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likelysobbing · 2 days ago

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walk with me now, juju and her gf arguing because juju hasn’t been around lately and reader gets tired of it, and they’ve been ignoring each since so to get her mind off of things her bsf takes her out to a party or smth, juju finds out and is mad because reader didn’t tell her where she was going, and a other stuff but idk what

𖥻 COLD COUCH. juju watkins x reader

reblogs + comments are more appreciated than likes.

synopsis: juju’s absence leaves nothing but a cold couch you wake up to and a hole in your heart that you try to fill—lucky for you, your girlfriend has common sense.

notes: hi lovely! i’m so sorry i got to this request so late, i thank you for your patience. juju and the reader don’t necessarily ignore eachother for long, but they definitely don’t speak for long enough to be concerned!!! this all happens in the span of one day because me thinks juju would never leave you with a heavy heart for too long… unless it’s toxic juju. but this isn’t toxic juju nonono … but anyways !!! i did my best to make your vision come true and i hope you enjoy it <3

cw: arguing, juju is a tiny bit conceited but guys she’s a celebrity, partying, reader drinks alcohol but not to the point it’s detrimental, kind of fast paced because i’m using dividers, reader and juju are both down bad in their own ways

juju has shit to do.

it can’t be helped, and you know that. she’s juju watkins— the face of women’s collegiate basketball, with multiple awards to show for it. but juju, in all ten months and fourteen days of being your girlfriend, has never once missed a date. she made sure to make time for you, always showing up and going an extra mile: flowers, ironed outfits, an extra clean car even though it’s already clean, and most of all—the biggest smile on her face. you loved that part the most; the telling sign she was happy to see you, to spend time with you, to relax.

you haven’t seen that smile in a while. that’s usually what occurs when you date a D1 athlete with like 20 NIL deals.

you haven’t seen that smile in a long time.

you thought you would be able to. you had texted juju two weeks ahead of time telling her to keep herself free today, tonight, and you had tore the internet apart finding the best recipes—subsequently ending up with a splitting headache from looking at the directions too much to make sure you followed them perfectly. perfect; that’s what you wanted this night to be. you’d greet juju with a kiss to her cheek and a tight hug, then you’d eat dinner, then you’d watch a movie, you’d cuddle— juju would fall asleep first, hopefully, and then you’d steal her hoodie because she always took off her hoodies whenever she wanted to cuddle with you. she’d pretend she didn’t know you stole it, and she’d leave the next morning feeling lighter in more ways than one. the first because she didn't have her hoodie on, and the second because you soothed her enough to, for once, just stay in the present.

you hoped you’d be able to bring her the peace you knew she deserved. you set up the table, and even had the blankets and pillows all ready. infact? netflix’s searchbar was already waiting—and as you plated juju’s portion of the dinner you hoped you cooked right, the only thing you were waiting for was juju.

juju, who should’ve been here by now.

did she get caught up in traffic? she should’ve texted about that. she hasn’t texted you at all today.

she hasn’t texted you a lot in general these past few weeks.

you sit on the edge of your kitchen counter despite the chair you already pulled out being right infront of you, because a part of you— your heart—does not want to sit alone. you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, until a notification snaps you out of your zone. it’s juju.

juju posted something on her story—another common mainstream logo in your face directly confirming it’s some sort of brand deal— and... wait, why would she be posting about brand deals? isn’t she supposed to be on her way to you right now? she said she’d be able to make it.

you search for answers.

you find out it wasn’t just a brand deal, but a brand trip. juju’s not even in the same area code as you right now. juju’s away.

you call her the moment that it clicks.

the phone rings for way too long, and you count the seventh ring before she picks up with an exasperated, “what? what is it?”

you don’t speak.

she repeats your name, impossibly more exasperated: “what is it? i’m on a cruise right now—“

“your food is cold.” you say, simply. there is silence on the other line and you don’t know if it is from realization and subsequent guilt, or complete and utter apathy. you don’t want it to be the latter. you don’t speak any more.

judea’s voice comes out on the other end of the line. it’s slow, low, and barely apologetic. “i had a last minute offer.”

“and you didn’t think to tell them you weren’t free today? tonight? because you would be— or you were meant to be having dinner with your girlfriend?” you reply, snappy, your sweaty hand gripping your already-heating-up phone too tight. you’re exasperated, obviously. you saw juju mark this date on her calendar app— she had it labelled ‘date with my baby’ with three exclamation marks. god forbid you believe she’s genuinely eager to see you.

you hear her click her tongue on the other line. “i warned you about shit like this,” she responds, her tone more angry than exasperated—more uncaring than the (barely) apologetic tone you previously heard.

“i scheduled this with you two weeks in advance, ju,” you countered, “don’t give me that excuse. don’t- don’t even give me excuses.” you choke on your words, simultaneously choking on your own pride. you wait. she speaks again, and it’s another excuse.

you go back and forth.

“i just haven’t seen you in a while, and i missed you,” you say,

“i’ve been busy, you know how it is,” she replies,

“but you promised you’d be able to make it.”

“see now, i didn’t promise—“

“you said you’d be able to make it, juju.” you interrupt.

“yeah, and i just got … sidetracked.”

sidetracked?

“what do you mean?” you ask.

“you know what i mean, ma,” she murmured,

“no. i don’t. you said you could come last week— but now you’re not even here because of a last minute offer. am i being put to the side now?” your response is curt, and by now, things get noticeably more tense.

“god, can you stop doing that?” juju says on the other end.

“doing what? i’m just saying the truth—“ you tried to reason, because— side tracked? did she mean she put you on the sidelines? what did she mean? more importantly, what else could she possibly mean?

“it’s not always about you.” juju says, finally.

she’s right, and you say so.

“you’re right,” you say, voice breaking. “it’s not always about me. that’s why i haven’t been texting that much, or asking to hang out,” you begin, “or asking for too much,” there’s a lump in your throat, and a crack in your heart, but you press on. “because i know you’ve been busy. but juju, you said you’d be—“

“and now i can’t.” her voice cuts, her tone cutting. juju isn’t yelling, but her voice is low and outright cruel when she says your name— she says it as if it disgusts her to say, and when you hear her on the other end, your ears start to ring.

“i’m a fucking celebrity,” she continues, “i can’t be at your beck and call immediately when you say,”

“that’s why i scheduled you two weeks in—“ you tried to interrupt,

“yeah, and this brand's been eyeing me for way longer—come on, i couldn’t flake out on a deal like this. they asked for whenever i was available, and tonight was really the only night because it was just you—“

you end the call.

it’s just you, she says. it’s just you. juju obviously doesn’t want your company, doesn’t she?

it can be just her now.

you eat your plate alone. it’s still warm, but that doesn’t mean it’s good; the call with juju left a bad taste in your mouth. now juju’s plate is in the fridge labelled as leftovers you’ll probably never eat. you remove the extra pillow from your couch and use both blankets for yourself, playing another episode of your favorite show, tuning out the entire night despite hoping with all of your heart that you’ll have missed calls and texts from juju when you next check your phone.

you feel the lump in your throat still. you swallow it.

you wake up in the morning on the same couch, and you shiver at how cold it is. juju usually brought you the warmth.

you check your phone and you can’t swallow the lump anymore.

there are no notifications. your friend, bree, texted you about some party and how all her ‘fyne shyts’ were coming, but you could barely read the rest of the text because of how blurry your eyes were.

there were no calls. there were no texts.

not from her.

there was only silence, and it sent you into a spiral.

bree opens the door with the extra house key you gave her and a single knock to see you slumped across your couch completely and utterly miserable. you look at her, and she looks at you—bree, psychology major, miss know it all, looks at you and instantly knows.

“trouble in paradise?”

you burst into tears. bree’s kitten heels clack on your floor as she sits next to you and places your head in her lap, urging you to vent it out. “it’s good to get stuff like this out, hun,” she murmurs, “i’m saying this as a future therapist.”

you, three minutes into your wailing, will yourself to calm down for a moment— usually, when bree says that, it means she has something else to say, but “as my friend?”

your hunch is correct. bree tilts her head and looks down at your very miserable form curled up into a fetal position. “i say we get wasted tonight.”

“okay.”

that’s how you’re here now.

the bass is booming in your ears, and usually you’d leave solely because it’d make your head hurt—but right now, your heart hurts more. you could care less about the head ache you know you’ll get. you’re free right now. your phone’s charged, your arm is entwined with bree’s, and with every click of your heels you grow livelier. eyes flutter towards you by instinct, and they stay on you—you’re not wearing anything given to you by juju. this is your dress, these are your heels, and this is your jewelry— everyone seems to get the message.

tonight, you speak for yourself.

you’re bound to judea, but she isn’t pulling her leash, so you’ll stray. you’ll stray far, until she either lets go or you choke yourself.

bree looks at you with a soft smile, and tells you to drink safe knowing you’ll get absolutely knackered whether or not you drink. she pinky promises not to separate from you.

the gods may not have blessed you with a good week, but they’ve blessed you with a good friend.

she keeps the promise.

three hours in, and your heels are already off and in your hands, and you’re three drinks in, and you’re dancing, and bree has her arm around you and is singing the lyrics to the hollywood undead song playing. you are on top of the world but the ache has not subsided.

you’re sober enough to know you can’t drink the ache away.

so you choose to dance longer.

until your feet ache even more than your head, and your head aches more than your heart— until your legs are numb and your right hand is tired from holding your heels. but somehow, the ache, as small as it should be, is still the one you feel the most.

you don’t stop dancing.

the police crash through the back door.

you run straight for the front, with bree hot on your heel, and an unfinished cup of coca-cola and… something mixed into it, and your heels. the ice in the glass cup is melted so you throw it into the patch of grass near you. bree ends up more wasted than you are, and she, giggly, says that you watered the plants. you have no idea how she saw water in your cup when it was legit an abyss of dark brown... you know, the coca cola color? but maybe that’s why she’s more drunk than you.

the campus is not far from this party. you don’t mind walking barefoot. bree can crash at your place tonight, you owe her this much.

you are so focused on looking forward, as if there is any hope left for you, and keeping bree steady, that you don’t really pay attention to the fact that there’s a car coming up right behind you, who probably went over the speed limit just to. you also don’t notice when the car lowers it’s passenger seat window.

but you do notice when juju yells your name from the drivers seat.

your head whips around so fast you nearly drop bree, who’s taken to being slung across your shoulder. “what the fuc— juju? juju, it’s—“

“yeah, yeah i do know what time it is, genius. get in the goddamn car.” she snaps, unlocking the door as you open the backseat to gently place bree in. you get into the passengers seat next to juju.

she looks worried sick.

it’s three minutes into the car ride when the lyft that juju apparently called, and paid, for bree whisks her away from the two of you—and it’s four minutes in that you stay in complete silence out of your own shock.

in the empty car, as you drive to what you recognize is not the way to your dormitory but to juju’s apartment— you muster up the courage to break it.

“how are you here?” your voice is soft.

juju doesn’t answer for a good while, but when she does, her voice is impossibly softer.

“i have your location.”

“that's not what i meant. i thought you still had the brand trip.”

“i left early.”

“what?” you say, incredulously. juju doesn’t say anything. she parks, and then she gets out of the car—and before you can even open your door, she’s already helping you out. as you walk? you pry for answers.

“juju, i don’t think you can do that—“

“i’m a celebrity, i can do .. basically? anything.”

“juju.” you scoff. “you’re not serious. it’s just me—“

“it’s not.” juju interrupts this time, so firm it makes you lose your track of mind— her hand, once wrapped around your wrist, lowers itself and softens its grip. it intertwines with your fingers. “it’s not just you.” she repeats, visibly regretting her choices of words last night. “it’s you. you get it?”

“truthfully, no.”

“bro—I,” juju stutters, chokes even, on her own words, fumbling like she’s fumbling with the keys to her apartment right now—“i mean that…” she restarts, “i mean that i’m sorry, okay?”

you stand still in your pretty dress and high heels. you stand frozen until she pulls you in. she closes the door and she takes your face into her hands, and her palms are warm, and she is warm.

warmth. that’s what you were missing.

the ache disappears.

and then you start crying.

“you’re such a fucking asshole sometimes.”

“oh, baby,” juju immediately coos. “i know,” she says, pulling you into her chest, her right hand stroking your head while her left hand pulls you in close by the waist. “i’m sorry.” she whispers. “i’m so sorry, baby. i wasn’t thinking. i’m sorry. i got my common sense back, yeah? i’m here now. i’m here, baby—please don’t cry.” she whispers. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” she repeats, sinking down to the floor with you—“i got you gifts, ma?” she offers. “got you so many gifts.”

“i just wanted you.” you say through a rather pathetic voice crack.

it only makes juju even more apologetic.

“i’m so fucking sorry baby. i’ll make it up to you, okay? i’ll make it up to you. come onn, prettiest girl—“ she whispers, kissing your temple, smoothing down your hair and getting it out of your face. you finally look up, still mad but not able to resist her—and you breath a shaky sigh.

“there she is,” juju says anyway, because the fact you’re looking at her is progress. “my girl.” she continues, “my girl who set up a whole dinner for me, set it all up for me, my girl who worked so hard— my girl who missed me s’much—shhh, baby, i’m here, i’m here,”

you find yourself squeezing tighter. she’s here now. that’s all you've really wanted.

she ends up cleaning you up, putting you in what she knows is your favorite hoodie (hers), carrying you, bridal style, to her couch—wraps you up in a little blanket burrito and places you on her chest where she can kiss your forehead easy. this time, she has netflix opened and ready—and she knows exactly what to have you guys watch: your favorite show that you’ve watched over seventy times, but can’t seem to get tired of.

your eyes are blown wide, focused entirely on snuggling into her hoodie and at the show you’re watching, and you’re too lost in your own post-party, post-argument, post-bad week bliss that you don’t notice juju spends every second looking at you.

you just know that it’s warm.

her hands are wrapped around you, and she’s so warm. and she’s saying sorry. and her voice is soft and it makes you sleepy.

so you close your eyes, and you start to fall harder for her, and simultaneously start to fall asleep.

there is no ache anymore. and you know it is not okay yet, but it will be.

but for now, the awareness that you will not wake up to a cold, empty couch—that's enough.

@likelysobbing.

#juju x reader #juju watkins x reader #juju watkins #judea skies watkins #usc x reader #usc trojans #usc wbb #usc wcbb #usc women’s basketball #wbb x reader #wcbb x reader #promo tag…….#paige bueckers

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wuzhere75 · 2 days ago

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Also speedran a Bigshadow artfight reference. I think she’s probably my favorite of my alternate DoD, but maybe because I just haven’t worked on the others as much.

-I struggled to come up with wing/underbelling patterns. I used to go with spiral-y patterns like her father but I don’t know if that really suits her. I ended up doing some word association and was like “what makes big shadows in the sky? Clouds”, so its supposed to look like their are clouds blocking out some of her stars.

-I’ve HC’d for a while that Moonwatcher (and by extension Bigshadow in this AU) have a slight hint of Icewing ancestry in them through Secretkeeper. Not that much, but maybe just a little to explain their pale coloration and longer horns and spines.

-To extend off the Sandwing idea, the Nightwing “breath weapon” is more of a superheated flash bang that goes off in their mouth used to blind foes, even from a decent distance. Their mouth stays really hot after and gives their bite a bit of extra spice, but they can’t really use it as the “damage weapon” on its own. They have really thick eyelids they close when they use it to not blind themselves.

Also since I did this for Arroyo here’s her baby/toddler pictures, from September 2021 and July 2022 (just about a month before I started posting on here).

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gorillastraylight · 2 days ago

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I love this post so much. I hesitate to definitively say “the more Star Wars there is, the less special and interesting it becomes” overall because there’s plenty I like about the expanded universe and clone wars era and whatnot, but I do think that the more Star Wars there is, the more it changes the feeling of the setting as a whole. That probably sounds stupid and obvious so maybe I can explain a little

Like, the positive way to view this is that Star Wars, as a property, can be a home for a wide range or stories that vary considerably in tone and theme. It can comfortably fit the low-stakes Space Western stuff in The Mandalorian (at least in the early seasons before it was decided that every canon character ever had to show up), the (attempted) grand politics of the Prequels, and the gritty subversive punch of Andor within it all at once. It’s all still Star Wars.

Of course, the flip side of this is where you end up with YouTube bozos whining that anything new “doesn’t feel like Star Wars”, especially when it’s an idea that takes the franchise to a genuinely new place, literal (The Acolyte with the High Republic) or thematic (Andor being intended for an adult audience). To connect this to battletech, my beloved, it’s like hearing grognards grumble that the IlClan era doesn’t feel like battletech anymore - they’re wrong, it absolutely does, just not their preferred section of the franchise. This, of course, assuming that said YouTube bozo or Battletech grog isn’t just using that statement as camouflage for discomfort with minority characters being in the spotlight more often.

I do feel very drawn to the more mystical force and loosely defined universe presented by the Original Trilogy - increasingly, I find myself preferring less concrete lore to more. Too much lore is how you end up with the Wookiepedia article about Darth Vader’s suit confirming that his helmet is polished with woodoo hide and that Palpatine built him wrong on purpose to keep him weak or whatever. This shit is fucking lame and completely demystifies Vader IMO, it all just feels like post-hoc justifications for perceived “errors” from a fanbase that intakes media not as stories with their own goals and artistic elements, but as documentaries of fictional worlds. See also my most hated Star Wars trivia piece, that lightsaber blades attract one another slightly, a bit of fluff clearly invented to deflect the observation that prequel characters looked like they were attacking each other’s sabers rather than each other, an early criticism of fight choreography in the prequels. Like, would it have been so bad to just let that be rather than come up with some contrived bullshit to lampshade it? It didn’t even matter, everyone (even unenlightened fools such as myself who still think the prequels are pretty bad) agrees that prequel fights are fucking sick, even if they are overchoreographed.

Now, while I prefer the idea of a mystical, personal version of the force, it’s also less useful to the idea of the Jedi that Lucas was trying to convey in the prequels - an archaic, cumbersome organization that wields too much authority and has grown too comfortable to question itself. The deep spirituality and inward curiosity that vision of the Force presents would be at odds with the Jedi Order as lost and fallible. If the prequels were better executed, the fact that the Order presents a much more mundane, “solved” version of the force could itself be an element of that motif. The stupid fucking midi-chlorian counter could be a symbol of how out of touch with the spiritual aspect of the Force the order had become, and it might even make me hate it slightly less. It’s not so much that it’s a worse version of the force, just more suited to its own story - is what I would like to say. Unfortunately, Count Dooku uses Force Lightning.

Why. Why does he do this? Putting aside the idea that it’s cooler for Lightning to be a Palpatine-unique power, it seems incongruous to Dooku’s character! Now, the characterization of Count Dooku is pretty inconsistent- especially with how deep into the dark side he is. Is he more of a rogue Jedi who’s grown disillusioned with the order and the republic, or a truly evil, scheming villain? Depends what story you’re taking in, but given how perfunctory his introduction in the films is, giving this random guy the fucking ultimate evil force power just cheapens it unnecessarily. Hell, to put on my Wookiepedia hat for a minute here, Dooku’s a duelist, a specialist with the lightsaber. He’s not a sorceror freak like Palpatine, why can he do this insane wizard shit?

There’s other examples of stuff like that, but I think it’s overall emblematic of the tradeoff I pointed to right at the start. Star Wars is large enough to contain many kinds of stories - but elements that strengthen or streamline some stories then become canon to all the others, even if they weaken (and so are pointedly unaddressed by) those others. The other classic example is how almost every new empire era story makes Order 66 less effective and Luke Skywalker’s role as the resurrector and inheritor of the Jedi tradition less impactful. That’s the price of the grand franchise, and all I can say is that if I wind up running Age of Rebellion with my ttrpg players, I’ll be glad they’re the kind of people who’re cool with playing it a little loose with canon in service of a good story.

#star wars #dropout #um actually #brennan lee mulligan #battletech #stars war #Andor #I hope they never explain metachrists in trench crusade #I hope they never give us the deep lore #I know it’s in vogue to rip on soulsborne storytelling for being vague and contradictory #but Joseph Anderson is wrong about that actually #leaving gaps for the imagination and speculation is so much better than having twelve thousand wiki articles

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chow0w · 2 days ago

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Hello! It’s me again :3

So you already covered that you think sandwings are punk and what you think seawings styles are. But what do you think the other tribes aesthetic’s are/how they dress? Thank you for your time!

Hi! thanks for the question! This was an amazing chance for me to explore more alt styles!

Goth Icewings: why it would(n't) work

About the Goths

Museum of youth culture defines goth as a music genre, fashion scene and cultural bubble usually pertaining to a 'dark' aesthetic, stating 'Goth developed from various other youth subcultures, including punk... in the late 1970s to a more commercial visibility in the 1990s. ' It has the same loose political origins as its punk cousin, even if these ideologies are slightly less visible/represented through mainstream media. in the context of the icewings, I think goth would be more about the ice/nightwing feud - specifically as a promotion of peace and unity between tribes. I'll talk more about that later, as this post explores the many ways goth fashion could work - and not work - on Phyrria.

There are also a handful of other cultures/fashion styles I can see being present in rural icewing villages, which I do plan on exploring in the future! The only reason I chose goth this week was because I was listening to goth music and ended up liking it a lot.

The Magic Behind the Makeup

Now that we understand what Goth fashion means to Phyrria, the bigger question remains: how the FUCK did they get to look like that? Figuring this out actually ended up being pretty difficult the more I thought about it, because there are a number of different logistical issues that arise when it comes to dragon makeup. For one, Icewings have little to no access to fire - any dyes or makeup would have to be either imported charcoal, squid ink, or other pigment - which would be expensive to northern villages. Secondly, applying water-based makeup must be a literal nightmare if you life in the tundra. All products would have to be oil-based (which is actually not too unreasonable, given that the Icewings have unlimited access to seal fat.) But still, would these products even last? The short answer is no: goth icewings would need to be seriously dedicated in order to consistently dress this way. (Although, that does add well to the peace message.)

but moving on to the 'hairstyles,' what are icewings doing to achieve this? For sake of this headcanon, I am going to assume the spines don't have nerve endings, and are also able to move with enough time and pressure. Using enough wires and pressure, Icewings may be able to give themselves 'braces' for their spines - twisting them into the right shape over the course of a few years, and keeping them in place using the nightly retainer routine. (I can feel your mouth hurting right now.) but hey, it would certainly hurt more if the icewings tried to use a straightener.

I imagine there are some permanent things you can do to become goth, like dying your spikes with ink or getting a tattoo. Clothes could also be made to last - or alternatively, 'tattered' clothing could just become part of the look. You could also argue that the goth look would be easy to achieve if it were born outside of the icewing kingdom but pioneered by icewings, somewhere like jade mountain.

Why Jade Mountain, and Why not now?

I imagine goth fashion would be more than controversial, both in and out of the icewing kingdom: especially given how violent (and a lot of the time unprovoked) nightwing violence on icewings is. My best example is definitely from book one, where Morrowseer has the nightwings slaughter all 6(?) icewing prisoners in Queen Scarlet's arena. While these dragons would've probably died in the arena anyways, the attack could still be interpreted by icewings as and act of hatred. So, the ideals behind goth fashion - striving for diplomacy, peace and an end to the conflict - are probably not fit to live in the same timeframe as any of the current books.

Knowing this, I first argued that the best place for goth fashion to go would probably be Jade Mountain Academy. Being the only place where young dragons of both tribe can interact without being in an explicitly violent setting, it could be a good starting point toward healing, grieving and discussing the feud. And this totally could've started during the JMA arc, but...

There is one small roadbump that prevents this happy ending.

Darkstalker's secret 4th power: Ruining Everything

JUST when the nightwings were out of the volcano and under a more reasonable leader, JUST when the sandwing succession war ended, JUST when a school opened specifically for teaching intertribe peace... Darkstalker (the bitch) decides to re-heat his own nachos and literally try to kill every single icewing via plague. And then fight them on top of a school.

Ultimately, I do think there is a place for Goth fashion in Phyrria, the same way there is a place for peace between the nightwings and icewings. But both of those things would require a time, effort and open-mindedness - as well as recognition of the wrongs committed on both sides, and ample opportunity to grieve.

Adopts! Wow!

I promised I would start making adopts to go with these fashion posts, and I am determined to commit to this. So, this lovely dragon you see above you is going to be available in my Kofi, right here! I named them Permafrost for my own convenience, but you can do whatever you want with this guy when they belong to you.

I'm literally scrambling to post this on time so I'll keep it short, but thank you all so much for your support! My pinned post contains a navigator toward any and all of my other fashion posts, as well as links to my discord server + socials. AND I SAW YOUR FASHION REQUESTS AND I LOVE THEM!

Later ( =ω= )

#wings of fire #wof #art #character design #wof redesign #icewing #wof icewing #icewing wof #goth #wof fashion

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pixelguzzler · 2 days ago

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Hiya, so, probably gonna end up a bit of a longer post; eight months ago I started posting art and it felt like almost immediately it got swept up in attention I did *not* expect, within a month or two I had like 15 commission requests, no system, no pricing experience, and definitely no concept of my own limits.

Like a fool possessed, I tried to juggle five commissions at a time, then three, then I hit a wall. Or several. Several masculine shaped walls... Turns out I don't know how to draw men very well. Still working on that one.

Fast forward, I've only completed one commission, I owe four people either refunds or art, and the money's already been spent on tuition and textbooks. My commissioners have all been absurdly patient and kind and I am so grateful.

Also: nine months ago I did not know anything about furry culture, now, as you might have gathered from context clues, I am a furry. But I'm still learning the ins and outs regardless.

Anyway- rambling- I'm not leaving or quitting or nothing like that. I'm just kinda trying to rebuild a more solid foundation under my feet. So;

Refunds: in progress. I'm doing them as I can. If you're waiting on one, you can DM me and I'll update you directly.

Commissions: are on hold until I say differently still, I'm working on building real structure this time. Actual queue limits! Clearer terms! Woo

Kofi: open! Members get pixel layers, WIP sketches, regular behind the scenes nonsense.

Anyway. thank you to my commissioners for being actual saints. Thank the rest of y'all too for liking my silly little drawings and shitposts. Hopefully round 2 goes a little smoother! Thanks for sticking around while I figure stuff out.

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ktownshizzle · 1 day ago

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Pigments & Playlists [Final] | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Between makeup and music, you find the one person worth blurring the lines for. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluffy coworkers to lovers, idol au, older woman (by a few years), smut ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, Undercut Yoongi!!, MC-noona is the embodiment of “independent check, got her own check”, office shenanigans as always, exhibitionist kink, fingering, edging, very minor pain kink, use of a blindfold, power play (im new to writing this so pls forgive any errors), unprotected p in v, idk tell me if i missed any of it, unfair/sexist HR practices, insinuation of self-harm (assumed wrongly), MC hatin’ on HYBE, happy ending woohoo ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 9k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: June 21, 2025 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Yoongi’s discharge today. So proud of you, baby! 💜 Thank you so much @tea4sykes for your brilliant ideas, betareading, and basically keeping me motivated in writing this! Love yew! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes 2: Hope you guys enjoy reading this~ Made it a personal goal to publish today, because I didn't know how June 21 was gonna go for us, but I was sure it was going to be emotional. Consider this a gift from me to you. However you may be feeling today, I hope this makes you smile.

[Full taglist to follow in rbs.]

Part One | Yoongi Masterlist

So Yoongi disappeared after he did that. Frankly, how dare he?!

Way too many thoughts swirling in your head while you lay awake and there is no way you’ll be able to sleep.

Your arm flies across the bed as your hand pulls your nightstand drawer and fumbles inside for the one thing you need to help yourself relax…

Nah. Not the rabbit.

Tiger Balm.

You dab a bit on your temples and the tip of your nose and inhale deeply, letting the menthol work its magic. Yup. That’s the stuff.

Unfortunately, you’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour, heart thudding like something’s wrong. Except nothing’s wrong. You kissed. That’s all.

You kissed and now you’re thinking about it way too much. Not because it was bad. Because it was… something.

And because the more you think about it, the more it’s starting to scare you how much you need it to happen again.

You sigh. Rub at the menthol on your nose, frustrated it didn’t thwart your torturous thoughts.

And then you do the logical thing. You call.

It rings once. Twice.

“...Noona?”

His voice is low, a little scratchy. Not groggy, just sleep-warm.

You swallow. “Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Nah it’s fine,” he says. “You okay?”

You hesitate. “Kind of.”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t fill it. Just waits.

You exhale, quiet. “Remember when you said I could call you if I couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t about my ex though,” you say.

“Okay.”

“It’s about you.”

That makes him hum. You hear the faint rustle of his sheets, like he’s sitting up.

“Me?”

“Own up to what you did.”

Faint chuckles crackle through your phone and you can almost imagine how he looks. Eyes like the moon, shoulders bobbing, grin smug as shit.

“What did I do?”

You groan, tack his name at the end of it.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he says after a beat. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” you reply. “It makes me anxious.”

He hums softly. “Because?”

“Because I liked it,” you say. “And I kinda hate how much I’m thinking about it. And you’re probably chill.”

There’s a long silence.

Then he says, calm and careful: “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Thought you don’t date coworkers.”

“And then there’s you.”

You let out a huff—relieved, breathy, kinda giddy. “That’s… okay.”

“Yeah.”

You sit up in bed, pulling your knees in.

“I was gonna wait,” you admit. “To see if you’d make the next move. But then I figured that’s dumb. I’m not a teenager.”

“No. You’re definitely not.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“Mind what?”

“That I’m older?” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Noona,” he breathes. “I’m not really someone who cares about things like that. At the end of the day aren’t we all just human beings trying to find a connection?”

God this man. Your mouth moves before you can think about it any more. “If you’re not too busy… you wanna come over sometime?”

There’s a pause. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“Noona,” he says, teasing, “are you asking me on a…”

“Yes, Yoongi,” you cut in. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

He laughs. Really laughs. Low and bright and warm through the speaker. You want to bottle that sound.

“Technically, I did ask first,” he says. “But yeah. I’ll come over.”

You kick your feet under the duvet before replying, “Okay.”

You talk more.

About nothing. About music. About how Namjoon’s on his ass about a song. About how he’s been working out. You tease him mercilessly about how he just casually dropped the last part.

At some point, the sky turns blue.

When you finally hang up, your body feels softer, a little less anxious. And when you fall asleep, it’s his cute throaty laugh still echoing in your head.

“Yoongi, will you please stop making that face? I’m trying to even out your eyeliner,” you scold, trying not to laugh.

Yoongi, the piece of shit, still keeps at his :] while you skim a q-tip along the outer corner of his eye.

“Yoongi-hyung, why are you acting cutely?” Hobi asks from the next chair. “Are we even filming right now?”

A flush creeps up Yoongi’s cheeks as he responds, mock indignant, “What? This is my face. Not my fault I was born cute.”

You meet Hobi’s eyes in the mirror. Then, he winks. You immediately look away, vaguely mortified.

Wait—does everybody know?

Trying to recover, you boop your powder puff on Yoongi’s nose, sending a cloud of setting powder into the air. “Quit it.”

He coughs once, laughing as the puff drops to his lap. Okay shit, good thing he is wearing khaki slacks and not black pants. But finally, he relaxes.

“Noona, you have a Rejuran appointment later,” Jimin chimes in.

Your head snaps up. “What? How did you…?”

Jimin grins from across the room, eyes glued to your phone screen where it’s charging in one of the other stations. Your sockets were full, so you left it there earlier and a calendar alert must’ve popped up.

“You’re so nosy, Jimin.”

“What’s Rejuran?” Hobi asks, peering over with mild curiosity. “I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“It’s just a kind of facial,” you say breezily, catching Hyein’s knowing glance as she smooths Hobi’s hair with her Dyson. These boys don’t need to know your anti-aging secrets.

“They inject salmon sperm into noona’s face,” Jimin announces with a totally straight face, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Salmon what?!” Yoongi blurts, snapping his head up to look at you. Hobi recoils with a horrified grimace.

“Park Jimin, when I catch you—!”

Jimin squeals and ducks behind a rack of stage outfits as you toss a blending sponge in his direction, trying not to laugh yourself.

The commotion dies down, and you go back to packing up your powders, muttering under your breath, “It’s not even that weird. Just some polynucleotides. Helps stimulate collagen. Keeps the wrinkles at bay.”

Hobi raises a brow. “I don’t see wrinkles, noona.”

“Exactly.” Now it’s you who sends him a wink back.

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. You glance at him and catch him typing something into his Notes app. Thankfully everyone goes back to their own damn business.

A second later, Yoongi tilts the screen toward you just enough for you to read it: Friday night?

Your hand holding a brush freezes for half a second over his cheek.

He’s already looking away like he didn’t just casually drop that invite.

“Okay,” you mumble softly under your breath.

The lilt of his lips tells you he heard it anyway.

The door buzzes. You’ve been so chill all day. Still chill. You're chill. (No, you’re not.) You rush to open the door before you make him wait too long.

Yoongi looks… casual. Just a black sweater layered over a gray tee, soft black pants. Hair tucked neatly under a beanie. He looks like your neighborhood ahjussi.

“Noona,” he says, voice muffled behind a white face mask.

“Wow. You’re on time.”

“I try to impress on the first date.”

You try not to smile too big, but fail.

He takes his mask off and hands you a small paper bag. “Dessert.”

You peek inside. Cream puffs from that place in Sinsa-dong that always sells out by 3 PM. “Did you have to bribe someone for these?”

“I have my ways.”

Dinner is simple, something you can make with your eyes closed. Miso salmon, cilantro lime rice, and a cucumber salad. You make this at least twice a month. You could’ve cooked steak or some grilled chops, something that gave a more date-night vibe, but you wanted to make the menu fool-proof.

You eat at the kitchen counter with his insistence, saying you didn’t need to set the dining table all fancy. (“It’s just me.”) So you sit close together on your bar stools, knees almost brushing. He clears his plate like it’s the best thing he’s eaten. You beam.

“Noona, this is really good,” he says, tapping a napkin against his mouth.

You smirk. “Better than Jungkook’s?”

He slides an arm on the backrest of your chair. “Are you as competitive as the maknae?”

“I’m just playing.” You chuckle. “I know mine’s better.”

He smiles, watching you quietly but intently as you sip your wine.

“What?” you ask, his stare is warming the side of your face.

“Just... haven’t done this in a while.”

“Eaten?”

“No.” He tuts, picks up his wine glass and sips before explaining, “Sat with someone like this. Them cooking for me. In their home. Talking.”

Your stomach dips. Not from nerves this time. From the way he admits it. Simple. Open.

You shrug, keeping it light. “Well. You’ve still got it.”

“Got what?”

“You know… the kids call it rizz.”

He laughs heartily, and you feel his fingers curling against your arm. “Was worried I might’ve lost my… rizz.” He overenunciates the last word, his lisp decorating the edge of the sound.

You raise your brow, not buying it. “Liar.”

He bites his lower lip and shakes his head at you. Your eyes track the way his pretty teeth sink against the pink plush and ugh. Again with this rizz.

After dishes are rinsed and placed in the dishwasher and dessert’s split between bites and laughter, the two of you end up on the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest yet again, just shy of your shoulder. Your head tilted toward his, but not touching, even if you wanted to.

There’s some Netflix movie playing in the background, purely for vibes. Neither of you are really watching. You talk about work. Gossip a bit. He asks about that corner shelf in your living room, the one with the knick knacks. You tell him stories about your travels, touring with Seventeen. He says you have the same lucky cat figurine from Hong Kong.

You try not to let his voice get under your skin. It’s different hearing his warm, caramelly tone when you’re not otherwise occupied with evening out his contour or with the buzz of a hair dryer in the background. It’s criminal how smooth it is when it’s all you need to focus on, even more so when he’s being earnest.

He glances at your hand resting on his thigh. (How did it get there???) Then up at your face. You nod before your brain realizes that he in fact did not ask a question.

But then he leans in and all thoughts fly out the window. His lips taste like vanilla cream and maybe the wine you shared earlier. It’s sweet. Even better than the first one because you’re ready for it.

You shift closer, hands finding their way to the hem of his sweater, thumbs brushing warm skin underneath. His breath catches a little. And then his fingers are trailing up your arm, until they settle gently on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, coaxing your mouth open so he can press his tongue against yours. You feel dizzy with want.

His hands stay respectful, never wandering too far. Just the faint brush against the back of your neck, the side of your thigh. But every press of his calloused fingers leaves a quiet, contained fire in its wake. You need more.

You move closer, straddling his lap, never breaking contact with his mouth. He kisses you deeper, sloppier when your weight settles against him. His tongue licks into your mouth expertly and you welcome it. It teases you long enough to make you wonder how it might feel in other places, too.

Like butter, you're melting, unraveling as his hands find more courage—one sliding up, pausing at your ribs, then higher to cup your tits. He groans into your mouth and it nearly ruins you. You roll your hips forward, barely a grind, just enough to feel him straining between you. Just enough to hear him groan again.

You make out for what feels like an eternity. But you think you’re both on the same page, when your mouths move a little slower, softer. Air starts to seep between your lips as you retreat. You’re somewhere between wanting more and knowing it’s not time. Not yet. But god, it’s close.

Eventually, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, both of you breathless–maybe a little embarrassed.

“I should probably go,” he murmurs, even as he hugs you tighter at the waist.

“Probably,” you sigh, his undercut grazing your neck and igniting a dull, sweet tickle.

You stay like that for a moment, sharing the soft beat of your hearts as they slow back to normal.

He finally rises, slipping back into his white sneakers as you walk him to the door.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says, lingering by the frame.

“Thanks for coming,” you reply, fingers tightening on the knob as you hold it open.

“Next time, my place?”

“Already booking that second date?”

He pulls his mask on, but not before you catch the shy grin he tries to hide.

“I’ll bring dessert,” you offer.

“Just bring yourself. “ he says, gaze flicking down your body, before settling back on your eyes.

Oh. You are the dessert.

And this time, when the door clicks shut behind him, your heart isn’t racing from confusion. It’s welcoming the slow bloom of potential.

You: Thank you for dropping off coffee and donuts for the team Yoongi: 👌

Yoongi: finished it one sitting You: what? You: i got you 10 pcs 🍊 Yoongi: and? You: you dont get acidic? Yoongi: it’s my favorite!! You: i noticed

Yoongi: [spotify playlist link] You: hey dj suga Yoongi: thought you might like You: listened to it on the drive home Yoongi: favorite track? You: musiq soulchild - just friends Yoongi: me too

It’s not like there was a talk. No formal check-in or DTR. But somehow, as the weeks pass, the rhythm between you and Yoongi settles into something steady. There’s no pressure. No constant push for reassurance. No need to define what already feels known.

You see him constantly at work—during rehearsals, music shows, brand shoots. He’s not overly affectionate, that’s just not him. But there are moments. The way his fingers graze yours when no one’s looking. The way his eyes seek you out as soon as he walks in. The way he’ll shift his chair an inch closer when you’re touching up his base, so your knees knock just enough.

He really makes this whole thing feel easy. Comfortable in a way that still thrills you. Because what can be more thrilling at this point in your life than to finally meet somebody that makes you feel vibrant.

What surprises you most is how little insecurity you feel. You’ve seen how people look at him—the other makeup artists, stylists, managers, external clients. There’s something magnetic about him that draws attention without trying. You’ve clocked it. But Yoongi has a way of making sure you never wonder.

It’s in the way he says your name. How his eyes soften when he talks to you. How he remembers the little things. The tea you like. The one concealer you always complain about running out of. Sometimes you find a sticky note in your kit. Or a box of snacks with your name scribbled on it. Just things that say: I see you. You’re on my mind.

And then there are the others. The rest of Bangtan.

It’s a choreography video shoot day, which always means chaos. Full glam’s not required since most shots are wide, so it’s just you and Hwapyeong handling light touch-ups.

You’re finishing Yoongi’s concealer when Jungkook suddenly rests his chin on your shoulder. “Noona, if I promise to sit still, can I go next?”

Before you can answer, Jimin appears behind him. “She’s doing me next. I called dibs.”

“Not how dibs works,” Jungkook pulls back his arm for a mock-punch and Jimin clutches his heart, rattling off a litany of how Jungkook wounds him.

“Hajimaaa,” Yoongi gives them all a staredown.

But then from across the room, Taehyung yells, “Noona, help! My concealer’s making me look gray!”

“AISH!” Yoongi snarls with his non-existent fangs. It’s not even menacing. You know now that his canines are blunt. But he tries, so you giggle.

Jin comes to your rescue. “Why are all of you crowding her? You never even get your faces done for choreo. Fuck off,” Then, sweetly, “Hi noona, just a dab of lip balm, please.”

“HYUNG!” Jungkook giggles as he shoves his elder playfully away from you and they continue to horseplay elsewhere.

Yoongi turns slowly to Jimin and Taehyung, unimpressed. “Why are you still here?”

“Because she’s nice to us,” Jimin says, fluttering his lashes at you with zero shame.

“Because we love her more than you do,” Taehyung declares with a shit-eating grin.

That gets Yoongi to raise a brow.

“Okay, enough,” you laugh, pointing your brush like a weapon. “If you want me to do all your faces, line up like kindergarteners and bring me coffee.”

“Done,” Taehyung shoots up immediately.

When they disperse to bother other members of the staff, you catch Yoongi watching you through the mirror.

“I think…” you murmur as you smooth out the edge of his eye shadow, “I just got myself a new set of boys.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his smile lingers tells you everything.

When he stands up to finally let one of the maknaes take his spot, he whispers, “For the record, I called dibs.” Then pinches your hip slightly.

You’re still grinning when Jimin plops into the chair and narrows his eyes at you. Eye-smiling. Suspicious. Rightly so.

You: check your studio door Yoongi: ? Yoongi: why Yoongi: what did you do You: just do it

(three minutes later)

Yoongi: you cooked? You: 👩‍🍳 Yoongi: you even packed utensils?? You: i’m considerate Yoongi: shit you the best You: i know you’re busy but now you don’t have an excuse Yoongi: you tryna wife me up huh? You: idiot Yoongi: cmere eat with me You: i have a thing You: meeting a makeup artist friend who started her own salon Yoongi: thats nice Yoongi: but next time come in You: k Yoongi: 134340 You: ? Yoongi: door code You: guarding it with my life

(fifteen minutes later)

Yoongi: (photo attached: empty bento box)

Curious how time has passed and with frequency and proximity, you discover new things about Yoongi. Things that only came with time. Things you wouldn’t catch if you weren’t paying attention. Things you couldn’t have known before.

