☆ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?
☆ NOTES : There are some +18 parts. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
It starts with curiosity.
Nolan doesn’t fall easily. He’s Viltrumite—evolution burned love out of his species long ago. Mates are chosen for compatibility, strength, breeding. Nothing more.
But you—you confuse him.
You’re human. Fragile. Your bones would shatter with a flick of his wrist. You bleed too easily. You cry too loudly. You smile too much. Your laugh is obnoxious, your opinions are naïve, your body is so soft and delicate he finds it repulsive... until he doesn’t.
Until he starts to notice the sound of your voice more than the noise of the city. Until your scent burns into his nose like it was made for him. Until the day you touch his arm in passing and he has to leave the room because his hands are shaking.
He tells himself it’s a distraction. He tells himself you’re just an itch.
Then comes the obsession.
He watches you.
Not because he wants to.
Because he has to.
You’re always in his mind. Your laugh replays in his ears when he’s halfway across the world. He knows your routines—what time you leave for work, where you get your coffee, how long it takes you to fall asleep.
He listens to your heartbeat sometimes when you’re not even near him. Through walls. Through cities. It calms him. Grounds him. And if someone looks at you too long in public, he memorizes their face.
They never live long.
He tells himself it’s protection. You’re vulnerable. You don’t understand the world like he does. You need him.
But it’s not protection.
It’s possession.
He tests the waters.
At first, you think it’s innocent.
Nolan starts showing up where you are—your local bookstore, the park, the grocery store. You think it’s coincidence. He’s charming. Polite. A little intense. You know he’s married. You know he’s older. You know he’s too much.
But when he talks, you feel like he’s the only one seeing you.
And that’s all it takes.
He kisses you once—gently, like you might break. He apologizes. Says he’s confused. Says he’s trying to be a better man.
He’s lying.
But the kiss… isn’t.
He feels something snap inside him when you don’t pull away.
He leaves his wife.
Debbie notices the change. Of course she does. He’s colder, angrier, distracted. And she knows. She always knew what he was capable of.
You’re not some secret mistress. You’re a turning point.
He lies at first. Then stops bothering.
When he leaves, it’s sudden. He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t need to. Debbie is human. You’re human too—but different.
You make him feel like a god and a man. You make him care.
And that terrifies him.
He can’t stand being apart.
If you ever try to pull away—even a little—he loses control.
He won’t yell. He won’t hit. He’s too above that.
But the air gets thinner. His voice gets colder. His eyes go dark.
He’ll corner you emotionally. Tell you how small and weak and breakable you are in this world. How people like you don’t survive without someone like him. How you need him more than you realize.
And he’ll say it with love in his voice.
With desperation.
With devotion.
He worships you. In his own way.
When you’re with him, you’re the only thing in the world that matters.
He’ll carry you like glass. Cook for you. Watch you sleep, every night. Whisper in your ear.
He never says I love you.
He says you’re mine.
He says I would burn this planet for you.
He says don’t ever leave me.
And he means all of it.
But his love is twisted.
He doesn’t understand human love. Human softness.
He’ll kill for you, without hesitation. Always without you knowing. He’ll destroy anyone who hurts you—even if that “hurt” was just a stray word or a suspicious look.
And if you ever betray him?
He won’t kill you.
No.
He’ll kill for you.
He’ll tear open the sky just to find you.
Even if it means dragging you down with him.
Because in the end...
You’re not just his obsession.
You’re his purpose.
His reason for staying tethered to this meaningless world.
And if this planet turns on him?
Then he’ll turn on it.
With you at his side.
Or in his arms.
Or in his cage.
Whatever it takes.
It’s never soft. Not anymore.
He tries. In the beginning.
He holds your face like it’s precious. Like your skin might fall off your bones if he touches too hard. But Nolan was made to conquer, not caress.
And every time you moan—every time you whisper his name like it’s holy—he forgets he’s supposed to pretend to be human.
He grabs you.
Slams your wrists above your head, his hand wrapped around both like iron. Teeth at your throat, your shoulder, your lips—biting, not kissing.
He doesn’t ask if you want it.
He already knows.
You’re soaked for him. Begging. Gasping.
He knows your body better than you do. He knows exactly how to tear you apart and put you back together.
And he enjoys it.
He punishes you when you try to leave.
Maybe you text someone you shouldn't. Maybe you don't come home fast enough. Maybe you talk back.
You never even see it coming.
He shows up, silent and still as death. The door locks behind him. His cape hits the floor. You see his eyes—they’re glowing.
You say his name.
He doesn’t speak.
He bends you over the table like a toy and fucks you until you're sobbing. Until your knees are shaking. Until you’re hoarse from screaming and begging but you don’t even know what for anymore.
You cry, and he kisses the tears like they belong to him.
Because they do.
You do.
He breaks the bed. Sometimes the floor. Sometimes you.
His strength is inhuman.
Sometimes, he forgets to hold back. He snaps the headboard with one thrust, cracks the floor with his knees while grinding into you. One night, he tears your panties in half with two fingers and growls, “Don’t wear these around me again.”
Sometimes you bruise. Sometimes you limp. Sometimes you wake up with your thighs sticky and sore, your body aching in places you forgot existed.
And he’s always there when you wake up.
Cleaning the blood from your thighs. Pressing kisses to your forehead. Murmuring things you don’t understand but feel in your bones.
They sound like prayers.
But they’re threats too.
He keeps you.
Eventually, you stop fighting it.
He’s not just a man. He’s a force. A hunger. A god who decided you were the one thing worth worshipping.
And gods don’t let their worshippers go.
He doesn’t let you leave the house without a kiss. He doesn't let you sleep unless it's with his hand wrapped around your hip, or his head buried in your neck. He tracks you. Listens to your heartbeat through walls. Through cities.
One night, you whisper, “You’re obsessed.”
He laughs.
Low. Dangerous.
“No,” he says. “I’m yours. You’re mine. That’s not obsession, sweetheart. That’s truth.”
And then he kisses you like he’s about to devour your soul.
And maybe he does.
You forget who you were before him.
Before Nolan.
Before the bruises you like.
Before the eyes that watch you even in your dreams.
Before you started craving the way he breaks you just to feel whole again.
Now you live for the sound of him growling your name. For the way he says “mine” when he’s deep inside you, holding you down like the world might rip you from him.
Synopsis. Raised under the obsessive protection of several powerful and dangerous men, you begin to seek independence. However, their possessiveness soon reveals itself to be far darker and more controlling than you ever imagined.
Content. MDNI. Dark themes. Yandere behavior. Platonic obsession. Extreme possessiveness. Isolation. Parental murder implication. Violence in front of the reader. Breaking moral codes. Forced pregnancy termination. Stalking. Overprotective fathers. Manipulation. Emotional and physical control. Power imbalance. Psychological tension. Blood and gore. Obsessive protection. Loss of autonomy. Dark romance elements. Viltrumite culture. Superpowered characters. Unhealthy family dynamics. Jealousy. Gaslighting. Moral corruption. And More, but, you know how this mens are.
Word count: 7k
N/A.It took me quite a while to finish this because I’m in the middle of exams, and on top of that, work has been very busy with the arrival of summer. I even had to rewrite it because it ended up being way too long. Still, I can say my favorite part is Thragg’s. I hope you like it.
Homelander
John remembered with an almost painful clarity the day he first saw you. He didn’t usually attend young heroes’ competitions; he considered sitting on a jury to be an unnecessary humiliation. However, public image demanded his presence, and he always did what public image required.
Until he saw you.
You were on stage, with your mother beside you offering silent support, wearing an improvised suit that unintentionally mimicked the colors he himself wore. In that instant, something inside him tightened. It wasn’t just the coincidence of the colors. It was the way your powers manifested: identical to his. Exact. Unmistakable.
Doubt turned into certainty when the presenter compared your abilities to his. A coincidence, they said. A simple genetic chance. But John didn’t believe in coincidences. His paranoia, sharpened by years of lies and control, whispered that this could not be the result of mere chance.
When your victory was announced, he made a decision.
He didn’t enter the dressing room right away. He stood motionless in front of the door for a few seconds. John was not a man who doubted; he took, possessed, claimed. And yet, with you, he felt something different. A strange curiosity. Deep. Almost dangerous.
When he opened the door, he found you still wrapped in the excitement of your victory. Your mother was beside you, leaning toward you. You, on the other hand, were radiant. Your eyes bright, cheeks flushed, wearing that open, pure expression that only children possess.
So innocent.
So genuine.
So different from anything he had ever known.
Your mother was the first to notice him. The stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her shock. John observed her for only a second before turning his attention back to you.
And then you smiled.
Not with rehearsed admiration, but with that pure, childish emotion of someone standing before someone they had idealized. You approached him with clumsy enthusiasm and began speaking to him in a rush, telling him how much you admired him and how long you had wanted to meet him. Your words were fast and disorganized, filled with such absolute sincerity that for a moment, John could only stare at you.
And then you hugged him.
It was a spontaneous, impulsive gesture. Your small arms wrapped around him with complete trust, as if your innocence had decided he was a safe place. John remained still. Time seemed to suspend itself.
In that very moment, he knew.
He would adore you forever.
It didn’t matter what secrets lay behind your existence. The only thing that mattered was the fierce certainty that settled in his chest: he would never allow anyone to take you away from him.
Days later, John no longer needed more proof.
He had investigated on his own. Vought kept secrets the way one keeps weapons. And among them, he found what he was looking for: his semen, extracted years ago, had been stored in the company’s sperm bank. A sample used in a confidential procedure. Why? Nobody knows. Maybe a mistake
The result was you.
You were his. Of his blood. Of his legacy.
He said nothing. He asked no questions.
He simply appeared one morning accompanied by Vought personnel. With only a few curt orders, he integrated you into his world. Your mother had no choice but to accept.
He installed you in the tower, in one of the highest and most protected residences. John officially presented you to the world: you were his daughter. His blood. His legacy. From that moment on, you were rarely separated from him. He kept you constantly by his side, showered you with gifts, and watched you with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the coldness he showed everyone else.
But everything came at a price.
He kept you away from everyone. Especially Ryan. He never allowed his son to get too close to you. He wanted his little girl to remain pure, untouched, completely his.
And for a while, it worked.
Until the public discovered you.
At first, John tolerated the attention. But when he saw how people looked at you with affection, how they cheered for you and sent you gifts, something dark stirred in his chest. Jealousy. He couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else claiming you, even innocently. Because you didn’t belong to the world. You belonged to him. Only him.
John didn’t usually lose control like that.
But that afternoon, when he returned earlier than expected and discovered you had been with Maeve, something inside him broke. He had left you with strict orders that no one was to disturb you. Yet Maeve had spent the entire afternoon with you.
When he opened the door to the room, the atmosphere changed completely. He was covered in blood. Fresh. Dark. Stains splattered across his white suit, marking his hands and part of his face. Blood dripped slowly from his fingers onto the floor.
Maeve stood up immediately. John didn’t raise his voice. He simply took a step toward her and spoke with terrifying calm:
“Stay away from her. If you come near her again, there won’t be a second chance."
Maeve didn’t argue. She gathered her things and left without looking back.
The door closed.
You were looking at him with pure, silent terror. John stood there, soaked in someone else’s blood, watching you with ragged breathing. He wanted to explain that everything he did was for you. But he didn’t.
He remained silent for several long seconds, staring at you with an expression that held no trace of tenderness. Then he spoke, his voice low and sharp:
“I gave you one order. Just one. And you disobeyed it.”
You began to cry, pleading with that broken voice only children have when they’re terrified. John didn’t soften. He took a step toward you and grabbed your arm with force. The pain came quickly. His fingers tightened until they left a dark mark on your skin, a bruise that would form within minutes.
“Don’t cry,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Now you only have me. Only me.”
He didn’t mention your mother. He didn’t need to. The fact that he had returned covered in blood and that no one spoke of her anymore said everything. Your mother no longer existed.
He slowly released your arm. The bruise throbbed. John knelt in front of you, ignoring your sobs, and looked directly into your eyes.
“You’re mine,” he repeated, with absolute possessiveness. “And no one else is going to have you.”
The blood continued to drip from his hands. And you, marked and crying, no longer had anyone else.
Only him.
Clark Kent
If there was one weakness for the Man of Steel, it was you.
From the very moment he first held you in his arms, Clark understood that the entire world had shifted on its axis. It no longer revolved around Metropolis, nor around crises, nor around cries for help from the other side of the planet. It revolved around you. Around your small laugh. Around your hands clutching his shirt. Around the way you searched for his face the moment you heard his voice.
You had grown up on the farm in Smallville, surrounded by the scent of wheat, golden sunrises, and the constant warmth of a home that, to anyone else, would have seemed perfect. Lois raised you with intelligence and firmness; she taught you to think for yourself, to never let anyone intimidate you, and to speak clearly even when the world didn’t want to listen. Clark, on the other hand, loved you in a much quieter and more overwhelming way.
He was always there.
When you were little and ran through the fields, he would watch you even while repairing the fence or helping Martha in the kitchen. If you tripped, he was already at your side before you hit the ground. If the wind blew too hard, he would wrap you in a blanket even when you insisted you weren’t cold. If you got sick, even with just a mild cold, he would stay awake by your side all night, listening to every breath with almost painful attention.
“Clark, she’s fine,” Lois would say tiredly when she saw him enter your room for the third time in the middle of the night. “She’s just sleeping.”
He would nod, but still return to your bed, adjusting your blankets with reverent care, as if even the air itself could hurt you.
Because to Clark, you were never just his daughter.
You were something far more fragile and far more sacred.
The happiest days of his life were almost always the simplest ones. The mornings when you sat on the kitchen counter while he made breakfast. Your small hands stealing pieces of fruit before they were ready. Your endless questions. Your laughter when he pretended not to notice that you had stolen a piece of toast.
“Dad, what if one day I can fly with you?”
Clark would smile, that soft, warm smile the world only ever saw in pieces.
“When you’re older.”
“You always say that.”
“Because I want to do it right.”
And he said it like a solemn promise. As if even something as beautiful as flying with you could become dangerous if he didn’t handle it with enough care.
Sometimes he would carry you out to the porch at dusk and sit with you, watching the horizon while you rested your head on his shoulder. Other nights, when you couldn’t sleep, he would lift you with infinite patience and walk across the farm under a sky full of stars. You would talk to him half-asleep, telling him whatever nonsense came to mind, and Clark would listen as if every word deserved to be kept forever.
He adored you in a way that bordered on devotion.
And at first, when you were a child, it seemed natural.
You reached for his hand everywhere. You wanted him to read you stories, teach you how to ride a bike, and carry you when you pretended to be too tired to walk back home. Lois would smile when she saw the two of you together, though sometimes she watched him with a more difficult expression, as if even then she could sense that there was something excessive in Clark. Something that went beyond simple paternal love.
Because when he held you, he didn’t seem like just a father holding his daughter.
He seemed like a man clinging to the only thing in the world he couldn’t afford to lose. His soul.
Over the years, however, childhood began to fade.
And Clark noticed it before anyone else.
He noticed it in the way you stopped running to the door every time he came home. In how you started spending more time locked in your room. In those afternoons when you preferred going out with friends instead of walking with him around the farm. In your increasingly short answers, in your growing need for space, privacy, and a life that didn’t always revolve around your parents.
It was normal. Lois knew that. She even celebrated it to some extent, because it meant you were growing up.
Clark did not.
Every step you took toward adolescence felt like a loss to him.
He didn’t say much about it. Or at least, not at first. He simply watched you more. Listened more. Paid attention to the smallest changes: a door closed harder than usual, a distracted smile while looking at your phone, any excuse not to have dinner with them. He could hear screams from the other side of the planet, hearts stopping, buildings creaking before they collapsed… and yet, none of those things unsettled him as much as the silence of your room when you chose not to speak to him.
“Clark, you’re suffocating her,” Lois told him one night in a low voice, thinking you were asleep.
He stood still by the sink, his jaw tight.
“I’m just looking after her.”
“No,” Lois said, looking at him directly. “You’re trying to keep her as if she were still eight years old.”
Clark didn’t answer. But the way he lowered his gaze, the almost wounded hardness in his expression, showed something Lois couldn’t fix.
Because she was right.
And that was exactly why it hurt.
So when you insisted on going on a short vacation to the center of Metropolis with just one friend, Clark refused immediately.
He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to discuss it. Didn’t want to consider it.
Metropolis was too big, too loud, too unpredictable. There were dangers on every street, every corner, every unfamiliar face. How could you even think of leaving like that, as if the world were harmless? As if he had no reason to worry?
“Dad, it’s only a few days,” you said, trying to sound calm. “I’m not going to the end of the world.”
“To me, it’s far enough.”
“Clark,” Lois intervened with that firm patience only she could maintain with him, “you can’t keep her locked up here forever.”
He turned his head slightly, looking at her with contained tension.
“I’m not trying to lock her up.”
But even you knew that wasn’t entirely true.
Because Clark did want to keep you. Not in a room, perhaps, or behind visible bars, but inside a space where nothing could touch you without going through him first. A reduced, safe, clean world where you would still look at him with the same trust you had as a child.
In the end, he gave in.
Or at least pretended to.
He let you leave with a smile that was too stiff, a kiss on the forehead, and an absurd list of instructions you repeated from memory with tired resignation. Don’t walk alone at night. Text him when you arrive at the hotel. Don’t go into quiet streets. Don’t trust strangers. Don’t separate from your friend. Don’t…
“Dad,” you murmured, almost embarrassed, “I’ll be fine.”
Clark held your gaze for a second too long.
“I hope so.”
But he didn’t believe it.
Not even a little.
From the moment you left, Metropolis stopped being just the city he swore to protect. It became a living, immense, unbearable threat. Clark continued responding to emergencies, continued smiling for the cameras, continued being Superman to the rest of the world. But a part of him remained fixed on you. On the hotel where you were staying. On the streets you walked. On the heartbeat he would recognize even among millions.
He watched you from afar.
Not in a clumsy or obvious way. He never let you see him. Sometimes he would descend onto a nearby rooftop just to make sure you had entered a café safely. Other times he would listen to your laughter mixed with your friend’s and force himself to stay still, reminding himself that he couldn’t interfere every time someone approached you. But the need remained there, constant and fierce.
He saw you buying ridiculous souvenirs in a tourist shop. He saw you taking photos of the skyline with a genuine smile. He saw you stop in front of a bookstore window, excited about some special edition you would probably end up buying even if it no longer fit in your suitcase. And for a moment, just for a moment, he almost seemed calm.
Because you were happy.
And yet, even while watching you laugh, something tormented him.
You weren’t happy with him.
Not in that way.
You no longer reached for his hand to cross the street. You no longer turned around expecting to find him behind you. That light, carefree joy was given to other spaces, other people, a life that was beginning to exist outside his reach. And Clark resented it in silence, with a sadness so deep it almost felt like anger.
The night of the incident, the air in Metropolis was heavy and humid, as if the city itself sensed something was coming. You and your friend had gone out after dinner. Nothing serious. Nothing particularly reckless. Just two teenagers wanting to stretch their freedom a little longer. Laughing. Walking. Feeling older in a bright, enormous city that promised more than it should.
Clark was already uneasy before he found you.
He had gone too long without hearing your voice up close. Your heart was beating faster than normal. Not from joy, but from fear.
And then he found you.
The alley was half-hidden, far from the illuminated avenues. Your friend lay on the ground, motionless, far too still, and in front of you stood two men. One was holding you roughly while the other smiled with the miserable confidence of someone who believed they had control for a few seconds.
Clark landed without making a sound.
But by the time they saw him, it was already too late.
There was no warning. No speech. No trace of the firm compassion the world adored in Superman.
There was only fury.
Pure, ancient, and irreparable.
The screams didn’t last long. Afterward, only silence remained. A heavy, horrifying silence broken only by your trembling breathing.
When he finally looked up at you, Clark had already crossed a line from which he could never return.
His hands were stained. His chest rose and fell with controlled slowness. And his eyes… his eyes were not those of a hero who had arrived in time.
They were the eyes of a man who had almost lost the only thing he loved more than his own morality.
You took a small step back.
That tiny movement hurt him more than any weapon could have.
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t an order spoken harshly, but it didn’t sound like a request either. You were shaking. There were tears in your eyes. And yet, you lifted your gaze.
Clark approached slowly, as if any sudden movement could break you. With trembling hands, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, checking your features, your arms, your shoulders, searching for signs of injury even though he already knew, from the sound of your heartbeat, that you weren’t seriously hurt.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
Then he pulled you into an embrace.
A tight one.
Too tight.
Not like a father comforting his daughter, but like a man desperate to make sure that what had almost been taken from him was still his, tangible, real. His hand sank into your back, holding you against him as he pressed his face into your hair.
“Don’t ever do this to me again,” he whispered.
And that sentence, spoken in a broken voice, was perhaps more terrifying than everything else.
Because he wasn’t talking about danger in general.
He was talking about himself.
About what your absence did to him. About how the simple fact of not feeling you close was enough to unravel him from the inside. About how he had broken his code, his principles, and the entire image the world had of Superman, simply because someone had dared to touch you.
He pulled back just enough to look at you again.
There was relief in his expression, yes, but it was twisted by something deeper. Something possessive. Something almost feverish.
“I told you Metropolis wasn’t safe,” he said, his voice soft but every word carrying unbearable weight. “I told you not to go so far.”
“Dad…” your voice came out weak and broken.
And then something worse happened: his expression softened.
Not because he was any less agitated, but because he seemed convinced of something. As if everything that had happened had confirmed a truth he had been denying for too long.
“It’s over now,” he murmured, stroking your hair with a tenderness that, in that moment, felt almost suffocating. “It’s over. I’m here.”
But it didn’t sound like comfort.
It sounded like a sentence.
Because what Clark had understood that night wasn’t just that the world was dangerous.
It was that letting you go had been a mistake.
A mistake he had no intention of repeating.
After that, there was no real distance between you anymore. Although he tried to maintain some sense of normalcy for Lois’s sake, something in him had changed irreversibly. He began treating you with the same gentleness from your childhood, perhaps even more so. He would bring you breakfast in bed when you stayed home. He would leave books and small gifts on your desk without saying they were from him. He would sit beside you on the porch at night like he used to when you were little, calmly asking how your day had been, even though he already knew the answer.
And yet, beneath all that tenderness was constant surveillance.
If you took too long to reply to a message, he had already noticed. If someone new approached you, he knew their name before you even mentioned it. If you seemed uncomfortable with someone, even for just a second, Clark would become quieter, more attentive, more present.
Closer.
Always closer.
As if he wanted to forcefully rebuild the version of you that once ran to him without hesitation. As if he could shrink you back into the little girl who believed everything was safe as long as he was there.
But you were no longer that little girl.
And perhaps that was what made it even more terrifying.
Because Clark still saw you that way.
His daughter.
His most precious weakness.
The only part of the world he was unwilling to share.
Nolan Grayson
Nolan Grayson adored his daughter from the very moment she was born.
If Mark had been his first attempt at seeing how far his Viltrumite blood could go on Earth, you were something else entirely: a certainty. A living promise. And when, at barely four years old, you manifested your powers for the first time, something inside him settled with a silent and fierce satisfaction. He always remembered it clearly: your small body lifting slightly off the ground, your eyes shining with excitement, and him standing there, watching you with a pride so intense it bordered on devotion.
He adored you.
In a deep, almost unsettling way, though he would never have admitted it out loud.
He was always attentive to you, to your progress, to your strength, to every small sign that confirmed how special you were. He worried about you with an attention he rarely gave Mark. While he usually treated his son with a certain distance, as if he were still waiting for something from him, with you it was different. There was an unusual patience in his voice, a softer firmness in his gestures, and a constant need to watch you and shape you with his own hands.
Debbie noticed, of course.
The difference was too obvious to ignore. Nolan could overlook Mark’s frustrations, his insecurities, or his need for approval, but he never let anything concerning you slip by. If you fell, he was already there. If you trained, he watched you with absolute attention. If you doubted, your voice was the first one he listened to. And although he never stopped fulfilling his role as a father on the surface with both of you, it was impossible not to see that there was something about you that pulled him with greater force.
Perhaps because you were the early proof that his legacy had not been in vain.
Perhaps because in you he saw a cleaner, more promising reflection of himself.
Or perhaps because, quite simply, Nolan had decided very early on that you were his in a sense that went far beyond paternal affection.
Time passed, and the little girl he used to carry in his arms eventually became a woman.
You grew up strong, brilliant, and confident. And although Nolan continued to look at you with the same stern pride as always, he also began to feel something harder to name: a silent discomfort with your independence. You were no longer the little girl who followed him everywhere, who looked at him as if he were invincible. You had grown up. You had formed your own opinions. And although you still cared for him, you no longer orbited around him in the same way.
He didn’t like it.
He tolerated it, because he had no choice, but he didn’t like it.
That was why, when Mark finally gained his powers and began taking his first steps as a hero, Nolan quickly assumed that you would do the same. In his mind, it was natural. Correct. Inevitable. You were his daughter, after all; you had shown your abilities long before Mark, with an ease he would never forget. If his son was destined to rise, then so were you. Perhaps even better than him.
And deep down, that idea awakened a dark and possessive pride in Nolan.
Because it wasn’t just about watching you fly.
It was about watching you take the place he believed belonged to you.
But everything came crashing down one day.
Your eighteenth birthday dinner proceeded with apparent normalcy. Debbie had prepared your favorite meal, Mark joked with his usual clumsiness, and Nolan… Nolan watched you from across the table with that calm, calculating gaze only you knew how to interpret.
He had been looking at you more than usual all night. As if he somehow knew that something was about to change.
When you finished blowing out the candles and the applause died down, Debbie smiled at you warmly.
“So, what are your plans now that you’re officially an adult?” she asked, pouring herself a little more wine.
You hesitated for just a second before answering. You had rehearsed the sentence several times in your head, but even so, saying it out loud made it sound more final than you expected.
“I’ve decided to accept the scholarship at the University of Atlanta.”
The silence that followed was brief but heavy.
Mark looked up, surprised but not particularly alarmed.
“Atlanta… really? That’s pretty far.”
Debbie blinked, processing the information.
“Atlanta,” she repeated, forcing a smile. “It’s a good university. When were you planning on telling us?”
You took a deep breath.
“Also… I’m going to move in with my boyfriend.”
The sound of Nolan’s fork against the plate was barely noticeable, but enough to make everyone go still. He slowly lifted his gaze, and for the first time that night, his expression lost every trace of warmth.
Nolan didn’t say anything at first.
He simply looked at you.
That look he usually reserved for enemies, not his daughter. His eyes, normally serene and controlled, darkened in a subtle but unmistakable way. His jaw tightened, and although he kept his posture relaxed, his fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Debbie was the first to break the silence.
“Your… boyfriend,” she repeated, clearly taken aback. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”
“A few months,” you answered, trying to sound confident. “He’s from Atlanta. That’s why I decided to accept the university there. We’re going to move in together.”
Mark glanced sideways at Nolan, as if expecting his father to say something. But Nolan remained silent, watching you with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavier.
Finally, he spoke.
His voice was low. Too low.
“Move in with him?”
You nodded.
“Yes. We’ve already talked about it. It’s the most practical option.”
Nolan let out a short, humorless laugh. He leaned back in his chair and looked at you directly, completely ignoring the worried glances from Debbie and Mark.
“Practical?” he repeated, as if the word offended him. “You think moving in with some boy on the other side of the country is ‘practical’?”
“Nolan…” Debbie tried to intervene, but he raised a hand without taking his eyes off you.
“No,” he said with dangerous calm. “I want her to explain it to me.”
You swallowed, but held his gaze.
“Dad, I’m eighteen. I can make my own decisions.”
Nolan tilted his head slightly, studying you as if he were seeing you for the first time. There was something in his expression that chilled you from the inside. It wasn’t just disappointment. It was something deeper. More possessive. As if you had just taken something he considered rightfully his.
“Eighteen years old,” he repeated slowly, savoring the words. “And you think that means you can walk away from this family? That you can go live with a stranger?”
“He’s not a stranger,” you replied, though your voice came out weaker than you wanted.
Nolan smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was cold. Almost cruel.
“To me, he is.”
The silence that followed was thick. Debbie looked at her husband with concern while Mark shifted uncomfortably in his chair. But Nolan only had eyes for you.
And in that gaze was something that made you understand, with uncomfortable clarity, that your father wasn’t angry about your independence.
He was angry because you were pulling away from him.
The silence that followed your announcement was broken by your own voice, firm despite the tension hanging in the air.
“Ray is a good man, Dad. You don’t know him, but I do. He’s kind, responsible, and he supports what I want to do. I’m going to go to university, I’m going to study what I’ve always wanted, and I’m going to live a normal life. I’m not going to stay here just because you prefer it.”
Nolan stared at you. His eyes, normally cold and calculating, now burned with something much more dangerous. A muscle tensed in his jaw.
“A normal life?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. “You think you can have a normal life with some random human? That you can just… leave?”
“Yes,” you answered, not looking away. “Because I’m not a child anymore. And because I want to follow my dreams, even if you don’t like it.”
Nolan let out a brief, humorless laugh. He leaned slightly forward, resting his forearms on the table.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
His tone was no longer that of a father arguing. It was that of someone used to things going his way.
You shook your head, keeping your calm even as you felt the pressure in the room increase.
“I’m going with Raymomd. And I’m going to live my life. Even if you don’t like it.”
That was what finally broke Nolan’s control.
In one swift movement, he slammed his palm down on the table. The impact was brutal. The wooden table split in half with a dry crash, and the floor beneath it cracked violently, sending fissures toward the legs of the chairs. Plates and glasses fell to the floor, shattering into pieces.
Debbie let out a choked scream and pushed her chair back, pale with terror. Mark froze, staring at his father with wide eyes.
But you didn’t.
You looked him directly in the eyes, with pure anger.
Nolan was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he stared at you with a mixture of fury and something much darker. Something possessive. Something that went far beyond paternal concern.
“You’re not leaving,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with contained rage. “You’re not moving in with that boy. You’re not going to Atlanta. You’re not walking away from this family.”
You slowly stood up from your chair, never breaking eye contact.
“I’m going to,” you replied clearly. “And you can’t stop me.”
You turned and walked toward the door.
Nolan shot to his feet so fast that his chair fell backward.
“Don’t you dare walk out of this house!” he shouted, his voice echoing with a force that made the windows rattle. “Get back here right now!”
But you didn’t stop.
You opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, feeling the cool night air hit your face. Behind you, you heard Nolan scream your name with a mixture of anger and desperation you had never heard from him before.
“Come back here! You’re not leaving!”
You ignored his shouts.
You walked down the steps of the house and continued along the driveway, your heart pounding hard in your chest. For the first time in your life, you had openly defied your father.
And although you didn’t look back, you could feel his gaze burning into your back — heavy, furious… and dangerously possessive.
Nolan Grayson wasn’t used to having what he considered his taken away from him.
And certainly not by his own daughter.
Days later, you continued with your plans.
You had spent the last few days avoiding your father as much as possible. Although Nolan hadn’t brought up the subject again in front of the others, his silence was far more dangerous than his shouting. He watched you constantly, with that calculating gaze that followed you even when you thought you were alone. Still, you refused to back down. You had packed your bags, organized your university documents, and that afternoon, you were at Ray’s house, finishing packing the last of your things.
You were carrying a heavy box in your arms when you stepped out the front door.
What you saw outside froze you in place.
Raymond was on his knees in the garden, his face bloodied and his expression dazed. Standing in front of him, dressed in the red and white suit of Omni-Man, was your father. Nolan was holding him by the neck with one hand, as if he weighed nothing. Before you could react, Nolan twisted his wrist with a sharp, brutal motion.
The sound of Ray’s skull cracking was horrifying.
His body fell lifeless to the ground, his head deformed and blood quickly spreading across the grass. Nolan stood over him, unfazed, as if he had just crushed an insect.
You dropped the box.
“Dad…” your voice came out broken, caught between disbelief and rage.
Nolan slowly turned his head toward you. His expression was calm, almost serene, as if he hadn’t just murdered your boyfriend in front of your eyes. Blood stained his glove.
You felt fury rise in your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the box and ran toward him.
“What did you do?!” you screamed, hitting him with all your strength against his chest.
Nolan didn’t move. Your blows did nothing to him. When you tried to hit him again, he acted quickly.
His free hand rose and struck you with an open palm.
The impact was brutal. You felt your nose break with a sharp crack. The pain was immediate and intense. Blood poured down your face as you staggered backward. Before you could fall, Nolan grabbed you tightly, pulling you into an embrace that pinned you against his chest.
“Don’t worry,” he said in a low, almost gentle voice as he held you against him despite your struggles.
The blood from your nose stained his suit. He held the back of your neck with one hand, keeping you trapped in his embrace with a strength that didn’t allow you to escape. His other hand stroked your hair with a sickening tenderness, contrasting sharply with the violence he had just shown.
“Soon it will be just the two of us,” he continued with terrifying calm. “When Earth finally accepts its fate, there will be nothing and no one left to stand between us. No boyfriends. No universities. No normal lives.”
You tried to pull away, but he only held you tighter, ignoring your attempts to free yourself. You could feel how calmly his heart was beating, as if all of this were perfectly natural.
“Just you and me,” he whispered against your hair. “Father and daughter. The way it was always meant to be.”
Blood continued to drip from your broken nose, staining his red suit. Nolan held you even tighter, as if he feared that even now you might slip away from him.
And in that moment, you understood with horror that your father no longer saw Ray as a simple obstacle.
He saw him as the first step toward having you completely to himself
Thragg
Over the years, Thragg stopped being content with watching you through glass and screens.
At first, his visits were scarce. Brief. Calculated with almost surgical precision. He would enter your chambers without making a sound, accompanied only by the weight of his presence, and stop a few steps away to look at you with that silent severity that seemed to fill the entire room. He was never a man given to visible tenderness, especially not with you — not because he loved you any less, but because he considered you far too valuable to be treated with weakness.
The first time he began appearing before you regularly, you were no longer a child crying for a familiar face. You had grown up in discipline, silence, and isolation. The machines had taught you obedience, knowledge, and control; but it was he who began to shape something far more important in you.
Character.
You remember not saying anything the first time you saw him cross the threshold and stand before you, enormous and imposing, with his arms behind his back and that cape falling like a shadow of war. You looked at him without fear. Without hesitation. As if, somewhere inside you, you had always known there was someone on the other side of the walls.
Thragg noticed.
And that pleased him more than he would have ever admitted.
“So you don’t tremble,” was one of the first things he said to you.
His voice was deep, dry, with no trace of warmth. But there was no disapproval in it either. Only observation.
You lifted your chin with a stillness that didn’t entirely match your age.
“I don’t see why I should.”
For a moment, silence stretched between the two of you. And although Thragg’s face barely changed, something in his gaze sharpened with a deep and dark satisfaction.
Because you weren’t just strong.
You were worthy.
From then on, he began visiting you more frequently. No longer as a distant figure lurking in the shadows, but as a constant and rigorous presence. He personally oversaw your training, correcting your posture, your responses, even the way you held your gaze. He taught you the history of Viltrum not as a lesson, but as a heritage. He didn’t speak to you of ruin or loss with sadness, but with a stern devotion that turned every word into a command.
He showed you star maps, records of conquest, names of fallen generals, and worlds brought to their knees under the weight of a race that had once been unstoppable. And you listened in silence, motionless, with such perfect attention that even he found himself watching you longer than necessary.
There was something almost disturbing about the seriousness with which you absorbed everything.
You didn’t interrupt with unnecessary questions. You showed no sentimentality. You weren’t distracted by the weight of blood or the magnitude of what had been destroyed. You listened as if every fragment of the empire belonged to you by right.
As if you understood it.
As if you had been born for it.
That pleased Thragg in a dangerous way.
Little by little, he began taking you out of your chambers. First to internal corridors, then to command chambers, strategy rooms, and hangars where the organized ruins of what had once been the heart of an immense empire still remained. What little remained of Viltrum was not beautiful in a human sense; it was severe, functional, wounded. Metal, silence, and memory. And yet, when you walked beside him through those structures marked by war and decay, Thragg felt something close to pride.
He didn’t allow anyone to walk at his height.
Except you.
The few who still served under his command soon understood your position. Thragg didn’t need to announce it openly. It was enough to see him stop to wait for you. Enough to see how his attention shifted toward you before any commander. Enough to notice the absolute coldness with which he responded when someone spoke to you without permission.
You were his daughter.
The first.
The only one he looked at not as a tool, but as the untouched continuation of something he refused to let die.
On one occasion, while walking through an observation room from which fragments of destroyed fleets could be seen floating in the void, one of his subordinates — too slow, too clumsy — interrupted with a poorly presented report. Thragg barely turned his head to listen. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t make any sudden movements. He simply pointed out the mistake with a calm so lethal that the soldier froze instantly.
You didn’t look away.
You watched everything with the same impassive expression you used for anything else. Without horror. Without discomfort. Only attention.
When the man left, trembling with shame, Thragg turned slightly toward you.
“Misplaced compassion weakens judgment,” he said.
You took a second to respond.
“Then it isn’t a virtue. It’s a defect useful only to enemies.”
That time, Thragg did smile.
It was a minimal, brief, almost imperceptible smile. But in someone like him, that was equivalent to immense approval.
“Correct.”
From that moment on, he began showing you more. Not only the structure of the empire, but its logic. The order. The hierarchy. The necessity of strength, purity, and obedience. He wanted you to understand not only what Viltrum had been, but what it needed to become again. And every time he saw you standing beside him, with an impassive face and a steady gaze, the idea became more firmly rooted in his mind.
He wasn’t just introducing you to a legacy.
He was preparing you to inherit it.
There were moments, rare but revealing, when even he seemed to forget his own reserve. Watching you respond harshly to a disrespectful officer, noticing the precision with which you analyzed combat reports, confirming that there was no unnecessary softness in you — Thragg felt a satisfaction so intense that it bordered on obsession.
Because he didn’t see only a daughter.
He saw confirmation.
Proof that something pure still remained in the universe. Something worthy. Something his.
And the more he integrated you into what little remained of the empire, the clearer a truth became — one that no one around you dared to name:
Thragg didn’t just favor you.
Thragg had reserved a place for you that he would never allow anyone else to occupy.
It didn’t matter how many children he had fathered. It didn’t matter how many descendants carried his blood. None had been watched like you. None had been preserved like you. None walked beside him with the same silent closeness that made others fall quiet the moment you entered a room.
You were his fiercest pride.
His favorite daughter.
And in many ways, the only thing he regarded with something close to reverence.
With time, Thragg decided that you were no longer just his daughter. You were a soldier. You needed a position.
He named you general.
It wasn’t an empty title. Thragg placed you in a position of power within the Viltrumite fleet, and to ensure you were prepared, he put Kregg in charge of your training. He was one of his most loyal and competent warriors, someone he trusted enough to leave you under his guidance. Thragg believed that with Kregg by your side, you would be protected and well-trained.
What he didn’t imagine was that Kregg would become attracted to you.
At first, the advances were subtle. Looks that lingered longer than necessary, words that brushed the edges of military respect, small gestures that a normal Viltrumite wouldn’t have noticed. But you noticed them. And instead of rejecting them, you felt curious. You had never experienced anything like it. Viltrumites didn’t speak of romance or affection in that way; for them, relationships were something functional, almost nonexistent. However, the way Kregg looked at you awakened an interest in you that you didn’t know how to handle.
You didn’t see anything wrong with it.
Without Thragg knowing, you began spending more time alone with Kregg. What started as training gradually turned into something more. It wasn’t a romance like those that existed on other planets; it was something clumsy, silent, and filled with tensions that neither of you knew how to name. But for you, it was enough. You liked the way Kregg treated you, as if you were more than just Thragg’s daughter. As if you were someone he could desire.
For weeks, you kept it a secret. You slipped away from his gaze when you could, met with Kregg in secluded areas of the main ship, and allowed his hands to touch you in ways your father would never have permitted. To you, it wasn’t betrayal. It was simply something that belonged to you.
What you didn’t know was that Thragg, although he trusted Kregg, never stopped watching you.
And sooner or later, he would discover what you were doing.
Because even though he had named you general and given you power, Thragg still considered you his absolute possession. And he was not willing to share you with anyone.
Not even with one of his own warriors.
But Thragg didn’t suspect anything at first.
He was satisfied with your progress as a general. He believed Kregg was fulfilling his duty by training you, and that you were fulfilling yours as his daughter. However, as the weeks passed, something began to change in you. You became more reserved, avoided his direct gaze, and kept a distance that hadn’t existed before. Thragg noticed, but attributed it to the weight of your new responsibilities.
Until one day he asked you to come closer.
He wanted to personally check your physical condition, as he used to do when you were little. When you stood in front of him, Thragg observed you carefully. And then he saw it.
The slight swelling in your abdomen.
It wasn’t something that could be mistaken. As a Viltrumite, he immediately recognized what it meant. You were pregnant. And not by just any Viltrumite.
By Kregg.
Something dark and violent ignited inside him. Thragg had planned to repopulate his race, yes, but never like this. He had never imagined that another Viltrumite would dare to touch you, to taint you, to leave his seed inside what he considered exclusively his. The idea of his daughter carrying the child of another filled him with a cold and silent rage.
Without saying a word, he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around you in a firm, almost crushing embrace. His large hands rested on your back, holding you tightly against him. For a moment, the silence was absolute.
“Everything is going to be fine,” he murmured against your hair, his voice low and controlled, in stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. “I’m going to fix this.”
You felt his embrace tighten slightly, as if he feared you might slip away. Thragg closed his eyes, breathing deeply as his mind already began mapping out the path he would follow. He would not allow that creature to be born. He would not allow Kregg’s legacy to mix with his blood. He had raised you to be perfect, strong, and loyal only to him. He would not allow anything or anyone to contaminate you.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His expression was serious, almost solemn, but his eyes burned with a dangerous obsession.
“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he continued, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “After this, everything will return to order. You will only have to continue being a good soldier… and a good daughter. That is all that will be asked of you.”
His voice was calm, almost reassuring, but the words carried an oppressive weight. There was no room for discussion. No room for choice. Thragg had already made his decision.
So he thrust his arm through your stomach, becoming completely covered in your blood.
"You'll recover, don't worry."
Because Thragg was not willing to share you with anyone.
Not even with your own child.
Have I been too violent? I mean, I feel like the warnings might be an understatement.
Nolan Grayson headcanons where reader is a super hero with healing abilities. :)
One shot Idea: Reader is the one healing his injuries after the attack on the “him” and the guardians. :)
────୨ৎ──── ησℓαηѕ ѕυρєя ρσωєяє∂ ѕανισя!
You’d become a vigilante at the age of 16, realizing you had a few special abilities, healing is one of your strongest attributes. And thats what you focused on. You were a built one, but your hands, no matter what you lifted, were smooth, soft to the touch, so when you healed someone they could feel the warmth and softness of someones caring touch
But eventually Cecil recruited you. You were hesitant, only 18 now, but you gave in after he told you what your family could have, being take care of, and you couldn’t deny it.
You were only 20 when he arrived. He was around the same age. Being tasked with a job out of town, you were there when he landed. He stood in front of you all of a sudden. “Are you a ‘hero’?” He question. His voice kinda scary..
“Yeah.. uh..who are you?” You murmured. Tilting your head. He looked you up and down for awhile. “Nolan.”
He was a very..weird guy—i mean he was an alien after all.. but he was kinda sweet..he’d bring you weird ass trinkets like he was a crow and he’d took a liking to you. He’d watch you heal people—even him most of the time. It amazes him how you work.
He was an absolute unit. Getting larger by the day. He towered over you now, despite you being taller then average. (This doesnt matter you can change this!) he was just massive.
You were pinned down once, struck deep, to out of your mind to use your powers, laid on your back. The guardians were fighting the thing that had taken you down. But Nolan saved you. He found you buried under heps of rubble, massive chunks of concrete, but thankfully you had an air hole.
He located you immediately, like a hound dog and dug and dug until he found you. Your eyes opened, unfocused. And you saw him. He lifted you up. Shooting up into the air. Straight to the cdc. Refusing to help anyone but you.
Thats when you decided to let him court you officially. He took you out. Bringing you a massive rare Cherry blossom tree you’d mentioned once. You stared at him like he was an idiot.
After what happened with the guardians. He ran to you. Barely able to fly to you with how wrecked he was. But he found you. And you healed him.
The memories replayed in his head over and over again. But he convinced himself it was for the greater good. He had to do this. And you couldn’t know.
You two had a kid a while back. (Mark but..you flavored). And when he realized humans were good mates.. he had to do it. When mark disagreed. When you disagreed..
Mark wasn’t the only one he left. He ran you were shattered. Taking care of your son. Alone. Without nolan.
You took care of mark alone—then oliver. Alone. You didn’t need nolan.
every day i mourn the fact that nolan isn't animated w body hair when his clothes get blown up or he's sleeping commando,, its just a tragedy and i know that many other families are affected by this...
Nolan, who locked onto a blind person the moment hecame into the world.
Poor you—you had no idea. But Nolan had seen you as the perfect candidate for what he was planning: observing Earth and setting his mission into motion.
And that decision only solidified when you didn't even notice him following you and entering your apartment. "You're my spouse now." He watched with a blank expression as you practically had a heart attack at the voice suddenly coming from over your shoulder.
Yes, you were the perfect spouse. At that moment, he was certain he could easily impose his dominance over you. The only question was...which dominance?
As Nolan lived with you, he grew even more confident and comfortable—you were the perfect partner for hiding his secrets and his actions. Still what bothered him was your weakness. You were weak. Your blindness held you back from so many things. Irritating, he thought.
And yet, there he was holding your hand like a gentleman, guiding you step by step down a staircase with no handrail, walking backward in front of you. "What kind of scum doesn't install a single handrail!? Can't they think about blind people...so selfish, I hate people."
"Even me?" The words slipped from your lips with a silky smile. You were never serious with the question—teasing him was simply one of your favorite pastimes. But Nolan answered without a moment's hesitation, as if the mere suggestion had wounded you both. "No." His voice held the tender warmth of an autumn breeze, the kind that melts hearts. "No, I could never hate you."
I swear I'm going to turn this into a series one day. And if you liked it, you're interested plss let me know in the comments or in my inbox whether I should keep it genderneutral or make it a female reader. I plan to go with whatever the majority wants.
I’d love a Nolan Grayson x Plus size reader (gender neutral) who is a super hero if that’s okay, specifically a healer if that’s okay? I’d love it to be an age gap too ❤️
Okay these are just thoughts on how I think Nolan would react to a significant other like this, it’s a bit different from my other headcanons, which were more of a scenario than anything else. These headcanons are more of a ‘how he would react/handle’ and also based more on pre-season one Nolan, though I think some of it carries through. I will be so honest with you, I forgot to explicitly include rhe age gap, but it’s vague enough that I think you can read into it. Praying that you enjoy, anon 😔
- First of all, I don’t think Nolan really has a body type preference, before or after Earth. Before season one, while he holds a fondness for humanity, and despite them being virtually identical to Viltrumites in appearance, all humans are the same to him. It’s hard to live for millenia and see such a weak and fragile species as his equal, no matter what amount of traitorous affection blooms in his chest for them. Some of it is earnest, some of it is pure, unfiltered copium, but, in the end, you are processed in Nolan’s mind as a particularly cute dog. There is genuine love there despite the fact that there is no changing that he will outlive you. Nor is there is any changing the fact that you are made of tissue paper in comparison to him. All of this is to say that humans are not held up to Viltrumite standards of perfection, and that, in truth, I think he would find someone plus sized endearing.
- On a more human aspect, your body is soft, none of the hard edges that he is used to. Nolan is used to the strict and rigid ideals of his home, no weakness can be shown— he cannot falter. With you, the way your body melds into his touch, the plushness of your flesh when he lays his head upon you after a rough day, it is both so foreign and everything he has ever wanted at once. Can you blame him for craving it?
- Being a hero helps him to relax. To an extent. I think that Nolan worries about the weaker lifeforms, the ones that he has grown attached, to an almost absurd extent. Everything can kill you. Everywhere around you, there is danger. You are not like him— invincible in a way that is almost unfathomable to you. Knowing that you have your own set of skills and capabilities to protect yourself from basic threats helps to put him at ease. At first — or even later down the line — this protective worry is not shown in a particularly well-adjusted way. Nolan can be harsh, he can snap when he thinks that you have put yourself in unecessary danger. I also believe that whoever put hands on you will face the full extent of Viltrum’s cold wrath, away from prying eyes. That is neither here nor there, though, you will never know.
- Your ability to heal, others and yourself, makes you a selfless sort of person. The kind that takes unecessary risks because, once it is all said and none, you can push the bones sticking out of your skin back into your flesh and close whatever yawning wound you have until it is nothing again. Others cannot. Is it not your duty to use this power for others? Using your gifts to better those weaker than yourself is what you live by, and it is something that Nolan can understand, in a way. That is why he is here on Earth, after all. To better humanity. You, however, put too much value on the lives of others. Where you believe yourself to be expendable, Nolan believes that your innate ability is what makes your life worth more than those of other humans. Well, that and his affections.
- If your healing ability came at the detriment of yourself, such as taking on the wound that you healed, I think Nolan would find a way to take you off of hero duty. Permanently. Maybe he will orchestrate some fight that you cannot win to kill your morale (I doubt you will know until the whole season one thing happens) — bonus is that he gets to be the one who saves you — maybe he will simply forbid you from it, expecting you to cow and listen. Either way, he doesn’t want you using your powers. You are important, not those other people who you are hurting yourself to save. Can’t you see that? It’s pragmatic and selfish, two things Nolan has in spades.
- After the events in season one, I think Nolan has mellowed out significantly. The ability that he once both admired and resented in you, he sees… not as a gift, but something entirely you. It still hurts you, that is something that Nolan will never abide by, and he wishes you would stop putting yourself in danger. Now, though, he understands protecting the people weaker than yourself to a degree that he can articulate and appreciate more than he ever could before.
synopsis ⟡ you still haunt him, even after all this time.
“Nolan?”
His eyes snapped open.
For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, he lifted his hands slowly, staring at them, calloused, but younger, less worn, and the lines of age that should have been there… weren’t. His brow furrowed as he flexed his fingers, slow, uncertain, and slowly he looked at his chest.
The familiar white Viltrumite uniform clung to him, pristine, and everything felt distant, like he was present and not at the same time, caught in something hazy, something unreal.
The air felt wrong, too still, too quiet, like a memory that hadn’t fully settled into place, a dream. not quite, but it was hazy, like he was standing inside something unfinished.
His gaze lifted, a window stretched across the far wall, revealing a vast expanse of stars-endless, cold, familiar, and the low hum of the ship vibrated faintly beneath his feet, something he knew by instinct alone.
It was too familiar.
He turned slightly, catching his reflection in the glass, and there he was, younger.
His hair was still pulled back neatly, his face sharper, less burdened, as if it was untouched by time.
His jaw tightened.
No.
Slowly, his eyes drifted away from the reflection and across the room.
His eyes scanned the room-four beds, neatly aligned, stark white walls, the old squad quarters, and the mechanical door behind him, every detail exactly as it had been and the realization settled heavily in his chest.
Before he could string it together in his mind, his eyes finally landed on-
You.
You stood in the center of the room, your back to him, still, and quiet.
Your hair fell softly over your shoulders, catching the artificial light in a way that felt… wrong, too soft for a place like this, too alive, your figure shifting just slightly as if touched by a breeze he couldn’t feel, and you seemed to be looking at something-something beyond him, something he couldn’t see.
His breath hitched, he stepped forward, slow, cautious like any sudden movement might break whatever this was, and that this could all disappear, and it's as if you felt he was there you turned, and there you were, your eyes widened slightly as they landed on him, and for a moment, the world stilled completely.
He took you in- every detail, every feature.
Your face.
Your eyes.
Everything about you struck him at once-too much, too sudden, and his breath caught hard in his chest, lungs refusing to work as his gaze drank you in like a starving man, his heart was slightly beating.
Because you looked exactly the same.
Just as you had the last day he saw you.
Unchanged.
Perfect.
You had always been beautiful to him, and that hadn’t changed-not here, not now, not ever, and your eyes softened, crinkling just slightly as you smiled at him, gentle and warm in a way that made something deep in his chest ache, that same look.
He forgot how to breathe, there was no tension. No instinct to fight, no mission pressing at the edges of his mind.
Just you.
And suddenly he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in years.
Like he had finally stepped into a place he was meant to be.
Seconds passed-silent, heavy. You only stared at him, something longing in your gaze, like you had been searching for him for far too long.
Just like the day he left you.
Your name slipped from his lips, barely more than a breath.
You moved toward him then-slow, deliberate-until you stood close enough that he could feel the space between you shrink, and you stopped just in front of him, close enough that he could see every detail, the curve of your lips, the softness in your gaze, the way you looked at him like he was still-
-still someone worth looking at like that.
You looked up at him.
And his chest tightened, his brows furrowed faintly.
Why aren’t you speaking?
Why are you just-
“Nolan?”
Your voice reached him but something was wrong.
It wasn’t quite yours.
It sounded distant, warped, like it was echoing from somewhere far away.
A sharp ringing pierced through his ears.
His expression faltered.
His vision flickered, pain shot through his head, sudden and blinding, and his hand came up instinctively, gripping his forehead as his breath grew uneven, his eyes blown wide.
And then-he felt it, your touch, so faint.
So barely there.
By instinct, his hand shot fast to grab yours, but he couldn’t feel it, it was fading, but he felt your fingers brushing his arm, soft and fleeting, like something already slipping away.
Faint. Barely there.
And then-
“Nolan?”
His eyes flew open.
Air rushed into his lungs as he sat up abruptly, chest heaving, and the familiar darkness surrounded him, broken only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the window, and the bed beneath him was soft.
Darkness.
A different room.
A different life.
Soft blankets tangled around him, and the quiet stillness of a human home, made with brick walls, he could hear a faint police siren outside the window, far from wherever they were, and the dim streetlights in their neighborhood
He turned his head slowly.
His gaze drifted toward the mirror.
Older.
There it was again-the weight of time returned to his face. The lines, the hardened edges. The mustache. Broader shoulders, a larger frame, a man shaped by years he couldn’t undo.
A man who had chosen something else.
He felt a soft hand pressed gently against his chest.
“Nolan?” a familiar yet soft voice touched his ears.
He turned, and there she was, Debbie.
Her black raven straight hair fell loose around her shoulders, her expression heavy with concern, eyes searching his face, and she was warm, grounded, and she looked human.
Alive.
His gaze lingered on her hand-on the softness of it, the warmth seeping through his shirt, but it was not like yours.
Never like yours.
He looked away.
“...yes?” His voice came out steady, controlled, as if nothing had happened at all, his azure eyes still staring at the bed he was in.
Her brows knit together slightly. “You were tossing around, talking…I couldn’t really hear what you were saying.” Her voice softened as she gently nudged him, and finally he looked at her. “Is it the nightmares again?”
His jaw tightened, and for a fraction of a second, the image of you flickered behind his eyes your smile, your voice, your touch-gone.
He shook his head.
“No. Just… the move.” He forced a small, reassuring look. “It’s been a lot.”
And it wasn’t even a lie, just not the truth, he leaned down, pressing a light kiss to her temple, and she relaxed against him, accepting it easily, like she always did.
It was simple, easy, and human.
“You should get some rest,” he murmured, barely above a whisper, his voice still maintaining a gentle tone with her. Debbie looked at him for a second before she smiled faintly, kissing him back before settling again, trusting him without question.
Oh trust.
The word sat bitter in his chest because his wife wouldn’t know the things he has done, she wouldn’t even be able to comprehend the actions he had committed in his lifetime, time has passed, a life had been built and now he is playing house.
Playing the role of a pretend husband that is dutifully, lovingly devoted to his wife, but he knew that if you were here.
You would’ve seen through it all, and you wouldn’t believe it. You would look at him and maybe laugh at the irony, maybe at himself, but not with spitefulness that’s the worst part. He would remember your laugh as gentle as the swaying leaves on the oak trees he had discovered on this planet, and he knew you would’ve looked at this world with amazement and inquisitiveness in your eyes.
Trees? On a planet? Viltrum didn’t have trees, and a bunch of other things he had discovered here, like flowers, maybe you would’ve liked flowers.
And human food was so different from the ones he was used to on his home planet.
And these terms he would have to understand in order to live here, ‘dating’, ‘communication’ ‘love’ ‘marriage’ and other vocabulary that Debbie had taught him.
He even gets to relax on the couch and, every now and then, beat up the bad guys while pretending to be a hero, you would’ve found art interesting to talk to, he tailors his costumes and he drinks beer with the guy, a weird substance in a bottle that makes humans relaxed and dizzy, a way to ‘let things loose every now and then’ but he wouldn’t really understand it at all.
After the day he would then go home and take care of everyday things-simple, ordinary moments he’s still getting used to, because he never thought he would have them, there would always be fighting until bodies fall, always trying to prove your worth, never getting to rest, always moving and doing something, that kind of life feels almost unfamiliar-you would know that.
Look at you, you would say, he would imagine your lips pull into a wide smile.
A wife.
A son.
A house.
Normalcy.
All things he was never meant to have, and yet-
You would’ve loved it here.
The crash downstairs shattered the quiet, immediately breaking his train of thoughts, and he sat up with Debbie, more alert and his eyes sharpened.
It wasn’t loud enough to be anything serious-just wood against hardwood, something small tipping over-but in the stillness of the night, it felt jarring and violent.
Nolan turned to look at Debbie, and she moved.
“Mark?” Debbie’s voice came out tight with sleep and immediate fear, already pushing herself up from the bed, the blankets tangled around her legs as she hurried out, bare feet hitting the floor in uneven steps.
Nolan followed-but slower.
Deliberate.
His body moved, but his mind still lingered somewhere else entirely, caught between the fading remnants of a dream and the present he was supposed to be grounded in, the reality of things.
Still not here, and not fully.
“Mark!” Debbie called again frantic, louder now as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her voice echoing faintly through the house, and Nolan followed behind.
The living room lights weren’t on, only the dim glow from a streetlamp filtered in through the window, casting long, slanted shadows across the floor, and there he was, the familiar inky black hair, and his brown eyes wobbly.
Their son sat on the couch, small, and guilty.
His action figures were scattered everywhere-some on the floor, one tipped over on the table he had clearly climbed on, and the couch cushions were slightly displaced, like he had fallen back onto them in a hurry.
His knee was scraped, the skin broken just enough to bead with red, and Nolan’s azure eyes caught it, and they narrowed.
Debbie exhaled sharply, relief flooding her features as she rushed forward, dropping to her knees in front of him, and her eyes fluttered in tiredness, muttering a quick thank god under her breath, as her eyes finally open, taking in the sight of her son, their son with an injured knee.
“Oh, Mark…” Her hands were quick but gentle, brushing over his arms, checking for anything worse. “Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere else?”
Mark shook his head, sniffling slightly, trying to act braver than he felt.
Nolan stayed back, a few steps away, watching, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, posture straight, almost rigid, observing, and slightly detached, humans were so fragile. His son, half viltrumite couldn’t even stomach a fall yet alone a minor scrape.
But he knew if you were here, you would be so gentle with his son, and not look at him disappointedly, say soothing words to calm Mark down, maybe look at him with a brow raised, because that was always your gentle nature and yet-where did that bring you now?
“Mark, what did I tell you about climbing on the table?” Debbie sighed, though the frustration in her voice softened almost immediately into something tired and familiar.
“Sorry, Mom…” Mark mumbled, shoulders hunching as his gaze dropped to his lap, his fingers picked at the fabric of his pajama pants. “I was just… playing.”
Of course you were.
Nolan exhaled through his nose, quiet, controlled.
Debbie pushed herself to stand, already turning toward the hallway. “I’ll grab the first aid kit-”
“I’ll handle it.”
The words cut in cleanly.
Too quickly.
Even Nolan registered it a second too late.
Debbie paused mid-step, turning back to him with a flicker of surprise across her face.
“Nolan?”
“You have work early.” His voice softened, but there was an edge beneath it, he closed the distance between them, his expression soft as he looked over her face. “You need sleep. I’ve got it.”
For a moment, she studied him-like she was trying to read something deeper in his expression.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
“…Okay.”
She stepped closer, rising onto her toes just enough to press a light kiss against his cheek, lingering for a second like she always did. “Thank you.” left her lips in relief.
Her warmth brushed against him, familiar, comforting.
But not-
He stopped that thought, she pulled away and slowly headed back upstairs, her footsteps fading gradually until the house settled into quiet again,.
And then-
It was just him and his son, Mark.
“Stay put, son.”
Mark nodded immediately, shifting to sit more properly on the couch, hands folding together in his lap carefully, his brown eyes watching him, aways watching him.
Nolan turned, heading toward the supply closet down the hallway, his steps were measured, but there was something tighter in his shoulders now, something coiled beneath the surface.
Restless.
He opened the closet with a clink and reached in without hesitation.
He knew exactly where everything was, from the layout of the medicine cabinet, and the gauze, and other things, of course he did.
The kit was already in his hand before he fully registered grabbing it.
Too quick.
Too automatic.
The door slammed shut behind him with a sharper force than necessary, the sound echoing briefly in the narrow hallway.
And for a split second-
He wasn’t alone, you stood there.
In the locker room, sitting still and silent.
Watching him.
Wearing that same uniform. That same look in your eyes-soft, knowing, patient.
Like you had always been there.
Like you never left.
His chest tightened, his jaw clenched almost immediately, his expression hardening as quickly as it had slipped.
Gone.
You’re gone, you were gone.
You should stay gone.
He forced the image out, turning sharply and walking back without another glance, away from that memory, away from you.
When he returned, Mark was still exactly where he’d left him, though his fingers twisted together more tightly now, nerves settling in, Nolan set the kit down on the table, movements precise, efficient, and he unscrewed the cap of the antiseptic, the faint, sterile scent rising into the air.
“Give me your leg.”
Mark obeyed, though he tensed the second Nolan’s hand closed around his ankle, steady but firm.
The moment the soaked cloth touched the scrape-
“Ow! Dad-” Mark flinched, his whole body jerking slightly as the sting hit.
Nolan didn’t pause, didn’t soften, like he was used to doing things like this, which he was.
“Then don’t climb where you shouldn’t,” he muttered, voice low and even, as if the pain was a lesson rather than something to comfort, and Mark continued to whine.
His fingers worked carefully, though-controlled, methodical, ensuring the wound was cleaned properly before wrapping it in gauze, not a movement wasted, and not a single shake in his hands.
The room fell quiet again.
Only the faint sounds of Mark’s uneven breathing, the occasional hiss when it stung too much, Nolan was almost finished
Then-
“Dad?”
Nolan glanced up, and Mark was staring at him, not like before but his time, it was different.
Searching, and too aware of something, knowing something he wasn’t supposed to be knowing.
“What is it?” Nolan asked, his tone neutral, but his gaze sharpened slightly.
Mark hesitated, his fingers fidgeting again, picking at a loose thread on the couch, and his brown pupils looked down on the ground, between his fingers, his lips opening before closing.
“…who’s-” And then your name left his lips, and everything stopped, the air, the moment, him.
Nolan went completely still.
The gauze in his hand froze mid-motion, and for a second, it was like the world narrowed to nothing but that name echoing in his head, you.
Memory struck without warning.
You in his arms, closer than anything else had ever been, your warmth pressed against him, your breath soft against his skin, your voice, quieter than most, but steady but grounding him when everything else had fallen apart, when the virus took out most of his-your kind, you let him in your arms, and held him in the bed, that one night.
You looked at him, not like a soldier, not like a weapon, like he was something… more.
That night when you both had made love, that’s what it truly was, what really happened, he didn’t understand it at the time, not fully, but only because Debbie had shaped his understanding of it but because with her, there had been Mark, and then a thought suddenly cut through his mind.
Something sharper.
Something unwelcome.
What if a life grew inside you too? would it matter now?
What if he left something behind without even knowing?
His throat tightened.
His chest felt too tight.
“Nothing.”
The word came out flat, cold. Immediate, and wrong.
Mark didn’t look convinced, of course children noticed more than they were given credit for, and he frowned.
His brows knit together slightly, lips parting like he wanted to ask more-
But Nolan didn’t let him, didn’t no wouldn’t give him the chance.
He moved quickly, too quickly, scooping Mark up into his arms before the conversation could go any further.
“Sleep, you have school tomorrow.”
Mark shifted in his grip, unsettled, but didn’t argue, Mark was small he couldn’t really fight or wrestle against his dad, he let himself be carried, though his gaze lingered on Nolan’s face, searching for something that wasn’t being given.
Nolan gently set him down on the bed, pulling the blanket over him with a practiced motion, before turning away.
Mark laid back on his pillows carefully trying not to make his bandaged knee ache more worse, and stared at Nolan's back, his breathing slightly uneven.
Mark hesitated.
“Dad-”
“Don’t say her name again, do you understand?”
The words were quiet, controlled, but still carried heavy weight, like it was final.
Mark stilled, before slowly nodding.
“…Okay.”
Nolan didn’t respond.
He turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him with a soft, definitive click.
-
He didn’t go back upstairs, not really, didn’t bother to return to the warmth of the bed.
To Debbie, his supposed wife.
Instead, he walked back into the living room and sat down on the black couch, alone, the silence pressed in around him, thicker now, heavier.
Mark’s toys were still scattered across the floor, one of them lay on its side near his foot, plastic limbs bent unnaturally from the fall.
He stared at it.
But didn’t see it.
His elbows rested on his knees as his hands came up, dragging slowly down his face before pressing hard against it, fingers digging into his temples,
This life.
This house.
This damned modern house.
This carefully constructed-
lie.
Everything here felt real, too real.
The warmth, the routine, the familiarity.
Debbie.
Mark.
It should’ve been enough, it was supposed to be enough.
And yet-even if you weren’t here you still dragged him back somehow, even when he thought he shook you away and left you buried in a forgotten void.
You were still there, not in body, not in reality.
But in everything else.
In memory.
In silence.
In the spaces he couldn’t fill, in the hole that you did leave in his chest, even if he didn’t want to admit that.
He had watched you die.
Held you as the life drained from your body, felt the exact moment your warmth faded into something cold and distant.
He remembered it too clearly.
Every second.
Every breath.
He knew where your body was, floating in the made saturn ring of viltrum, your body among the countless drifting bodies, lost in the endless dark, he always knew where it was, and he could always find it.
He shouldn’t know that.
There was no reason to.
And yet-
He did.
Always.
Like maybe some part of him refused to let you be just another forgotten thing, maybe because deep down inside, some part of him that he hidden away all those years ago, the part you touched so deeply long time ago, when you made him feel things that he wasn’t supposed to be feeling, maybe he didn’t want it be forgotten.
His chest ached.
Deep.
Relentless.
Unchanged by time.
“I hate you…” he muttered, voice rough, barely audible in the empty room.
The words felt hollow the moment they left him, because they weren’t true, they had never been true.
His hand dragged down his face again, slower this time, his breathing uneven, heavier than it should’ve been.
Because even now-
After everything he had built-
After everything he had chosen, to forsake you.
You still had a piece of him, and you had taken it with you.
His shoulders tensed, his body rigid as he leaned forward further, his hands covering his face again, his jaw clenched and he gritted his teeth.
And then-
It slipped, quiet, unwanted.
A tear fell through his fingers, and then another.
He didn’t move to stop them, didn’t bother to hide them.
I'm not usually one for "normal" AUs of magical/supernatural media or one with aliens, but...
Where are the fics? Where's the warlord! Thragg fic? The Viking! Viltrumites au?
Where's the historical AUs? The hanahaki fics where it's either a space disease or something native to earth and it fucks the other side up because they're never had to deal with it before.
Like I can't write them all myself (especially because I have zero experience/knowledge of some of this stuff), so where are they??
I want to read some repressed gay 1900s military Kregg x male reader fic
Or knight! Thragg returning from battle and being made a lord or duke and given you, a noble/royal woman to be his wife.
Or warlord! Thragg stealing you away to make babies with
Or twin/triplets! Mark au where you've got different variants all trying to date you, some (reverse) harem type shit
Or idk, university au where Nolan's dad is your professor and invites you to his office or something.
A better fate, for all involved | Thragg/f! Grayson! Reader
>> Ever since you were a kid, your type had been obvious.
Strong, powerful, charismatic.
Thragg was all those things.
If you happen to act on your crush towards him, it'll be like hitting two birds with one stone. You get to have a relationship for the first time, and also try and change Thragg.
Or—
You come up with the ultimate plan to defeat Thragg with the power of love. It somehow works out.
Tags: NSFW, discussion of abortion, spoilers for comics (Argall's heir plotline), mentions of violence, sex, breeding, pregnancy, childbirth, fluff, dates, soft Thragg, Debbie being a good mom, slightly implied Debbie/Paul/Nolan, babies, slightly crack taken seriously at times (you'll get what I mean).
16.8k words | AO3
Debbie had always known you had a type.
Growing up, you and Mark had done nearly everything together, sharing interests and liking similar things. But where Mark was always on the heroes side, you were always looking at the villains with big eyes, subtly flustered.
It was adorable to watch, and it didn't take Debbie long to realise her daughter was at an age to get crushes. Innocent, little crushes on cartoon characters, but crushes all the same.
Where Mark liked confident and intelligent women (based on his numerous crushes on movie stars and anime characters), you liked your men strong. Watching you bury your face in a pillow when a strong and charismatic villain appeared on screen always made the woman chuckle fondly. And how could she judge you when she had married an extremely powerful man herself?
Debbie didn't mind at all. Growing up, her own Omma had been… strict about Debbie dating. It wasn't until she was well into adulthood that Debbie had even been allowed to go on dates. It had left her feeling… awkward, behind everyone else.
So, when she had children of her own, Debbie swore never to be like that with you or Mark. Obviously she'd ensure you were both careful, but she wanted you to feel comfortable talking about these things with her, wanted you to feel free, wanted to give you that freedom to experiment and live your life because one day you wouldn't be her little girl anymore, and Debbie didn't want you to feel how she did growing up, watching friends date with envy and feeling awkward and wrong-footed on every date she went on.
Debbie would never let her children feel the way she did.
Thankfully, Nolan didn't seem like he cared much either. Too many times had Debbie seen men get up in arms about their daughters becoming their own person and not their “little girl” (read: property) anymore. Some men were normal about it, simply not wanting their daughters to get hurt. Other men though…
Well. Nolan wasn't like that. He teased and gave light warnings, but otherwise left you and Mark alone to explore your feelings and what you liked.
“It's not like that on Viltrum,” he'd said one night, Debbie having brought up the topic and mentioning how most parents were about their children– particularly their daughters– dating. “There, we… take what we want. If someone wants to… date another, they can, they just have to prove themselves worthy first. If our kids want to date someone, it's their choice, something no one else can interfere with.”
Debbie had hummed and smiled, liking that mindset even if something about his wording was odd. “That's very progressive. More people could do with that style of thinking.” She said, sitting and brushing her hair.
Then she brought up your preferences, Nolan chuckling in response.
“Ah, a Viltrumite through and through. Her wanting a strong partner someday is respectable. She'd fit in with my people.”
A thought occurred to her. “Do you think she'd want to date a Viltrumite then?” Debbie asked. It would certainly make sense… and maybe she'd finally be able to meet one of her husband's race that way.
Yet at her question, Nolan coughed, choking on his spit for a moment.
“Ah– I… no. No. I don't think– you remember what I was like when I first came here, right? She'd never have the patience for it.” He said with a laugh, hiding how deeply that thought terrified him.
If either you or Mark were with a Viltrumite… he shuddered to imagine it. He'd adapted to Earth, yes, but would a potential partner adapt to them? He doubted it, and the thought of either of his babies being in that rigid, stifling culture with a partner who'd force them to conform…
Shaking his head, Nolan continued preparing for bed, setting this conversation aside. It was just… parental gossip. Nothing more. Just him and Debbie discussing their children. They wouldn't actually be with his people that way. He doubted it would even be allowed when you both came of age and gained your powers.
No, Nolan had nothing to worry about.
At twenty-two years old, you were a hero, incredibly powerful, had now travelled across the galaxy and met aliens… and still hadn't had a single date.
An odd thing to be thinking about during a fight for your life, but you chalked it up to the whole “life flashing before your eyes” thing. What else were you supposed to be thinking about while duking it out with Viltrumites?
As you dodged rapid punches, you kept your senses piqued, making sure you weren't caught off guard as you dealt with this guy. Despite that though, you couldn't help but think over your life, your wishes and regrets.
One of them of course being that you were still single. Again, not the right time, but every time a hand slashed by your face, you couldn't help but think of all the experiences you haven't had, that you might never have if you die here. And isn't that unfair? Being the older sister, having your powers longer, and your brother still having two whole relationships before you.
At this rate, Oliver will get a date before me, you thought with a frown, flipping back to dodge a hit, which was… always weird to do in space.
And you couldn't allow that to happen. So with a sharp strike, you slammed your fist into the Viltrumite’s face, dazing him before you slipped fingers between his teeth and began to pull on his jaw, ripping it off and forcing him unconscious in the process.
You turned, quickly looking around before with a burst of speed you shot back into the fray, joining your friends and family in the battle, helping Zoe as she shot Viltrumites with those darts and shielding Space Racer from any on his tail.
Through it all, you were overly aware of him.
Hovering in the distance, standing stalwart before his planet, the Grand Regent of the Viltrum Empire watched on, stoic and silent, yet to take part in the fray.
It was terrifying.
It was maddening.
It was… distracting. You couldn't help but keep an eye on him, heart hammering with some primal fear as all your senses screamed at you back! Back!
Perhaps Viltrumites gave off a type of energy, one only noticeable to other Viltrumites. If so, then it was pouring off of the Regent in waves, sending ice through your veins and an odd heat you really didn't want to think about in your belly. Because of course it did.
You couldn't believe you were attracted to him, especially right now. You did your best to ignore it, fighting off different attackers, but as your father went in to attack him, your belly swooped with a mix of fear and something else as Thragg dodged the hit with ease before winding up and punching your father so hard he went straight down to the planet.
You stared, mouth agape.
Thragg turned, just for a moment, and eyed you.
Your heart skipped a beat.
Then he was gone, following Nolan's path and you turned back to the fight, continuing to do your best.
In the aftermath of Viltrum’s destruction, your skin radiated warmth.
You stared at the remains of what once was a home to countless lives, thousands if not millions of years of history… gone.
Regret laid heavy in your belly. How could you have done this? This– this wasn't right. You'd just done what Viltrumites had done to countless others. And– and maybe it made things even and showed them how it felt, but…
It was still wrong.
And so, so stupid.
As Thragg roared in furious pain and ripped the head straight off of Thaedus, you realised just how bad you'd all fucked up.
Because now the Viltrumites had nothing to lose but their lives.
And Viltrumites had never been afraid of death before.
As Thragg went after your dad and brother, you could only hope they had it handled as you and Allen began searching the field of debris for your foolish baby brother, dodging and fighting off the other remaining Viltrumites as you did.
The second you found Oliver though, you passed him off to Allen before shooting after your dad and brother, nearly gasping as you saw your dad's brutalized form. Flying faster, you reached Mark just as Thragg began to loosen his hold.
His eyes are sad, was your first thought as you slowed down, nearly freezing as you both stared at each other. Gently, you reached and grasped Mark’s body, cradling it against yours.
— Please. — You projected, pleading with your eyes. — Please, just– I am sorry. —
His features twisted, Thragg's mourning still clear even as he glared in anger.
— You are sorry? You destroy our home, and that is what you say? —
You lowered your head in apology and submission. It was all you could do at the moment.
Thragg stared, watching as the other Viltrumites began to catch up to them. As Kregg called for him to finish you and your brother off though, Thragg just closed his eyes.
— There are too few of us already. Go, child, take your kin and go. —
You would've sighed in relief if you weren't in space.
— Thank you. — Your words were barely a whisper across his mind, and yet as you flew away, father and brother gathered in your arms, Thragg allowed them to linger, distracting himself with the paltry words instead of the raw wound of his grief.
Staring at the still forms of your brothers and dad, you turned to Allen.
“I'm going to Earth.” You told him, Talescria appearing in the distance as the ship approached it. “I have to. My mom needs to know what's going on and– I should inform the GDA too, and keep a watch out. In case the Viltrumites go there.”
Allen stared at you, much more subdued since Thaedus had died. You swear his light had even dimmed, the warmth in his skin giving way for something colder, sadder.
“You sure about that? You wouldn't rather be with them?”
You hesitated before shaking your head. “They'll be fine. I trust you to keep them safe. But Earth– Mark would want me going there. I just… need to do this, Allen.”
He frowned, laying a hand on your shoulder. “I understand. I'll have a ship prepared for you as soon as I can. I… think I can give those orders now, since…”
Since he was now the most powerful person on Talescria, and the closest person to Thaedus. It was all but confirmed he'd be in charge, at least for a bit.
“Thank you, friend.” You whisper, giving him a hug.
You pretended not to notice how his breath hitched or how he shook.
Today had been rough for everyone.
It took two weeks for the ship to fly from Talescria to Earth.
You shaved off five days by flying there yourself, pushing yourself to your limits, having only an oxygen mask and a digital map to show you the way.
Breaking through the atmosphere, you looked around, taking a deep breath. Despite the distance, you didn't see anything immediately bad, no destruction, no smoke, no Viltrumites.
You relaxed a bit, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, tired and eager for rest. But you– first you had to–
A tingling swept up your spine, and you went still. Slowly, your hands dropped from your face and you turned, heart beginning to race as that aura filled the air, senses tingling with dread as your gaze met Thragg's.
“Yes, we are here.” He said like he'd read your mind– or more likely the dread splashed across your features.
Taking a trembling breath, you swallowed, eyes stinging from lack of sleep and physical exhaustion. Yet despite the way you yearn to go home and just rest, you cannot.
“How long?” You ask, mind running wild. Did the GDA know? Cecil? Were the heroes fine? Or had they all been slaughtered before you had arrived? “You– what have you done?”
“Nothing.” He answered calmly, keeping the distance between you. He was so still as he hovered it almost looked like he was standing on air, only the rippling of his cloak saying otherwise. “We have been here since you destroyed our home. Destroying your own in retaliation is the least we should do.”
You tensed up, fists clenching at your sides.
At the sight, Thragg sighed. “But we will not. I will not. It is… needless, and will only lead to our mutual end.”
Licking your lips, you glanced down, taking in the serenity of a world untouched. “So you've… what? Settled in? Going to… to breed with us?”
He hummed. “You catch on quick. Faster than your brother, from what I've observed so far. But yes, we have. Already the remaining Viltrumites live among the people of this world, wearing their clothes, walking their streets… soon, they will begin repopulating, and our empire will rise again.”
Wind whistled in your ears.
“I doubt you want to do this.” You can't help but say. “It seems…”
Thragg eyed you, some light form of curiosity visible in his gaze. “Beneath us? It is. Breeding with lesser beings is an insult to who we are. But…” He sighed, a truly exhausted sound. “It is either this, or extinction. And I wasn't made Grand Regent just to destroy everything I was made to protect.”
Though you shouldn't, you felt sympathy for him.
“I'm sorry.” The words slip out on their own.
His eyes narrow.
“Those words again… I do not understand them. You go against us, your own people, destroy our home… and yet you apologize? For what reason?”
Under his scrutinizing gaze, you can only shrug. “I didn't want to do that. But I did. Because I had to. Humans are my people too, and so far it's looked like you only wanted to hurt them. Can't you at least understand my side? Why I'd want to protect the only home I have known?”
Thragg just stared at you in silence before looking away.
“I suppose I can. Even if you are wrong in how you feel.” He muttered. “You will outlive every person you know on this planet. What will you have then? You will mourn forevermore if you stay by their sides.”
You just shrug again. “I know. But I'll have my dad and my brothers. Maybe I'll even marry a Viltrumite and have Viltrumite kids. I won't be so alone then, will I?”
Something about your response visibly struck him. Thragg's lips parted, looking at you once more with calculating fascination, his curious gaze sweeping up and down your form and leaving heat in its wake.
“… I see.” He whispers, confusing you. What did you say to get a response like that? What was going through his mind right now?
Fuck, but you wished mind reading was one of your powers.
“My people will not interfere with those of this world. We will not harm you, but nor will we help or intervene in human matters. We could take this world by force and simply take what we want, but I believe this approach to be more suitable for everyone involved.”
You nod slowly to show you understand. It's not like you have any other options. There was no fighting this.
You just hoped your family would be just as understanding about this as you were. You didn't want to imagine what would happen if they tried to fight this.
“You likely won't see me again.” He said, snapping you out of your worries. “I will remain on our vessel, observing from afar.”
“You won't join in on the repopulation efforts?” You blurt out in confusion, the both of you pausing. “I… I mean, you're… literally the strongest Viltrumite around. Wouldn't you… want to pass those genetics on?” You ask awkwardly.
Looking back at you, fluffy cape brushing against his jaw in the breeze, Thragg once more sweeps his gaze along your figure.
Heat roils in your belly.
“… as much as I am willing to lower myself for the good of my people… I will not lower myself as to lay with a human.” He admits bluntly. And then, with that said, he's gone.
As you're left hovering above the planet, you can't help but think about how he said human…
But not Viltrumite.
Or even hybrid.
The realisation played on your mind the entire flight home.
“Mom?”
Entering your house through the back door, you looked around. At the yell of your name, you jerked, smiling tiredly at her as she swept you up in her arms.
“Oh, I was worried sick! Where's– where are Mark and Oliver?” She asked, looking behind you.
Swallowing, you gently guide her over to the living room.
“It's… a long story. But they are alive, just recovering. It was…” You gave your mom a tired look. “It was bad, mom.”
Afterwards, your mother was trembling a bit before putting herself together. It made your heart ache to watch. Debbie Grayson had always been a strong woman. You just wish she didn't have to be.
“I can't believe– oh, Oliver…”
“It could've been worse.” You mutter unhelpfully. “Thragg… God, we destroyed his planet. It's a miracle he spared us at all.”
“And Nolan thought that was a good idea? He didn't consider how– how stupid it was?” Debbie asked, angry before once more looking sad. Sad and tired at the realisation both of her boys her nearly died multiple times. “That man…” She growled.
Gently, you pulled her into a hug. “It's okay, mom. Everything is going to be okay… it's– are you going to be okay if I leave for a bit? I need to tell Cecil what happened.”
Wiping her face clear of any tears, she nodded, sitting up. “Of course. Paul was going to come by later anyway. Be home for dinner?” She asked tentatively.
You give her a bright smile. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”
After debriefing and explaining everything that had happened in space and with the Viltrumites to Cecil, you headed back home to shower, eat, and then promptly knocked out– but not before saying hi to Paul.
As far as stepdad’s went, he was cool. Even if he wasn't your stepdad. Yet.
The next day you woke up at noon, having a slow day and spending it with your mom. The both of you kept each other grounded, stuck in a limbo as you waited for the rest of your family to return while also trying to go on as normal. At least Debbie had Paul who, while not used to this hectic, super life, was a fresh breath of normalcy, something that was much needed in your lives.
While he gave your mom the comfort she needed, you went back to hero work, trying to distract yourself and keep the world safe. More than once you swore you spotted a Viltrumite, but you couldn't be sure. It felt like your mind was playing tricks on you.
The day after you returned, you'd tried calling Eve, wanting to reassure her about Mark, but she hadn't responded. To any of your calls. So you gave her some time.
But as a week went by you decided enough was enough and showed up at her place, knocking on her window.
“Eve? Please open. I don't know or care why but you ignoring me is starting to worry me.” You called out, hearing movement from within before the curtain was pulled back.
As she silently opened the window, you got a good look at her.
She was… big. Plump.
Mark was going to faint when he sees her, you thought, imagining your brother getting one of those dramatic anime nosebleeds.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
“Hey, Eve…” You frowned. “Is something the matter? I tried calling you…”
Her face crumbled, and before you knew it, you had an armful of Atom Eve and were soothing her as she cried.
“I-I did– is Mark okay? Where is he? There's something I n-need to t-tell him.” She stammered, sniffling.
“He's alive. But he's on Talescria right now, healing. He, uh, it was rough out there. It's a miracle I'm the only one not hurt.” You say as you guide her towards the bed, sitting down with her. “But he's going to be alright, okay? And I know as soon as he's awake, he'll be rushing back here to see you. You were all he could think about, Eve.”
You must've said the wrong thing as she started crying heavier.
Freezing, you hesitated before wrapping her up in your embrace, soothing her the best you could. You weren't sure if you were doing a good job, but she was leaning against you and holding you in return, so it couldn't have been too bad.
And then Eve blurted out that she had been pregnant.
“… oh, Eve…” You whisper, all the pieces slotting together. “You got an abortion?” You ask softly, guessing.
She nods, sniffling and wiping her face. “I didn't know what to do. If it was the right decision or not, a-and maybe it wasn't, but I couldn't do it alone, and all I could think about was Mark coming back and a baby would just be more responsibility neither of us are ready for. But also… I was scared that if he– that the baby would be the only thing I had left–” her voice wavered, a few more years slipping down her rounded cheeks which you gently swiped away.
“Shhh, shhh, it's okay, it's okay.” You rock her in your arms. “Eve, you made the right choice. If you and Mark want a baby some day, you can try again. But you knew you weren't ready right now, know that Mark isn't ready, so you made the right choice.”
She made a gasping sound, taking deep breaths as her crying died down.
“You think so?” She asked, sounding so lost and unsure. God, had she had no support? Did your mom even know or had Eve been too scared of Debbie’s reaction? Considering what her own parents were like, you didn't blame her.
Squeezing Eve gently, you kissed her brow the same way your mom did to you when you were sad.
“I know so. Mark would never be angry and he'll understand. If anything, he'll be regretful he couldn't be here for you.” You comforted her, stroking her hair. “So don't you worry. When he gets here, he's just going to want to hold you.”
Eve glanced up at you, eyes screaming exhaustion after crying so hard.
“Thank you. I… it's been hard, doing this on my own.”
“Mm, I know. I can't imagine what it's been like for you. But I'm here now. And… if you ever feel like talking to my mom… she'll be there for you too.”
Nodding, she held onto you tighter, eyes shutting as she focused on her breathing and calming down.
You ended up holding her for the entire night, keeping your brother's love safe. She needed it. You think you needed it too.
The next day you headed home after making sure she'd be okay and reminding her she could always call, quiet and withdrawn. As lunch came around, you helped your mom cook, making a bigger portion than usual.
“Hungry, are we?” Your mom teased gently, making you huff.
“Always. But… uh, I was thinking about…” You hesitated, stuck on the words. Were you? Actually?
Now that you were thinking about it though, you couldn't not do it. It seemed like the right course of action.
“Uh, I was thinking about taking a… friend some. He's… kinda lonely and probably hasn't had a homemade meal in… forever.” Literally never, in fact.
Debbie gave you a look before slowly getting out a tupperware container.
“A friend, hmm?” She said knowingly, making your face heat up. “That's sweet of you, honey. I'm sure he'll appreciate it.”
You stared at the large slice of lasagna you cut him.
“Yeah, I'm sure he will…”
Suit on and food put inside a much more protective case and then put in a bag you'd slung over your shoulder, you flew past the atmosphere, beginning to look around for a ship of some kind.
You flew towards the moon, moving around it before finding a giant warship laying stationary on the dark side. With a grin, you shot down, flying past windows in search of the Grand Regent.
You'd reconsidered doing this during the flight, but the further from earth you got the more sure you got as well.
All you could think about was what Thragg said. Then of the fact while the rest of the Viltrumites would be surrounded by people, he'd be up here all alone.
Alone and… probably mourning.
The silence of space was always a gentle thing, a blanket over your sense of hearing. As you flew past windows in that silence, your thoughts and worries were loud, overlapping and leaving you second-guessing yourself. And why wouldn't you? You were bringing the fucking Grand Regent of Viltrumites food. What the fuck were you thinking?
I am thinking that leaving him alone is a very bad idea. You told yourself, blocking and dismissing all other thoughts. If dad could change on earth, then so can the others.
And if they could change, then Thragg could change.
You were just being pragmatic! Logical! Forward thinking. He was undefeatable and had the loyalty of a bunch of super beings. Trying this was a good idea overall, and had nothing to do with the attraction you felt towards him. Which you refused to think too hard on considering he'd nearly murdered half your family.
Turning around a corner, you found the helm of the ship (that was the correct term, right? Ugh, words) and flew towards a large, curving window. Peering inside, you felt a thrill upon seeing Thragg sat on a throne, looking pretty despondent.
With a knock on the glass, you waved at him, offering a slight smile.
He drowned in the silence of the ship, so well made that not even the engine, lights, or any of the other machinery made a sound. Truly, it made him feel alone despite the slaves on board, all keeping clear of him and staying in their place.
As he sat on his throne, gazing out at the dark expanse and just about glimpsing the blue orb that was earth at the very edge of the window, Thragg ached.
His hands were empty and his mind too loud. Before, he would've spoken to Argall’s skull, allowing himself the childish comfort of pretending the man could still hear him, imagining the way he'd respond, how he'd frown with disappointment when Thragg was wrong or smirk with pride when he was right.
Now, he did not even have that.
Alone, he sat and hurt, festering in it. He forced himself to think about his mistakes, their losses, over and over again until he could almost cry. The urge came and went as he breathed deeply, heart clenching and fingers cold as he forced himself to feel that hurt, the weight of his mistakes crushing.
How could he have let this happen? He'd been picked– nay, he'd been born for this exact purpose, made under Emperor Argall’s watchful eye and raised to be the man's heir until his true one was found.
Thragg had been made to serve the empire.
Instead, his actions had destroyed it.
And that realisation was crushing.
Every mistake he made haunted him, every death, deserved or not, left him more empty than before.
If only he had killed Thaedus when he had the chance.
If only he hadn't over-corrected and purged the weakness from his people's hearts, leading to billions of lives lost.
Perhaps if so many hadn't died, more would've survived the Scourge.
Perhaps if he'd made different choices… if he'd actually attacked back on Talescria…
Maybe Viltrum would still exist.
And now I have spared Nolan and his spawn. Will that too come to bite me? He closed his eyes, scowling before rubbing his face, groaning into his palm.
What was the correct thing to do? What was the answer? He'd been raised to be a warrior, to be the strongest. Everything else had come second.
Did you fail me, Argall? Or am I just so unworthy that every choice I make weakens us further?
Who even knew at this point? Perhaps it was both. Argall had been wise, yes, but by Viltrumite standards. And Thragg had tried so hard to emulate him. But he had failed, had focused on their brutality and strength instead.
With a grimace, he lowered his head.
I should've never been–
A knock ripped him out of his thoughts.
Sitting up straight, he looked ahead, blinking once, the only sign of his surprise, as he saw you floating outside the shuttle.
You waved, smiling awkwardly before making a gesture, then pointing at your bag.
What…?
With a deep breath, Thragg tapped the console on the armrest. Outside, an airlock opened and you flew in.
Standing up, Thragg waited for you to appear before him. When you did, he swept his gaze along your form, lingering in places he didn't wish to name. As he met your eyes though, his brows furrowed.
“Why are you here?” Straight to the point, he asked, looking down at you as you walked closer.
“I… well, honestly I'm not sure why. I just thought about visiting. Is that okay?”
Thragg just stared. You awkwardly shifted on your feet. Finally, he sighed, turning back to his throne without another care.
“You are already here. You may as well stay and sate whatever urge brought you here.” He sat, watching you once more. He noticed how you kept shifting and fiddling under his gaze, and wondered if he scared you.
Or perhaps… His eyes narrowed, catching the way your eyes flicked over his form, it is something else.
Clearing your throat, you took off your bag. “Right. Anyway… I brought you food.”
What?
“My mom and I cooked together and we made too much, and so I thought… y'know, all alone on a space ship, you probably don't have stuff for a homemade meal.” As you spoke you approached him, pulling out a plastic container and some utensils.
Thragg just blankly stared, unsure if this was some trick or something.
“You… made a meal with your parent… and thought of me?” He questioned.
Your expression shifted, flustered and embarrassed. “I… well when you put it like that…” You shake your head, huffing. “Whatever. Just– here.”
Thragg eyed the see-through box before taking it, unable to deny he was curious. It was just such an… odd situation to be in.
Opening it, he was met with steam and a savoury scent that had his stomach clenching.
Ah. Right. He hadn't eaten in some days. He'd been… preoccupied.
Taking the fork– which looked tiny in his grip and made your lips twitch– he stabbed a piece and brought it to his lips. He felt your eyes on him the entire time he put it in his mouth and chewed. Flavour burst on his tongue, things he did not have the name for mingling and spreading across his palate.
A low hum escaped him as his hunger suddenly skyrocketed, and he happily continued to eat.
Turning your face away, you hid a smile, happy he was enjoying something you made.
Finishing the meal, Thragg suddenly came back to, realising he'd just scarfed it all down. And not only was his stomach pleasantly full, but…
He didn't feel as much hurt as before either.
Clearing his throat, Thragg wiped his lips carefully, setting the container down.
“That was pleasant. Though I am still confused as to why you are here.” He said, watching as you tidied it up, putting it back in the bag.
“I… again, I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was thinking you're evil and horrible and have done worse to hundreds of other species, but you still lost everything you knew and that means something. I mean… shit, if you destroyed earth, I don't think I'd be able to go on.”
Floating over towards the glass, you gazed out at the hundreds of stars scattered about, hugging yourself.
“I just… I know it's not what Viltrumites do, but on Earth we try to empathize and sympathize with others who've gone through something horrible. So… regardless if you deserve it or not, if you want it or not… I'm sorry for what we did. I'm sorry for your loss. You're stronger than anyone I know for being able to shoulder it so well.” You said the last part while looking over your shoulder at him, and Thragg was trapped, sucked into those depths of yours.
His stomach roiled, but not unpleasantly. The weight on his shoulders lightened a bit as well, and Thragg didn't know how to respond to that.
To have the daughter of a traitor say this… to have you who helped destroy their home…
He didn't know what to say or to feel.
So instead he stood and joined you, both of you staring out at the void your ancestors had traversed for aeons.
The ship felt a little less quiet then.
Entering the house with a smile on your face, you didn't realise you were humming until your mom pointed it out.
“Oh! I… suppose I'm just happy.” You say, shrugging as you wash the dishes. Debbie just smiles knowingly.
It had been a few weeks since you got back, and there was still no sign of Mark or Nolan. Oliver would probably take longer than them. But during that wait, you and mom had done your best to return to normalcy.
Paul came over regularly, and Eve dropped by too. One night you'd come home only to stop, finding them hugging, Eve teary eyed.
You left them be, not interrupting the moment between your mom and the girl she already saw as a second daughter.
And between all the heroing and family time, you kept going to see a certain powerful (and lonely) Viltrumite.
It had been… interesting.
“Happy, hmm? And how happy does this ‘friend’ make you?” Your mom asked, pushing her sleeves up and helping you.
Scoffing, you give her a look. “Don't say it like that.” She just grinned. “I mean it! He's– first of all, if you found out who it was, you'd lose your shit, mom.”
Debbie hummed. Then– “Is it Cecil?”
The sheer casualness she said it with made you stop and burst into startled laughter.
“What?! Ce– no! I mean, I like him but… no. But why did you think of him?” You ask, still chuckling a bit.
Debbie shrugs, drying off her hands. “Oh, well you did say I'd lose it, and that man is too manipulative for you. So if not him, who?”
You hesitated, setting a dried plate down. Did you tell her…? It wasn't like there was much to say.
For all that you visited Thragg regularly, bringing him food you made and keeping him company as he became withdrawn and mournful, you doubted he'd reciprocate your burgeoning crush on him. Though…
Biting the inside of your cheek, you considered what he'd be like as a father. Because that's how you'd get him, right? Give him an heir. Help him repopulate. And as the years went by, he'd be like Nolan, softening for his kids and wife.
It was certainly a plan.
Damn, I'm becoming Cecil. You thought before looking at your mom.
“… if I said the guy who nearly killed us all, how grounded am I?”
Silence.
Debbie stared at you for a long, long moment before grabbing a bottle from the cupboard. You just awkwardly watched as she knocked back a full glass.
Them, she giggled. Giddy, almost mad.
“I– ooh, Nolan is going to have a heart attack! I knew– oh god, I joked about you liking–” she giggled some more, and you worried you broke your mom.
You inched towards the phone.
“Ah– kid?”
“Paul, get over here!” You hissed into the phone. “I accidentally gave my mom a mental breakdown by saying who my crush is!”
“I'm on my way.”
After your mom's mini breakdown(?), the next morning she told you that so long as you were safe, you could do what you wanted. You'd be twenty-three before long, after all, and she trusted your judgement.
Plus… you may or may not have shared your plan with her. And despite her pain and distrust towards Nolan now, Debbie did know that her love and the children they had together did change him. Not enough at the time, but it did change him.
So if there was even a chance that you could change this… Thragg man, stop him from being a threat to Earth and her family… you had her full support.
“Just don't rush,” she warned you, hands clasped in hers. “Be sure you want this before you do anything. I don't want you regretting anything when it's too late.”
Smiling, you kissed your mom's cheek and hugged her.
“Don't worry, mom. I know what I'm doing.”
Not long after that, you once again flew up towards Thragg's ship, carrying with you a bag, another container of food within it.
Upon reaching the ship, you knocked on the glass and excitedly waved at Thragg until he reluctantly smiled, letting you in.
“Are you always so ridiculous?” He asked the second you settled beside him, sitting beside his throne.
“Mmm, nope.” You say, pulling out the meal you'd prepared him. “It's only for you, believe it or not.”
The Grand Regent arched a brow. “Oh? Should I feel special, then?” He asked dryly, making you smile.
“I certainly wouldn't mind that…” You murmur. “I mean, you're already pretty special. Strongest Viltrumite, the only man outside my family I've cooked for. You've got a lot going for you.”
Thragg huffed quietly, as close to a laugh as you'll ever get from him.
“I suppose I do.” He murmured, giving you a certain look before he looked down at the offered food. “Hmm. And what is it today?”
“Rice balls, chicken, and some spiced fried potato slices.” You say, watching as he breathed in the savoury aroma, the tension in his shoulders melting away a bit. “I've been trying new stuff lately. You… encourage me. Motivate me.” You admit, Thragg pausing in his meal to give you another look.
“… good. You should never stop improving your skills. Even if it is just for this.” He said, continuing to eat as you kept him company, gazing out at the stars.
After he finished, Thragg silently watched you, drinking in your profile. Finally, after a good while of just staring, he reached for you.
The first brush of his fingers against your arm made you shudder. As he enveloped your bicep, you looked at him, moving with him as he pulled you into his lap.
“Thragg?”
He stared down at you, leaning back a bit. “I am no fool, child.” He began, carefully beginning to play with your hair. “You come to me day after day, feeding me meals you prepare with your own hands… amongst many cultures, this would be regarded as a courtship ritual.” He said softly, knuckles brushing down your cheek. “Is it?” He whispered.
Stomach swooping, you lean into his touch. “I… I am attracted to you, if I'm being blunt.” You say, swallowing. “Though the food was genuinely just to be nice. Comfort food goes a long way.”
Thragg eyed you silently, expression stoic and unreadable. As you sat in his lap, perched like a pet, a concubine, a mate, he mulled over his options, thumb brushing along your lower lip.
He hadn't been blind to your appreciative looks, eyes sweeping across his physique often. A part of him preened at it, proud that a woman of his kind so clearly was attracted to him.
But Thragg couldn't just mate you like he would a Viltrumite woman in centuries past. For one, you were soft, weak. A proper Viltrumite mating from him would break you. And despite how he tried to embody their culture, Thragg couldn't do that to you or any Viltrumite. Not now.
So if he wished to seed your womb… make a pure Viltrumite child with you… he'd need to do things the way you knew. No overpowering you and claiming your cunt and womb for himself, but through… affection.
Though it chaffed at him, he knew it could be worse. He could be about to court a human after all.
At least despite your weaknesses you were still a Viltrumite, still strong.
So as he caressed your bottom lip and watched your pupils dilate, Thragg leaned in.
“May I kiss you? I understand it is a… sign of great affection on your world.”
You shivered, leaning in. “Yes. Please.”
And as his lips met yours, Thragg thought to himself that this wouldn't be a difficult task to do.
No, not at all.
Your lips were so very soft, after all.
“I do not understand the point of this.”
Looking away from the tank and up at your… up at Thragg, you leaned into his side, squeezing the hand you were holding.
“Hey, you agreed to this date after I explained what we'd be doing.”
The taller man just blinked down at you. “I recall. I just don't understand why this counts as a date.” He said, brows furrowing.
Smiling indulgently, you led him away from the dolphin tank and towards one full of colourful fish, a much better display.
“Well, we're spending time together, we're seeing things we can give opinions on and talk about, therefore get to know each other, aaaand because I haven't gone to an aquarium in years and really wanted to go. Does that answer your question?”
Thragg stared at a lionfish as it passed by. “It is satisfactory.” He muttered. Then, after a moment, he looked down at you. “Do you like fish?”
At least he was trying, you thought fondly, heart still giving a random skip whenever you thought about the fact you were on a date. With Thragg.
“Yeah, they're pretty and interesting. I don't like the flavour much though.” You wrinkle your nose.
He hums, eyeing a swimming mass of them. “I have yet to taste the ones of this world. Though perhaps you may enjoy ones from other planets. There is this one aquatic creature from the planet Zu’thar that melts on your tongue in a dozen different flavours.”
Looking at him with interest, you tilted your head. “Oh yeah? Huh. I wouldn't expect you to know that considering how plain Viltrumite cuisine supposedly is…”
“It had other properties we were interested in.” He stated simply, leading you to another display.
“Like what?”
“It acted as an aphrodisiac and increased fertility.” He said while looking down at you, making your mouth dry up.
Oh. Well. That's certainly…
“I… doubt many Viltrumites needed that.” You whisper, a little embarrassed. Thragg hums at your side before, quietly as people passed by, saying:
“You'd be surprised. Back during the rule of Emperor Val-hor, the man spent a year consuming only the beast's flesh before choosing a dozen women to sire his children on. All fell pregnant within a day.”
Staring awkwardly at the fish in front of you, you wondered what the purpose of that little history lesson was. Just him sharing Viltrumite history with you? Or… was it pointed? A subtle way to say he wished to do the same to you?
The thought of Thragg taking aphrodisiacs was… it painted a very debauched image.
You still doubted he needed them though. He was definitely virile enough on his own.
Clearing your throat, you nodded, squeezing his arm before walking over to the octopus exhibit.
“That's nice. Anyway–”
The first date ended successfully, and you ended it with another kiss that went on for longer than was usually appropriate, Thragg telling you he'd plan the next date.
Which ended up being training on Mars.
“I’m not sure about this. The Martians are kinda… not welcoming of outsiders? They have sequids, too.”
Thragg eyed you, very much not caring for what you just said.
“Sequids are nothing but pests. They cannot harm us. And if any ‘Martian’ wishes to interrupt us, they may do so.” Thragg set aside his cloak. “Now come. I wish to test you. From what I've seen, you show much promise. You simply need a good teacher.”
Glancing aside, you stretch, trying not to picture a scenario like that. Calling him sir while he bent you over a desk…
Damn, that talk about aphrodisiacs messed me up, huh? Not like you hadn't been horny for him before, but… now it was all you could think about.
Especially when he was standing there, muscles tensed and ready for a fight.
He was so much your type it was ridiculous.
“Promise you won't break anything? I don't want to worry my mom.”
Thragg nodded once. “I'll only bruise you. Now, come.” He ordered, gesturing for you to attack.
And you did, flying towards him and aiming a punch straight at his solar plexus.
It did little more than cause a shockwave, Thragg giving you a contemplating look.
“Good form. But you need to be stronger. Faster, too.”
Internally, you just sighed, wishing this had been a normal date and not a training arc. But what did you expect from a Viltrumite?
Hours later, you collapsed to the ground, heaving, bruised and exhausted as Thragg gave an approving hum.
“You managed to knock me back. Quite good for one your age.”
“T-thanks.” You struggle to say. “But… I think I could do better. Another day. Very far from now.”
Thragg chuckled softly at that, making you pause in shock.
“You certainly are not wrong.” He said, reaching down and pulling you into his arms, carrying you bridal style. “It will be many years until you manage to even bruise me.”
You raised a brow. “And you'll… train me until I can? Seriously?”
Thragg grabbed his cloak, putting it back on. “Of course. If I'm to take a mate, I require them to be strong. And you show so much promise. It would be remiss of me to not help you.”
You let out a small huh, resting against him as he shot off the ground, flying off the planet. You relaxed in his arms as he did, feeling them tighten around you. It brought a smile to your face, stomach fluttering pleasantly.
As Thragg entered the void of space, he did not immediately head to the ship like you assumed he would. Instead he flew for a bit, taking you somewhere past the solar system.
— Thragg… —
— Patience, little one. There is something I wish to show you. —
You quieted, looking up at him as he took you somewhere.
As he slowed to a stop, he nodded ahead, and you looked over, eyes widening in awe.
It was a light show. Far, far away two stars ignited, the light from them just now reaching you. In all likelihood, they were already gone, burnt out after going supernova. But right now…
— It's beautiful. — You thought, a whisper projected to him.
— Yes, — Thragg said, taking in your awed expression. — It is. —
Upon returning to the ship, there was a certain… tension between you two. Perhaps from the intimate moment, or even from the training session, blood hot and pumping. Regardless, it led to something.
It led to this.
The bed creaked.
“Mm, Thragg–”
“Shh, let me–” you gasped, clawing at his back. He groaned in satisfaction.
Your fingers scrambled to push down his skirt– or pull it up, whichever was easier. “I need– I need you.”
“I know.” He said, kissing a path up your neck as he undressed you. “You are burning with it.”
You managed to get his skirt off, shoving his leggings down next. His cock sprung free, slapping against your thigh. Your mind was addled with heat and want as you captured his lips in another desperate kiss, holding him close as you swapped spit, making your claim on him just as he did you.
It had been inevitable, just a matter of time before you two did this. The need you felt for this man, the first man to ever truly arouse your interest like this, was extreme; words couldn't describe it.
For Thragg it was much simpler. A ticking clock in the background, slow and near infinite, but there would come an end someday, and before that end came he needed to act, to help keep his people going.
He rubbed himself against your folds, cock growing slick. Then he pressed in, slow and steady, letting you grip his hand as he took what you gave willingly, gasping at the new kind of pain as blood stained his cock. The sight made his teeth ache.
Oh, how it undid him. He almost came there and then, overwhelmed at the knowledge his cock would be the only one to ever touch you, to ever breed you. Thragg wouldn't let you go, after all, there was no one more worthy for you than him.
“Mine,” he whispered, encasing you under his form, arms cradling you as he rocked deeper. “All mine.” He groaned, hearing you echo him as you scratched up his back, nearly drawing blood. Something to praise you for later.
Of course, part of it was sheer pragmatism. If Thragg sired too many children, especially from different mothers, they may fight for the right to take over after him. Which he could not allow under any circumstances. No, it was simply more logical to stick with you, make child after child together and have them loyal to each other.
Yet as Thragg fucked you slow and deep, catching your lips in a messy kiss, he could admit it was also partially because he had… grown attached to you. Something about you made the quiet more tolerable, his loneliness nonexistent with you around.
It fascinated him.
It sickened him.
He knew he should not allow this growing weakness, and yet…
“Thragg!”
Your cry lit a fire in his blood, and he doubled his efforts, bringing you to shaking climax again and again, spilling deep inside of you each time, caressing your bulging belly and kissing your sweaty brow with something almost loving.
“Mine,” he whispered again, nosing at your hairline. “My little heart.” He whispered softly, damming you and praising you all at once for ruining him whilst giving him what he wanted.
Falling beside you, he spooned you, hand gently caressing your belly, praying for a heir. Son or daughter he did not care, so long as they had his strength and your…
Well, Thragg wasn't picky. Anything from you would do.
Your body ached as you woke up.
With a groan, you squeezed your eyes shut, stretching lazily before curling up. As you lightly dozed, a hand rested itself between your shoulders, idly kneading the sore muscles.
Despite your healing factor, yesterday had still been a lot. Both the training and what came after it.
Fingers dragging down your spine, the mattress creaked as Thragg pushed up onto his elbow, watching you rest.
“I know you are awake, child. Get up.” He said, getting a groan in response. Moustache twitching, he trailed his hand lower, fingers delving between your sore folds and getting a needier sound. He hummed, kissing your shoulder. “It is nearly midday. I believe your mother will begin to worry.”
Grunting, you peered up at him sleepily, growing flush as he fingered you idly, thumb circling your clit the way you had shown him. “What do you care about my mom?” You asked, finding it odd he'd bring her up.
“I don't.” He said plainly, fingers brushing against your g-spot, assaulting it with rapid rubs that had you gasping and shaking. “But you show much concern for her. She matters greatly to you, and she gave life to two Viltrumites. I respect her for that if nothing else.”
Grumbling, you lazily reach for his mostly flaccid cock, playing with it. “Okay, I get it, it's nice you care about the people I love– but please, let's stop talking about my family while we're about to fuck.”
Thragg acquiesced, spreading your thighs before mounting you from behind, laying on your back heavily, weight leaving you fuzzy and pleasantly numb as he pressed into you, cock slowly hardening. It felt weirdly nice going in soft.
It was certainly more hurried than last night, Thragg managing to fuck you twice before you reached your limit, taking a quick shower and dressing after. You left for Earth immediately afterwards, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to visit later or tomorrow at the latest.
Reaching the house, you slowed down, gently touching down in the backyard, your mom hanging up laundry.
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Hi, mom.”
You rocked on your heels for a moment before moving to help her, the both of you quiet until the chore was done. Only then did Debbie look at you, a knowing gleam in her eyes as she looked you over.
“You didn't come home last night.” She stated simply, making you nod.
“I… did not.” You confirm needlessly, making your mom huff and shake her head.
Debbie entered the house, setting aside the empty laundry basket. “Well, so long as you're sure and happy, sweetheart. There's really nothing else I can say.”
You sigh in relief. You're not sure why you worried a bit there, especially considering how casual she'd been about Mark and Eve. And they were younger than you.
“Thanks, mom.” You mumble, kissing her cheek and gave her a side hug. She hummed, returning it.
“Mmm, it's nothing, sweetie. But–” she said, giving you a look between stern and sly. “I expect to meet him soon.”
You froze. Huh?
“What? You wanna–? Him?”
“Yes.” Debbie crossed her arms. “If you're dating and sleeping together now, it only makes sense I meet him. Especially before your father gets back. Even if it's not purely for emotional reasons, I want to know the man my daughter is seeing and plans to be with.”
You just stared at her, trying to imagine the scenario she was talking about.
Thragg, in your home, talking to your mom.
It sounded like something from a fever dream.
“… uh, you… do remember it's Thragg I'm with, right? Grand Regent of the Viltrum Empire?” Debbie nodded. “He's going to be worse than dad.” She nodded again. “It's probably going to be awkward as hell.”
“I'm aware. But I'm your mother, which makes it my duty to do this.” She said, stepping towards the kitchen island and grabbing her notepad. “Now, what should I make when he comes?”
A couple days later, you sat across from Thragg on the ship, eating together.
You'd moved from the throne room to a cafeteria-esque room a while ago, sitting and eating together like a normal couple. Sometimes you could barely believe how far you've gotten– even if this was still the bare minimum. Your mom had shared stories of how Nolan had been when he first came to Earth, and honestly? Thragg was already leagues ahead of him in some aspects.
Speaking of mom….
Clearing your throat, Thragg's attention snapped to you– if it ever even left you in the first place.
“Okay, so… on Earth we have a custom where people meet their partner's family.” You explain carefully. “And my mom wants to meet you.”
His dark eyes dug into you for a moment. Then, “Would it please you for me to meet her?”
You blinked, not expecting him to ask that.
“It… would, yeah.”
Thragg just nodded. “Then I will.”
“That's it?”
“Yes.”
“Why? I mean, you don't need any convincing or…? Nothing?”
Sighing, the Grand Regent reached across the table for your hand.
“You are my mate, soon to carry the future of my people in your womb. If meeting the woman who made you is the least I can do in return, then I shall do it.” He said calmly, softly; his thumb brushed across your knuckles. It was such a minute gesture, and yet it had your insides fluttering anyway.
It wasn't often he was affectionate like this.
At his words, you thanked him, squeezing his hand. Thragg hummed and continued eating, cleaning his plate as usual.
Maybe that old saying about the way to a man's heart being his stomach was true. You were certainly plying him with all sorts of tasty meals, and in return, he'd softened towards you.
You just hoped a baby would do the same. If it worked for one Viltrumite… it should work for the rest.
As they landed in the backyard, Thragg eyed the building before him.
The house you grew up in was just one of many in this neighbourhood, all copies with little variation. Yet as he looked around, he noticed little touches that made it more personal, lived in.
The backdoor was open, light from inside spilling out. It looked warm, especially with evening quickly descending. At his side, you gave him an awkward, nervous look. Which he supposed he understood. As far as you've told him, he is your first mate. Meaning you've never done this ritual before.
Placing a hand on your lower back, he squeezed gently, in that way that seemed to say: I am here. It made you relax, breathing out softly. You led him in.
Debbie Grayson was a small woman, not too tall nor too short, and not too thin or too big. She was utterly average, and yet she'd managed to not only poison one of his Viltrumites agents, but had also raised two (three if he counted the halfbreed. Which he did not) Viltrumites whom fought their own people for a lesser species.
As he met her face to face for the first time, he did not know if the emotion she invoked in him was respect or not.
“You raised a fine daughter, Mrs. Grayson.” He said, following the formalities he'd learned before coming here. “A strong warrior with an unyielding spirit.”
Her hand was tiny in his, yet calloused from hard work. And despite his superior strength, he almost swore she tried to crush his hand.
The glint in her eye, steely and burning with motherly protection, said she had.
“Thank you, but she's more than just that. I hope you see that.”
His eyes swept to you, seeing you busy yourself as your mother and he became acquainted.
“I do.” He said simply, unaware of the way his tone softened with something reverent. But Debbie noticed, and the steel melted away to something more welcoming. Briefly.
“Good. Now, what's this about you harming my sons?”
You cringed. “Mom!”
Looking down at the Earth woman, Thragg folded his arms behind his back. “It was battle, I did what I must. But I apologize for any grief I caused.” And he supposed he did, somewhere beneath it all. They were simply too few, so nearly killing the three had been foolish of him. “Though I never laid a hand on your daughter.”
She hummed, eyes narrowing before she nodded.
“I don't like that you did, but I'm willing to move past it. But that doesn't mean I forgive or like you.” Debbie whispered, keeping her words between them. “I'm doing this for my daughter.”
“I understand.” He said, simply taking her in. What a truly formidable woman. When had anyone last stood up to him like that? No wonder Mark and yourself were so unbreakable.
With that said and settled, Debbie turned back into a hostess instead of the overprotective mother, seating him and yourself at the table before getting the food.
Seeing your look, Thragg squeezed your thigh. “Do not look so pained. Your mother's protectiveness is… admirable. Especially considering who I am.”
You mumble something before nodding. “I know, it's just… really weird. Is it weird for you?”
Thragg gazed into your eyes, lost for a second as the light revealed hidden depths to them he hadn't noticed before.
“Not even a little.” He said reassuringly, pressing one of those kisses you loved so much on your brow. “You said it was custom, after all. Why should it be weird?”
You laughed quietly. “I… no, you're right. I'm just not used to this. And it's going to be so much worse when Mark and dad get back.” You wince.
Debbie joins them at that moment, placing plates of delicious food before them.
“Oh, I'm hoping it is.” She said, sitting down. “For Nolan. Mark is to be left alone, but feel free to make Nolan uncomfortable when he gets here.” She said almost viciously.
Thragg approved.
“Gladly.” He said, feeling a petty pleasure at the thought of making the traitor squirm. And all because Thragg was mated to the man's daughter.
Yes, a truly petty pleasure. One he couldn't wait to indulge in.
You just sighed, digging in as your mom began making conversation, Thragg giving stilted answers the entire time. But Debbie Grayson had experience with awkward and stoic Viltrumites, so it was really no issue for her.
As time flew by, you almost forgot about the impending return of your father and brother.
Almost.
Yet after weeks of quiet– as quiet as earth could ever get with the constant villain and kaiju attacks– and enjoying the return to normalcy, Mark and Nolan returned, bursting through the atmosphere and seeking out any sign of the Viltrumites.
When Cecil’s voice crackled to life in your ear and told you they were here, you rushed to meet them, biting your lip as you considered how you were going to explain the truth to them.
In the end, you struggled to do it, putting it off as your father swept you up in a hug and Mark clung to you like he was scared you'd disappear if he let go.
Returning the hug, you swallowed, wondering how you were going to tell them. Should you let them rest first? Take them home? Or was it better to rip the band-aid off?
Pulling away, Mark quickly asked you, “Have you seen any sign of them?”
Technically, you hadn't, but you knew better than to drag it out or lie.
So, hesitantly, you looked from your father to your brother, worry increasing by the second as you didn't deny it.
“… I haven't seen them, but I know they're here.” You say, watching horror blossom on Mark’s face, his breathing growing ragged. “Thragg told me himself.”
Mark looked even more horrified if possible.
“Thragg is here?!”
“Yes.” Raising your hands, you reached for him. “Mark, take a breath. It's okay. It's–”
He shook his head, gripping his hair. “No. No!” And then he shot off, flying in the direction of home.
You just stared after him, biting the inside of your cheek. A hand landed on your shoulder.
Looking at your dad, you found him giving you a comforting if anxious look.
“… I assume there's more to things if Earth is still okay.” He said, though it partially sounded like a question.
Nodding, you gestured for him to follow, flying after Mark.
“Yeah… um, I spoke to Thragg and…”
Explaining everything– minus one very important detail– on the way home, you both landed outside the house and went in. Inside, Debbie was trying to comfort a panicking Mark. The sight made guilt well-up inside you, knowing he was truly traumatized by Thragg.
And you were going to have his baby. Fuck, you might as well beat him up while you were at it. You truly were a shit sister, huh?
“God– oh, god, they're all here and– what if they take revenge?! I couldn't even make him move–”
Frowning, Nolan stepped towards his son. “Mark, it's going to be okay. Your sister explained everything to me. They're not going to interfere with humanity.”
The words had Mark stopping, looking hopeful. He turned to you.
“They're going to blend in, live like humans and repopulate. Which is a problem for the future, but it'll be decades if not centuries until then. And that's if they even want to continue being a threat.” You say, sharing a look with your mom. “After all, dad changed by being on Earth. What's to say the rest of them won't either?”
Your brother drank in your words desperately, needing some hope to cling to. He nodded along like everything you said was complete truth and not just a hopeful theory. He relaxed a bit, tension easing out of him.
“Ye– yeah… okay, that…” He nods. “That makes sense.”
Then he frowns.
“But what about Thragg? I highly doubt he's going to be playing happy family with humans.”
Forcing yourself not to return your mom's look, you just give him a weak smile. “Leave that to me,” you say, stepping closer and hugging him, soothing a hand up and down his spine until Mark slumps against you. “You've done enough, Mark. I'll handle him. I'm kind of the liaison between him and Earth right now– Cecil decreed it and everything.” You grinned, slowly pulling away.
“Now, you go visit Eve. She's… really missed you and needs you.”
The mention of his girlfriend was all it took for Mark to perk up, nodding as he carefully extracted himself from your embrace. Giving mom another hug and a kiss, he left.
Which left you and your parents standing in the living room.
Shifting on his feet awkwardly, Nolan looked at Debbie.
“So, how's Paul?” He asked, making the both of you sigh.
Was he just trying to torture himself, or was he genuinely curious about mom's boyfriend?
“Fine, Nolan. He's been a real big help while you were all gone.” She said, just about managing to keep the bite out of her voice. “Now, what's going on with Oliver? How is he doing?”
Stepping away and giving them some privacy, you headed up to your room, still hearing their faint voices as they managed a calm conversation.
You occupied yourself with tidying up your room, glancing at your reflection in the mirror a couple of times.
Pausing and eyes narrowing, you stood sideways, pulling your top taut against your skin.
Was your… belly a little rounder?
The thought made your breath hitch. Okay, it was… fast, but you and Thragg had been sleeping together for a while now, and it had been sometime since you started…
Or… were you overthinking putting on some weight?
You needed to take a pregnancy test. Thankfully, you'd bought some after you began dating Thragg, knowing it wouldn't be long before he tried breeding a pure Viltrumite child into you.
It was his reason for being with you this way, after all. And it was part of your plan, too, so… yeah, preparations and whatnot.
Heading to the bathroom, you were quick to take a seat on the toilet, reading the instructions before peeing, setting the test aside and waiting.
Minutes ticked by, and you found yourself oddly calm as you waited to find out if you were carrying a baby or not. Then again, you'd had time to come to terms with it. And it's not like you didn't want kids some day.
Before your powers kicked in, you figured you'd wait until you were thirty or something. But then they had and your dad revealed you'd live for thousands of years and…
You didn't see the point in waiting anymore. It just… didn't click the same way now. You'd be in your twenties for centuries, not truly ageing for a long, long time.
What was having kids now compared to in a decade? It would be the same either way.
I just hope Eve and Mark don't have a bad reaction to it, you thought, thinking about Eve’s abortion. You really hoped you having a baby after she made the decision to terminate her pregnancy didn't make her feel regretful or horrible. These were two very different circumstances, but emotions weren't logical.
Shaking those worries off, you sat up, checking the time and then the test.
Your heart stuttered.
Positive.
Thragg was going to be thrilled.
On the Viltrumite ship lived aliens; doctors and scientists, all versed in Viltrumite biology.
When you arrived and told him about your pregnancy, he'd smiled the second the words registered. He'd swept you up, pressing his lips to your brow. Then he'd pulled back, leading you towards the medical bay, getting you checked over.
There, they took your vitals, doing scans and confirming your pregnancy. It was still too early to tell anything yet, but they claimed you were perfectly healthy for this early on in the pregnancy.
The entire time, Thragg stood over you, a hand on your lower back and eyes glued to your midsection. Pride radiated off of him and when you left the med bay, he showed you just how proud he was, cradling your face and kissing you deep, truly testing how long a Viltrumite could go without taking a breath.
When he pulled away, your lips were flushed and shiny.
“W– wow, that… wow.” You smiled, absolutely smitten at that moment.
“Come, little one.” He whispered, carrying you to his bedroom. “Let me… show you my gratitude.” He said, almost embarrassed at how eager, how happy he was.
Thragg didn't waste any time in shedding his clothes and yours once he was in the bedroom, cradling you against his larger form, practically making love to you with slow, deep thrusts, mouths connected the entire time.
It was so perfect, so good. It was easy to believe he'd change like Nolan had, like the other Viltrumites were beginning to. You wanted to believe with all your heart that he already was, that your kindness and empathy had been enough to chip away at centuries of indoctrination, that the child you were going to have would soften him the only way fatherhood could a man.
Afterwards, you found yourself idly stroking his hairy chest, cuddled up against him. He offered no protests, resting his eyes whilst giving your hip the occasional squeeze.
“My brother and dad returned.” You told him.
He hummed. “I'm aware. The sensors picked up on them.”
“Ah.” You nod, temple against his shoulder, still running your fingers through his chest hair. “I'm going to tell them about us soon. I couldn't do it immediately because they just arrived, but… after they relax.”
He huffs. “That is quite cruel, little one. Lulling them into a false sense of security only to drop such a truth on them…” He peeked an eye open. “And I thought you were a hero.”
Your movements stopped.
Was he… teasing you?
Looking up at him, cheek squished against his fat pectoral, you slowly raised a brow.
“Well… I am a Viltrumite.” Was your retort, to which Thragg let out a small laugh, making you gape in surprise.
Would wonders never cease?
“Ah, yes, I suppose such cruelty does run in your veins. Or perhaps I am influencing you?”
You tut. “Nah, if anything, I get it from my mom. Now she knows how to be mean and how to get away with it.” You say, recalling some stories she'd shared.
Thragg raised a brow in interest, adjusting himself so he was on his side and facing you. “Do tell. Your mother is quite interesting for an Earthling.”
At his interest, you could only grin, beginning to tell him about the time your mom was in college and got back at her messy roommate by putting lemons in hidden places in their room and letting them rot, attracting fruit flies and other insects until their room was swarming with them.
Debbie Grayson could truly be evil when she needed to be.
Sitting in the living room surrounded by your family, you once again reconsidered doing this. But… it needed to come out sooner or later.
You'd asked Eve to be here as emotional support for Mark, telling her an abbreviated version of events. She didn't understand or fully support your decision, but had basically said it wasn't her place to tell you if it was wrong or not, and that she'd be here.
So, with Debbie and Nolan on one couch (with a lot of space between them), and Eve and Mark on the other, you stood before them, hands clasped before your navel as you nervously gathered your words.
How was approaching Thragg easier than this?! Taking a deep breath, you glanced over at your parents, Debbie giving you a reassuring look. You smiled.
“Okay, so… when I originally came to Earth after the war ended, Thragg and I talked, during which I agreed to terms even though there obviously weren't any other options. But that wasn't our last interaction.” You carefully said, looking at your audience.
Mark, bless him, hadn't caught on yet, slow to catch the tension in the air.
Nolan, meanwhile, had a look of slowly dawning realisation on his face. He was also recalling a silly conversation from over a decade ago, one about your preference for strong men and…
No.
“I… approached Thragg not long after and we… became close. Very close.” You emphasize, Mark beginning to catch on.
“Oh god– sis, please don't say–”
“Meaning we are now together and also I'm pregnant with his baby.” You blurted out, ripping the band-aid off fully.
Mark stared, started hyperventilating, then promptly fainted. Nolan didn't look too far behind him, pale and hunched over with his head in his hands.
At least your mom looked happy.
As Eve cradled his head in her lap, Mark began to stir, blinking quickly.
“What– what happened?”
Eve grimaced. “You fainted after being told your sister and Thragg are together. And expecting a baby.” She said. At least she didn't sound sad or guilty on the baby part. That worry was thankfully for nought.
Mark just stared up at her, then gave you the most tired look imaginable.
“Why?” He whispered, exasperated and utterly done. “I mean… I'd– anyone else. You could've… I dunno, Battle Beast! Allen! Any other Viltrumite– even Conquest!” Eve made an expression at that and Mark quickly backtracked. “Uh, I mean, maybe Thragg is better than him– but still! Why??”
You awkwardly shrug. “I can't control who I like, Mark! And it's for the good of the universe. Dad gave up his mission in the end because of our family. Maybe Thragg will be the same!”
“That's a big if! What if he doesn't?”
“Then I've bought us at least two decades of time. More if we have multiple kids.”
Nolan groaned into his hands at that. “My baby is having a baby,” he muttered, making Debbie snort.
“Oh, grow up. You weren't like this before.”
“Yeah, and that was before I learned my only daughter is with a man who embodies Viltrumite strength and cruelty!” He said, giving you a kicked puppy look. “Sweetheart, are you sure?”
You wave him off with a gentle smile. “Oh, dad, it's okay! Thragg is hardly a wife-beater or anything! The only time he hurts me is when we train.”
Immediately, your dad's expression turned surprised.
“He… trains you?”
You nod. Nolan looks shocked.
“That would normally be a great honour. He wouldn't waste time with someone undeserving…” He muttered, thinking to himself for a bit before sighing, reluctantly nodding. “Well, if you're absolutely positive… I suppose I'll just have to accept it. It's your choice and he… does seem warm towards you, at least.”
The entire time you two spoke, Mark’s eyes swept back and forth before he gave his dad a shocked look.
“Dad!”
Nolan just sighed. “She's right, Mark. Your sister is buying us more time and… maybe Thragg will change. It's certainly a possibility. And it's her choice.” He said, resigned yet supportive– no matter how much he wishes not to be.
But you were his daughter. Even if he heavily disagreed with what you were doing… he loved you too much to hold it against you.
Mark just gave you an unhappy look before nodding.
“Yeah, sure, whatever. But if he hurts you, I'll…” He trailed off before sighing harshly. “Just be safe. Please?”
Walking over, you sat beside him, pulling your brother into a tight hug.
“Always.” You promised.
Life went on as always.
It took a long time before you invited Thragg back to your home– and by that point it had been months. Mom had been to Talescria to visit Oliver and had come back, you were fully showing, and your family was all together, slowly mending itself after the heartache and trauma.
The family dinner where you introduced Thragg to everyone had been… so, so awkward, yet also… amusing? You could certainly laugh looking back on it.
Paul had been invited, managing to be the most normal person there and actually got a conversation out of your… mate? Husband? Regardless, you're pretty sure Thragg liked him the most next to your mom.
Speaking of whom, Debbie had spent the entire night lightly sipping her wine while taking petty joy in Nolan’s discomfort, your dad sat stiff in his chair as what was pretty much his boss sat besides his daughter, whom he was dating, and was also capable of killing everyone there if he felt like it.
Mark and Oliver weren't too different, both eyeing Thragg wearily while eating, managing to miss their mouths a couple of times and making you giggle at the sight.
They glared at you, and it felt so, so normal despite how wild it was to just… have all these different worlds converge.
Eve talked to Debbie and Paul about architecture and whatnot; then later, Nolan helped Paul clean up, both men seemingly trying to find common ground– and quite successfully too, based on their conversations as the hours passed.
Thragg was practically the perfect guest, though he did refer to Oliver strictly as the bug to his annoyance.
You… think he might've been teasing? His slight smirk every time your brother growled in annoyance seemed to suggest it.
Then, as the night wound down and everyone went to bed (did… did your dad follow Debbie and Paul upstairs? Nah, you're imagining things), you gave Thragg a considering look before leading him up to your room.
It was the first time he saw it.
“… you were a very coddled child.” Was all he said as he observed the many plushies and collectibles and, yes, toys you kept.
You just ducked your head, face hot. “I, uh, I hope you don't think I'm weird for it?”
Thragg just hugged you from behind, cupping your large belly and lifting the weight for you.
“I would never. I am… fond of your softness and silliness. You would not be you without them.”
Blinking away tears, you huff, leaning back against him. Damn pregnancy hormones, making you overreact to every sweet thing he said.
Which he'd been doing more and more as time went by.
The day you learned you were having twins was the first time Thragg's demeanour truly cracked.
“You have no idea how much of a blessing this is.” He'd said, kissing your brow as he clasped your hands in his, eyeing the screen where the two grey forms lied mostly still. “There has not been Viltrumite twins in… generations. Even before the Scourge, there hadn't been one recorded in a long time.”
Leaning down, he kissed your stomach, whispering something against it.
The sight had seemed so right to you, then. Like you were supposed to be here with him no matter what, like this was meant to be. Why else would Thragg look so right knelt at your bedside and kissing your rounded belly?
And that affection, that reverence, only increased through the pregnancy. He indulged your every whim, every craving. He pleasured you when your libido spiked and held you as your emotions skyrocketed, crying for no reason or taking your hits when you grew angered.
Thragg even once suggested having a home on Earth– “for the children's sakes”, he'd said at your stunned look. While he preferred the ship, it wasn't suitable for children.
A quick request from Cecil later and you had a few houses ready to pick from, some close to home and others a little more isolated.
“You're really okay with this?” You asked one night while going through the options, curled up against Thragg's warm form.
“If I wasn't, I would not suggest it.” He stated simply, eyeing the houses with little care. “It will be many years before they get their powers and are able to traverse space. I would not separate you from your family for so long. I… do not wish to see you upset.” He admitted, cheeks tinged red.
You hadn't brought attention to it, not wanting him to withdraw or harden his heart again. So you just kept looking through the catalogue, making comments which Thragg merely hummed along to.
The months continued to go by, your due date getting closer– or what your due date was estimated to be. Viltrumite women gave birth at twelve months, after all, and due to being the first hybrid, it was unknown if you'd take after your human side or Viltrumite side when it came to this.
It ended up falling somewhere in the middle.
At ten months and eighteen days, you woke up beside Thragg with an odd ache somewhere in your belly. You woke him up and told him of it, the Grand Regent immediately awake and carrying you to the medical bay.
It was confirmed. You were starting your contractions, and would soon enter labour properly.
As you walked up and down the length of the room, Thragg sent a message to Earth for you, informing your family of it. When you later learned of it, you thanked him, pressing against your lower back and beginning to sweat, overheating.
As the contractions got closer and closer together, you were guided to the bed.
“I am not lying down,” you warned, Thragg giving you a confused look.
“Why would you do that? Viltrumite women give birth hovering above a soft surface.” He said, making you sigh in relief. “I am guessing based on your reaction, earth women give birth in a less… comfortable position?”
You grunt, hovering carefully, control wavering at the waves of pain, but Thragg had his hands ready to catch you if you did.
“On our backs. From what I've read, it sucks.” You grunt, squeezing his forearm as another contraction sweeps through you. Then you feel something drip out of you.
You look down just as your water breaks, splashing against the bed.
“Ah.” You say quietly, squeezing him. “Can I have painkillers now?”
Thragg nodded at the nearest doctor to do as told, and soon you were feeling much better. Not completely painless– you needed to feel if anything went wrong after all– but much better than before.
With a deep breath, you relax, continuing to grip and squeeze his arm in time with the ripples of discomfort you feel, going through the motions as the doctors keep track of your and the babies conditions. Through it all, Thragg stands stalwart at your side, silent yet comforting.
When it's finally time to push he takes a hand, allowing you to squeeze as hard as you need. It's just as much for your comfort as it is out of curiosity; birth seems to have doubled your strength, leading you to bruise his flesh.
It fascinates him almost as much as the birth does. Though he keeps silent about it, the way your expression twists and scrunches up, the way your stomach ripples during your contractions, and the way you groan with the effort of it all… he finds it beautiful in a way only a Viltrumite can.
For them, pain is familiar, after all. It is an aspect of life many even enjoy. It proves their strength, their resilience.
“You are doing well, little one,” he murmurs, wiping the sweat from your brow. “So well. My little warrior, on and off the battlefield.”
You heaved, giving him a weak smile. “Yeah? Don't find me pathetic?” Your voice wavered as you spoke, smile turning into a grimace as you felt something begin to slide out of you with every breath and push.
“Never.” He said, grabbing you as your flight wavers. “Birth is the most important and difficult of battles. That much I know.”
One of the doctors checked on your progress, excitedly telling you the head was crowning. You groaned in relief, realising you were nearly halfway done.
Taking deep breaths, you tried to relax, pushing in time with your body until, with an uncomfortable moan, your baby slid free, caught by their father's waiting hand.
The little creature, bruised and wrinkled, hiccuped before letting out small whimpers, tiny face scrunched up with displeasure.
As it was cleaned of blood, you saw it was a girl.
You slumped against Thragg, simply taking comfort in his presence. He however couldn't take his eyes off the child– his heir, his daughter.
She was placed close by, placenta propped up to continue delivering blood to her until it was emptied. The other doctors, those not keeping an eye on your condition, tended to her in the meantime.
Eyes still glued to the little creature they made together, Thragg cradled you against his chest, stroking your side.
“Thank you.” He whispered, though you nearly missed it, head buzzing and covered in a cold sweat.
One more, you thought, one more time and then I'm done.
Honestly, considering you'd had multiple near death encounters before, this wasn't too bad. Just… extremely new. Distantly, you wondered if your vagina muscles would also grow stronger, and the next birth wouldn't be as painful or damaging.
One could only hope.
With a low hum, you started the process anew, breathing and pushing and trying to crush his hand, Thragg giving you small encouragements. And then–
The weight left you. A shriek filling the air as soon as your son was caught by his father.
And you were done.
Slumping, you laid back, fighting to catch your breath despite your Viltrumite biology. His hand still in yours, Thragg ordered for you to be tended to, keeping an eye on the twins.
You were given water and wiped clean, then given a robe to cover up. Laying back, you grunted, still sore but… certainly better than a normal woman would be. As you recuperated, you looked towards where your babies were, murmuring weakly for them.
Thragg once more kissed your brow. “In a moment. Let them be checked over and then they're all yours, little one.”
Making a sound of agreement, you focused on gathering your strength instead, trusting in Thragg. Despite your instincts wanting nothing more than to feel them against your skin, you knew they were in good hands.
As a little blood was drawn from the babies to do checks with though, one of the doctors froze as the computer processed it, lighting up with an alert that had everyone pausing.
“Hm? Wha’s wrong?” You mumbled, opening your eyes. “Thragg?”
But he was frozen, staring at the display screen.
“… impossible.” The Grand Regent uttered, stepping closer. But the screen didn't change.
Centuries back, when Argall still lived and his heirs remained lost, he set up a system that would detect anyone with his blood running through their veins. No matter how distant the relation, the system would detect the similarities between them and affirm whether or not the person in question was his descendant.
There hadn't been plans to use it before. Back when they were many, it was agreed that Argall’s heir would be revealed through strength and skill, not through a blood test. But after the Scourge…
Thragg had honestly thought there was no chance, no way one had lived. And yet–
And yet.
There on the screen lied the undeniable proof that his children were 100% direct descendants of Argall.
Not from cousin branches. Not even sibling branches.
But direct descendants. Meaning–
“What's going on?” You asked again, sitting up. You looked around, nervous. “Can I– bring me my children, now.” You ordered. It was your motherly instinct guiding you then, yet to Thragg, all he could hear was an emperial command.
The children were placed into your arms, umbilical cords cut and swaddled tight. The alien doctors stepped away, lowering their eyes in taught reverence because they knew. There was only one explanation for how the children had Argall’s blood, and it wasn't through Thragg.
The Grand Regent himself felt heavy as he approached, staring down at your weak form as you met your children, looking at them with curious, soft eyes, beginning to breastfeed them.
The second they both latched on, you beamed, looking up at him.
He didn't return it.
Your smile wavered.
“… Thragg?”
Sharply, he ordered everyone to leave, waiting until he was alone with you.
Then, slowly, he knelt at your bedside, eyes shut as he grappled with this new knowledge.
You just watched him, utterly confused and not having the energy to demand answers. As you adjusted your hold on the twins, you reached over, petting his hair. He sighed.
“… do you recall what I told you about the last Emperor of Viltrum?”
“Yeah? He was wise and strong and appointed you leader because he lost track of his kids.” You summed up, too tired to remember his exact wording of the situation.
Thragg just huffed, amused. “That is right. For the longest time we have searched for his heirs, any descendant at all. But after the Scourge decimated our people, I truly gave up, assumed they were dead.”
Looking up from your children's faces, you turned your head, slowly starting to catch on.
“Wait– you're not saying–”
Thragg opened his eyes, pining you in place with his gaze alone. “I am. You and your family are the last of the emperor's bloodline. Meaning…” He hesitated, scowling before looking away with a deep sigh. “Meaning that leadership of the Viltrumites is in your family's hands now.”
The silence after he finished speaking was deafening.
You were just looking at him, full comprehension of what this meant dawning on you, all while you cradled your newborns and fed them.
And Thragg? He didn't know what to feel. Elated, angry, lost, sad. He'd done his duty the best he could, had done his best to rule for a thousand years now, had found Argall’s heirs… but what did that leave him with? This had been the only life he'd ever known, and now– now Nolan was going to take that from him? He scowled at the mere thought.
But what choice did he have? The man was the emperor, the rightful heir, and you his daughter. He could not fight it, could not refuse to hand over power. It simply was not done. For if he did, he'd be betraying everything he was.
And you…
You were the eldest child, so by Viltrumite custom, you were next in line– unless you were too weak, which you weren't. And you'd also… had his children.
Thragg nearly laughed. This entire time he thought you were having his heirs, continuing his bloodline, but in reality, he was continuing yours.
He was a fool.
Thragg was pulled out of his thoughts as you cupped his cheek, making him look at you. Carefully, you shuffled over, patting the space beside you.
“Come here.” You ordered, “You haven't even met our babies and you're already spiralling. The whole emperor stuff can wait a moment, Thragg.”
Despite himself, he listened, climbing into bed with you. Gently, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. You were so small in his arms, it just made the twins look even smaller.
They were chunky babies, he thought, seeing the little tufts of black hair on their heads. Still too early to tell the eye colours, though, right now they were still that baby blue.
Resting his head against yours, Thragg simply breathed, relaxing as he watched the children suckle, nourishing themselves on your milk. He almost envied them, being able to drink from you in such an intimate manner. It was beautiful to witness.
After they had their fill, you burped them and held them until they fell asleep. Then you looked at him.
“So… my dad is probably heir to the throne or whatever?”
Thragg grimaced. “Yes.” He sighed. “I… I will accept it, little one. I will not fight it, no matter how much it… chafes to let go of my title.”
It was hard to admit, but Thragg had been born for this. And now he was losing it. He knew why, had been ready to accept it for centuries before all hope was lost and he got comfortable in his position.
He'd dedicated his life to leading Viltrum. So now what?
You hum, tucking your head under his chin. “And… after him? Is it me or Mark?”
“You.” He said. Like he'd ever let your brother inherit over you. Not only did he care enough to see you seated upon that throne some day, Mark was too immature for it. “You are the eldest. And even if there were protests, I will ensure you become empress.”
You hum again, slowly drawing shapes on his chest. “And… what would that make you? Emperor-consort? Grand-consort?”
He paused.
“… you would keep me as your equal?” He questioned, truly surprised.
Somehow, in all his thoughts of rightful heirs, Thragg had managed to forget just who you were, forgetting you loved him, had chosen him long before anything had been revealed.
“Sure. Why not? You know more about Viltrumites than I do. And you're strong. And the father of our children. Who else would I choose?”
He grunted, holding you and the littler ones tighter. “It is not a matter of choosing. Emperors simply do not take consorts. They have mates whom they breed, concubines for pleasure, but… they do not have equals.”
Making a scoffing sound, you kiss his chin. “Bullshit. I'm changing that rule. Also, technically, since my dad doesn't know yet, I'm currently empress for a bit. So that's an official rule, I'll have you know.”
As you pointed a finger in his face, all mock-serious, Thragg just… he chuckled, pressing his lips to your forehead.
“Ah, I'll have it recorded, then. My empress.” He whispered, sounding utterly besotted as he held you close, children sleeping on your chest.
All seemed right in the world. Things were going to change, but… perhaps it was for the better.
Grinning, you nod. Then, looking down at the babies, you suggest finally naming them.
“You wanted to name a boy Onaan, right?” You ask, making him nod. “Alright, and a girl… it was between Andraeda and Ursaal, so… which does she look like more?” You ask, considering the baby.
You squinted, taking in her squished features before looking at Thragg, then back at her.
“Ursaal. She looks like an Ursaal.” You decide, Thragg not interfering, content with anything you decided. Even if he didn't understand how a baby looked like an anything.
Kissing your cheek, Thragg nodded. “Ursaal and Onaan it is.” He said, brushing his thumb across their brows, feeling… warm. Content.
Two new Viltrumites, made by him and his mate, and he'd also found Argall's heirs too. Could things get any more perfect?
A knock on the door disrupted them.
Scowling, he called out, trying not to disturb Onaan and Ursaal.
“Grand Regent, the princess’ family is here to see her.” A doctor fearfully informed, the door opening right after.
As Thragg sighed and you tiredly greeted your kin, the babies remained quietly asleep, even as they were cooed over.
Looking down at his nephew and niece, Mark asked, “Hey, why did that guy call you princess?”
You paused, sharing a look with Thragg before giving your dad a toothy grin.
“So… we learned something interesting…”
Many months later…
Sitting on the patio, you carefully lowered Onaan until his feet touched the grass, giggling as the child tucked his feet up again. You'd been repeating this for the last five minutes, your baby boy not seeming to mind outside of wrinkling his little nose.
“Must you torture our son so?” Came your husband's voice behind you.
“Oh, he doesn't mind! Do you, Ony? Hmm? No, you don't!” You coo, cuddling and tickling his belly. He bursts into laughter as you stand, turning to face your mate.
Thragg stood at the door, eyes crinkling as he looked from you to your child. Sat on his arm, Ursaal was sucking her thumb, occasionally reaching for his moustache.
Dressed in casual, human clothes, Thragg looked completely different than how he was before. Nowadays, there was a lightness to his shoulders, eyes shining with life and happiness.
Retirement suited him.
With your dad revealed to be the grandson (or great grandson– it was a little unclear how many generations were between them) of Argall, he'd taken over and was keeping the Viltrumites in check, allowing them to continue their lives on Earth while continuing to make up for everything they'd done to the galaxy. A slow going process, but better than what would've happened before.
With him as Emperor, there was really no reason for Thragg to be in charge, so after looking at the list of houses again, you two decided to move to Earth, raise your kids and simply enjoy life together.
You were surprised Thragg agreed so easily, but… well, you suppose your plan worked. He still wasn't very open with his emotions, but you couldn't expect him to do a complete turnaround after being raised to repress them since he was a literal child.
And he seemed all the happier for it. He really, truly did. The future of the Viltrumites was secure, he didn't have everything weighing on his shoulders anymore, he had children. And, as if to sweeten it all, someday he'd rule beside you.
But that was far away yet, and for now…
Walking over, you pecked him on the cheek. Then looked down at Ursaal. “Hello, princess,” you cooed, doing the same to your daughter.
“Mmm, mmah!” Ursaal babbled, reaching for you. Taking her, you set her on your other hip, not missing how Thragg's gaze darkened with want, loving how… maternal you looked these days.
“Ooh, are you trying to say mama?” You ask, Thragg nodding.
“I've been encouraging her. She's close, I can feel it.”
“Oh, and so early too! Our little genius!”
Ursaal just gives a grin, a few teeth visible. She might still be learning the language, but she knew what that tone meant and was appropriately flattered, hiding her face against your chest.
Bouncing her a bit, you spent a moment simply holding her before heading over to the table, sitting down with the children in your lap. Thragg went back in and joined you a moment later, carrying a small plate of fruit he prepared.
“They're going to make a mess,” you say simply, watching the two begin to gnaw on berries, getting juice all over themselves in the process.
“Let them.” Thragg said, relaxing in his seat, sun making his eyes shine like honey. “Washing them is no trouble. And don't act like you haven't let them be messier.”
“Hey, kids deserve to play in the rain. It's like a childhood staple to splash in puddles.”
He hummed. “And make mud castles.” He drawled, recalling that clean up.
“Mm, that too.”
As you grinned cheekily, Ursaal rubbed her sticky hand against your cheek, making you groan quietly.
“Ugh, Ursa, please…”
When Thragg dared to laugh at your predicament, you passed an orange juice covered Onaan to him, smirking as the little boy immediately reached for his father's moustache, Thragg trying to gently evade his sticky grip.
“Ah– no, Onaan, no, enough– please do not–”
The sight filled you with an indescribable joy. It was just so… simple. So silly.
And it was all yours. Every single day you got to experience this. And yes, it was a lot at times– many times, in fact, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
So even as Ursaal slapped your cheek with a wet hand and got berry juices all over you, you smiled, completely happy with your life.
And even as Thragg threatened Onaan with light punishment, the boy giggling because he knew his daddy would never actually hurt or scare him, he wouldn't have it any other way either. Even if he'd fallen low and lived among lesser creatures now, he'd gotten a family out of it. And that was enough.
Your Cecil works are AMAZING I was wondering if you’re possibly taking reqs? 🥹💕 I can’t help but wonder what his reaction would be if he’s listening in or spying on a new hero or individual he’s unfamiliar with maybe doesn’t quite trust them yet and he just so happens to catch a private moment where they call out his name.
℘ private moments
₊⊹ cecil stedman x gn!hero!reader
ns4w. no gender/pronouns mentioned. a tiny bit dark. EXTREME INVASION OF PRIVACY. voyeurism. pillow humping. male masturbation. begging. unintentional mutual masturbation. cecil being a paranoid pervert.
⤷ you like cecil more than you let on.
wc: 2.2k
a/n: thank u! and i’m just going to assume that by “private moments” you mean reader is jerking their shit…please correct me if i’m wrong…anyways. nonnie i’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. i may have gotten a little bit carried away ^_^
masterlist
*
Cecil isn’t sure what to make of you.
Sure, you’re a competent hero. Smart, talented, courageous, strong. Not viltrumite strong, but strong enough to be considered in the run up for the new Guardians. That’s something.
You’re a sort of enigma to him. Outside of what he has digged up on your past and upbringing, the information he has on you is limited and your general personality does nothing to help that fact. With the few conversations he’s had with you, you’ve been quiet. Closed off. Aloof. Shy. Saying just enough to keep a tête-à-tête flowing but not enough to reveal anything deeper or private about yourself.
The thing is, what you don’t reveal in words, you reveal with your actions.
He’s the director of the Global Defence Agency. When you’ve held a position like this for over twenty years you tend to pick up on little behaviours and ticks that other people would gloss over.
Like how your eyes would always flicker around the room when in discussion with him, not once meeting his blue ones. How you steal glances at him when you think he and nobody else is looking. How you’d hurriedly fix your hair and brush off imaginary dust from your clothes when he appeared in front of you. How the rise and falls of your chest would quicken when he was in any sort of physical proximity to you.
Tiny things like that, invisible to others, were clear as day to him.
At first, Cecil was convinced that you simply did not like him.
This wasn’t new or even unusual. He’s the boss. He makes the rules. He’s tough on his employees and the heroes. In his position, such traits were essential for success. So, of course they wouldn’t like him. Of course you wouldn’t like him.
But something in the back of his mind kept telling him that this assumption was wrong. That he’s missing something. That you’re hiding something.
It’s not a surprise that he doesn’t trust you right away from these behaviours alone. It’s suspicious. You’re suspicious. Even if you’re accepted by the other heroes, to him you’re suspicious.
And after everything that has happened, Cecil won’t allow himself to be folded again.
He just prays that those cameras he told his men to install in your apartment pick up something good.
*
It all comes to light after a mission well done.
Cecil’s kept tabs on you.
And all in all, you don’t seem like a threat. You live a normal, average life. Running day to day errands, going to cafés to try new pastries, going to the gym, hanging out with your friends (of which he has also investigated), hell, even volunteering on your free days.
He doesn’t know if you’re actually safe or he just wants to believe that you are.
But with all the proof in front of him, you are no threat. That doesn't mean he’ll take his chances.
Wolves in sheep’s clothing are more common than one thinks.
Of course, the camera feed is for his eyes and his alone. He doesn’t want any of the creeps who he’s heard say, quite frankly, downright deviant things about you. Though, those cameras were admittedly overkill - his people who were tailing you and recording your every move was more than enough. But as he said, he’ll never risk it again.
Today was a good day.
The threat is taken down in record time, mostly thanks to you, a fact that Cecil makes sure to throw in your face.
Your reaction is a small, embarrassed smile, a glance down at your feet and the claim that, “it was just good teamwork”.
How humble. So damn perfect all the time.
It’s just him in the main monitor room now, watching you getting ready for bed, all the other workers having left hours ago to enjoy an actual life. He hasn’t had one of those in a long time.
Cecil sighs. He peels off his suit jacket.
You’re going through your night routine now; a shower, brushing your teeth, washing your face, what he thinks is yoga.
Active outside of superhero duties too. Other heroes could learn from you.
After watching you for a few weeks, he’s come to find this routine of yours therapeutic. Comforting almost. With all the uncertainty, the debilitating stress, the constant threat of danger pointing arrows at his head, the swirling paranoia and distrust that curls around his heart like poisonous vines, you remain stable in his chaotic life - a promise that some things never change.
He likes that.
Cecil looks away when you unwrap your towel from your body and dress into your pyjamas. It’s silly since he's already violated your privacy in ways that would get the average person thrown in jail, but he looks away anyway. He’s already done something terrible. He can be good, even if it’s just a small amount.
It takes no time for you to switch off the lights and curl up into your bed, snuggling underneath your sheets. At times like this, Cecil misses sleep.
For a while you scroll on your phone. Cecil rests on his back, lying his face on his palm as he observes you. God, the way people are just able to scroll on a small device for so long amazes him sometimes.
You spend a grand total of an hour and half doing that. Heroes these days.
He watches as you place your phone on your bedside table and stare up at the ceiling.
You get like that occasionally, Cecil’s noticed. At times, you’ll just be lost in your own mind, your daydreams, looking up to the sky and imagining all types of things. You speak to yourself too. A creep of guilt bloats up in his stomach. How can someone like him feel guilty about something as trivial as this? There are acts he’s committed far worse than this. Unspeakable acts. Things that he couldn’t even admit to a demon from hell.
But spying on some new, baby-hero is what makes him feel like shit. Great.
Cecil drags his hand down his face. A small throbbing ebbs in between his eyes.
Then he hears something from your bedroom feed. A moan.
He sits up immediately.
Are you hurt? Injured from the mission? You listen but he doesn’t think it’s beyond you to not seek medical treatment out of pride. Especially considering how you act around him.
Cecil looks up at the monitor.
You’re not in pain. Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.
When he was watching you just minutes ago, you were under the covers and seemingly getting ready to go to sleep.
Now? You’re not sleeping in the slightest.
Instead, your night pants have been thrown on your bedroom floor and you’re straddling one of your pillows, rolling your hips languidly.
…What?
What?
Yes, he’s put cameras all over your living space. Yes, he’s had people follow you wherever you go. Yes, he knows you have a life and you have your needs like everybody else in the world, hero or not. But this? Cecil’s never seen you do…this in all the weeks he’s been keeping an eye on you.
As if he didn’t feel bad for violating your privacy already. This goes far beyond digging for information about you, far beyond what is necessary.
This is just pure perversion.
So why can’t he stop watching? Why are his eyes glued to the way you grind your hips into the pillow? Why can’t he look away from the shirt trapped in between your teeth and the nimble fingers that play with your nipples?
He should stop.
Your gasps crescendo. One hand leaves your chest to grip onto your bedsheets. It seems like you’re close.
He should stop.
Cecil snaps out of his trance.
What is he doing? Spying - no, perving - on a hero, a new hero at that, one who is under his authority and guidance, one who looks up to him for help and stability in this job. What he’s doing is disgusting, it’s vile. If anyone were to find out about his actions, he would never be viewed the same way again, his reputation in fluttering tatters.
And yet.
“Cecil.”
That one sigh that flows from your mouth is a good enough encouragement for Cecil to throw away any sense he had left.
Is that why you’ve been acting the way you have? Those looks, glances, those lip bites - you’re attracted to him?
Now, Cecil isn’t blind. You’re beautiful, truly. You’re kind, sweet, eager and your almost skintight suit leaves little to the imagination - don’t look at him like that, he’s heard other people say the same things he has and worse.
To think those feelings are reciprocated? To an extent, at least? Shock doesn’t even begin to describe it. Cecil’s nothing special to look at. Even worse to know. He thought those days were behind him - times of people being attracted to him, wanting to be with him.
He stands corrected.
“Ah, fuck it.” He grunts out as he undoes the buckle of his belt.
Not like he has anything to lose.
He tugs his slacks and boxers down just enough to get his erect cock out. The show you’ve put on had already made him taut and aching in his pants.
He spits in his palm and lets out a staggered moan when his hand meets his warm, hard dick. It’s been a while. He doesn’t usually get a chance to do this often.
Cecil’s gaze flickers to the screen again.
There you are, still riding away - now both hands are on the mattress to stable yourself for leverage as you hump your own pillow.
Heat prickles in Cecil’s lower stomach.
It’s so…primal. Savage. The desperation and desire of your movements are so unlike you, so unlike how you present yourself to the rest of the world.
For a moment, he wonders how your hero friends would react if they knew you wanted to fuck the boss they all hated so much.
He winds his hand up and down his cock and gulps. Damn, this feels good. He forgot what he’s been missing out on.
Cecil can’t bring himself to look away from you for a second. If he thought you were beautiful in your suit and casual clothes, you’re stunning now, wearing only a night shirt and shorts as you fuck yourself to completion. Cecil doesn’t even think you’re wearing any underwear. His eyes roll back into his head at the thought.
He’s not lasting long.
“Cecil, please…”
Begging, too? You want him dead. He wishes you were like this with him in person and not so damn reserved.
He grumbles and speeds up his hand, trying to match the pace you’re going at - a fast, untamed one, borderline wild and animalistic.
“Cecil, please. Please, please, I wanna cum…”
Is this why you’re so shy around him? So tense and astute? You’re such a good, little hero. His hero. It’s no wonder that you act the way you do. You just need someone to help you let off some steam, you just need someone to take the edge off for you, someone who knows how to. You need him to take care of you.
All you had to do was ask.
Cecil’s hand is a blur over his cock. You’re obscene. Squeaks can be heard over the feed, squeaks and creaks from your bed, whining under the ferocity of your movements. God, you really need this.
“Cecil…Cecil, ‘m so close.”
“Fuck, yes.” Cecil loses himself in your pleading, your cries, your moans, your whimpers - they’re his redemption. “Fuck, yes. Cum for me. Go on, let go. Fuck, you deserve it.”
Like you can hear him, feel him, you do let go. Your hips stutter, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you find release on the pillow, rotating your hips through what appears to be an oppressive, shattering high. Small breaths escape you as it makes its way through your trembling body, battering you down to the bone.
And then you moan out his name, a soft, satisfied thing, your expression one of complete and utter bliss and that alone sends him over the edge.
He jerks himself quickly with more want than he wants to admit. Cecil’s hips follow his hands for a second. He grunts, thumbs his tip and cums. He groans, gripping the underside of his seat as he does, baring his teeth. His voice echoes through the room but he doesn’t care, not when you’re still faintly moaning his name as you fall from your heaven. His cum oozes out of him, squeezed out by his hand and seeps shamelessly onto the floor.
Yeah, he’ll clean that later.
“Fuck.”
His legs tremble. He looks at the mess in his hands and on the floor. Then back at you again.
You’re lying on your bed, out of breath, sweaty and content. Cecil wishes he was next to you, wishes he could wipe you down and clean you up, talk you through it and calm you over.
Maybe one day.
For now, he switches off the monitor. He stares at the black screen. Stares at himself
“Shit.” He curses, resting back into this chair. “I’m so fucked.”
Hit me as hard as you can | Cecil Stedman/f! Reader
“Please– please, I just–”
“Kid, what's–?”
“Cecil, please, I-I just– I can't–”
“Kid, breathe! Now tell me what's wrong, what do you need?”
You gasp, inhaling deep, sucking in lungfuls of air scented with his cologne as you look up into his eyes, pretending you don't feel the way his heart is racing as you grip onto his jacket, pretend you don't notice you're scaring the shit out of him right now (no no no, never him, he can't be scared of you– you'll help him stop being scared of you) after you barged into his office and latched onto him with just enough strength to snap bones with ease.
“You.”
Cecil's eyebrows jump at your harried, desperate tone.
“I need you.”
—
Or—
You want to be forced, want to be fucked by someone capable of keeping you in control.
Cecil Stedman, your handler and Director of the GDA, is more than up to that task.
Tags: NSFW/smut, CNC, reader is Mark's older sister/a Viltrumite hybrid, age gap (reader is early-mid twenties, Cecil is sixty), power dynamics (boss/employee, powered/non-powered), fingering, blowjobs, spanking/belting/impact play, rough sex, stomping(?)/stepping on someone, nonconsensual voyeurism and mutual masturbation, BDSM, sub reader/dom Cecil, reader has a slight crush on him, first time, they're both freaky.
6.4k words
Somebody needed to do a psychology study on powered individuals and how it relates to their kinks. Because as much as you've looked around for any correlation, for any hint that what you feel is normal… you haven't found anything.
Obviously, you've found plenty articles and forums on kinks and yes, you know it's normal to have them. So long as it's safe and everyone consents, no kink is wrong or bad.
That doesn't mean you stop feeling weird about it though, because how can you ever begin to explain this… urge to be pushed down and taken? How can you ever date someone and tell them that you want to be held down and hurt, to pretend to be powerless as they take and take and take what they want from you? Especially if they know your superhero identity? It just wouldn't work.
They'd think you were weird. And you do feel weird for it, left in silence wondering if the others feel this way, if other heroes have ever wanted to be the weak victim in the bedroom, wanted to know what it was like to be overpowered and out of control without actually not having control.
Every time you get close to asking, something stops you. An emergency. A sudden moment of anxiety. The words catching in your throat.
Always something that prevented you from finding out if you were truly normal or just another freak in this fucked up universe.
You don't feel like a freak at the moment, though.
Lying in bed, eyes shut, room bathed in darkness; it's easy to pretend like this. Hand slipping into your shorts and stroking, rubbing yourself while imagining every taboo scenario your mind can come up with to get yourself off.
Your breathing picks up a little, otherwise you're silent, overly aware of the other occupants of the house. The more you came into your powers, the more your senses grew. And the more they grew, the more aware you became of yourself.
You couldn't imagine your brother's horror when his get stronger and he realises you and dad had probably heard him a couple of times. Something to tease him about if he ever truly pissed you off.
That aside, you're quiet, focusing on yourself, senses piqued, picking up on the distant sounds of the house and others in the neighbourhood. There's a rustling a few yards down, and a car honking in the distance, and…
There's this faint buzzing sound. It kind of reminds you of a light-bulb or a refrigerator, actually. And you've only noticed it recently, not long after your dad was attacked, in fact.
Sometimes, you like to listen to it and pretend it's like the internal buzzing of a camera, that somebody is watching you, microphone picking up on the soft shlicks and your breath hitching on the rare occasion.
It's hot. Makes you feel hazy, out of control. Weak.
The thought once again makes you cum.
Not long after getting your powers, you began to work for the GDA.
It wasn't long into your new superhero career that you began to grow bored with beating up the same villains who alwaysbroke out of prison after you put them there. Maybe it was the growing frustration coupled with teenage hormones, or maybe your morals had always been wonky, but after a certain point, you stopped pulling your punches, started hitting harder and leaving the villains so injured they were forced to stay in prison longer.
But, as always, they inevitably broke out again and the cycle repeated, though at that point they began to avoid you, choosing to run and hide rather than fight you.
… it shouldn't have been a surprise when your reputation tanked, whispers filling the streets and comment sections under clips of you full of fear and worries you were going to go villain.
Your dad told you to ignore them, that what you were doing was fine, okay, even. That somebody had to say enough was enough and fix things permanently.
You'd only been fifteen at the time, already having the power to play judge, jury, and executioner. It hadn't seemed right to you, even with the anger and frustration you became intimately familiar with.
Your dad had just ruffled your hair, a comforting weight on your head.
“We're Viltrumites, sweetie. We're the only ones who can decide what's right or wrong.”
Despite the reassuring words, the doubt lingered, the worry you might go too far. Or… no. Not the worry you'd go too far, but that you'd hurt someone who didn't deserve it. It was one thing to kill a murderer, it was another to kill someone who was only a criminal out of necessity. You didn't want to be that person.
That's where the GDA came in.
Even then Cecil had kept a close eye on you, seeing your power and your wavering morals and seeing the warning signs ahead of time. So, like he always did with potential problems, he stepped in.
Your dad would've told him to fuck off. Your mom would've warned you to never trust him. Mark… your baby brother probably would've said to listen to your parents.
Yet when Cecil Stedman appeared before your blood soaked form, a pile of flesh that was once a body beneath you, he stared you straight in the eye and offered you a hand.
“You look rough, kid. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”
There he was, a completely ordinary man, weak and vulnerable, alone with a rabid beast. Yet despite the blood dripping from your hands and teeth, this weak human man had gently laid a hand on your shoulder and took you away.
You'd never felt so grounded, so… so…
It felt a lot like your dad, actually. Not familiar or comforting, no, but just as powerful, just as guiding, as controlling.
It felt like if you tried to lash out, he'd grab you by the scruff and go no, bad girl, and would hold you there until you stopped and listened.
It did something for you. The knowledge that Cecil would guide you, that he wouldn't let you become a monster…
Yeah, you liked that a lot.
Back then it had been normal, of course. Platonic, a hero-handler bond. Just listen to the voice in your ear and you don't have to worry about hurting someone with a baby at home, someone who's being forced to do these things.
Listen to Cecil and you can go home with a lighter conscience.
It had been normal.
And then you turned twenty and something in your brain clicked when you realised just how much power Cecil had over you.
You, a super powered hero. You, a Viltrumite hybrid. You, who can redirect meteors and blast through mountains with ease.
And yet one scruff on the back of your neck or a warning glare made you back down. Made you listen to Cecil like some well trained dog.
Yeah, you were totally normal about this. So normal in fact that after you started exploring your weird over-powering/force kink, you had to bat thoughts of Cecil away while you got off because otherwise you wouldn't be able to look him in the eye for a while.
Which you didn't want. He had such beautiful eyes– wait, no—
Once again, you wish there was a study done on this sort of stuff. Not your kinks this time, but on if it's normal for heroes to be so… hmm, submissive towards their handlers. So smitten.
You couldn't help it. Not when Cecil kept you in check, when he knew just what to do to help you. Nor did it help that you found him attractive, his competence and maturity and confidence all making you starry-eyed whenever you saw him in action.
You wanted that. You wanted that all the time. Not just on the field, but at home, too. Wanted Cecil to instruct you on how to do tasks you were still figuring out, wanted him to order you around on the days your mind was empty yet buzzing, leaving you frozen and unable to do anything because you just couldn't think.
You wanted Cecil to grab you by the scruff and to push you down. You wanted him to hold you down with his abysmal strength and force you to take it. You wanted him to use you not just as a weapon, but as a piece of warm meat as well, to empty all his stress and frustration into you until you were dripping with it.
You wanted to be crushed under his dress shoes and feel lesser than a pathetic human past his prime.
(… someone also needed to do a study about Viltrumites and their adoration for humans. Y'know. Someday.)
But how could you tell him that? You couldn't. You were too scared to. Just in case he rejected you, looked at you differently. You didn't– you couldn't risk it. Not with him. Not in case he put distance between you, if he handed you off to another GDA official, someone less able to keep you grounded and controlled.
Not that you'd allow him to. You only wanted Cecil. Nobody else. If necessary you'd force–
There it was again. That word. That urge to do what you wanted, fuck the consequences.
Killing, hurting, taking what you wanted, it was all the same in the end, no? Especially when you were too strong to be contained. And you know this. Cecil knows this. That's the whole reason why you have the Director of the GDA himself as your personal handler, both because he couldn't trust anyone else to be in charge of such a deadly asset and because you didn't trust or judge anyone else capable of keeping you in check.
And it just– it goes in circles. Round and round and round as you lie in bed or stand in the shower, eyes heavy and mind hazy as you want– want to be beneath him, want to be taken by him, want to be forced by him– and yet know you can't, can't risk it, can't ruin it, can't even begin to make yourself even imagine telling him because it's so shameful, so embarrassing, and so you–
You just–
The electrical buzz. A prickle on your skin. The tension in the air as it feels like the GDA is keeping a much, much closer eye on your dad, your family.
You lay in bed, naked, and pretend you're being watched, pretend somewhere in this room, Cecil has a camera watching you and can see the way your plump lips part around your fingers, stroking through your folds and making yourself blossom open for him as you touch yourself, quiet despite the need to moan and scream and beg as you thrash under someone you trust enough to play weak with.
You pretend even as you start to wonder if they really are watching you. It would be such an invasion of privacy if they were, you'd feel ashamed, dirty, if anyone at the GDA saw you like this…
Right?
Right. You would. Definitely.
You ignore the faint bit of hope in your heart, dumb thing stuttering at the thought that Cecil might be watching.
You also ignore the fact that you cum faster now, harder, with the almost guaranteed fact you might be being watched.
Afterwards, you blink slowly, cleaning your fingers off and turning onto your side, nuzzling your pillow. You listen for anything as you fall asleep, and you swear you hear a faint shift in that ambient buzzing.
Far away, sitting in a dark office, a man shuddered, cock jerking in his fist as he stared at the screen with heavy-lidded eyes.
Stroking himself slowly, milking the last of his pleasure, Cecil breathed a heavy sigh, grabbing a tissue to clean up. He did so quietly, waiting to feel some shame, but… well. He'd done worse than spy on a hero under his care masturbating.
Much worse.
So he didn't feel too bad about it– it's not like anyone would ever know– as he tidied up, zipping his pants back up, still staring at the screen where you were now asleep on your side, leg hitched up just-so that Cecil could see the sticky shine on your cunt, plump lips pressed together and covered in a fine layer of fluff.
You had a pretty pussy, he couldn't help but think. Really pretty.
“Too pretty for me,” he muttered with a sigh, exiting the camera feed and standing up to head to bed himself. He needed to get whatever rest he could.
At least his nightly sessions with you tired him out plenty, so it wasn't long after his head hit the pillow that he was falling asleep.
Your head felt hazy.
Not surprising, since you haven't slept in days, too busy helping in Chicago.
With your brother still in a coma and your mom staying by his side, you decided to get out and actually do something. You just couldn't sit around and twiddle your thumbs, knowing the world was still reeling, that people were still suffering from what your dad did.
Your head felt empty, thoughts slow and foggy; your body was filled with a restless energy, leg bouncing as you sat, watching Mark's heart monitor with unseeing eyes.
Cecil had entered, said some words. Then–
Long fingers and a warm, rough palm grip and press into your neck; Cecil holds you by the scruff and grounds you, pulling you back down to earth immediately.
“Go on, kid.” He'd said, giving you a gentle squeeze; you revelled in it, quickly soaking up as much of this touch as you could before he pulls away. “Get some air. Do something.”
“Will you… be here?”
The question is far too telling, you feel. Vulnerable and hopeful. Despite the situation and the amount of stress he's under and the amount of work he must have to do, you're still asking him to be the voice in your ear, to hold your hand and guide you.
Pathetic. Yet you need it. Especially now, after… after everything.
Cecil gives you a look, not a particular long one, but one heavy with something. You can't help but stare at the bags under his eyes.
Oh, Cecil…
Finally, he sighs.
“Yeah,” he looks away. Drops his hand. “I'll be here, kid.”
Maybe he needed a bit of normalcy too, in the face of such a great betrayal from someone you both trusted.
The aftermath of Omni-Man’s betrayal changes things, especially for the people closest to him.
After seeing the sheer destruction your father caused with so little trouble, your fears about your own abilities resurge.
I could do the same, you think as you clear rubble. I could do all this and more. Right now if I wanted to.
And who would stop you? Mark was comatose, most of the heroes capable of stopping you dead…
It would be so, so easy.
And that scares you. It scares you so bad that the carefully applied walls you've put up begin to crumble, begin to fracture with every day that passes and you help clean up more and more dead bodies.
You look at them, at their faces if they still have them, and try to keep yourself grounded, keep your heart open and feel sympathy and empathy.
Yet it is so hard to keep doing it. Emotionally exhausted, you start to feel nothing as you gently place a child's corpse among the rest. And when you realise that, horror strikes you, cold and sudden and you just– you—
“Please– please, I just–”
“Kid, what's–?”
“Cecil, please, I-I just– I can't–”
“Kid, breathe! Now tell me what's wrong, what do you need?”
You gasp, inhaling deep, sucking in lungfuls of air scented with his cologne as you look up into his eyes, pretending you don't feel the way his heart is racing as you grip onto his jacket, pretend you don't notice you're scaring the shit out of him right now (no no no, never him, he can't be scared of you– you'll help him stop being scared of you) after you barged into his office and latched onto him with just enough strength to snap bones with ease.
“You.”
Cecil's eyebrows jump at your harried, desperate tone.
“I need you.”
Cecil had always known you had an attachment to him.
Some would say it was an unhealthy attachment. Cecil would say better unhealthy than nonexistent. Because at least this way he had the second strongest person on earth on a leash.
Well. The strongest now that Nolan had left.
It was normal, really. Superpowered individuals always ended up clinging to their handlers one way or another. He just had to look at the GDA’s records to see the proof.
Sometimes the attachments, the relationships between powered individual and handler, were platonic, familial, friendly. Other times they became romantic, sexual. Just another way to keep such powerful beings human, another tool to keep them doing their job and saving lives.
Cecil wasn't going to lie, he somewhat expected this to happen at some point. Though he expected it to happen much later. He was so much older than you after all, but with recent events…
Well, he couldn't blame you if you suddenly gained some daddy issues, now could he?
So yeah, he'd expected this to happen one of these days.
He just hadn't realised you'd always felt this way towards him.
A mistake on his part. In hindsight, it was obvious that you'd had a thing for him for a while now. Something to look for in old footage later. For now, though–
“Kid…”
“Cecil, please. I just– just hurt me. Hold me down. I-I need it.”
He'd sighed, stared down at your knelt form, hands in his pockets like this was just another moment between you and not like you were begging him to force himself on you.
(Like he'd said before though, he'd done worse.
Much, much worse.
So what was a little game of pretend?)
“… fine.”
The pressure was exquisite.
Heavy, on the edge of painful, cold, even. The heel of Cecil's dress shoe dug into your skull for a moment as he shifted his weight, then the toes were digging into your temple, pressing down, crushing your head into his carpet with all the force he could muster.
Which wasn't a lot. But that was fine. You were happy to pretend you were powerless, happy to set all your strength and invulnerability aside for something you've been aching for.
A hum catches your attention, and your eyes flutter, struggling to open as the pressure on your skull increases, brain squeezed pleasantly. For anyone else it would be painful. For you, it felt like a hug.
Looking up, you were blinded by the ceiling lights for a moment before your eyes adjusted, able to see him and not just his silhouette. Cecil stared down at you with all the coldness he usually reserved for others, one hand in his pocket while the other gripped a gun. You were familiar with the design, had it tested against you before. It tended to sting.
The thought of him using it against you right now had you dripping.
“Look at you… who would've thought.” He says, tone heavy as he pressed harder again before lifting his foot. Before you could rise up, he stomped down onto your back, forcing the air out of your lungs as his expensive shoe pressed between your shoulder blades. “I shouldn't be surprised though. Not really. Heroes always do weird shit in the bedroom.”
Well, that answered that question.
“Though I'll admit, I never expected this from you.” His foot dragged down your back, leather digging into your spine. “I honestly would've thought you'd like to dominate your partners, being a Viltrumite and all.”
Your mind feels blissfully empty, cheek squished against the carpet as your body lays pliant on the ground.
You hum quietly. “Don't wanna.” You murmur, words slurred as you drift off somewhere else, feeling so, so pleasantlyweak. “Could hurt someone.”
You can feel his eyes stare into the side of your head. A shiver goes down your spine.
“You're something else, kid. Honestly, it's a good thing.” He says, faux casual, right before shoving the front of his shoe right into your cunt, grinding the toe of it along your split.
You might scream from the shock of it, jolted out of that soothing headspace from the sudden ache of something hard and rough spreading your lips open and digging into your hole before roughly dragging down and pressing into your clit.
There's nothing nice about this, nothing pleasurable. And yet it sends sparks of heat through your body anyway, making your hips stutter, unsure of wherever to push back or away.
Cecil takes the decision off of your hands by grinding his foot harder against you.
Whining, you gasp when his hand suddenly grabs your hair, wrenching your head back and making your spine arch uncomfortably. Sparks of pain litter along your skull, small bursts that zap across your brain and make that need inside you purr with delight.
“The way you are… it's good.” Cecil assures you in that drawling, cold tone of his, conflicting with the praise of the words he says as he wraps your hair around his wrist. He tugs, pulls, tests what you can take and listening to your startled whimpers with hidden delight.
Sue him, but having such a powerful being literally under his foot… it did things for him.
“Really.” He continues, rubbing the hard sole of his dress shoe against the plump mound of your pussy through your suit, the shape clinging and showing off your cameltoe. “After what your father did… we need all the assurances we can get that you won't turn out the same way.”
His honesty was appreciated even as it chilled you; you'd hoped you'd already proven yourself to him over the years.
“And you grinding your foot against my vagina does that how exactly?”
Your snark earns you a rough tug on your hair, one that bends your neck back enough for you to meet his cool glare.
“For one, it shows you don't have that fucking holier-than-thou attitude.” He snaps, getting into character. Or maybe he was actually snapping, letting out all his frustrations with you.
Good. You wanted it to be as real as possible.
“And secondly, it lets me know that if I ever have to take you down, it'll be much easier and cheaper than when we tried to take down Nolan.”
His foot pulls back and you yelp as he yanks you to your feet by your hair. Still gripping it tight, Cecil shoves you towards his desk, slamming you down against it.
Funny how if you'd used your own strength, the thing would've shattered.
“After all–” he grunts, yanking down your pants and underwear, baring your ass to him, “–all I'll have to do is take you over my fuckin’ knee.”
His hand snaps down and cracks against your ass before you can even register what's happened.
You tense up, taken by surprise, but once the pain registers and warmth blossoms against your cheek, you relax, going limp.
Seeing the way you immediately give in, Cecil exhales softly, amused.
“See? A good, submissive girl. You only need a strong hand to settle you.” He crooned, stroking your cheek before slapping it again. “That's all you've ever needed, huh? Someone to bend you over and fuck the attitude out of you? Hmm?”
His palm cracks against your other cheek twice, giving no break between strikes and making you tense up and shudder.
“Hell, sweetheart, you should've told me sooner. I would've made sure you were too docile to ever lose control.” He rubs your ass, squeezes the soft flesh before slapping again, watching it ripple with interest. “No more worries about hurting anyone. I would've had you well-trained, breaking you in until the mere thought of disobeying caused you pain.”
Skin hot, you press your face harder against the cool wood underneath you, sucking in shaky breaths. Your backside stings while your cunt throbs, leaking and clenching around nothing. And his words…
The thought of being Cecil's attack dog, being used by him however he wanted…
God.
Behind you, Cecil takes off his belt.
You can hear it, the metal clasp jingling and the muffled swoop of leather being pulled free. Your eyes widen as your heartbeat speeds up.
There's no warning. Not even a muttered “Prepare yourself”.
One moment everything is fine. And the next–
A sharp crack splits the air as his belt strikes across your ass, making you scream out and jolt.
“Cecil!”
“Shhh, shhh, that wasn't so bad, was it?” His words lack any care, cold and cruel. You almost don't like it. “Come on, I've seen you take worse than a bit of leather to the ass. You can handle it.”
And handle it you did.
With each sharp strike to your backside, you whimpered and yelped, sniffling as tears welled up in your eyes, mind emptying with each strike.
Your ass burned, sore and hot. Your inner thighs however were shiny, cunt dripping and making a mess.
You were limp on his desk by now, laying there as you absently stared at random knickknacks on his shelves.
In the distance, you hear his belt hit the ground, muffled by the carpet.
“Still with me, kid?”
His hand is warm from exertion as he cups your cheek, guiding you to look at him.
You blink softly, like a cat, feeling… something. Content, maybe. You feel… you feel perfectly beaten, if that was even a thing.
“Words, sweetheart. You want more or do you want to stop?”
At least he didn't ask if he went too far. Now that would've been insulting if he had.
“Hmm. I… I wanna…” You think for a moment, brows knitting together as you went over past fantasies. Slowly, your eyes lowered to his slacks, seeing the bulge there. “Can… can you force me to suck you off? Please?”
Something in his face softens, and with another sigh, Cecil pets your head.
“Course.” He mutters, the moment between you two soft and almost sweet. It lasts for a few more seconds, Cecil allowing you to recuperate, to push up and stand before he grabs the gun from earlier and presses it to your temple.
“Now, on your knees.”
You can't stop yourself from grinning even if you tried.
Hot and heavy on your tongue, Cecil's cock has a funny taste to it.
Fleshy, musky like sweat, but also something vaguely… sharp-sweet-bitter. Like chemicals.
You love it.
Bobbing your head as the gun presses between your eyes, you suck and slurp, eagerness making up for inexperience as you look up at him, unable to hide your heart-eyes even if you tried.
Cecil just panted, biting his knuckles and trying to keep up the act you asked for, but fuck him it had been forever since he'd last gotten a blowjob so he was really struggling to keep cool here.
“Fuck, that's it…”
“Such a good girl…”
“Might have to make you do this more… order you in here and keep you under my desk when you're not needed elsewhere.”
Each word hit you where you needed it most, clit hard and pulsing, begging for relief at this point. It even would've accepted the shoe again, anything to relieve the pressure.
You sucked on his cock and pulled back to swirl your tongue around his tip like a bright red lollipop. Then you'd move lower, lathering his sack with messy kisses that made him wish you wore lipstick. The image alone would've gave him enough material to jerk off to for weeks.
All the while you worshipped him, the gun remained against your head, an empty threat that had your heart skipping a beat regardless every time you felt or looked at it.
For so long you'd been weak, mortal. A gun had just been another thing in the world capable of killing you with ease. Just because you'd gotten your powers doesn't mean that fear had completely gone away. On an irrational level, it remained, giving you a dirty thrill every time Cecil ‘threatened’ you with it.
You wouldn't mind being fucked by one someday. Maybe record it and send it to Cecil? Or was that too much for your new arrangement? You'd ask later. For now though…
“Kid–” Cecil stopped you, yanking your head back. “Stop. Anymore and I'm gonna cum. And I'm too old to go multiple rounds.” He warns, cheeks flushed as he catches his breath, cock still twitching in your face.
You eye it hungrily but listen, remaining knelt between his legs like the submissive creature he was turning you into little by little.
Once he's not at risk of painting your face in white, Cecil speaks.
“So, what now?” He asks, setting the gun aside, practically a prop for all it could actually do to you. “Any ideas, kid?”
You frown, hands curling into fists as you try to ignore the pulsing between your legs.
“I… I dunno. I've never done any of this before.” You admit, making Cecil pause before sighing into his hand as he rubs his face.
“Of course you're a– fuckin’ forgot–” he cleared his throat, eyeing you before pulling you up with a hand around your throat. You come willingly, relaxing into his hold.
You'd kicked your pants off earlier, so as you straddled his lap, his cock was pressing against your puffy lips, tip smacking against your folds as you two adjusted, shivering at the contact.
You looked down, then up, meeting Cecil's gaze. You looked so cute like this, innocent, like you weren't incredibly dangerous and an apparent freak in the sheets.
Fingers flexing, Cecil squeezed your neck, watching the way your eyes fluttered briefly.
Looking down at your puffy pussy, Cecil couldn't help but think it was even prettier in person. Gently, he ran his fingers through your split, seeing how soaked they get with your sticky arousal.
“Anything in particular you want me to do here?” He asks, voice low as he circles your clit, feeling your tremble from it. Damn, but you were needy. Your poor pussy had been so neglected that just this had you ready to tip over the edge. “Because otherwise I'm just going to ‘force’ myself on you like you asked.”
You rapidly nod.
“That's it? You just want–? Okay,” he exhaled softly, almost amused at the pleading look you were giving him. Despite what they were doing and what you wanted, you were still so fucking cute.
Pushing his chair back, Cecil shoved you off his lap roughly, still gripping your neck, though now it was more of a choke. He felt you swallow as he stood, towering over you before he lifted you up (thank God for your powers otherwise this whole thing would've been impossible) and shoving you back down on his desk.
You writhed like a bug stuck on its back, eyes wide as he squeezed your throat while he began fingering you roughly, fast paced to prepare this tight little hole for his cock.
You choked a bit, gripping his wrist and pulling weakly at it, feet kicking wildly but nowhere near him.
“Calm down.” He snapped, landing a swift smack to your already puffy cunt, making you jolt. You stop squirming, allowing him to shove your legs up and out of the way. “Good girl. Now hold yourself open.”
You listened, gripping the back of your knees, looking up at him with faux nervousness as he scissored his fingers within you, hole swallowing them up and clenching hungrily.
“Jesus, kid,” he muttered, pulling them out– barely– and grasping his cock, “you're going to fucking choke me, aren't you?”
“You're the one with his hand around my neck, sir.” You murmur innocently, earning another squeeze for it; you go back to pretending you don't want this, whining as he tries pushing in, his veins bulging as he grips your neck tighter for leverage before finally, he pops in.
Your thighs tremble at the sensation while Cecil just gasps, taking a moment to breathe because… Christ on a stick, you're tight. Viltrumite muscles are all super strong apparently.
Staring down at you, