finally be able to put a face to the name. A face to the hand that touched you.

For a moment, you wondered if you should tell your brother what happened. He’d probably flip out, maybe even confront the man. 

So, despite your better judgment, you decided to keep it to yourself. 

He only touched your face. Sure, it was creepy as hell, but you didn’t want to cause a fight during your vacation.

Your brother clapped his hands together, getting your attention. 

“So listen!” He grinned widely. “We gotta plan out the strategy for tonight.”

“Strategy?” You asked hesitantly.

“Yeah strategy. There’s a party I want to go to. Kappa Alpha is hosting it.” 

You tsked, sipping your coffee. “You realize I don’t know anything about the frats here. Is that like… a popular one or?”

He nodded. “Yeah it is. I’ve been trying to get into this one for a while now, so getting the invite is a big deal.”

You frowned. You were already so tired, and the idea of going to a kegger was not exactly on your ‘to do’ list. But it was important to him. So you complied.

“Okay. What time does it-”

A door opened. You stopped talking.

Your eyes widened to look over towards the sound. 

Toby was up.

The first thing you noticed was a mop of dark brown hair, unkempt, with curls that went in every direction. It was slightly greasy too, he clearly hadn’t showered in a while. There was light stubble on his jawline, and his skin was a sickly, almost gray color. A snake bite graced his lower lip, and there were a few more pieces of metal sticking out the cartilage of his ears.

He shuffled forward, looking tired, still in a pair of plaid green pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with little alien faces on them.

Once he made it into the kitchen, Toby finally glanced over. You looked away immediately, embarrassed that you were caught staring.

He was handsome. You hated to admit it. But he was. You pushed the thought out of your head, reminding yourself of who he was.

“Muh-morning….” He croaked out.

Your brother gave a little nod, just enough to acknowledge him, turning back to you while Toby started toasting a poptart.

“It starts at 9, but we should show up at 10 o'clock. I don’t want to look too eager.”

“Whuh-what starts at 9?” Toby interjected.

Both you and your brother looked at him, before nervously meeting each other's gaze.

“Oh uh!” Your brother stammered. “Just another party.” He motioned over to you with his thumb. “This is my sister, (Y/N), by the way.”

Toby’s eyes bore into yours. You swallowed, trying to give him a polite, reassuring smile.

“Nice to meet you…. Toby, right?” 

You acted unsure. Like you didn’t know his name by heart. Like you hadn’t had your brother vent to you about him for hours over the phone. 

“Yuh-yeah. That’s right.” He looked back at your brother. “Is the puh-party tonight?”

“Yeah it’s at a frat house. Did you…” He hesitated, before finally asking him. “Want to come?”

Toby bit his poptart, shrugging his shoulders. “I've guh-got nothing better tuh-to do.” The twitching man looked back at you, wiping some crumbs from his lip. He didn’t have emotion behind his eyes, just a weird intense focus on your face.

You pretended to be unbothered. 

It didn’t work.

He noticed.

And he liked the way you squirmed.

______________________________________________________________

Toby stayed in his room the rest of the day. Occasionally going into the kitchen, grabbing a snack, usually some kind of junk food, before he’d scurry back into his little cave.

You started getting ready as soon as the sun went down. It’d been a while since you’d been to a party and you wanted to look your best. Or look like you got a full 8 hours of sleep at the very least.

Toby said he’d meet you guys there. Saying something about how he needed ‘to take care of something first’. No one questioned him. Both you and your brother glad not to have to share a car ride with him.

Loud bumping music, the kind that shook a house and pounded in your chest, enveloped you when you walked inside the frat house. 

Flashing lights, a crowd in the middle of the dancefloor jumping up and down. The air was hot from too many people in a room at once. You could barely move through them all to get to the bar.

God you were going to need a drink to get through this.

Maybe even a couple.

Especially after your brother left you alone to go mingle.

One tequila shot, then two maybe three rum and cokes later. You didn’t even know how long you’d been there. Time seemed to freeze. There was only the music, only the dancing, only the bodies moving against you.

You felt hot. Your cheeks burned, and it wasn’t just from the temperature of the room anymore. The room spinned a little when you walked forward. Not enough to consider yourself completely wasted though. But enough to feel…. Friendlier.

More social.

Less inhibited. 

Numb.

After a lot of struggling, you made your way to the back of the room. 

You leaned against a wall, catching your breath, holding a red solo cup in your hand.  You could hear people trying to hold conversations by shouting over the music. 

And there were plenty of people making out. In fact, you’d say the majority of people were just straight up groping each other.

It made you a little jealous if you were being honest with yourself.

You looked around, wondering if maybe you could find someone cute. You didn’t intend on getting lucky or anything, but it would sure beat just standing there like an idiot. When was the last time you even kissed somebody?

Finally, you locked on to someone across the room. Someone with honey brown eyes. Someone familiar.

Toby.

He grinned when your eyes met. It was the first time you’d seen him do that. Large toothy canine’s, that bandage on his cheek shifting slightly. 

Oh god you felt your heart flutter.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. There was something wrong with him. Your brother didn’t like him. Nobody did.

He creeped you out.

He didn’t shower. 

He smelled like death. 

You listed the reasons out, and damn if there weren’t a lot of them. But in the end it didn’t matter. In the end, it was painfully, woefully, obvious what was going to happen.

And you were already walking over there.

You slithered over to his side, sweating, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Trying to look cute. Desirable.

It was working. 

He could’ve eaten you up if you gave him the chance. 

But you didn’t know that.

You fiddled with the end of your skirt, the jacket you originally wore tied around your waist. A flush on your cheeks, you let your hand gently touch his shoulder.

“H-hey… glad to see you made it.”

He tilted his head to the side, leaning down to hear you better. It made your stomach stir with excitement, he made you feel small kneeling down like that. But you liked it. Liked that he was paying attention to you, and only you.

“Whuh-what did you say?” His breath was hot on your cheek. Using the loud music as an excuse to get closer, to touch your skin. Making the hair on your neck stick up.

You breathed heavily in his ear on purpose. “I said, I’m glad you made it.”

Toby’s lips parted, not responding at first, but not moving away either. “Oh? Yuh-yeah?” He sounded amused, voice lowering an octave. “Excited to suh-see little ole’ muh-me?” 

It was kind of a stupid, cheesy thing to say. Like he didn’t really know how to flirt, but maybe saw a couple movies and memorized the lines. But it somehow worked for him.

“Oh, I’m sure nothing about you is little.”

Why did you say that?

Why?

It just came out naturally. Oh god, now your face felt flushed from embarrassment.

You felt him touch the side of your face. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, it sounded heavenly.

“Yuh-you know, I’m having trouble huh-hearing you.” He paused looking around, making sure no one was watching. You wondered why. 

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?”

That was enough to make heat travel between your thighs. 

Fuck. 

One meek nod from you was all he needed, before grabbing your wrist tightly.

Too tight, like he was unaware he could hurt you. Or maybe he liked causing a little pain?

He dragged you upstairs, practically lifting you with one arm, you felt like you were gliding over the steps. The muscles of his arms barely flexing under that hoodie of his, as if you were weightless.

He was strong. 

You both traveled through the hallway, careful not to bump into anyone loitering in the hall. Some of the other party goers shooting you looks, but they were mostly directed towards Toby. They weren’t judging you or anything. In fact, they looked worried, maybe even a little scared. You started to wonder more about him. What was his reputation like if this was everyone’s reaction to him? Or perhaps he really just looked that scary. 

So why did he turn you on? 

He pushed you into an unoccupied room and flicked the light switch on.

You barely registered him locking the door behind him.

With one shove of his palm he pushed you backwards onto the bed. Your arms flailed a bit out of instinct, falling down on the mattress with an ‘oof’.

You swallowed thickly, watching him eye the way your legs had parted slightly. Your skirt hiking up dangerously on your thighs. You had to fight the urge to close them.

“Yuh-you look scared.” That velvet, sweet, voice of his was twisted by something sick. 

“Are you?” His head cocked to the side, a wolfish grin on his face.

“Yes.” Was your reply. You didn’t feel like you could lie to him now. Feeling too exposed to even think straight.

He licked his lips, slowly approaching you. His fingers danced across your shoulders, traveling down your arms, sending goosebumps down your spine. They were cold and calloused, just like you remembered from the night before. 

“Then whuh-why did you follow me here?” He cupped the side of your face, his thumb grazing across your bottom lip. You were going to respond, but he quickly shoved his finger in your mouth, gagging you. He wanted you to suck on them, but he didn’t communicate that well. “Why duh-did you….approach me?”

You let your tongue glide over his finger. His eyes narrowed, watching your face, before he started talking to himself. “Fuckin’ stuh-stupid.”

You paused. Was he talking about you? 

“Should be whuh-working tonight…” He muttered. “Target just downstairs…. Ssss-so easy…this better be worth it…..” Toby chuckled to himself like he just told a joke.

You didn’t understand what was going on. Should you just ignore him and continue? 

Toby retracted his hand from your mouth.

“Sss-so pretty….” He pushed your back onto the bed, crawling over you, his broad chest heaving, face pink and eyes lidded. Pupils dilated with lust. “So…. suh-soft….(Y/N)....” 

You shivered when he said your name like that, feeling your panties dampen even more than before. Especially when he started running a large hand up your inner thigh.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Yuh-you like it when I touch you…. I know you do…” Your eyes flickered down at him, letting him continue his ramblings, Toby’s face breaking into another evil looking smile. “Luh-letting me touch you last nuh-night…. Pretending to be asleep.”

Your stomach dropped. You couldn’t hide it in your face, he fucking knew. 

He fucking knew the whole time. 

He burst out laughing at your expression. “Yuh-you’re still not even telling me to stuh-stop now!” Toby gripped your hip with one of his hands, lifting up the hem of your shirt with the other. 

Before you knew it, he tossed the fabric over to the corner. 

Your bra was next. 

In any other circumstances you might’ve found it cute, or funny, when he struggled with the clasp. But something told you pointing it out to him wouldn’t have been a good idea. 

He groaned at the sight of your exposed torso, immediately diving into your tits. Your nipples perked at the attention. 

He was right. You weren’t stopping him. Your body screamed at you to. The smell of dirt and grime, of all things dead and decaying, it permeated off of him the more he touched you.

Toby’s mouth latched on to your left breast, the other gripped tightly in his hand. You knew you’d have bruises there tomorrow. You didn’t care. 

He licked and nipped at the tender flesh, the swell of your tits heaving, your head thrown back and lips parted, letting out soft moans here and there.

A noticeable bulge grinded against your leg, as he huffed, humping himself against you like a dog. 

After a while, he finally lifted his head up. 

Toby looked you in the eye, grinning, licking your nipple teasingly one last time, before his attention moved to your skirt. 

His hands searched your sides for a zipper, he grunted out of irritation when he couldn’t find it immediately. 

You took the opportunity to gently put a hand over his, guiding it to where it was. “Here.” You said softly. “Let me help you.”

His eyes snapped up to your face when you touched him. 

Immediately, his lips crashed onto yours. Needy, desperate, quickly shoving his tongue down your throat. You kissed back, swirling your tongue around his, ignoring the weird taste of metal coming from his mouth. His breath was hot and heavy, kisses sloppy. You doubted he got much practice, but he seemed to be learning quickly.

He made up for it with enthusiasm.

Finally pulling away, you both unzipped your skirt together. Lifting your hips off the bed, you shimmyed them down your legs, Toby watching in fascination.

“I’m guh-gonna fuck you.” He stated matter of factly. Then he whispered something that made your blood run cold. 

“...Fuck you bloody.”

Shit this guy was scary.

In a few seconds, he ripped his hoodie off, along with his shirt. His chest was heavily scarred, a noticeable slash starting from his left side over to his shoulder, and a dark happy trail rising up from the waistband of his jeans.

You didn’t comment on it, but it was worrisome. You could only imagine what would cause someone to get hurt so badly and so often.

That said, Toby was definitely toned. A bit sickly looking, but his muscles had just a hint of a six pack formed. Maybe he did more exercise than you initially thought. 

He kicked off his jeans next, unceremoniously pulling his boxers down, revealing himself to you. Lazily, he stroked himself, a thick layer of precum smearing down his shaft. It was long, veiny, but not very girthy. A flushed red tip, looking painfully hard.

You pulled down your panties slowly, already soaked, and ready. The anticipation was killing you, but you wanted to make him wait for it. His Adam's apple bobbed watching you, and you liked reveling in his stares.

“Guh-gonna split you in two…” Toby murmured, to no one in particular.

He hooked his arm under one of your legs, his body shivering with need, pulling your hips against him. He glided his shaft over your cunt, rubbing your clit slowly. He noticed you tense, how you whimpered slightly, and how your slick covered him more at the action. Looking in awe like it was some revelation to him.

Toby licked his lips, before finally enveloping himself in your heat. 

It was quick. Like he was slamming a drawer shut, but he immediately bottomed out. You gritted your teeth in pain, before crying out when he started viciously pounding into you. 

It fucking hurt. It hurt a lot.

“Shit..! Tuh-tight!”

Obviously, your muscles had tensed around him, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden fullness of his cock stuffing you. Unable to adjust.

You whimpered when he didn’t let up, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. A dull ache between your legs as he continued thrusting. The wet sound of skin slapping together coming from where the two of you were joined, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent.

Toby inhaled sharply, before you felt his mouth open wide.

Teeth broke through your skin instantly, a warm liquid dripping down your neck.

You screamed.

You screamed louder than you ever have in your life.

You screamed bloody fucking murder.

“Toby!” Clawing at his back, trying to get him to stop, you started crying. “Toby! Please!”

Luckily for you, he released his jaw to call out “(Y-Y/N)!” Not understanding your cries weren’t from pleasure.

It egged him on, encouraged him. His pelvis slamming into yours, with no let up, your tits bouncing at the force. Itching his fingers to your clit, he rubbed it in harsh circular movements, making you tighten around him.

You babbled nonsense. Finally some of the pain subsiding for pleasure, and maybe it was the lingering effects of alcohol, or the slight blood loss, but you felt a buzzing in your head. Basically incoherent, the faster he went. The brutal, bruising speed.

The way he gripped your breast, the way his hand remained on your pearl, trying his best to get you to finish, but not quite knowing how. 

Something started to build. 

More and more.

Hearing him growl, pant, like an animal. It was doing something to you.

You moaned loudly, wrapping your legs around him. The coil snapping, muscle spasming, pulling his cock in deeper, triggering his own climax. 

His hips stuttered against you, letting out a gasp. A warmth filling you, Toby completely emptying himself inside with a deep groan, eyes rolling back in his head. 

He gave a few sloppy, slow thrusts, before finally rolling off, and onto the bed next to you.

His cum leaking out of your cunt and staining the sheets.

Everything went blank for a moment, realization only just settling in. The gravity of the situation, the blood on your neck.

And an arm wrapped around your shoulders, drawing you close.

“I knew you’d be worth the truh-trouble.”

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

“Y/N doesnt love me no more!” Robin says with a sob. In his room closest. Shoving vanilla ice cream down his throat as he sniffles. Raven looks at you to which you only groaned annoyed. You both were trying to cheer him up, but Raven called you in as Robin had said you were the problem instead.

“ROBIN, ALL I SAID WAS I DIDNT WANNA HOLD YOUR HAND??”

“YOU DONT LOVE ME ANYMOREE!!” He said from behind the closest door.

It was gonna take a while to get him out.

[obsessed-with-a-fictional]

Not [ ]

A platonic Yandere Batfam series.

(I need a better name for this series-)

[General Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, No one is having a good time, Angst, Usual Yandere Tendencies]

Chapters

Chapter 1 (Not Tonight)

Chapter 2 (Not Here)

Chapter 3 (Not Now) [1] [2] [Teaser/Sneak Peak] [Teaser 2]

Chapter 4 (in the works...)

Chapter 5 (coming soon)

Chapter 6 (coming... eventually)

Asks

How do Damian, Babs, and Steph become Yandere for the reader (with more details on Tim)

Further Reiterating on How They Turn

How did the Reader Get Adopted

(Before Chap. 3) How Will the BatFam Find the Reader, How Would The Reader Do In One-On-One Fights With the BatFam, and How Would A Kidnapping Go (a non-canon one)

Damian is the Most Forgivable

What Would Happen if the Reader Wasn't In Gotham?

Is it Possible for a Villian to Become Obsessed with the Reader Like the Batfam

(Before Chap. 3) Discussion on How Y/n Feels

Ruining the Batfam's Reputation By Shitting On Them in an Interview with Louis Lane

(Winning Over Louis Means That Clark Kent's Seal of Approval is Removed)

The Reader and Batfam Sitting Down to Talk About Their Issues, but Harley Quinn is Their Therapist

Alfred is Kind Of the Mastermind

(He's just too good.)

(How far has he gone.)

(Why didn't he do anything before the reader left.)

([Generally] What would happen if the Reader saw/referred to Alfred as their Dad/something similar to that.)

What is Reader's Age

(Before Chap. 4) Would the Roomate Help the Reader?

Would The Roomate Help + Do They Know Batfam's Identities?

Some Members of the Batfam Being Able to Play Instruments with the Reader

(Before Chap. 4) Batfam Trying to Manipulate Reader Into Coming Back Home On Their Own

What if Reader wasn't a Overachiever

What Would Happen if Reader Snapped, and the Batfam Found Out About Their Life Much Sooner

(Before Chap. 4) How Resistant Would Reader Be to Getting Kidnapped, and Would They Try to Escape

How Would the Batfam React to Reader Going Insane

How Would the Batfam React if the Reader Escaped and Went Off the Radar for a Few Weeks, and Would They Actually Be Able to Achieve This?

If the Reader Tried to Give Being a Vigilante a Try, but Their First Attempt Goes Wrong

How Would the Batfam Celebrate the Reader's Birthday When They're Kidnapped

Has the Reader Made a Song for Batman

What if Someone Else Confronted the Reader?

What if Alfred went instead of Dick?

Does the Batfam turn purely because of their guilt?

Fanart

Silly Doodles

Alfred: ah, surely my plan couldn't have gone horribly wrong. Oh, Master Dick? Are you okay? You look dreadful. Dick:

Batfam: *Scheming* Reader: Alfred, come pick me up I'm scared-