There are lines you never noticed until you were tracing them at rest. Creases that only surface when he’s thinking too hard, or biting back a smile. Dimples, not on the smile lines, but on his chin, when he’s bored. And then there’s the slightest double chin when he’s slumped and snoozing when schedules get rough. It’s your job to know his face, to fill the lines. There are times you touch him a little longer, not for anything but comfort and maybe your greed. He lets you.

Lips, sweeter than any cherry balm you could ever swipe. But far more frequently chapped than you like so you’ve started packing bottled water inside your kit, making him sip while you let lip mask seep between the patches of dry skin. His lips have become your favorite. Sometimes it splits when he does that shriek he often pulls to make others laugh but then it also presses against your shoulder when he’s too tired to kiss you properly. Sometimes they murmur your name like it’s a sexy secret, and you wonder how you lived before hearing it said like that.

There’s also his eyes. Small, but somehow holds a significant power. He has a habit of narrowing them, but now you can tell why, when he’s suspicious, or teasing or just tired, or forgot his glasses. You don’t need him to speak. Sometimes the way he looks at you says more than full conversations ever could.

His default expressions are even more cat-like up close. On default :< When he’s playful :] But your favorite is the :3. You always make sure his features stay sharp, complimenting his felinesque features. You pull his liner outward, shade his jaw, angle his brow. Lil Meow Meow, apparently he is called. And what ARMY wants, ARMY gets.

His hair is finer than it looks. Silky in a way that slips easily between your fingers when you card through it absentmindedly, especially when he’s resting his head in your lap. The strands at his nape get extra soft after he showers, curling ever so slightly where they brush against his undercut. He likes when you play with it, especially the buzzed edges, more than he lets on. You figured that out the first time you tugged a little harder and heard the way his breath caught, low in his throat. Now it’s something he leans into, shameless. One tug and suddenly he’s pliant, open.

He smells like tangerines. Rarely does he not have it in his pocket. But also, there’s this perfume he wears. It clings. Intoxicating and addicting, and you wonder if it’s just you who’s not immune. It lives in your hair, your pillow, your skin. You catch yourself breathing deeper when you catch it, like your body recognizes what’s safe faster than your mind can.

You no longer think about what you used to think of him. When he only said four words, and always closed his eyes.

Finally, you know Min Yoongi. Not the pixels, but the person.

You know him now in the noise and chaos of backstage, from watching him when you have your kit open and he’s on his chair waiting to be groomed.

But you’ve come to know him more in the quietest hours, too. When he wakes beside you in his California king, face bathed in the kind of morning light no makeup could ever imitate. When he opens his eyes, and leans into your space like he always does, all soft and sleepy and sexy.

There’s no need to polish him here. Because this is him at his most perfect in your eyes. When you can just reach for him.

Not because he’s Min Yoongi, the idol.

He’s Min Yoongi, yours. Even without the labels, yet.

You: yoongi. Yoongi: ? You: we almost got caught in the fucking meeting room 😭 Yoongi: that was close. You: close??? do you know what would’ve happened if someone saw? Yoongi: i’d probably get a raise You: ddaeng i’d get fired Yoongi: we’re fine You: you are not serious Yoongi: you kissed me You: you pulled me in Yoongi: yeah and? You: AND?? Yoongi: should’ve locked the door You: Yoongi 😩 Yoongi: you wanted it You: i did NOT Yoongi: your hand was where? You: BYE

You (photo attached: wine glass, bare legs, tv in background): guess what i’m watching Yoongi: don’t care Yoongi: all i see is leg You: rude Yoongi: wear a skirt tomorrow You: so direct Yoongi: thought we’re not teenagers You: thought you said you’d behave Yoongi: sure 😃

Another day in the glam room, another TikTok dance challenge Yoongi somehow said yes to. This time with members of TXT. He’s really never beating the allegations of rizzing up his juniors.

He’s already styled when he walks in. And looking at what he’s wearing... Honestly? He’s wearing you the fuck out. And it’s barely noon.

White tank under a greige short-sleeved shirt, pretty, purple embroidered butterflies sitting on either side of his chest. But it’s the jeans—loose, shredded clean through the knees—that have you scandalized like a Victorian maiden seeing skin for the first time.

“Good morning,” you greet.

He hums, eyes you up and down shamelessly and you know the conversation last night is about to resume in the flesh.

“Hey,” he takes his spot on the chair.

“Looking forward to today?” You ask, turning to pluck a brush and pot from your kit.

“You can say that…”

As you face him, he parts his legs, glancing down at the freshly cleared spot on the floor, then looks back up at you. Waits.

You sigh, already knowing what it is. An unspoken invitation to take your place between his knees. To get closer. So you do.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, feigning indifference, as you swirl the spoolie through your brow gel, wiping off the excess on the rim.

“Not exactly,” he says, smirking, knees closing in on the side of your hips. “But close.”

You start brushing his brows up, grooming them into a perfect arch when you feel it. His fingers, slow and sneaky, sliding up your skirt, skimming the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You look him dead in the eyes.

He winks.

“Yoongi…” you tsk, moving to brush up his other brow.

“Noona…” he shifts forward, tongue peaking on the side of his mouth, which you try try try to ignore.

“Somebody might see,” you mumble.

“Let them.”

“Such a little shit.”

“You love it.” You freeze when you feel his fingers hook your panties to the side and when he discovers that you’re more excited than you let on, “Oooh. You really do.”

Mortified, is what you are. Soaked from anticipation and some light, slight petting. How dare your body betray you like this?!

“I like your skirt,” he murmurs. The hand that isn’t currently violating you taps the floofy fabric like it’s innocent. As if the other one isn’t busy toying with your cunt.

Dignity hanging by a thread, you grit, “Didn’t wear it for you.”

A bold-faced lie. He knows it, too. “Sure you didn’t,” he chuckles.

His index swipes your folds, lazy, teasing strokes that get deeper with every pass, never quite reaching the one spot you need him to.

“But aren’t you glad you did?” At that exact moment, he flicks your puffy clit, circling it like he’s known exactly where it was all along.

“Fuck,” you gasp, pitching forward, hands gripping his knees just to stay upright.

The pot and brush drops to the floor and rolls into oblivion. Much like your sanity.

He hisses through his teeth as he eases his middle finger inside you, walls fluttering at the sudden intrusion.

“So wet for me, baby,” he grins, lower lip caged between his pretty teeth in his pretty mouth. It’s devastating. He’s devastating. And the way he’s watching you fall apart while knuckles-deep, pumping steadily in and out of your dripping pussy only makes it worse. Or better. Definitely worse. But shit, it feels so good.

“Yoongi… shit…” you breathe, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as your knees threaten to give out. Your palms, slick with sweat, slide beneath the frayed denim of his jeans, desperate for more skin, more heat, more of him. Fingertips dig into his thigh, surely to leave little crescent moons in his flesh. He groans, but doesn’t stop. If anything, he moves with maddening precision, adding just enough pressure to make you whimper. You moan, high and sharp, the sound slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Feel good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do it,” he licks the shell of your ear. “I got you, baby.”

That fuckin’ does it.

You come with a soft gasp, body jerking slightly as heat rushes through you in quiet waves. It’s not loud, not messy, but it rocks you all the same—your breath hitching, muscles clenching, forehead buried in his neck to muffle the sound.

“Shit…” you breathe, blinking as the aftershocks melt through your limbs.

He pulls his fingers out slow and slick, and you wince at the emptiness he leaves behind.

Your mouth falls open. “Yoongi.”

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours so you look up. “When you lose control.”

His lips meet yours, stirring more chaos in your mind. When you pull back, trying to reorient yourself, he leans in again.

“Yoongi… fuck, you need to behave, okay?” You mumble against his lips, nipping his plush lower lip before attempting to pull away.

“But noona,” he lifts himself up, bucking against you once just so you feel the hardness between his thighs. “You're making it hard….”

You’re about to give in, when the door creaks open.

You spring backward like your life depends on it, bumping your back against your kit and you suppress the dull pain across your spine. A familiar voice floats in, Hyein, asking if you saw Jimin.

“Nope,” you reply as you start fixing bottles and palettes randomly. You meet Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror and almost crash out when he brings his hand to his lips—without shame, without pause—and licks two fingers clean.

You nearly choke on air.

“Yoongi needs to be out in 5,” Hyein calls out and closes the door.

The company Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really optional, since you’re both employees. But after a magazine shoot, Yoongi lingers as you pack up and still asks if you want to go with him.

“Why do you say it like that,” you laugh. “Like you’re inviting me to prom.”

“Well… I’m down if you wanna match…” He shrugs, leaning against the wall as he watches you zip up your Zuca.

That’s how you end up in all black—simple, classic, and just a little coordinated with his own sleek black button-down shirt and pants. Yoongi always finds a way to underdress the right way. You compliment him, but he downplays it saying, he just ‘wore an old shirt.’ Yeah, it's the same look from their Grammy performance, but he says it like it should somehow make him look a little less. Joke’s on him, your humble king.

The event is important, but low-pressure. Not quite a red carpet, but still enough eyes to notice when the two of you walk in together. Thankfully Namjoon and Jin are not too far behind with one of their female producers.

You keep a respectful distance, like the professionals you are. But people see. You know they do. A couple of glances. Some whispers. Nothing rude, just… curious. To your insistence and his disappointment, you have dinner with your glam team. Because wouldn’t it be strange if you’re seated with them? You don’t know if you’re ready for a soft launch.

But it sure seems he is. The way he looks at you like there’s no one else in the room. And it’s in the way he caters to you. Like while you’re walking toward the open bar, the strap of your heel suddenly slips loose. You pause, bending slightly to fix it, but Yoongi beats you to it.

He kneels (!!) right there on the marble floor, one hand steadying your ankle as he buckles the strap with steady fingers.

You panic, pulling him by the sleeve of his shirt. “No, you don’t have to—”

“Let me,” he tells you as he so often does. Head down, thumb brushing the side of your foot, he fixes your shoe and suddenly you’re Cinder-fuckin’-ella in your own damn fairy tale.

Obviously, more than one pair of eyes are turning toward the scene. Cos the scene is not something you see everyday: Min Yoongi, rapper-producer-self-proclaimed bad boy, on his knees for this random girl, rugged hands wrapped delicately on her ankle.

A couple of stylists from another team, wide-eyed. One of the project managers from digital looks like she might combust.

Yoongi rises slowly and nods his head towards the bar. You follow him. And that’s that.

After the dinner, you end up at his place. Still dressed up, both of you nursing hot tea listening to a record he chose. Something low and jazzy filters through the room as you curl into his sofa.

“I usually don’t like company parties,” you murmur. “But it wasn’t that bad.”

“Didn’t think it would be,” he says. “I’m glad you came with me.”

He looks at you for a moment, asks, “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

You were always a good kid, so you never knew what it felt like to be summoned to the principal’s office. It’s probably something like this then. When two days after the company dinner, you were asked to go to HYBE’s HR department.

You’ve never met this woman before, but it’s clear she’s a higher-up. The tightest hair bun you’ve ever seen, cartoonishly wide cat-eye glasses, you already know she’s ripped at least one person a new asshole in the last five business days.

Not much preamble. When she started, oh, she really didn’t mince words and waste time. The way she looked at you spoke volumes of what she thought you had plotted.

“Miss Y/L/N, it has come to our attention that you have gotten involved with one of the members of BTS. As such, you can no longer be the lead makeup artist for the group effective immediately.”

“Due to our current headcount, we are unable to reassign you to another division.”

“Given the years of our professional relationship, we will still provide you with any recommendations you need should you choose to find employment in another company.”

“Your final pay will be sent to you within 30 business days. Please pack up your things and surrender your ID on your way out.”

Somehow, you are able to hold your head high, temper the storm in your chest, and nod as dignified as you can. “I understand. I’ll see myself out.”

You saw this shit coming. Sniffed it out from a mile away. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t sting. You spent more than a decade in this company, shaping and sharpening the creative vision for their two biggest acts, and they’ll let you go all because you decided to date a coworker.

Although they are clearly correct, you are involved with Yoongi, no clear evidence was even presented to you. Nothing was said to indicate that they were in touch with the member of BTS in question to get his side. Regardless, it was never gonna be a man’s fault. She thinks you probably seduced him and took advantage of your close working relationship. Ahh, this is so fucked up.

“Noona…” a voice interrupts your thoughts.

Namjoon.

“Hey—are you…?”

You swipe a tear quickly from your cheek, but he already saw.

“What happened?”

You pull your cardigan tighter around your frame. Was there a point in lying about it? You sigh, “Got fired.”

“WHAT?” Namjoon’s voice echoes down the hall and your eyes widen like saucers.

He springs into action, stringing you like a marionette into every direction until then you end up in… his studio?

“The hell’s goin’ on?”

You shrug, take a spot on the couch. “Not much to it, Namjoon. They fired me because they found out about me and Yoongi.”

It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged this to any member verbally. It feels oddly comforting to say it out loud.

“Does he know about this?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Imma call him right now,” Namjoon fishes his phone from his pocket, but he knocks over something from the side table. It’s a half-full cup of coffee from god-knows-when. “Shit.”

You take some paper towels from his desk and help him soak the brown liquid from the carpet. It’s not really working. His paper towels are kinda thin. And the brown liquid is almost black at this point and it’s making you gag.

“You know what, shit, let’s just leave that. We’ve got bigger problems…”

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna go.” You rise to your feet, smoothing your skirt down.

“Yoongi won’t allow this.”

“I know. But I did break the number 1 rule.”

“Let’s call him.”

“It’s ok, Namjoon-ah. I’m gonna pack up my stuff and go home. It’s a lot to process and I think I need to just… yeah. I’m gonna go home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you give him what you hope is a placating smile. “I just wish I got to say goodbye to everybody.”

“We’ll fix it,” he promises.

“No need,” you call over your shoulder. “Nothing’s broken.”

Bzzt… bzzt…

Your eyes crack open, a slow, confused blink. You’re warm, groggy, skin dry from sleep and mouth sticky from wine. The room’s dark except for the kitchen pin lights still on.

You glance at your clock: 11:02 p.m. it says.

The hell? There’s some heavy knocking going on now.

You pull yourself off the couch, legs slightly cramping, brain not quite awake. So out of it you don’t actually check the peephole before you pull the door wide open.

“Baby—what the fuck?!”

Yoongi’s voice hits first. Then his body—arms wrapping you up so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip between his fingers. His coat’s cold but he smells like cedar and mint shampoo..

“I thought you—” he chokes out, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the back of your sweatshirt. “You weren’t answering, I—fuck, I thought you—”

“I fell asleep,” you whisper, dazed, unsure how to hold all of this emotion spilling from him. “I’m sorry.”

His hands come up to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s checking if you’re real. His eyes are wet. His breathing unsteady.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did,” you say. “You didn’t pick up. So I just… went home.”

He follows your gaze to the half-full wine glass on the coffee table. His jaw flexes.

“Had a few drinks and crashed,” you add, quietly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just exhales shakily and pulls you into his chest again, tighter this time. You press your face against his shirt, feel the way his heart is hammering through the fabric.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you mumble.

He doesn’t answer that either. Just holds you there, arms wrapped around you like he needs to physically keep you in his orbit.

You pull back slightly. Look up. “Let me just wash my face real quick. Just sit, okay?”

He nods, wordless, and sinks into the couch like he’s been holding himself up all day.

You go to the bathroom, splash cold water on your cheeks. Brush your teeth. Run a brush through your hair. Change to a lounge set.

You can hear Yoongi’s voice outside. He’s on the phone with someone, and he just told them that you’re okay.

You stare at your reflection, pale and puffy-eyed. Yeah, you’re okay. The lines under your eyes are deeper than usual. But overall, you’re fine.

When you step back out, Yoongi’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. He lifts his eyes the moment you enter, teeth pulling at the skin of his lips.

You sit beside him on the couch, tuck your legs under you. Let your knee rest against his thigh.

“So I got fired…” you say softly, voice thin.

“Namjoon told me,” he says. “I wanted to punch that new HR guy.”

“It’s a woman.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Found that out belatedly after I barged in.”

You smile despite yourself.

“Anyway, I talked to Bang PD. He didn’t authorize this. This HR lady, she’s new. A bit too eager, trigger-happy. I think she wanted to make a statement.”

“Well what kind?”

“She said she just wanted to protect Bangtan from people…” he pauses, shakes his head. “Who might be taking advantage of us. I told her you��re my girlfriend. Fuckin’ idiot!”

Oh?

“They could assign you back to Seventeen,” he prattles on, nostrils flaring. “Not like they’ve found a new person to take over. It’s not easy to find your level of talent and they’re stupid to…”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You said something…”

His mouth parts, a little confused.

“No cause you just casually dropped that.”

“Baby,” he hangs his head, pinching the space between his brows with his index and thumb. “That’s your takeaway?”

“Well,” you shrug. “News to me.”

“You’re my woman, okay? Don’t–” he tuts when you almost cut him off. “Baby please don’t even argue with me on this. You know I’ve been yours. And right now I feel guilty. I should have said so earlier and done my due diligence with the paperwork and shit. But I hate getting legal involved in my personal life. Hoba told me to do it. Cause he’s doling out NDAs left and right, but I don't want you to think you're just some hookup. This is on me. And I’m fixing it, okay. They will transfer you to any group you want.”

“I don’t want it,” you say, more firmly than you expected.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want it,” you repeat.

“You don’t want your boys?”

You roll your eyes, because Seventeen is still some kind of chip on his shoulder. “No. I don’t want pity. Or to feel like they just let me stay because they’re afraid of you.”

“Damn right they are.”

You breathe out, jaw tight. “I want to leave with my head up. And I did.”

Yoongi nods, slow. Like he gets it. Because of course he does.

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t last. Yoongi is still a ball of fire.

“You’re terrifying.”

“Why?”

“You’re so calm.”

You take a moment before you articulate your introspections as you enjoyed your merlot earlier. “You know what? Deep down, I knew it was gonna come to this,” you say. “And if it came down to it, I’d rather just leave HYBE… than you.”

That finally pulls a gentler sound from him. A quiet, pained exhale. His hand finds yours, holds it tight. When you look over, his eyes are glassy again, but his smile is faintly there—gummy, a little lopsided..

“What?” you ask.

He just shakes his head.

“Seriously, what?”

He presses his forehead against yours, closes his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You kiss him, and he lets you. For a minute or two you savor the way his lips slide against yours, no thoughts, just love. Then he pulls back and says something kind of out of pocket.

“I’m rich.”

You stare. “Okay…?”

“You know I can take care of you.” He says it so earnestly, but you can’t help but giggle.

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy. How do they even call it if the woman is older?”

“How the hell are you so cool about this?”

“Because I know I have you, but I know I got me, too. I have some money saved up and some stocks I can sell if need be. Market’s looking bullish anyways…”

“You know how sexy you sound right now?”

“Umm talking about the stock market turns you on?”

“Something about a bull…”

“Want me to ride you like a bull?” You raise your brow.

“If you don’t let me fuck you right this second…”

Yoongi removes each button from your top, one by one, kissing every patch of skin revealed to him. You close your eyes, savoring the tiny, wet kisses deposited to your neck down to the valley of your breasts where he lingers for a beat. Purrs as he presses his cheek against your soft mounds and sighs before lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Use me,” he says. “I know you’re angry, baby.” He peels your shirt down your arms. “Let it out…”

He holds your nipple between his fingers, twists it, and you groan helplessly in response.

“You can punish me. if you want…”

It takes a while for you to process his offer, between butterfly kisses and the teensiest sucks against your skin, a combination that's driving you wild.

But he’s right. As always. You are mad. Not at him. But the broken sexist system.

“Yoongi?” You tug his hair.

“Hm?”

“Sit back against the headboard.”

He nods and situates himself as you asked.

You walk over to your closet to find a scarf, this white and black Valentino that he gifted you some weeks back. You climb onto him, knees bracketing his hips as you watch the curiosity glistening from his eyes.

You’ve never really done anything like this before. But you’re familiar with it and you’ve always been down to try anything new. Bonus is you know Yoongi likes to play, so this is perfect. Honestly, he is perfect.

“I’m gonna blindfold you. And you’re not allowed to touch me. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

The scarf drapes over his eyes, darkening everything he knows, leaving him with nothing but sensation. Breath. Sound. You.

“Use colors, okay?” you whisper, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear.

He nods, swallows. “Yes.”

“What’s it now?”

“Green:”

You hum in approval, fingers ghosting down his chest. “Good boy.”

You take your time with him. Explore his body in ways you never have before. Yoongi shivers. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, the breath hitch in his chest.

“You asked for this,” you say softly, dragging your nails across his ribs, just enough to raise goosebumps. “So I’m going to use you.” You slap his cheek, earning a soft gasp from him, before his lips curve into a smile. He’s going to enjoy this, you can already tell.

You trace the lines of his body with your mouth. Flick your tongue on his nipples before nibbling on them until they're raw, slightly bruised. You blow cool air against it, earning you a low purr from the back of his throat.

He’s hard already. His huge cock straining against the waistband of his boxers, but you don’t touch him there. This is not like other nights. You want him aching for it.

You slink down to suck faint bruises into the soft dip of his hipbones. Let your nails wander, grazing his soft tummy where pink lines have bloomed like cat scratches. When he moans, hips bucking slightly, you press a palm flat to his stomach.

“Stay still,” you warn.

His voice is a rasp. “Yes, noona.”

You peel his boxers off slowly. His cock springs free—dark at the tip, already leaking. The bead of cum on his tip shines. You circle it once with your finger, feather-light.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hips twitching again.

You slap his thigh—not hard, just enough for pain to mix with the pleasure painted clearly on his face. “I said still.”

His hands flex against the sheets he’s gripping sooo tightly. You see the tension, the need. His mouth opens, lips trembling.

“More…”

You smirk, finally leaning down and licking a slow stripe up his shaft. He whimpers, whimpers! And by god, if it’s not the prettiest sound in the world.

And just for that you can throw him a bone. But you suck only the tip into your mouth and let it pop free.

His body arches off the bed instinctively and one errant hand makes its way to the back of your neck.

Another slap—gentler this time.

“Sorry, noona.”

“Patience, baby. You wanted to be used, right? That means you wait until I’m done.”

You tease him for what feels like forever. Stroke him gently, then quicker, then stop just when he thinks you’ll give him more. Every whine you pull from him shoots straight to your cunt.

His thighs are trembling. “Noona. More…”

You finally straddle him, not lowering yourself yet, just grinding super slow against the base of his cock, letting your slick drag across him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek where the blindfold wraps around his head.

“Fuck, noona, let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you lean forward, let your tits press against his chest, and drop a small peck on the corner of his mouth. His lips pucker belatedly as you pull back.

“You are so hot like this, baby. So good to me,,” you assure him, sliding a hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping it just once, then again, tighter. “Color?”

“Green. Fucking green.”

Finally, you shift to guide him to your entrance. Still hovering. Still making him wait.

He’s breathless now, forehead sweaty beneath the scarf. “Fuck noona. Put it in. I need to feel you—fuck—need to cum in you, please.”

God, he sounds broken. Ruined.

You sink down in one slow, aching glide, and you moan in unison, in pure fucking ecstasy. Your voice high and needy, his low and desperate. He’s pulsing inside you as you steady your hips, letting your walls adjust, keeping him warm.

“Fuck, you feel—fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so tight, noona. So warm—please let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you grit out, riding him slow and mean, using him. You let your clit drag against the short hairs on his crotch, finding the perfect angle to get you off. He can probably sense it now in the steady swivel of your hips and the stutter in your breath.

“Yeah, just like that, noona,” he says, voice hoarse. “Use me.”

You dig your nails into his chest, bite at his shoulder. You pant. Speeding up your grind. His legs are trembling now, the muscles on his thighs, stomach, taut. “Noona…” He’s babbling now, half-words and curses, his head tossing side to side. “Can’t—shit, please—I’m….”

He’s close. You’re almost there.

“Touch me.”

His hands immediately fly towards your hips, pressing you down, deeper. Grabs your ass and guides your movements.

You fuck him harder like this, ride him like your life depends on it. You feel him losing it. Coming undone beneath you.

“Where?”

“Inside me, baby. Fill me up…”

His whole body convulses, a strangled moan torn from his throat as he spills into you. You follow a heartbeat later, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as you unravel together.

You don’t move for a moment. Just feel his chest heaving beneath you, the sweat between your bodies. You remove the blindfold.

His lashes are wet. He looks wrecked and raw and beautiful.

“Was that okay?” you ask softly, fingers combing his damp hair back from his forehead.

He nods slowly. Smiles. “More than okay.”

You guide him to lie flat again, press your palm to his chest to calm his breathing. You grab a warm towel and clean him gently, kissing each place you left a bruise or scratch.

He pulls you close afterward, arms around your waist, face pressed to your shoulder.

Before you drift off, you remember something you wanted to address.

“Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

“Why were you so worried earlier?”

“Namjoon said you looked a little, like, out of it, you know. And when I couldn’t get a hold of you, I thought you…” he heaves a sigh. “I don’t know why my mind went into that. But I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Your heart squeezes. “That’s not gonna happen, Yoongi. I’m yours.”

He hugs you and doesn’t let go.

Post-HYBE life turns out to be pretty… as Yoongi says, slayyy.

It was tough in the beginning, starting from scratch. You start your own website and portfolio, reach out to friends and contacts to help get your skin back into the game. A few months in, you’re now affiliated with a salon who specializes in editorial and product campaign shoots. Your last one was with Choi San for D&G Beauty.

Yoongi slips deeper into your life until the boundaries blur. A toothbrush in his cup. His shirt in your hamper.

You never needed to say it. Because you both knew that this wasn’t fleeting. That you weren’t getting any younger. That whatever this is feels constant.

One night he sends you a Spotify link. To one song. It’s a BTS track.

He usually doesn’t send his own stuff when you exchange playlists (a ritual that stayed on). You listen to it.

🎵Home - BTS

Your chest tightens. Your fingers hover over the reply. But then he calls.

No hi or how are you. Just one question: “Move in with me?”

Life with him is a burst of pigments.

Yellow, in the warm sunlight that wakes you both every morning. Orange, in the tips of his fingers when he’s peeled his umpteenth tangerine. Blue, in the fabric softener he overused to the point that it triggered an allergic reaction for both of you. (Downy is now banned.)

Green, in the hangover soup you cook for him after a night out. (You, on the other hand, are sober for 2 months now.) Purple, in the marks he leaves on your inner thighs and the soft bruises on your chest. Pink, in the way he blushes when you walk out in his clothes.

And then, finally:

Red, in the two faint lines.

You blink down at the stick in your hand, seated on the toilet, heart pounding.

It’s only a minute before the door creaks open.

“Babe?” Yoongi floats in. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He sees your face first. Then the test clutched around your fingers.

He’s piecing it together.

��Omo,” he breathes, stunned.

You nod, heart tight in your throat.

“OMO OMO, you’re pregnant?” he says it with so much disbelief it makes you laugh through the lump in your chest.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?!” he kneels on the tiles in front of you. His hands are on your cheeks, your shoulders, your belly. “Holy shit!!!”

You’re laughing now, ugly and teary. He pulls you into a tight hug, still stunned.

He leans back, eyes wild with emotion. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

“I guess we are.”

And then the tears come, his. Yoongi chokes out a wet little sound and buries his squishy face in your neck. “Fuck. I’m so happy.”

“Me, too.”

You are.

So happy.

So ready.

So loved.

Between pigments & playlists.

In technicolor. In surround sound.

In the forever you never thought possible.

This spring day.

A/N: Soooo?? Did y'all bogo your shipdas? (dk what the means, but hope you liked it?)

Yoongi is back! While it was a bittersweet note that we got today, I know things are only going to get better from here for him and us. I hope and pray that he knows that he is so so so loved by ARMY.

So the fic! Yes the fic! I’d love some feedback. And a reblog if you are so inclined?

Thank you for reading this you lovely beautiful human, xo

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undead-moth · 2 days ago

Text

Okay. I'll preface this the same way I did on the last post linking a study that "discovered" using AI leads to cognitive atrophy:

I am an English Composition teacher at a University. I struggle regularly with my students' willingness to use AI. I am against using AI in the classroom. I have real concerns about how it affects my students' learning, and the problems widespread uncritical use of AI in academia will cause in the future.

And I'm here to very nonjudgmentally say: This study is bull shit.

They did not discover that using AI causes "cognitive atrophy."

First of all, this study isn't peer-reviewed. That alone would make it functionally meaningless at this point. Please, in the future, before you reblog a study, before you believe a study, determine if it's peer-reviewed first. Peer-reviewed studies are not certifiably 100% true 100% of the time, but they are by and far the most credible research we have. Studies that aren't peer-reviewed aren't credible at all.

Secondly, they're basing their research on this theory (which, to begin with, is only a theory, and an unfalsifiable one at that) developed by John Sweller:

John Sweller, interestingly enough, advocated for teachers to not require students to problem-solve. So, how seriously do you take this man and his research?

Next, there's the exceptionally limited research pool of 54 participants:

Can't stress enough that 54 is like, nothing.

Then, there's the problem of their methodology.

These 54 participants were separated into three groups. One was tasked with writing essays using ChatGPT only, one with using search engines only, and one with using their brain only.

The results of these three groups were compared to each other.

Let me say that again. The results of these three groups in this one-time study were compared to each other.

The question to ask here is not "What does that prove?" but "What can that prove?"

Here's what it can prove: It can prove that one group used their brains more than the other groups while writing essays.

Here's what it can't prove: It cannot prove that the participants who used AI did as poorly as they did because of "cognitive atrophy."

Something like that would require a study over time, and it would require that the participants' results are compared to their own prior results. It would require that we compare how they did doing the same tasks over time, as in asking "Did they progressively get worse?"

And in order for this to work, if they even did it, they would have to account for all possible confounding variables, such as, but not limited to, accounting for potential outside influences on their cognitive ability, such as learning disability, disease or injury. That would also mean ensuring that the participants in the "AI only" group only used AI for everything that required any cognitive skills from the moment the study began to the moment the study ended. That is the only way they could prove that any data indicating the presence of "cognitive atrophy" was caused by AI.

That would be a near impossible endeavor to begin with, because we use critical thinking skills for many things besides writing essays, but it is most certainly not what they did in this study.

(While I'm here, I want to point out that what's been written by @itsalexvacca, and what's been quoted in one of the comments above, is misleading.

This quote: "Here's the terrifying part: When researchers forced ChatGPT users to write without AI, they performed worse than people who never used AI at all."

This quote does not accurately reflect the methodology used in the study. This makes it sound as if they asked people who habitually use AI and people who had never once before used AI to write without using AI. That isn't what happened. The participants selected for this study were not selected based on how much or how little AI they used prior to the study. It's possible every one of them has been habitually using AI long before the study took place, and it's also possible none of them ever used it. The study doesn't say.

What actually happened was they rotated the groups. People who were initially in the "AI only" group were eventually in the "Brain only" group. They were given the choice to continue working on the same essay they did while in the previous group, and all of them chose to do this.

And crucially, what they performed worse at was memory. Those who had previously been in the "AI only" group had difficulty recalling previous prompts and quotes.

We don't need a 2025 study to tell us that if you spend less time on something, or don't pay as much attention to it, you're not going to remember it as easily as if you had. This is not new, and it does not prove that the reason the "AI only" group didn't "perform" (remember) as well is because of "cognitive atrophy." The same exact thing would happen if you copy-and-pasted something instead of typing it out. Of course the thing you spend more time with and pay more attention to is easier to remember!

Never mind that I shouldn't have to explain to anyone that one single instance of poorly recalling something you wrote previously would not be enough to prove anything. It's anecdotal!

On top of that, this happened in session 4. Guess how many of the 54 participants were even present for session 4?

Eighteen. That is less than nothing. Absolutely nothing can be meaningfully concluded from that.)

What the study actually "proved," if they proved anything with a pool of 54 participants (and later just eighteen!), is that when these participants used AI to write an essay, they didn't use as much of their brain, and they didn't remember things as well, and they didn't appear to challenge what they read or wrote as much. They possibly didn't think as "critically" about it, based on our conception of what "critical thinking" is (itself a nebulous and subjective concept).

They argue that it "diminishes users inclination to critically evaluate the LLM's output or 'opinions.'" While I don't doubt it's possible - beyond likely, really - that when people use AI they are less inclined to critically evaluate output, the researchers are yet again not considering confounding variables beyond cognitive skill.

A lot of people who use AI aren't inclined to critically evaluate it because they are using it to begin with as a shortcut - if they were going to be critical, they wouldn't be using the AI. Now, I'm not arguing that's not a problem. Obviously, it is. What I'm arguing is that nothing about AI caused them to not think critically in that scenario.

Another reason people who use AI might not be inclined to critically evaluate it is because they erroneously believe that AI is foolproof. They have bought into AI tech bro hype and believe that anything AI produces is infallible. Again, not arguing this isn't a problem. Again, obviously it is. And again, what I'm arguing is that nothing about AI itself caused them to believe this.

In the case of this particular study, I'm guessing another reason the participants who used AI were not inclined to critically evaluate output is because they were there to get paid. They're college students who agreed to be part of a study in exchange for 100 bucks. This is added time and energy and work they don't need. What they do need is money. It could also be that they misunderstood their role as one of the "AI only" group members.

It could be so many things, but once again, the study did not prove that it is because AI itself in any way atrophied their cognitive ability. That is just not what this study proved.

There's even another problem with their interpretation of their data:

Here, they acknowledge that some of the participants in the "AI only" group actually did use critical thinking skills while they were using AI. These participants were "higher-competence learners." Nowhere in the study do they explain how they determined which participants were "higher-" or "lower-" competence learners, nor do they even explain what qualifies someone as a higher- or lower-competence learner.

But the point I'm making here is, if the data suggests that being a higher- or lower-competence learner affects their "cognitive engagement," who's to say that AI has anything to do with why some of the "AI-only" users didn't perform well on their essays?

We don't know. Because the researchers conducting this study didn't account for confounding variables, nor create and include a methodology that aimed to answer that question.

Lastly, they are supporting their claim that using AI can cause "cognitive atrophy" with their least verifiable, and most hypothetical data:

They are taking their finding that their "AI-only" participants didn't critically engage while using AI to argue that hypothetically if this continued it could lead to "cognitive debt."

Remember when I pointed out that this entire study is based on the unproven, and more importantly unfalsifiable theory of "cognitive load theory"? This theory was invented by the previously mentioned psychologist, John Sweller.

He did not invent the concept of "cognitive debt," nor is "cognitive debt" accurately defined here. From what I have found, the term "cognitive debt" was coined by John V Willshire - a "strategic designer," founder of "Smithery" and frequent writer for Medium. Whatever the fuck any of that is good for. He defines it as "forgoing the thinking in order just to get the answers, but have no real idea of why the answers are what the they are." This may be a useful personal concept, but it is made up by someone with no credentials, and it is unfounded in any research. "Cognitive load theory" is at least a theory that resulted from research studies. How credible those studies are may be up for debate, but nevertheless. "Cognitive Debt," on the other hand, is a concept made up by a random guy who thinks himself a philanthropist.

And the researchers of this study are hypothesizing that continually using AI could lead to someone not using their critical thinking skills enough that it leads to "cognitive debt" whatever the fuck that means, I guess, since they aren't using the same definition the inventor is, and as far as I can tell, they provided their own definition for it - based on what research, I don't know (I'm guessing none). And this of course does not consider nor account for all the many other situations in our lives outside of writing an essay for class we use our critical thinking skills on daily.

And they are claiming that this^ conclusion is the equivalent of definitively proving that AI causes "cognitive atrophy."

It is. Absolute. Bull shit.

All this to say that "cognitive atrophy" does not exist. It is not something that has ever been scientifically proven to exist.

(Brain atrophy - a loss of neurons and connections between neurons - exists, in people with say, cerebral palsy or dementia. But AI doesn't cause brain atrophy either.)

Currently, cognitive atrophy is a concept being almost exclusively discussed in relation to AI, but it is not a new concept. Moral panic about "cognitive atrophy" comes up after every major new development in technology. It happened with the calculator. It happened with printing. It even happened with writing itself. People have been fearmongering over advancements in technology "atrophying" cognition and critical thinking for ages and it has been bogus every single time, including this time.

Using AI does not "atrophy" your cognitive thinking skills. What it does is allow you to do a task without using as much cognition as you would otherwise need to do that task, no different than a calculator. Nothing about this causes your brain to atrophy, and this study certainly didn't conclude with any findings that suggest otherwise.

When people make the argument that the brain is "like a muscle" (it's not) and that if you don't "use it, you lose it" they are right in the sense that if you don't use a skill in a long time, the next time you attempt to do this skill you will not be as good at it as you once were. This, once again, is nothing new. We did not need a 2025 study to prove this.

And when this happens, by the way, when you lose a skill you previously acquired due to lack of use, nothing actually happens to your brain. If you want, you can reacquire the skill. This is precisely why "cognitive atrophy" isn't a real thing. If your brain was actually atrophying, losing skills would mean losing actual brain function. It would mean never being able to perform those skills again. That's not what happens. But losing a skill does not mean losing brain function. It means your brain kicked something out that you weren't using anymore. That's all, and that's not new.

The last thing I will say is that moral panic over "cognitive atrophy" is literal Nazi rhetoric. It's the same argument they used to legitimize eugenics. It's the basis of "degeneracy theory." I'm prone to correcting misinformation as is, but this above all is why I take the time to so adamantly contest bunk studies like this.

Social degeneration - Wikipedia

You are not immune to confirmation bias. Those of us against AI use in education and academia have real, valid concerns about the chain reaction of harm that will follow, but we have to resist the temptation to accept every study that confirms our biases at face value.

When we do that, by the way, we are doing the exact same thing we are accusing AI users of doing: not using our critical thinking skills.

This study is bunk. So is the last study that claimed AI causes "cognitive atrophy." Every study that claims anything causes "cognitive atrophy" is going to be, because "cognitive atrophy" is a Nazi talking point used to legitimize eugenics, not a real neurological state or condition.

You don't need to fear or fight or warn against AI because of "cognitive atrophy." Focus instead on the real problems AI is capable of causing in education and academia. I, for one, am far more worried about how the existence of AI allows for young students to avoid ever developing their critical thinking skills to begin with. I worry about the unprecedented amount of misinformation that must currently be being spread and even published in credentialed journals. I worry about how many college students are using AI to avoid truly learning the fundamentals of their disciplines, and how that will harm us in the future, particularly in medicine. I worry about how AI's existence may set a precedent for completely eliminated or negatively reformed English departments. I worry that its existence will further validate the already popular belief that reading and writing and the skills used to read and write aren't very important or necessary to learn. I worry about so many things that AI actually has the power to cause.

These are things that you should actually be worried about, and they are more than enough to justify your stance on AI in education and academia.

#anti ai #misinformation #research integrity #long post

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kelltonic · 2 days ago

Text

Admiration☆彡

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drunkenness/alcohol!! Other than that all fluff. Canon-typical asshole Hangman. established relationship and mentions of introverted girlfriend - no use of y/n

Description: While drinking at the Hard Deck with his fellow daggers, Fanboy finally gets to prove the origins of his callsigns through his drunken ramblings about his (civilian) girlfriend.

WC: 1,580

A/N: My first time posting fanfiction on this account!! Glad it’s dedicated to my underrated husband <33 - on that note, I did write this instead of studying (I’m mid exams) as a form of procrastination, and honestly a de-stressing exercise type thing lmao

“Earth to Garcia?” Mickey hears as he slowly raises his head from his phone, awaiting a text from his girlfriend after the string of ‘I miss you’ and ‘you won’t believe what Reuben just said’ messages.

“Huh? Did you say something?” Fanboy responds, unsure of who grabbed his attention.

“Man, what’s even so interesting on your phone? Come on! Live in the moment!” Javy disappointedly scolded him, gaining some nods and murmurs of agreement. Majority of the squadron were sitting in a spacious booth, various alcoholic drinks accompanying them. Fanboy was squished in between Payback and Hangman while sitting across from Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Fritz and Rooster sat at the end in seperate chairs.

“Sorry I find my girlfriend more interesting than you guys.” Fanboy scoffed sarcastically.

“Really? Doesn’t seem like she’s responding anytime soon.” Hangman joked with that bothersome southern drawl, peering over to see Fanboy’s one sided conversation. He didn’t blame you, it was late. Really late. The daggers were given a day off and decided to celebrate, not having to worry about getting up early - despite the fact majority probably would anyways.

“She’s probably just asleep, she has exams.” Fanboy defended, he didn’t want the others to get the wrong idea, that he was needy or anything. Though, it didn’t really help. But he wasn’t lying, you were mid exam week in college and were conditioning yourself to a better sleep schedule, he would probably tell you to go to sleep if you did ever respond.

“Mhm… I’m starting to think she’s been made up.” Hangman mocked, no matter how much alcohol he has - he will always find a way to push someone’s buttons. If anything, the alcohol made him more irritating. But before Fanboy could interject, he was saved by his best friend.

“Trust me, she’s real.” Payback groaned. Fanboy wasn’t surprised that he backed him up, or that he seemed so annoyed about it. Reuben had nothing against you, to be honest, he hadn’t even met you in person. But, he did have the unfortunate role of being the closest to Mickey in every outburst he had when he was away from you for too long and needed to scroll through all your shared memories. Reuben had lost count of how many times Mickey showed him his favourite photo of you two right before he got called to Top Gun.

“Really? I need proof or I’m never believing you.” Hangman emphasised, more likely bored than actually unbelieving. Mickey was attractive, both physically and personality-wise, it’s no shocker he’s dating someone. But when your foundation is being a dickhead, and you add alcohol and boredom to the equation, you need someone to annoy. Fanboy was just the easiest target for Hangman given the situation.

“Haha, no chance.” Fanboy swiftly replied. He absolutely loved showing people photos of you. Displaying you with pride, like a toddler showing off their artwork. But when it came to people in the military, specifically other men in the military, he always felt icky. After hearing too much nasty locker room talk, he really only described you and your shared experiences, keeping away from physical depictions and photos. The only exceptions were guys he really trusted, like Reuben. And it’s not even that he doesn’t trust Jake, he just doesn’t want to risk you getting involved in his constant teasing.

“Come on, you always talk about her - just one photo!” Phoenix chimed in, genuinely curious. Fanboy took a second, he was always easy to persuade when he was drunk. But, he stuck to his values and faced his phone away from Jake while scrolling through his favourites album.

“Seriously?” Hangman bluntly groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “I swear I wont actually say anything weird.” Hangman pleaded, that signature smile spread across his slightly flushed cheeks.

“No shot.” Mickey responded, clicking on one of his favourites of you. You were in a beautiful black dress with some light makeup, it was the one time he ever successfully persuaded you to go to a big party. You were smiling widely, holding onto Mickey while both of you were laughing your asses off. It was a candid one of your mutual friends took while you were both drunk out of your minds. Your hair was slightly tucked behind your ear, revealing an earplug. You were never good with loud noises or bustling groups, so Mickey bought you earplugs to colour match your jewellery. You seemed so happy, and Mickey couldn’t have been more relieved. He was terrified that he would finally get you to go out to a big party and you would hate it, so he sought to make you as comfortable as possible in the situation.

He proudly flipped his phone towards the other side of the booth, presenting you to Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Rooster and Fritz peeked over. Just about everyone was curious at this point, they had always gotten bits and pieces of his ranting about you but never actually seen the face that matches the admiration.

“Aww!! She’s so pretty.” Bob reacted softly, trying not to overstep but also wanting to validate Fanboy.

“The dress is stunning on her.” Phoenix raved with an approving smile to Fanboy.

“I know, everything’s stunning on her.” He sighed thoughtfully. Despite the fact you were dating, he was still acting like a schoolgirl yearning over her celebrity crush. The others could only laugh at this, while Hangman just drank from his beer. He doesn’t usually feel left out due to his very extroverted and dominating personality, but this was an exception.

“Well that explains a lot.” Rooster chuckled.

“Huh?” Fanboy was seemingly brought out of his trance, tilting his head at Rooster’s comment.

“Your callsign, always wondered what warranted it.” Rooster elaborated, gaining a group-wide laugh. It was so true, he was full on fanboying over you.

His slight embarrassment to his exposure was quickly taken to a halt when his phone buzzed while Phoenix was holding his phone, admiring the photo.

“Mickey baby, you drinking responsibly or just drinking?” You texted. You couldn’t help but laugh at the seemingly millions of messages you had gotten while locked in studying - cramming - for your next exam in… about 7 hours.

Mickey chuckled at your message the moment he snatched his phone back. But, his remaining responsibility took control as he replied.

“You should be sleeping! I love youuuuuuuuuu1!1!1!! go to sleep!” He typed out, his heart sad that he knows he can’t keep you up. But, his last remaining brain cells were aware that you needed to sleep for your big exam in the morning.

“No fair, you texted me first.” You groaned, knowing he was right.

“Yeahhh but like…. I don’t have work in the morning.” He sighed, he was so excited for your exams to be over so he could endlessly bug you without feeling guilty about taking up your time.

“What’s going on now?” Hangman interjected, finally trying to weasel his way back into the conversation.

“I’m telling her to go to sleep, I wasn’t lying - she’s got exams.” Fanboy whined, he was desperate to talk to you - he was always extra clingy when drunk.

“Ooh that reminds me of this other photo.” He quickly switched up, you stopped replying so he could tell you got the message and (hopefully) went to sleep rather than uselessly cramming.

“Oh lord not again.” Reuben moaned, falling back into the seat while he had to sit through yet another rant about you.

“I took this one after the last one when we were in bed..” Mickey was swiftly cut off by some disapproving noises.

“No, no, not like that, it’s nothing sexual - it’s cute!” Mickey reassured, not surprised that his friends’ minds immediately went there.

He pulled up a photo of him lying on your chest while you were both pressed together on your sides, lipstick marks all over his face. He had about a dozen kisses on his face printed from your lipstick, and he couldn’t have been happier. He and you were both still clearly drunk - only the bottom half of your face in frame. Your hair was dangling onto Mickey while he was tucked just below your chin, leaning into your chest. Your smile was just in frame, while his was front and centre. He loved the photo not only for its contents, but also the fact that it was one of your favourites. Mickey explained to his friends the backstory, and how you never really liked seeing or taking photos of yourself. So the fact that you were only partially in frame yet your presence was one of the most significant aspects, it was perfect.

“Okay, okay, we get it - you’re an absolute fanboy. Can we talk about something else now?” Hangman complained, still excluded from the presentation.

“This is what you get for being such an asshole and taking advantage of any personal thing we tell you, Bagman.” Phoenix responded, utilising her daily humbling moment. With a few ‘karma’ and ‘deserved’ comments flying around alongside the comfortable laughter, Mickey couldn’t help but feel so at home. He missed you more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to introduce you to his friends.

“Good night baby ❤️ ❤️” you finally texted back.

“Were you studying just then??”

“I had to finish up!!”

“Yeah? Well good night sweetheart, sleep well ❤️” he replied, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

Began: 1:00am 21st of June

Finished: 2:30am 21st of June

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viennakarma · 2 days ago

Text

Hope is a dangerous thing (for a woman like me)

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: When you hear Lewis' love grievances, while your own heart breaks, your own secrets spill out.

Word count: 5.5k

Tags: female!reader, best friend reader, unrequited feelings, pining, confessing feelings, reader needs a hug, lewis is a mess, hurt no comfort, complicated feelings, arguing, no happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Note: Oh, look at me, posting twice in a week???? This is full angst, don't ask me how it came to be, I just had to take something off my chest I guess. I'm sorry if it's confusing or all over the place, emotions do be like that sometimes. Comments and feedback are welcomed.

Find me on Twitter! | BUY ME A COFFEE ☕️

You and Lewis had been friends for so many years, more than a decade now. You had met through work, right when he started diving into his musical side. Back then, you were one of the most sought after musical producers and songwriters in America. You had met by chance through a mutual friend, and had gone into a studio right after, writing and recording some songs. The rest was history.

With a consolidated career now, you could afford to pick and choose whatever projects you wanted to work on, enjoying most of what life could offer. You were happy on all fronts, friends, family, career. But there was one single thing that never fixed itself.

Your love life.

Your last real, long term relationship had ended around four years before, after you were cheated on. Back then, you were a wreck. And Lewis, bless his heart, was a true angel throughout your low months after the breakup. That was the exact moment you two stopped being friends, and became best friends. He helped and supported you through the whole suffering after your breakup, and at the end of that year, you were the one supporting him after that god forsaken championship.

That was when everything changed for you.

That was when Lewis’ unwavering support changed everything about how you viewed him. How he became more than just your friend, and you couldn’t help but start to fall in love with his bright eyes and easy smile.

You had promised from the beginning that your friendship with Lewis was as real as it gets, and it was genuine. For a while, you hated yourself for that, for falling in love, for running your own view on that friendship that meant so much for both of you.

Now, now you had to watch him fall in love with someone else…

And the worst part? Was watching that someone not reciprocate his feelings. To break a heart that you’d give everything you could to have in your own hands, to cherish, to love.

Your own heart was in his hands, breaking alongside his, silently. But he didn’t need to know that, right? No, you were the best friend who he’d vent to, for advice, for support. And you would be exactly that.

You kicked the ground under your boots, both of you sitting on swings side by side in an old, almost abandoned park. You had lived in a flat right in front of that park many years before, and whenever you and Lewis wanted to talk, you’d go there, under the big willow tree, that offered some sort of privacy for deeper conversations. You had long moved away from that neighbourhood, but somehow, you’d always find yourselves back there, sitting on the rusty swing under the willow tree.

Lewis was hurting, spilling his heart out for you about the person he’d been pining for was ignoring him. The woman he’d met a couple of months before, who he’d been trying to win over was now ghosting him, and had recently shown up publicly with another famous athlete. You had tried to help, really, helping him find out her preferences, picking gifts and giving ideas on how to proceed. But she had apparently found someone else now.

You had watched all of it, from the first moment Lewis told you about her, eyes sparkling, to now, when the spark had faded into disappointment, heartbreak. As much as it hurt to watch him look at someone else with that admiration, it also hurt to see him hurting. But this is what friends are for, right?

“It’s not that she is busy,” you murmured, placing a comforting hand on his knee as he stared ahead, the rustling leaves of the willow. “She just isn’t willing to make time for you. She’s not the kind of person who’s going to see what’s right in front of her.”

Brutal honesty—that’s what he appreciated about you. No sugarcoating. Just honesty.

Lewis looked over at you thoughtfully, then turned his gaze back to the leaves. “Is everyone’s love that fleeting?” he asked softly, the pain in his eyes as clear as the moonlight.

Your feelings for him refused to fade, no matter how hard you tried to bury them. But you couldn’t tell him. After all, he was your best friend, right? And some things… some things were better left unsaid.

“No…” You paused thoughtfully, staring at the tree too, “not everyone’s.”

Lewis glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, arching an eyebrow at your cryptic response. He knew you were holding back something—something you weren't talking about. He was used to reading people, but you'd always been an exception. Sometimes, it was like trying to decipher a puzzle he couldn't seem to solve.

Lewis exhaled, kicking the ground like you had done under the swing, watching the dust rise and settle again, then gazing away into the still night air before turning to face you fully.

"Care to elaborate?" he prompted, the hint of a challenge lacing his tone.

“No,” You said softly, shaking your head, “there’s someone genuine out there for everyone, I guess. Or better, I hope…” You swallowed thickly. You knew none of that sounded like you.

His gaze lingered on you, studying the way you refused to meet his eyes, how your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve. He knew there was more to this than you were letting on.

“Hope, huh?” He let out a mirthless chuckle, a hint of sarcasm coloring his words. "Since when did you get so damn optimistic, eh?"

He leaned back, hands flexing against the chords of the swing, his expression hardening a fraction.

“It isn’t like me, is it?” You chuckled, shaking your head. You had always been more cynical between the two of you, a realist, Lewis always says. And he was usually the optimistic one, you two balancing each other out on the friendship. Honesty and genuineness had always been a foundation to your friendship. Even if the truth sometimes hurt.

“Damn right it isn't.” He couldn’t help the hint of a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, eyes softening despite the heavy atmosphere between you.

He seemed to pause and think for a bit, “Why the sudden change of heart?”

He didn't believe for a second that you'd suddenly become an optimist out of nowhere. There was something beneath the surface, a reason behind your hope.

“I didn’t have a change of heart. I just think you’ll be fine, and you’ll find someone better than her…” You shrugged softly, the swing moving a tiny bit with the movement.

He rolled his eyes, the smallest hint of a laugh escaping his lips. “Oh, so you just suddenly got all optimistic about my love life, is that it?”

He watched you carefully, studying your averted gaze. Your words said one thing, but your body language told another story. Something was off.

Lewis shifted closer, his knee just barely bumping against yours. “Come on, spill it,” he said, nudging you lightly. “You’re acting even more cagey than usual. What's really on your mind?”

“Maybe I should start doing something about mine too,” You said, somberly.

“Your love life?” He asked, as if he had misheard you. His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise, and a hint of curiosity crept into his gaze. “So there is a special someone, eh” He leaned in, resting his forearms on his knees. “And here I thought I had all the juicy secrets.”

“No, I… I don’t know.” I laughed at his little joke, kicking the grass absentmindedly, “The other day, Sean asked me out.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by that bit of information.

“Sean, huh?” Sean was a friend of his, merely an acquaintance to you, Lewis himself had introduced you two. He’d always known you were popular among his friends, you had a way of charming everyone you met, despite refusing almost all of them and never really getting into a relationship with any of them. Trying to feign nonchalance, he shrugged casually. “And what did you tell him?”

“I refused, let him down gently. He’s a great guy, and would be a great boyfriend too. But… I don’t feel him like that,” You explained, that part was genuine, you just left out the reason why. The reason sitting right beside you.

He nodded slowly, processing your words and trying to understand the sudden relief washing over him. But a part of him couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit protective. You’d been through so much together, and the thought of you with someone who wouldn’t value the great person you were...

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and put on a nonchalant facade. “Why not? Sean is a solid pick.”

“I don’t see him like that.”

He studied you silently for a moment, watching the way your expression remained stoic. You wouldn’t look at him, instead staring fixedly at the grass beneath your feet.

His gaze darted from your face to your hands, clenched tightly on the plank of the swing at your sides. Clearly, there was more to this than just “not seeing him that way.”

He tilted his head, his voice quieter as he asked, “Is it because you've got someone else in mind?”

You just shook your head, holding back as always, hiding it, putting those damn feelings deep down, hiding them deep in the place where they were rooted, somewhere between your heart and lungs, fighting to come out like a dam about to break.

Lewis, though, couldn’t resist the urge to push a little further. The fact that you wouldn’t open up made him all the more curious. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours again.

“You know you can't keep secrets from me, right?” He said, his tone a mix of playful teasing and genuine concern. “Come on,” he nudged you with his elbow, “just spill it. Who’s the lucky guy who’s got your heart all tangled up?”

Something in your stomach froze. Like a train derailing, you felt the conversation turning to a point that could slip out of your control, so you tried to finish it, to lead it back to him or at least, to end the subject of your love life.

“It’s a mess. You don’t want to know about it. Bottom line is, he doesn’t want me,” You said with an exhale, but it didn’t ease the tightness in your chest.

Damn.

Those words cut through him like a knife, stabbing him square in the gut. It took all his willpower to keep his expression blank, hiding the sudden wave of emotion that washed over him. He was your best friend and he never, ever wanted you suffering for whatever reason. He cursed himself internally for caring so damn much, for feeling his heart ache at the thought of you pining for someone who didn’t want you.

“And how do you know that? Have you asked him?” Lewis continued pushing despite knowing you well enough to catch on your failed attempt to diverge the conversation.

You froze for a moment, staring ahead as you built up the courage. Like hanging from the edge of a cliff, losing grip as you slip down to a fall. This is it. This is the moment you rip the bandaid and change your friendship forever.

But you hesitated.

Years of friendship, years of loving him genuinely as a friend, and more recently, loving him as a man. Were you really ready for the impending change in your dynamic? In the most probable odds, you’d confess and he would say he doesn’t love you like that. In the least probable odds, the one you so desperately wanted to be true, he’d say he felt the same, or at least, he’d be open to try something more.

He noticed the shift in your demeanor, the way you froze in place. It raised a hundred different alarms in his mind. Something was going on, something big. He'd never seen you like this before. Lewis leaned in slightly, his gaze intense on your face, as if trying to read the thoughts silently screaming behind your blank expression.

“Hey…” he said softly, like speaking to a wounded animal, a tone he only used when he knew you were sad, his voice lower than usual. “You look like you want to say something.”

“He’s- he’s pining for someone else,” you said slowly, about the man you were in love with. About the one who, to him, was a faceless figure, and to you, it was the pretty brown eyes looking back at you with such softness, such care, that the knowledge everything was about to irrevocably change tore something in your chest.

Lewis felt for you, truthfully, suffering for whatever reason was the last thing he wanted for you. He let out an annoyed scoff, not at you, never at you, but at the man that dared to break your heart.

“Sounds like an idiot, if he’s chasing after someone else when you're right here.”

You knew Lewis was just cheering you up like he’d always done. The kindness and care he has always had for you, as your best friend.

“Idiot…” You repeated, whispering to yourself, realization that the moment was there, and you had to just- just say it, “The man I’m in love with… He doesn’t see me like that. He’s suffering for someone who doesn’t want him, confiding in me while I break my heart trying to fix his own.”

Finally, you stared at Lewis, your face saying everything your mouth couldn’t. Your eyes, shining in fear, longing that burned bright and the words that were stuck in your throat. Confessing the feeling you were forcing yourself to.

His heart skipped a beat as he met your gaze.

The intensity in your eyes, the raw emotion pouring out of you—it was a punch to the gut. He could see the pain you’d been hiding, the suffering you’d been going through while playing the role of a comforting friend.

It was at that moment that it clicked. He understood the weight behind your words, the silent confession you were making. He swallowed hard, the realization hitting him like a truck. You were talking about him. The man you were in love with was Lewis.

He felt a rush of emotions: surprise, disbelief, and yes, a hint of dread. But that was quickly suppressed by doubt. You were friends, just friends, and nothing more. Had been friends for the longest time, and the fact that you could have feelings for him, never even crossed his mind as a possibility.

He’d watched you date other people, he had seen you being happy, being adventurous, having fun, meeting people. But here you were, confessing your feelings for him, the dumbass who’d been pining after someone else.

You were burning in a new kind of shame under his gaze now, the words you dared to say now out in the open, impossible to take back, impossible to not be under his scrutiny. It was too late to back down now, what was left was just damage control.

“You don’t have to say anything…” You said, voice thick with all the unsaid feelings.

He shook his head, trying to find words, to grasp at what now was his reality. His best friend was in love with him and how goddamn stupid he’d been for chasing after a dead-end romance.

“You can't just drop a bomb like that and then tell me not to say anything,” He whispered, looking confused.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t want to lose you, even as a friend...” You whispered, a lump lodged in your throat. Because your feelings for him meant nothing compared to your friendship.

The possibility of losing your best friend, of losing his random hours calls, late night trips to any store you two could get snacks and sweets no matter the country you were in, studio sessions just you and him playing around with music, lyrics and melodies. The thought of losing the man who’d held you when you thought you were going to dissolve in a pool of tears, the one that held your hair when you threw up, the man you held when the weight of the world landed heavily on his shoulders… The thought of losing that was more heartbreaking than any unrequited love.

“I can’t lose my best friend, Lewis…” You whispered and his heart broke in a completely different way.

“You're not going to lose me, you idiot,” he said gruffly, but there was that hint of affection in his tone. “I just... I need to process this.”

He was struggling to maintain his cool, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. This changed everything inside both of you, but he also didn’t want to lose the most consistent friendship he had in a long time.

“It’s okay, take however long you need,” You forced a smile but your stomach dropped with dread. Dreading to lose everything and even your friendship. You stood up, adjusting your coat, “it’s late, we should probably head home.”

He watched you stand up and adjust your coat, a pang of unease shooting through him. He knew you were masking your pain, forcing a smile like you always did. He hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to pull you back and needing to sort out his own thoughts.

“Wait,” he said, his voice soft as usual, “Can we... Can we talk about this again tomorrow?”

He needed time to process everything, to figure out what the hell he was feeling. But the thought of losing you, of pushing you away, was excruciating.

“Yeah, tomorrow night…” You nodded, taking a step back, “Good night, Lew. Don’t hate me, yeah?”

His chest tightened at your words, the thought of you thinking he would hate you. He couldn’t stand the idea of that, not when you meant so damn much to him.

“I could never hate you,” he said firmly, his voice rough. “Don't even think for a second I could.”

He took a step forward, the urge to reach out and pull you into a hug almost overpowering. But he stopped himself, his hands clenching tightly at his sides.

You nodded for a moment and left.

He watched you walk away, his mind swirling with a million thoughts and emotions. The night felt unbearably long as he tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was your face.

The look in your eyes when you'd confessed your feelings, the hope, the fear, the vulnerability. It was seared into his memory, playing on repeat in his mind.

The next day felt like the longest damn day of his life. He went through the motions, going through his routine, meetings, calls, planning schedules, but he was on autopilot, his mind elsewhere.

His usual sharp focus was replaced by a constant, nagging awareness of you. He found himself stealing glances at his phone hoping you’d text, searching for your number in his contact list, thumb hovering the little call button, hesitating, even though he knew he needed time to process everything.

The hours dragged on, the weight of unspoken words and unprocessed emotions almost unbearable by the time evening finally rolled around. That night, as he drove to the same park, his thoughts were still a mess.

As soon as Lewis arrived, he spotted you from a distance, sitting under the same tree where you’d had your conversation the night before. The sight of you sent a jolt through his chest. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before walking over. His heart was hammering against his ribs, his mind a swarm of nervous thoughts.

He stopped a few feet away and simply stood there for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. "You waited for me."

“I arrived not too long ago,” you told him with a tired smile after a restless night, after your confession had consumed you with guilt the whole night.

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the slight trembling. He took a deep breath before taking a seat next to you, on that same swing, settling down with a few inches of distance between you.

The quiet night air was filled with tension, a palpable weight settled over the two of you. He was acutely aware of your presence, hyper-aware of every move you made, every small intake of breath.

“So…?” You nudged him when the silence became unbearable.

He shifted, his eyes fixed on the grass beneath his shoes. The question hung in the air, and he knew he had to address the elephant in the room. He took another deep breath before finally looking up at you, his gaze steady despite the storm of emotions roiling inside.

"I've... I've been thinking about what you said last night."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. He wanted to be honest with you, to lay his feelings bare, but he was scared of losing your friendship too, his feelings were all over the place and he wanted nothing but to reassure you, reassure you about how much you meant to him.

"It's a lot to process," he continued, his voice rough. "You... you surprised me, you know. I didn't..." He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't think you'd ever feel that way about me."

“I know. I’ve been keeping it hidden.”

He looked at you, surprised by the admission. He'd had no idea you'd been keeping your feelings secret for a long time. “How long?” he asked quietly, unable to keep the question from his lips. "How long have you felt this way, and I was too blind to see?"

“A few months after my breakup four years ago. The support you offered me through my dark times… it meant so much. You’ve got no idea.”

He was taken aback by that response. Four years… four damn years, and he hadn't had a clue. He thought back to that period, the memory of your darker days, clinging to him like he was your life saving boat, letting him hold you to ease your heartache. He'd had no idea you'd been feeling something all along.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. All this time, you'd been harboring these feelings, and he'd been completely oblivious. It made him feel like an absolute idiot, like he'd missed the most obvious thing right in front of him. He clenched his jaw, his expression hardening with a mix of anger, frustration, and a pang of guilt.

"Four years...?" he repeated, his voice tight. "That's a long bloody time to keep something like that bottled up."

“I’m a pro,” You tried a silly joke, but your eyes watered.

The sight of your eyes watering, the sound of the tremor in your voice—it was almost his undoing. His heart clenched in his chest, the urge to reach out and pull you close nearly overwhelming him. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the wave of emotions threatening to spill over.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" he said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion. "Four years. Why the hell didn't you say something sooner?"

“You never gave any indication that you felt the same. And as of recently, you fell in love with that woman that rejected you… I… I don’t even know why I blurted it out last night.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration. He hated how damn right you were. He'd never shown any indication of returning your feelings, and then he'd gone and pined over someone else like a moron.

The irony of it all hit him like a truck, the realization of how blind he'd been. Having his heart broken by someone who didn’t reciprocate his feelings while doing the exact same to you.

His jaw clenched, his voice gruff and rough. "You blurted it out because you couldn't keep it in anymore, because it was eating you up inside," he said quietly. And he knew you, god, he did. He knew you well enough to know you were always one to keep to yourself and mature your ideas. He just never expected it to happen about him.

He shifted closer, closing a bit of the distance between you. The urge to reach out and take your hand was almost overwhelming, but he held himself back.

Lewis wanted to tell you everything, to make you understand how damn stupid he'd been. How he'd thrown away years worth of potential with you, focusing on someone who'd never wanted him in the first place. He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

"I was a fool. A complete and utter fool. I let myself get so wrapped up in someone who didn't even want me."

“It’s fine. I’m your friend, you had no obligation to see me as a potential romance,” You tried to comfort him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexing with suppressed frustration. You were being too understanding, too damn reasonable, and it was killing him. He couldn't stand how easy you made it seem, how you were just willing to brush off your feelings and continue being friends, like it was nothing.

"It's not fine," he said firmly, his voice a low growl. "Stop trying to downplay it. You feel something for me. Something more than just friendship."

“I’m not the first and won’t be the last. It’s not a big deal.”

He clenched his fists, his frustration reaching a new level. How could you be so goddamn casual about it? It was infuriating. You were downplaying your feelings like they were insignificant.

"Stop it," he grated out, his jaw tight. "Don't you bloody tell me it's not a big deal. It is a big deal, damn it. You've been harboring feelings for me for four years, and you're acting like it's nothing?"

He wanted to shake some sense into you, to make you understand just how maddening your nonchalant attitude was. He wanted to shout, to tell you that it bloody well mattered. But instead, he forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to rein in his rising anger.

“Four years,” he repeated again, his voice a low, hard whisper. "You've felt like this for several damn years, and you've been bottling it up all this time, pretending it doesn't matter… and you have the audacity to tell me it's not a big deal."

“Why are you angry?”

He clenched his jaw, his irritation flaring up once more. He couldn't fathom how you could ask that question with a hint of innocent confusion in your eyes.

"Why am I angry?" he growled, the words coming out in a tight whisper. "You're asking me why I'm angry? Because you've been harboring feelings for me for four bloody years, and I've been too damn blind to even realize it. Because you've been suffering in silence, hiding your emotions like it doesn't matter."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched across his features.

"You've been hurting, and what have I been doing? Pining after someone who doesn't want me. I've been chasing after a lost cause, while you've been here all this time, watching and hurting, and you still act like it's nothing. Nothing," he repeated, his tone growing more intense with each word.

“Your friendship means a lot to me, has always meant. And if I get to have a little bit of you through it, then so be it,” you whispered, like you were pleading, like you were afraid he’d end your friendship. But your reasoning only made him angrier.

Angry to find out he wasn’t as attuned to your emotions as he thought. Angry at himself for unknowingly hurting you while he pined for someone else and confided in you. Angry because he knew now things were changing forever.

The words felt like a stab to the goddamn heart. You were willing to settle for friendship, to take whatever scraps of his affection and attention you could get. It was maddening. He wanted to yell at you, to tell you that you deserved better. That he was a damn fool for not seeing what was right in front of him.

But instead, he gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching.

"You deserve more than a damn little bit of me. You deserve it all."

He shook his head, a bitter scoff leaving his lips.

"You're settling. You're settling for friendship when you should be demanding more, expecting more. I can't stand it… the way you're just… settling. Just taking what I'm willing to give you, because you think it's all you can get. It's bullshit. It's absolute bullshit."

You stood up, pacing before him, “I’m doing the best I can with the hand I was given.”

He watched you pace, his frustration growing even more. You were so damn resigned to your fate, accepting whatever scraps he happened to give you. He stood up too, his expression dark as he faced you.

"The best with the hand you were given," he repeated, his tone laced with bitter incredulity. "You're acting like you're trapped. Like you don't have any bloody choice. Like you're just a damn victim, forced to accept whatever I throw your way. It's bullshit, and you damn well know it."

“What’s the other choice, Lewis?!” You snapped at him, “Walking away? Abandoning the man I love?”

He stiffened, the sound of your voice cracking with emotion hitting him like a hammer to the chest.

"Yes! Yes, damn it!" he exploded, the words exploding out of him like a dam breaking. "That's the other option! Walking away, finding someone who would see you for who you are, who wouldn't treat you like a goddamn afterthought. Someone who would love you the way you goddamn deserve!"

You silenced, pressing your lips as his words landed right in your chest like a knife, “Is that it, then?”

The sight of your silent response, the way you recoiled at his words… it made his heart ache. But he couldn't back down now, not when he was finally airing his frustration. He took a step closer to you, closing the distance between you.

"Yes, damn it! Yes, that's it! Stop settling for scraps. Stop accepting whatever bullshit you get from me. You deserve someone who's going to put you first."

“And you won’t?” Your voice was small, the question hung in the air like a goddamn dagger, Lewis’ heart twisting in his chest.

He wanted to deny it, to protest, to say that hell yes, of course, he would put you first. But he couldn't. Not when he'd been such a damn fool, not when he'd been blind and stupid for so damn long. Not when he had already hurt you for so long. He looked away, clenching his jaw for a moment.

“No,” he finally answered, his voice coming out in a hoarse rasp. “I won't.”

You rubbed your forehead, nodding as your lips quivered. He watched you rub your forehead, the way your lips trembled betraying the pain you were trying to hide. Lewis wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and take away all your pain. But he didn't. He was the goddamn cause of it in the first place, the reason you were standing there, struggling to keep it together. Instead, he clenched his fists at his sides, silently cursing himself for being such a dumb ass.

The silence was swallowing you both whole, like a black hole sucking the light from your friendship right before your eyes. It hurt like a knife twisting. You had thought your worst heartbreak had been in the past, but now, as you watched your person slip away right between your fingers… that was a new low.

“Hope really was out of character for me, right?” You smiled, looking at the ground. Your attempt at a smile, the way you averted your eyes to the ground… it was like a punch in the gut. It hurt like hell, seeing you trying to put on a brave face when he knew he was tearing you apart.

He wanted to deny it, to say that hope wasn't out of character for you… but he knew it would be a lie. You never lied to each other, that was the rule. He gritted his teeth, the words coming out in a rough whisper.

"Yeah… hope's pretty out of character for you."

“I’m sorry I ruined everything,” You whispered, still holding yourself up, somehow, barely hanging on, “I’ll see you around.”

Lewis watched you walk away, his heart in goddamn shreds.

He wanted to reach out, to stop you before you disappeared… but he didn't. He just stood there, frozen in place, watching the one person he cared about the most walk away. Once you disappeared, he finally let out a ragged breath, grunting to himself in frustration.

And he knew, things would never be the same again. That's what hurt the most.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #lh44 #team lh44 #lh44 imagine #lh44 x reader

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judesmoonbeauty · 2 days ago

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This is the 95k bonus story for the event. Fan translation only. Accuracy not 100%. Please expect grammatical errors. Creative liberties are taken. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere, claim them as your own, or use them without my permission. Thank you for your support! ☾.

There once was an organization called Amour.

After a couple swore their love to each other and were married, they were given poisoned wine to drink at the end of the ceremony, which killed them.

The insane idea of making the couple’s love eternal through death had caught the eye of Crown.

Amour was then brought to an end, or at least it should have been.

Dazzling stained glass, a white dress, a white veil—

And there was Jude standing next to me in a tuxedo.

It’s a familiar scene, but it’s certainly not a real wedding.

(Never thought I’d have two weddings with Jude for a mission…..)

As I tightened my arm around him, Jude looked at me for a moment, but quickly returned his gaze to the front.

Our mission is to conduct an undercover investigation of Tiamo, a place that emerged from the remnants of Amour.

The goal is to retrieve evidence of their numerous crimes, and then condemn them.

Minister: Do you solemnly swear to cherish one another, and love each other in sickness and in health?

Shortened from 'Tiamo Minister' to 'Minister'.

Startled by the minister’s question, I looked up.

The plan was to confront the minister, who is the head of Tiamo, about the crimes it’s committed, but Jude simply looked straight ahead in silence.

Kate: Uh….Jude?

When I tugged on his arm as if to say “Isn’t this it,” he finally spoke.

Jude: For us, we’ll curse each other till we die.

Amethyst eyes turn to me, and meet mine through the veil.

Jude: I’m ready fer that, how ‘bout you Kate?

It’s so him to not say something like, “I swear.”

But I'm so happy that my eyes well up with tears, even though I know it's a sham wedding.

(I’m probably more happy about this, than simply agreeing to vows.)

Cursing each other until we die, is the same as saying we’ll live together our entire lives, so I respond while fighting back tears.

Kate: …..Yes. I swear to curse you until I die!

Jude: Huh?

Kate: Ah—

(Shoot, I messed up!)

Whatever emotions I felt earlier have vanished, and I feel so embarrassed I’m about to cry.

(Why did I fumble at such a crucial part…!)

I told myself repeatedly that it was okay, that this wasn't the real thing, and it was just a fake wedding.

Minister: Now, seal your oath with a kiss.

The veil was lifted and my eyes met with Jude's.

He looked down at me, smiling faintly.

I close my eyes, waiting for his lips to fall, but—

Kate: Mngh…

For some reason, my nose was being pinched instead.

Kate: What are you doing?

Jude: Yer makin’ all kinda faces. It’s so amusin’ that I wanted to watch it a bit more, but time t’stop.

His focus then turned to the assembled staff.

Jude: Whose wantin’ to sneak a peek at my princess’s kissin’ face? I’ll charge all you scum fees.

The employees gathered inside the church began to grow agitated.

Jude released my nose and stepped forward to shield me.

Jude: Ever heard of Amour? It’s a group that murders people by making ’em drink somethin’ they say’ll make their love last forever.

The air in the room changes instantly.

Jude: Looks like yer the offshoot o’ that group. Where’s the missin’ people, didja kill ‘em off?

As he spoke in an inflammatory tone, the gentle countenance of the minister turns stern and his voice raises.

Minister: Just who are you both?!

When they all pointed their weapons at him, Jude’s smile twists.

Jude: Ya gotta choice. Either get captured or get killed. Which one ya want?

A brawl breaks out in the church and Jude fights back the staff.

Although he was outnumbered, he held onto my waist and fought back effortlessly.

Punches and kicks were thrown around as he laughed over and over.

However, he used his ability on the weakened staff, putting them to sleep one after the other—

Jude: This’ll work.

He picks up a nearby candlestick and hurls it at the minister.

Jude: Why’re you tryna scamper off.

Minister: KEUGH……

The candlestick pierces his heart, and bright red blood spreads across the floor.

He kills the minister with a single blow and snorts derisively, but the door opens and armed staff pour in.

(It’s never ending.)

Just as I started feeling impatient…

Jude: Ellis, handle it.

Suddenly, Ellis dropped down from above and blew the staff away.

Kate: Ellis?!

Ellis: Sorry for startling you. Actually, Jude told me to send some people to the lab, so I was standing by.

Ellis: Kate, your dress is lovely. It really becomes you.

Kate: Aw, why thank you ver—Kyaah!

While I was looking at the both of them, Jude suddenly lifted me up and carried me on his shoulder.

Jude: Quit talkin’ ’n get to work, we’re leavin’.

Ellis: Mm, got it.

Kate: H-Hey, Jude?!

While Ellis was busy taking down the staff, Jude carried me out of the ceremony hall with me not knowing what was going on.

[Transitions to Jude’s room]

Kate: I didn’t realize Ellis was there….

When we returned to his room, I was lowered onto the bed, and I removed the veil.

Jude: Only called him there to pick up the people bein’ sent to the lab.

Jude: It’s a pain dealin’ with a buncha small fry like that, so it worked out.

He let out a heavy sigh and sat at the edge of the bed.

(Oh, so that’s why he put the staff to sleep and said I didn’t need to do anything…)

Usually he would have tortured them to the end, and enjoyed watching their faces warp in pain.

But if he wanted to send them to the lab, then it makes sense he’d use his ability.

(So I guess the mission’s all wrapped up.)

The minister who held the most power was condemned, the staff who attacked us were taken down, and some were sent to the lab.

All that remains is to report it’s crimes, which will be handed over to the police, and then Tiamo will be no more.

My strength gave out and I fell backward on the bed, then Jude looked down at me.

Jude: It’s the second time I’ve seen ya in a dress, white suits ya too.

Kate: What?

I was so elated at the sudden words that I tried to sit up, but he stopped me with his hand.

Jude: Well, ain’t no way a villain’s woman’s pure white.

Leaning over me, his lips draw closer.

I smiled back and spoke before our lips met.

Kate: I’ll be the one to choose whether to wear black or white for the real thing.

He blinked at what I said, staring at me frozen for a moment.

Jude: What, ya wanna marry me?

Kate: Um……

To be honest, I’d like to someday.

However, I know how important a marriage agreement is to Jude.

So, when I hesitated to respond quickly, his brow creased deeply.

Jude: Why dont’cha say yes, got some other bloke ya wanna be with?

Kate: No, I don’t! I want to be with you, Jude.

Kate: But you- Mmn….

Our lips overlap and a slightly rough kiss steals my words.

Jude: Toldja I was ready fer it ya idiot, I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout it.

When our lips parted, Jude smiled gently in front of me—

Jude: Ya hafta take responsibility fer cursin’ me.

Our lips touch again, and our bodies sink into the bed.

When I closed my eyes, I thought I could see the curse shining on my ring finger.

[Event Master List]

Oh my Jude, your possessiveness is showing ♥

If you are 18+ years old and wish to be added to my tags list, please feel free to comment or dm me. Please specify if you want to be tagged in all translations or a specific suitor.

Tags list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @nawlink @justgiulia @vickietickie @greedyqueensfavourite @sharigax @belphiesleftpinkytoe @reimy1164 @barellorkilaam @goustmilk @aceuuuuu @yamaguchisaori @hiphiphooray4val @mika797 @spectraphobic-blog @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @kraiyne @midnightsrunaway @czechmatee7

#ikevil jude #jude jazza #ikevil translations #cybird translations #ikevil #ikemen villains #ikemen villains translations #jude jazza translations #Dividers: @.cursed-carmine

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bigmasterpiece4444 · 2 days ago

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Success Story

Even though I’ve manifested many things, when they actually happen, it still feels like a dream. Lately, I haven’t been sleeping well, and I usually clean my house during the early hours of the morning because I enjoy doing it while listening to music.

This morning (after spending the whole night cleaning), I took a shower and laid down to rest. In that moment, I thought, “Some biscuits are about to arrive” (I was thinking about a breakfast promo at a restaurant I really like). Then I thought that after that, I would shift into my desired reality.

I went to ask my mom if she could take me to get them, but she said no because it was too early. I got really upset (not at her of course, I love my mom) but at the universe, for making me feel like my manifestations never come true. I felt like my plans were ruined and that I wouldn’t shift into my desired reality. So I went back to my room (very annoyed) and started watching a show.

When I started getting sleepy, I turned on the fan (I live in one of the hottest cities in the world, probably in the top five. Here, 45 degrees Celsius is normal and in August it can go above 48). At that moment, while thinking about how hot it would be later, I told myself, “What are you talking about? It doesn’t get hot in my city,” and I fell asleep.

The day before, I had told my parents and my sister that there would be rain and cloudy skies. I said that because the only way it cools down in my city is when it gets cloudy (which almost never happens, since I live in a desert where it rains maybe once a year). Nearby there was a hurricane that later became a tropical storm, and I felt really bad because there’s a hurricane so close, and in a way I manifested it or at least shifted to a reality where it’s happening.

Three hours after I had fallen asleep, my parents came into my room with a burger from the same restaurant I wanted the biscuits from (and honestly, it was even better because I like burgers more). They told me, “Remember when you said it was going to rain and be cloudy? Well, there’s actually a tropical storm nearby right now.” That means the next few days will be cloudy.

I couldn’t believe it. Everything felt so fast and random (like a dream). And to top it all off, the day before I had also thought about how I wanted new colored pencils and oil pastels. Later on, my dad came and asked if I wanted something as a gift for my good grades, and without hesitating, I told him that’s what I wanted. Honestly, the universe always ends up shutting me up in the best way.

It’s funny how, the moment my mom said no, I started complaining to the universe, completely doubting my ability to manifest anything. That same morning, while I was scrolling on Tumblr, I saw a post from someone on day nine of the @hrrtshape challenge (When I started having intrusive thoughts, I quickly stopped them and said, NO, I’ve already decided that I always manifest everything I want. So I thought I’d follow this day four challenge a bit since that’s where I left off. And honestly, I think everything worked. Thanks to @hrrtshape because you really changed my thinking). I felt sad thinking I didn’t start on day one. I thought everyone else would shift successfully after the two weeks and I wouldn’t, just because I didn’t follow the challenge exactly. But then I reminded myself that I can manifest what I want instantly. I don’t really work well with routines. I’m spontaneous and I like to improvise. It’s really hard for me to stick to one strict routine from start to finish, and honestly, that’s okay too.

Believe me, it is absolutely easy to manifest something because reality works based on your thoughts (and I have proven that myself). Just think about one thing and in the next few hours or days, you will start to see many things related to it. You don’t need anything more than to snap your fingers.

The only limit that exists is your own belief that something is holding you back. Even in that state, the law is still working.

#reality shifting #shifting #shifting blog #shifting motivation #shifting community #spirituality #manifestation #manifesting #loa #manifestation success #dr shifting #shifting experience #shifter #shifting stories #shiftblr #loa tumblr

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jeonscatalyst · 2 days ago

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This is me being 100% petty, but how does it feel knowing that Jikookers were actually right about almost everything we said regarding the military and the buddy system…. and based on publicly available, factual information at that?

I’m not sure how many people remember, but we spent months pushing back against misinformation being spread by the cult, solos, and Jikook antis… all because they couldn’t handle the fact that Jimin and Jungkook enlisted together. We were constantly fighting off twisted narratives about how the buddy system works, only to be dismissed and called delusional.

Remember when Jungkook confirmed he was a cook? A certain JJK account on Twitter made a post claiming that cooks slept in a separate area and only spent time with other cooks. Somehow, that got spun into the idea that Jungkook couldn’t stand being around Jimin and chose to become a cook just to get away from him. That narrative spread like wildfire, and the antis used it for months to drag Jikook all based on completely false assumptions.

We tried to clarify, we tried to explain that that’s not how the buddy system works, but no one wanted to hear it. We were delusional for even trying to push back with facts.

Now, looking back, it’s almost funny how everything they claimed turned out to be wrong, while Jikookers, the ones who actually took time to research and understand how the system works were right all along. And still, the fandom crucified us, accusing us of romanticizing involuntary military service just because we dared to celebrate the fact that our faves didn’t have to go through such a difficult time alone.

News Outlets: Jimin and Jungkook would be enlisting together.

🐑: “Don’t trust the media. Trust only Taekook. That is totally Hybe paying the media to say that to feed jokers.”

Bighit: Jimin and Jungkook would be enlisting together.

🐑( Jay Mina and minions) : “Don’t worry guys my friends from the 1million and one imaginary group chats I am in said they would be separated after 5 weeks. They are Koreans who have been through the process so they know. Don’t mind jokers, they will be slapped in the face after 5 weeks.”

5 weeks later:

Kmedia: Jimin and Jungkook have been deployed to the artillery battalion in the 5th division.

🐑 : “DON’T trust the media. They are lying. We only trust TAEKOOK”

Jimin writes letter mentioning him and Jungkook are doing fine

🐑: “Don’t mind the queer baiter. Jungkook is definitely not with him and Jokers will be slapped in the face soon. Just wait and see.”

Jungkook: “I cook in the military” ( paraphrasing)

🐑 (the cult and JJKs) : “Cooks sleep in a very different unit. Jungkook chose to become a cook because he couldn’t stand being around #that member LMAOOOOO!!! "

Jungkook: “Jimin and I sing together, shower together, spend time together……..”

🐑: (Ignore him) Those who don’t ignore him: “so what? They are in the same base so they probably see each other once in a while. They all shower together! It’s not a honey moon…… "

🐑: “They don’t room together”

Jimin: “Jungkook and I are in the same dorm.”

🐑: “He is lying. He is a liar just making things up to feed his cult! Jungkook is not around that p!g!”

Jikook: “We slept together, made plans together, Jungkook slept on my arm, Jimin always wasted time when I told him we should go shower……”

🐑: Egg in faces but act all cool

See Jimin at airport traveling.

🐑: “See? They get a vacation and Jungkook chases to spend it farthest from that member LMAOOO”

A few hours later: Jungkook at the airport travelling too💀

These are just a few examples that come to mind, but honestly? It’s frustrating. We were treated like irrational, delusional shippers when we were the only ones trying to speak from a place of reason and understanding. The disrespect and lies were loud. We have been vindicated but it’s crazy how these people just moved on like they didn’t spend 18 months spinning narratives that ended up blowing up in their faces.

#jikook #jikook antis #the cult #I cracked myself up writing this tbh!#no but seriously #those were some hard times

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spiderandme · 2 days ago

Text

so, i’ll also speak from (embarrassing) personal experience here and say that this orgasm-as-operant-conditioning idea also doesn’t ring true for me, but only because of the focus on orgasm. cumming has nothing directly to do with porn addiction proper, which is about entering and maintaining a sort of numbed blissed-out headspace. it’s that headspace which can easily end up requiring more and more hours spent on more and more hyperstimulating material to induce.

so yeah, i can try to counter your “i’ve never experienced anything remotely like that in response to the things that turn me on” with “well i have and lots of other people say they have too, so there,” but it’s probably more persuasive to point out that while yes, physical pleasures like eating decadent food or cumming don’t generally produce this effect, again, porn consumption is not a purely physical pleasure (i know that it’s kinda passé to delineate between mental and physical but like, detrimental porn consumption can perhaps be defined specifically by the fact that it has ceased to be a masturbation aid, is what i’m saying). maybe a more apt analogue here would be the way particularly stimulating genres of music or film end up having their defining features more exaggerated over the years as audiences need bigger explosions and louder bass drops (or yknow whatever) for them to keep hitting like they used to. and no, “action movie addiction” is not a thing by any useful definition of “addiction,” but here i do think there’s a seed of truth in the post you’re rebuking in that human psychosexuality is in fact a uniquely hijackable biological engine (even if human orgasm perhaps is not).

generally i do think that “porn addiction is a thing” and “compulsive overconsumption of porn is indicative of larger issues in need of addressing” probably shouldn’t be treated as incompatible truths. like, we’re generally able to talk about addictions to gambling or social media or retail without losing sight of their psychological and societal preconditions (though i get the sense you may have a thing or two to say about that lol), i’m not sure why it has to be different for pornography. i do get that we’re in a cultural moment where heteropatriarchical sex-negative worldviews are on the rise and often underlie porn addiction alarm-sounding and so there’s a sort of cultural imperative to counter that narrative wholesale, but like, i question the net usefulness of treating the phenomenon being observed as totally illusory?

i think there are definitely facts and nuances i’m not accounting for that would lead to me amending my thoughts on all this (would genuinely love to hear some) but for the moment those are them

So like, it's obvious to me reading the comments on my post that anti-porn people are largely like, afraid of porn. Like the concept of a sex video is really spooky to them. They're not making thoughtful critiques of the porn industry, which is genuinely a really fucked up industry, they're mostly just spooked by the concept of a sex video and what it could Do To You If You See It.

I said this in another post, but it's like, the difference between "a ton of coffee is produced using slave labor" (valid, important criticism of the coffee industry) and "coffee turns people into raving coffee addicts who forget how to interact with anyone because they're so obsessed with their coffee" (objectively not true, insane viewpoint).

It's literally just sex videos. They really cannot hurt you.

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13tinysocks · 2 days ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

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

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

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

[Part one] [Ao3] [23]

24 * Bitch [14.4k]

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

Cop Car - Mitski

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brows waggled, "That a promise?"

"Turn! Around!"

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Prepare me a ship."

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He patted his knee. "Come'ere."

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

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

"I could use my powers now and later."

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

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

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

"Like an iPad?"

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

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

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

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

"You askin' cuz you wanna know?"

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

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

"Hate it." You lied.

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

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

"Not for an hour." He said.

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

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

You laughed, "No fucking way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop calling me that." You snarled weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet.

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

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

"No but-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No I-"

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

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

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

"...Sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you crazy?" You hissed.

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

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

"Incredibly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sit." The Emperor hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not." You lied.

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

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

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

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

But you didn't.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then help me find Angstrom Levy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You think he's the Emperor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Viltrumite paused, "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miserable, you followed him.

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

Mohawk was on the observation deck. Gray stopped a bit away from the bottom of the stairs, wanting to stop whatever was going to happen. Your behavior had been dangerous and foolish, but he knew you didn't know what the Empire was capable of. He had taught multiple races what Viltrumites were capable of, and he was worried Mohawk would do the same. You stopped beside him still scowling but he could see the fear in the set of your body, hear your heart pounding.

He was quiet, he didn't know what to say, he wanted to protect his mate, but like the version of you before, he couldn't defy the Empire, he had already made too many exceptions. You looked to the stairs while he considered, "Is he up there?"

Gray nodded solemnly, "Yes, he's quite upset."

You bristled, he had said the wrong thing again. "He's upset? Poor little Emperor. You're not upset about what he was doing? You kicked his ass just for touching me in the desert."

He had been upset, had been upset everytime you chose to be with one of the others, but he respected that your situation was unique. But you hadn't chosen this situation and his anger had been shoved down just like it always had to be. He wanted to tell you everything, had from the moment he came inside you, from the moment you became his in his mind. But he knew there were cameras, had been hyper aware of them as a new recruit with his father. They had been an unconventional family by Viltrumite standards, and he had learned quickly to hide that on battle ships. Had learned even earlier to hide it in front of other Viltrumites. He didn't want to hide anything from you. But now wasn't the time or place to share.

"I'm in no place here to be upset, I can only follow orders. Your safety here relies on your ability to do the same."

You scoffed, "Fuck you Gray, seriously. You guys keep acting like there's nothing you can do but there has to be something!"

He looked at you, trying to communicate with only his eyes that he was helpless, had always been despite his desires to protect you. He reached his hand out to yours, a gesture his mother had always done to show sincerity, to show love. You batted him away, so he spoke instead, "There are Viltrumites here older than your planet's recorded history, and they obey the Emperor. You shouldn't upset him."

You said nothing, only watched him with that same sour expression on your face. She had never looked at him so defiantly, only with fear, and he thought he would prefer that now. You were asking for punishment, for correction and it scared him.

"We shouldn't keep him waiting."

You turned to the stairs without him and began to climb silently. He followed behind.

The chair you had sat in before was tucked away under the floor, Mohawk's back to you both as he watched space bend around the ship's window. He had been standing there stiffly a long time, letting the dread brew in you. He didn't turn, instead listening to the quickening of your heartbeat when you saw him. Gray had sent him a ping when he found you so he came here to wait, watching your dower approach on a screen embedded into the wrist of his suit.

Gray lingered as you reached the deck. He should have left, he could feel Mohawk's murderous rage thick in the air. He spoke despite it, "Be patient with her, she is only human."

Patience for lesser species didn't exist in the empire, it barely existed for other Viltrumites. Mohawk could feel how terrified he was for you. How attached.

"Leave." Was all Mohawk said, voice rife with impatience. Gray gave you the best sympathetic look he could, which read more constipated than anything, and left, though not fully. He hovered quietly at the bottom of the stairs, close enough he would be able to hear, maybe step in. Despite what he had told you, he wouldn't be able to stand by if the Emperor hurt you. He wasn't sure what he would do if anything happened, but he couldn't leave you.

The stairs were unguarded but you knew if you tried running things would be worse. You were frozen in place, terrified, angry and deeply lonely because nobody had been a friend to you today. It was just like you were back with Machine Head all over again, just a cog.

"I care about you so much." Was not the opener Mohawk had planned but there it was, echoing off the walls. "I think about you all of the time. I wonder how I can make your life worth living. I knew her for years, I did it for her but not good enough. All I'm asking is you give me time to get to know you. I want to make you happy."

It was sweet, the most genuine thing he had said to you, but you couldn't forget why he was angry at you in the first place. All at once your anger overrides your fear and you snapped, "You dry humped me in front of your council."

He huffed a laugh, "And you directly disobeyed me. We're even now. I'll forgive you if you forgive me. I think we make a lot of sense. We're both angry people, we both care harder than we should about things we shouldn't. We can be good together, (Y/n)."

The more he talked like this, the angrier you were. "I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your Barbie doll. I'm not like you at all." That last part was a lie, you both knew it. "You love me so much? Then let me go cuz this?" He watched in the glass reflection as you pointed between you both, "Isn't fucking happening, you freak."

He sighed, turned on the heels of his boots and faced you, forcing his expression into indifference. Under his clothes, his muscles twitched and flexed with the urge to hit something.

"You know," his voice slipped into a menacing quiet as he took slow step after slow step towards you, "She never said rude shit like this to me and I still killed her. She listened better than you too. You should watch what you say to me." He hadn't wanted to steer the conversation this way. Really, he had wanted you to break down crying, to apologize for being so ungrateful. He'd have forgiven you, fucked you till you were numb and dumb. But he knew that probably wouldn't happen, that was why he came prepared.

You were scared. Mohawk could see it all over your face but still you pushed. "Kill me then. I bet it'll work out sooooo well for you." You both knew his plans for the empire would crumble without you to keep the other Marks satiated.

Mohawk's mask of indifference cracked down the center. "Would you stop complaining then?"

"Yeah, I'd be dead."

His brow twitched. "You really don't know when to stop."

"Neither do you." Words fall to the floor and there is silence. Neither of you move, it was a western standoff at not-quite high noon. You couldn't take it, his scrutiny. You just wanted this to be over. "Don't do that ever try and fuck me in f-"

Mohawk was all you could see, right in front of you, hand hard on your throat. Crushing the words before they could come out. "Don't tell me what to do." His eyes were dark, flashing feral, but all you could focus on was the pressure in your head. So fast and absolute you thought he was going to crush your windpipe right there. "I didn't want to do this but you just had to be a bitch." You actually were going to die and you couldn't even beg for your life.

Something cold was slapped around your throat. Encompassing it, replacing Mohawk's hand before it was shut tight. You gasped in air, gagging, pulling at the thing as Mohawk stepped back. Finished. The labs had a short turnaround with the design process but they'd made it work. Especially with the cute metal heart in the black center of the collar.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why he was just standing there watching. You wanted to run, but you knew you wouldn't make it. You settled for trying to tear the thing clasped around your neck off. It had some give, sides occasionally dotted with cool, rounded metal. You scrambled for a back clasp but there wasn't one. You felt around with shaking hands for anything to take it off but whatever you tried did nothing.

"What is this!?" You couldn't keep the panic out of your voice. You didn't know what it meant, but the cool metal touching your neck set off memories of prison, of being helpless and afraid.

"A collar," he said, smiling meanly, "because you act like such a bitch."

"Are you serious? Take this off m-" You couldn't scream because you couldn't breathe. The electricity that shot into your neck made all of your muscles seize at once, your nerves screaming at each other. It was worse than being shot, stabbed, gutted. It was fire all over, under the skin, in your bones. You didn't know you'd fallen to the floor until it stopped, the aftershocks rippling through your twitching muscles.

Your vision pulsed around your hands splayed on the floor, framing a pool of spit that still leaked out your lips. It took multiple attempts to make your neck work the way you want it to, to look up at Mohawk who looked deeply content. "I forgot to mention, it's a shock collar. From now on, anytime you use your powers at all, that'll happen."

You opened drool-slick lips to tell him to die but you couldn't talk, muscles jumping, heart pounding in your ears.

"Ah, shit, maybe I should turn it down a little." He tapped at a screen set on his wrist. "Okay, now try." You didn't, could barely process the command. "Fine, disobey me, I bet that'll go so well for you! Lemme just try the remote control." The pain was back again. It didn't matter that it was lessened when your body was already so abused. When you returned to yourself, you were laid twitching on your side, tears being forced out of your eyes. "How was that? Still feeling like an asshole?"

Through the erratic twist and pull of your muscles your hands shot up and tried to pull the collar off. He smiled, "Oh baby, no one can take that off but me. You're stuck with it until you learn how to behave."

You didn't stop pulling couldn't stop even as the panic ebbed away. You were trapped again, going to be worn down to an empty husk once again. The tears weren't forced anymore.

140 notes · View notes

kuruptt · 1 day ago

Text

BILLY HARGROVE X READER

That’s My Girl. Pt.1

Here's a little something while you wait for part 5 of 'You're Mine, You Know That.' This new fic actually goes back to the beginning, showing you how (Y/N) moved to Hawkins to be with Billy, which is before all the events in my previous fics. Enjoy!

**SUMMARY - A year after separating from Billy and settling into a new relationship, a call from Max changes everything. Her desperate plea to save Billy reignites old feelings, hinting at a reunion you've been waiting for, forcing you to confront where your heart truly belongs. Angry Billy, Soft Billy, Possessive Billy, Flayed Billy (only for a short while).

**TRIGGER WARNINGS - Violence towards an original character, Brody. Kissing, swearing, threatening language and possessive behaviour. I think that’s all :)

WORD COUNT - 6k

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY !!!

i do not own the rights to the following characters, other than Brody Baker who I created myself, all other characters are created and owned by the Duffer Brothers- Stranger Things.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted , translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been posted without my permission.

Requests open !!!!! :)

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You and Billy were deeply in love, a connection so strong it was indescribable and it was obvious to everyone around you. With you, Billy felt safe enough to let his guard down, even showing vulnerability. You brought a genuine happiness to his life. Others saw him as a thoughtless jerk who treated everyone so poorly, but with you, he was gentle, loving, and incredibly kind. It felt like a perfect dream unfolding, a perfect, beautiful reality.

Then, with a suddenness that was both shocking and cruel, that dream was shattered. One minute you were making plans for a future filled with promise. The next, a harsh twist of fate intervened, tearing you apart.

About a year ago, Billy moved from your sunny California hometown to a place you’d never heard of before, Hawkins, Indiana. The decision made by his father, Neil, had followed a painful realization that the distance between you both was simply too far to sustain your relationship. You'd made the difficult choice to break up, hoping that the separation would allow both of you to move on and build new lives, not that you could imagine yours without Billy.

However, Billy never truly moved on. He was miserable in Hawkins, constantly haunted by memories of your time together. He repeatedly told you that he would come back for you, willing to make the long journey to California whenever possible. But you wouldn't allow it. You insisted that the constant travel would be too much of a struggle for him and you genuinely hoped that he would find a way to start a better life in Hawkins.

Despite your attempts to encourage him to move forward, Billy remained fixated on the past. He would call you late at night, his voice filled with longing and regret, recounting cherished moments and vowing to return. Each conversation was a painful reminder of what you had lost, a pain that teared through your chest, even across the miles. The weight of his unhappiness was a heavy burden for you to bear, knowing that your decision to end the relationship had caused him so much pain.

While Billy was struggling with his unhappiness in Hawkins, you found yourself seeking solace in the arms of a new boyfriend, Brody Baker. It was no secret that Billy despised Brody and that’s why you could never bring yourself to tell him about your relationship. Oddly enough, Brody reminded you of Billy in some ways, a similarity that both attracted and disturbed you. In truth, you had gotten together with Brody as a distraction, a way to numb the pain of missing Billy so intensely. But as your relationship with him deepened, you found that Brody wasn’t actually very nice to you at all, he’d often make fun of your clothes and the music you liked, leaving you humiliated and hurt.

Billy found it increasingly difficult to contact you with you never being home to pick up his calls. You spent most of your time at Brody's house, immersed in a new routine that seemed designed to keep Billy away. Yet, despite the physical distance and the new relationship, Billy never truly left your mind. You loved him, you’d always, love him. Something you couldn’t feel for Brody, though you’d tried.

Fleeting memories of your shared past would surface unexpectedly, stirring up a mix of longing and guilt. You told yourself that you would likely never see Billy again, that the chapter of your life you shared with him, was closed for good.

That was, until, last night, when the fragile sense of closure was shattered by a terrifying phone call from his sister, Maxine. Her voice was filled with panic, hinting at a crisis that threatened to unravel everything you thought you knew about Billy's new life in Hawkins.

“(Y/N), hello!" Maxine's voice burst through the phone, laced with a desperate urgency.

"Hey, Max, what's going on?" (Y/N) asked, her brows furrowing with concern.

"(Y/N), Billy needs you, I need you! I don't have time to explain right now, but can you please come to Hawkins? As soon as possible, please!" Maxine pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Max, me and Billy have been over for over a year. I can't just-" (Y/N) started, but Maxine swiftly cut her off.

"No, you don't understand. Things are happening in Hawkins, very BAD things. The Mind Flayer got into Billy. He keeps switching from Billy to someone I don't even recognize. He's hurting people, not like before, he’s really hurting people and-" You interrupted her, your mind reeling.

"Mind Flayer?" (Y/N) questioned, the words sounding like something out of a nightmare.

"It's like... a huge shadow monster. I know it sounds dumb, I didn't believe it at first either, but please, (Y/N), please believe me. You're our last hope, our last chance at helping Billy, please.” She begged, her voice trembling.

The call left you shaken and disoriented, Max's words echoing in your mind like a broken record. You struggled to make sense of the bizarre claims, but you trusted Max’s words. If Maxine, of all people, was saying things as strange as this, it had to hold some truth, no matter how unrealistic it seemed. You pushed aside your doubts and resolved to do what she asked.

"Alright, Max, I'll come. Just calm down and sit tight, okay?" (Y/N) said, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

"Okay, got a pen?" Max asked quickly.

You grabbed an old pen and a crumpled piece paper, jotting down a time and directions Max rattled off, guiding you to the community pool where Billy worked. You couldn't fathom why Max wanted you to go there instead of their house, but you trusted her judgment and her plan, clinging to the hope that you could somehow make a difference in this unfolding nightmare.

The conversation with Maxine lingered in the air, each word a heavy weight. You took a shaky breath, the scent of vanilla from your half burned candle doing little to calm your nerves. Hesitantly, you picked up the phone, your thumb hovering over the familiar digits before finally making the call. Brody answered on the third ring, his usual laid back tone grating against your frayed nerves.

"Hey.” (Y/N) began, her voice trembling slightly. "Maxine needs me... Billy... he needs me too. Something's happening and I need to get to Hawkins." She rushed the words, a desperate plea laced within them.

There was a pause, a beat of silence that felt like an eternity.

“Are you crazy? Hawkins? Do you know how far that is? You're asking me, your boyfriend, to take you to Billy, your ex-boyfriend, to help him because he's having a hard tim-“ Brody stopped abruptly, the air thick with unspoken resentment.

A sinister chuckle then filled the line.

“Sure, I'll take ya." He said.

Relief washed over you, but it was quickly tainted by the unsettling tone in his voice. It wasn't about helping, it was about something else entirely. Brody wanted to take you, wanted to parade you in front of Billy like a prize, a trophy. He wanted to see Billy's reaction, to assert his dominance.

It wasn’t long after the phone call until Brody beeped the horn outside of your house, the sound a sharp, impatient blare that echoed in the tense silence. You’d thrown on whatever clothes you could find. Tight black shorts that hugged your thighs like a second skin, a faded black tank top clinging to your torso and Billy’s old denim jacket that Brody thought was yours, the worn fabric still carrying a faint trace of his familiar scent. You paired everything with your black Converse to match the look. Usually you’d go for the white option, preferring lighter, brighter clothes, but today, you felt like matching your clothes with your mood, dark and heavy.

You rushed outside to get inside the car. The gravel crunched sharply under the hard soles of your shoes as you practically yanked the passenger door open. Brody was already smirking and leaning back in his seat like he owned the place… And you. You slid in, avoiding his gaze and slamming the door shut with a hollow thud. The sooner you got this over with, the better.

——————————————————————————-

The drive was an endless blur of long, winding roads and hazy landscapes, the only thing you’d seen for hours were gas stations and public bathrooms. Each pit stop was a fresh wave of exhaustion, impatience gnawing at your insides like a persistent hunger, until finally, the headlights of the car caught the faded wording of the 'Welcome to Hawkins' sign. A wave of relief washing over you.

Driving through Hawkins, you kept your eyes peeled, judging every little detail of the town Billy was forced to call home. The cookie cutter houses, the overgrown lawns, the crushing stillness of the air. You started to realize why Billy hated it here, why he felt trapped and suffocated.

You pulled out the crumpled piece of paper from your pocket, the edges softened and frayed from repeated folding and unfolding and started navigating your boyfriend, Brody, to the community pool. You took a few wrong turns down eerily quiet streets, each one more unsettling than the last, until finally, you spotted a familiar shock of red hair in the distance.

Max.

You could spot that vibrant, defiant red head from a mile away.

Brody cut the engine and you practically dove out of the car, the sudden movement startling Maxine. She snapped her head back, her eyes widening as she saw you emerge from the darkness of the night.

"(Y/N)… You’re here!" Max exclaimed, her voice a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Wait there.” (Y/N) said to Brody, her voice sharp and tight, before rushing towards Max.

"Max, what's going on? Why are we here?" (Y/N) questioned, her eyes darting around the community pool, the only light source coming from the pale glow of the moon.

"Uhh- I thought you could just speak to Billy and, and, and make things better, you know? But things got worse, much, worse and now I don't know what to do. My friends are over there planning something.” Max said, pointing towards a small bunch of teenagers huddled near the pool entrance.

Lucas, Max, El, Will and Dustin were their names.

"Where is Billy?" (Y/N) questioned, her voice barely above a whisper.

"He's inside, showering.” Max said, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

Fifteen minutes had crawled by, each second stretching into an eternity as Max explained the whole horrifying situation. You were startled, scared, even. This all seemed impossible, ripped from the pages of some twisted comic book, but you knew that Max was telling the truth. She'd never call you all the way out here in the dead of night if it wasn't.

The group of teens, their faces grim and determined, came over to the three of you and declared their plan to release the ‘Mind Flayer’ from Billy's body. 'It likes it cold'. The words echoed in your mind, a brief, chilling memory of Max's explanation. So, when they told you about trapping Billy in the sauna, a horrifying kind of logic clicked into place.

The teens made their way to the building of the community pool, gathering outside of the sauna, the humid night air heavy with tension. A human dummy was placed inside to catch Billy’s attention. Mike, on the other hand was the only one who went a different direction, disappearing into the shadows. He was going to be the one to lure Billy in, the bait in their desperate trap. And you, stopped back to inform Brody of what was about to happen.

——————————————————————————-

Billy’s pov -

Billy, fresh from his shower, tugged on his denim jeans at his locker, jumping up slightly as he did it, the damp denim clinging uncomfortably to his thighs. Before he could reach for a shirt, a sharp bang echoed from around the corner.

“Pool's closed.” He announced, followed by the unmistakable clatter of chains.

Irritated, Billy's wet feet slapped against the tile as he stalked toward the sound.

"Hey! Did you hear me? The pool is closed!" He yelled, hammering on the door, only to find it locked from the outside by strong, thick chains and steel padlocks.

"Billyyyy.” A sing-song voice taunted.

Billy spun around instantly.

“Who's there?" He asked, his voice low and menacing.

The taunting continued.

“Billyyyy."

“Who’s thereeee?” Billy sang back, voice still low and increasing with anger.

Billy yanked open shower curtains, checking every corner, his frustration mounting.

“You think this is funny, huh.” He said with a low, raspy voice.

"Come find me.”Mike giggled.

“I find you, it is your funeral.” Billy growled, lowering the bass in his voice.

Pacing through the steamy rooms, Billy's eyes finally landed on the sauna door. Through the small, square window… He spotted the dummy.

"Got you.” He grinned, rushing inside.

But his smile suddenly vanished as he realized it was a decoy. Grabbing the dummy by its neck, he forced it up high, his brows furrowed in fury.

“Hey, turn around.” Mike's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie that was taped to the dummy’s torso.

Billy whirled around, spotting the teens. Eleven stood firm, hand raised and with a surge of power, sent Billy flying into the wall behind him. The impact shattered the already cracked tiles around him as he crashed to the floor. Eleven slammed the sauna door shut and Billy quickly scrambled to his feet to escape, but Mike and Lucas had already jammed a silver pole through the door handle, securing it behind a nearby pipe, followed by yet another thick chain and steel padlock.

Billy's desperation escalated into a frenzy, his sweaty palms pounding against the door with a force that echoed through the entire place. Each failed attempt to break free only worsened his panic. He scanned the room, his eyes darting wildly until they locked onto Max's. A wave of disbelief washed over him.

“Max.” He whispered.

A beat of silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Max's gaze was unwavering, a complex mix of love and resentment swirling within her eyes. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice firm.

"Do it." The command hung in the air, a point of no return.

Mike, his face a mask of determination, darted to the side of the door. With a swift motion, he cranked the sauna's heat dial to its maximum setting. A surge of oppressive heat began to fill the box that Billy was trapped in, a silent promise of the torment to come. The air crackled with anticipation, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"MAX! LET ME OUT OF HERE!" Billy shouted, his voice cracking as he pounded on the door and window.

"Let me out.” He pleaded, his breath hitching.

"You kids… you think this… is funny? You think this is some kind of sick prank, huh?" Billy gasped, struggling to breathe.

He pulled his head back and spat against the window, leaving a long smear of saliva.

“YOU LITTLE SHITS THINK THIS IS FUNNY?" -

“What is this?" Billy asked, teeth gritted, shoulders rising and falling with a ragged breath.

"Open, the door, OPEN THE DOOR!" He screamed, voice escalating with each strike against the door.

"OPEN. THE DOOR!" Sweat drenched him as he continued his frantic assault.

"OPEN THE GOOD DAMN DOOR!" Billy roared, his final blows weakening until he collapsed onto the floor.

——————————————————————————-

(Y/N)'s pov -

Outside, you were explaining the situation to Brody when loud thuds echoed from inside snagging your attention.

"OPEN THE GOOD DAMN DOOR!" (Y/N) heard Billy shout, a wave of sadness washing over her at his pain.

“What the-“ Brody started, his voice trailing off as your footsteps quickened, darting towards the side door that had been left ajar for you by Mike.

You raced inside, bolting from room to room, following the trail of steam until you found the group of teens gathered before the sauna. You stood back, listening to Billy's screams and cries, each word breaking your heart and crushing something deep inside your chest.

"We're at two twenty.” Will announced, declaring the sauna's heat.

"It's not my fault, it's not my fault, it's not my fault Max, I promise it's not my fault.” Billy sobbed, huddled on the floor.

"What's not your fault, Billy?" Max questioned.

"I've done things, Max, really, bad things, but I didn't mean to… He made me do it.” Billy cried.

"Who made you do it?" She asked.

"I don't know… It’s like a shadow.” Billy whispered.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT, MAX! PLEASE BELIEVE ME, PLEASE!" Billy shouted through floods of tears, laying his head on the wooden seats of the sauna and reaching for a sharp piece of tile from underneath.

"Jesus, Billy.” (Y/N) whispered to herself.

Will gripped his neck and turned to Mike.

“I feel him… He's activated." He stated, fear rushing across his eyes.

"Max, get away from the door!" Mike demanded.

"What?" She whispered.

"GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR!" He screamed.

Billy smashed the sharp tile through the window, shoving his arm and head through straight after, trying to reach for Max, a look of fear settled over her eyes as he started pounding on the door with the tile.

"AHHHHH, LET ME OUT YOU BITCH, LET ME OUT!" Billy screamed, banging at the door before pulling out the wedged pole from the handle, the chains remaining tight in place.

"Oh my god.” (Y/N) Said under bear breath, eyes wide and fixated on Billy.

Billy took a few steps back and ran at full speed straight ahead of him, slamming his body against the door followed by three more attempts after it. He reached out again, trying to get ahold of Maxine.

"LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT! I'LL FUCKING GUT YOU!" He threatened.

You took a few shaky steps forward, hands balled into fists and your nails digging into your sweat soaked palms.

“Billy.” (Y/N) whispered, a quiet, gasping exhale.

Billy froze, every muscle in his body locked in place. He remained motionless for several seconds. Was this real? The question echoed in his mind, demanding an answer he was terrified to voice.

The sound had sliced through Billy like a shard of ice, lodging directly into his chest. Your voice. It couldn't be. A wave of nausea washed over Billy as he slowly turned to face you.

The furrows etched between his brows, deepened by confusion and a lingering pain, began to smooth out, his eyes, previously narrowed in disbelief, widened, pupils dilating as if starved for light and the harsh lines of his face softened, replaced by a look of stunned awe. There, bathed in the soft glow of the room, you stood, a vision so beautiful, it stole the very breath from his lungs.

It WAS your voice, the comforting sound he'd dreamed of over countless nights.

“(Y/N)." He said, breathing heavily. "How… wh- what are you doing here?" He questioned while fighting an internal battle against the mind flayer.

You stood frozen, unsure of what to say or do, your eyes still locked heavily onto Billy's.

His breathing grew heavier the longer he stared back at you.

“Come here, please... come here." He pleaded, extending his arm out towards you.

"Don't!" Mike shouted. "It's a trap!"

"NO!" Billy roared, pounding his fist against the doorframe he was still partially hanging out of.

"Baby, don't listen to them, okay? It's me, I'm still me. Come here. I would never hurt you, you know that. Just come to me, please... I need to hold you." He pleaded.

"I can't, Billy.” (Y/N) managed to say, tears welling up in her eyes.

Billy pounded at the door a few more times, his frustration building rapidly.

“Damn it, yes, you can! Yes you can. Come to me, now, baby, please…(Y/N), please. Just let me hold you, it’s all I want I promise, please." His plea was a mix of desperation and anger, fueled by the fact that you were so close, but not close enough for him to reach you. The restraint only riled him up more.

“Open the door! Open the door!" He screamed, his gaze fixed on Max.

"BILLY, STOP!" (Y/N) shouted, her voice cracking slightly.

His head snapped back to you, the tension in his eyebrows quickly easing.

“I'm s- I'm sorry, baby... I'm sorry.” He stammered, his voice laced with regret.

You began to walk slowly towards Billy, your eyes locked on his and a nervous energy, now filling the space between you.

"(Y/N), STOP!" Mike yelled again, his voice filled with urgency.

"No, no, no, don't listen to them, listen to me, baby, come on.” Billy urged with his voice coated in desperation.

He extended his hand, palm open, fingers twitching with the need to touch you.

“Come on.” He repeated, his eyes pleading, silently begging you to ignore whatever phantom voices held you captive. With a surge of adrenaline, he pulled his hand back and forth, gesturing for you to come to him, to break free from whatever invisible chains bound you.

“That's it, baby... that's it. Come here, come to me. I got you. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Come to me... come on.” He whispered convincingly, his voice trembling with each deep, uneasy breath, tears now brimming in his eyes.

He watched as you reached for him, but he was quicker, propelled by a surge of adrenaline and a desperate need to bridge the impossible gap. Still hanging out the door, one arm strained, body swimming in the suffocating heat of the sauna, he lunged. His hand curled around your back, a desperate grasp and he hauled you forward until you were pressed against the barrier, the cruel door that kept you separated.

His breath came in ragged gasps, much heavier than before, a frantic rhythm against the backdrop of his rising panic. He dipped his head, resting his against yours, a fragile connection in the face of overwhelming darkness. Then, the dam broke. Tears streamed down his face, hot and uncontrolled.

"Let me out, baby, let me out, let me hold you.” He begged, each word a raw, desperate plea torn from the depths of his soul.

You cupped his cheek with your small, sweaty hand that was now imprinted with sharp nail dents. The gesture was a tender contrast to the chaos swirling around you. His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes searching, pleading and In that moment, you knew what you had to do. You had to flood his mind, break through the unwanted darkness with the light of your shared memories and remind him of the love that still burned within him.

And so you began.

You poured forth a torrent of images, sensations and emotions, the first time you met, the laughter that echoed through Billy’s beloved Camaro, the quiet nights spent tangled in each other's arms. For twelve excruciating minutes. You’d painted a vivid tapestry of your love, each memory a weapon against the insidious force that held him captive.

He focused on your words, clinging to them like a drowning man to a plank of wood, his eyes widening as each memory resurfaced, each shared moment strengthening his soul.

You watched, frozen in horror, as the Mind Flayer began its agonising departure from Billy's body. The creature stabbed and swirled within him, the wisps of shadows rising from his flesh as it forced its way out through every pore. Billy's body became a canvas of torment, his muscles spasming uncontrollably and his face held in a silent scream. You wanted to rush to him, to hold him, to somehow absorb his pain, but you knew you couldn't. You could only watch, helpless, as he endured the unimaginable.

When the last vestige of the Mind Flayer finally slithered away through the window, leaving a trail of viscous, black, slimy residue behind, Billy collapsed to the floor, a broken husk of the man you loved. He laid there, gasping for air, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the possession before violently throwing up the remaining slugs from the creature that had infested him, a cruel pile of black that seemed to carry so much evil inside of it. He laid still for a moment, gathering his strength, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion.

Until finally, he pushed himself to his feet, his movements shaky and uncertain. He peered through the window, his eyes searching for you, needing to confirm that you were still real, that you were actually here, in Hawkins, with him.

"Let me out.” He pleaded, his voice raw with desperation, his eyes begging for your touch.

Max rushed to the chains to unlock the door and you followed her closely, standing just outside, your heart pounding in your chest. Billy reached through the window, his hand trembling as he cupped your face, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent promise of reunion.

But then, a voice shattered the fragile moment.

"Hargrove." The word dripped with malice, laced with a sinister amusement that sent a shiver down your spine.

Billy's head snapped towards the sound, his eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher why Brody Baker, of all people, was here. The realization dawned on him quickly and his eyes blazed with fury as he shot a venomous glare in your direction. You instinctively reached for Max's hand, stopping her from opening the door.

“Why is he here?" Billy questioned, his voice deeper and more menacing than before.

“Max, away from the door.” You whispered with your eyes fixed on Billy, watching his every move.

"I'm here because MY GIRLFRIEND, asked me to bring her here, to babysit your ass.” Brody sneered, his voice full of arrogance.

A burning rage surged through Billy. He couldn't believe it. Out of everyone in the world, why did it have to be the one person he hates the most above all others? He threw himself against the door, slamming his body against the it with a force that threatened to snap the chains.

“He can't get out, right?" Max asked, her voice riddled with fear.

“No way, impossible.” Lucas reassured, but his voice lacked conviction.

With a final, desperate surge of strength, Billy burst through the door, sending padlocks in every direction. He stumbled out of the sauna and lunged towards Brody, his eyes burning with a murderous intent.

Brody's ‘tough guy’ act soon evaporated, replaced by a sharp terror. He knew he could mouth off when Billy was trapped, but now that he was free, he was defenseless against the storm of fury that was about to be unleashed.

Billy landed a series of brutal blows to Brody's face, causing Brody to fall flat against the floor, each punch fueled by years of resentment and a burning desire to protect you.

"Thought you could take MY girl, huh? Thought you could... Take her… From ME?! Thought you could, replace, ME?!" He screamed, each word punctuated by a brutal punch to Brody's face.

"Billy, stop!" Maxine screamed, her voice lost in the frenzy. But Billy was deaf to her pleas and consumed by a rage that fueled his relentless assault.

Another series of blows landed, each one a harder than the last.

“BILLY, ENOUGH!" (Y/N) finally demanded, her voice cutting through the haze of violence.

Billy's arm, cocked back for the final strike and froze mid air. Your voice, coated with a mixture of fear and desperation, had broken through his rage. He snapped his head in your direction and paused, his eyes locking onto yours, the fight seemed to drain out of him.

You were a mess of tears, hating the monster Billy had become. You never cared much for Brody, a fact that now twisted in your gut with guilt. You'd led him on, used him for comfort and the shame of it was a bitter taste in your mouth. But your heart ached for Billy, for the pain that had driven him to this.

He stood up, a raw, animalistic energy still radiating from him and rushed towards you, hesitating for a short moment before engulfing you into a crushing hug. His head buried in your hair, taking in your familiar scent that he’d longed for, for over an entire year and his arm secured gently, around your back. His knuckles were a canvas of blood and his skin radiated the boiling heat and sweat of the sauna.

“Billy, I'm s- I'm so sorry, I-" (Y/N) stammered, choked by her sobs.

He cut you off, his voice rough but tender.

“No, no sweetheart, I get it. Don't worry, it doesn’t matter anymore. You thought you'd never see me again, you needed a shoulder to cry on, I get it." He said softly.

You clung to him, the sobs clawing at your throat.

“You're staying here, with me. I'm not letting you go again, I can't. I only listened to you the first time because I thought you'd change your mind, but I won't do it again.” He declared, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He pulled back, his hands framing your face, thumbs gently wiping away the fresh tracks of tears.

"Don't do that to me again.” He pleaded, his voice thick with an emotion you mirrored.

"Stay here with me." He begged, his eyes searching yours for a silent answer.

“You can live at my place, with me and my dad, he’s the chief of Hawkins police, he'll let you stay with us for sure. He's a hero, too, he saved lots of lives, in a mall fire." El said with a smile, a genuine, hopeful smile that tugged at your heart.

You nodded, the agreement tumbling from your lips before you could even process it. You couldn't bear the thought of leaving Billy again, of losing the magnetic pull that had always drawn you back to him. You missed the electric touch of his skin against yours, the comforting weight of his arm around your shoulders that never failed to keep you safe, the way his presence filled every space around you with a familiar warmth. You sniffled, wiping your nose on the worn cuff of the denim jacket you were wearing… HIS, denim jacket.

Billy chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated between the both of you, as he pulled you closer.

"You kept it?" He asked, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

You smirked, the remaining tears still clinging to the wisps of your lashes.

“Yeah, I never stopped wearing it. Even slept with it sometimes." (Y/N) said.

The sound of shuffling feet broke the soft, almost romantic moment.

Brody, looking like a wounded animal, found the strength to stand, staggering slightly as he did.

"(Y/N), get your shit together.” He slurred, his voice laced with a desperate plea.

Billy's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he fixed Brody with a cold stare.

"We're leaving.” Brody demanded with his voice cracking.

Billy turned his head back to you, his gaze intense, a silent question hanging in the air. A look that said, 'show him who you belong to'.

The message was clear and the response was instinctive.

You walked over to Brody and without a word, punched him square in the face. The force of the blow surprised both you and Billy. You don't know why you did it, but in that moment, it felt like the only possible way to make it all up to Billy, that and the fact he kind of deserved it for the year of torment he gave you over your clothes and music taste.

"We're over.” (Y/N) stated, the words ringing with a finality that settled like a stone.

A loud, uncontrollable laugh erupted from Billy as he stalked towards you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He dipped to your height and his chin rested beside your face and onto your shoulder, then he looked up at Brody with a playful glint in his eyes.

“That's my girl!" He chuckled proudly, squeezing you tighter as he said it.

“Thanks for bringing her back to me, man. You can go home now. I'll be taking MY GIRLFRIEND home with me." He mocked, his voice dripping with possessive arrogance.

Brody's face scrunched with rage and defeat.

“Fuck you, Hargrove.” He spat before turning and scurrying out of the place, leaving you standing there, caught between the wreckage of one relationship and the undeniable pull of another.

Max smiled and turned to leave through the fire exit, the rest of the teens followed, understanding the need for a private moment between you and Billy.

You turned in Billy’s arms and his eyes met yours, a genuine, heart stopping smile lit up his face, revealing those perfectly shaped teeth.

“I love you, Billy.” (Y/N) confessed, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. “I tried to fight it, to numb myself to the feeling, but I can’t anymore. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry for not telling you about Brody.” (Y/N) stated as regret flooded in her chest.

Billy's grip tightened slightly.

"I know, baby.” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you too. I’ve been a mess, so God damn miserable without you. But I needed you and you came for me, just like I knew you would." He paused, his eyes searching yours.

“My dad’s gone for the week, took Susan, said something about a stupid vacation. Max wanted to stay, so he made me stay back to babysit. Will you come home with me? We can forget about all of this for tonight and then figure out the rest tomorrow, I’ll take you over to El’s and explain everything to Hopper and get you settled in.” He pleaded.

A wave of relief washed over you and a tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.

“Yes.” (Y/N) breathed out, the word filled with all the hope and love she thought she’d lost.

Billy's hands found your face, pulling you into him as he latched onto your lips. The kiss was intense, urgent, a raw expression of need. He kissed you aggressively, his tongue tangling with yours as you both gasped for air. It was a wild, desperate dance, a silent conversation of longing and reunion that Billy had craved for the past year.

The world seemed to fade away until finally, the kiss broke, leaving you both breathless and flushed as a long string of saliva that met at the fullness of your lips, snapped.

Without a word, Billy scooped you up into his arms, a groan escaping his lips as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his body from the pain he’d just endured. Ignoring it, he held you securely, determination plastered on his face. He turned and strode out of the building, the other teens trailing behind, giggling at how soft Billy was for you, it was something they’d never witnessed from him before… Ever.

As you reached the outside, a familiar click echoed in your ears. It was the unmistakable sound of Billy’s Camaro door. The car you had both cursed and loved, the car you swore would be the death of you both one day, yet the car you had missed with an ache you couldn't explain. It was a symbol of so many memories, a promise of reckless freedom and shared adventures.

No one other than Max had sat in your seat since he moved to Hawkins, not a single soul had dared to occupy the space you once held, not that Billy would’ve let them.

Maxine scrambled to the back seat and the rest of the teens made their way home.

Billy gently slid you down into the worn leather that had been waiting for you, for what seemed like a lifetime and eternity, his touch lingering for a moment, longer than necessary. He rounded the hood, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips and opened the driver's side door, settling in comfortably beside you.

You glanced into the backseat and a surprised smile lit up your face.

“My blanket.” (Y/N) breathed, reaching out to touch the familiar fabric.

“Yeah.” Billy said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "It's uh, it's still there. Always kept it. Sometimes I sleep in my car when shit goes sideways with my dad so uh, I don’t know, the smell of it reminded me of you, when you'd calm me down after a fight with him." He chuckled softly, a touch of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Billy, I'm not going to leave again.” (Y/N) said, her voice laced with sincerity. "I'm sorry, okay? I wish I never did." A wave of regret washed over (Y/N) as she remembered the pain she had caused. "I love you.” She whispered, the words carrying the weight of her remorse and renewed commitment.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He replied, his voice thick with emotion and his hand reaching out to grip your thigh.

“You ready?" (Y/N) asked, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

Billy started the engine, and it roared to life, the familiar sound filling the car. The interior was exactly how you remembered, the worn leather seats, the scent of cheap cologne and cigarettes that burned at your nostrils. A strange combination that transported you back to stolen moments.

Billy couldn't wait to get you back to his house, to hold you in his arms all night long, to erase the distance that had separated you for such a long time. He shifted the car into gear, the movement smooth and practiced, and said,

"Yeah, baby, let's get outta here."

The car lurched forward, carrying you both away from the shadows of the past and towards the promise of a brand new future together, a future that definitely didn’t consist of Billy beating everyone’s ass or being in pain.

Or as you’d hoped…

I may do a part 2 depending on y’all’s opinions?? :)

Let me know if you’d like a part 2 to this or a part 5 to You’re Mine, You Know It first :)

Click here to read the You’re Mine, You Know That series.

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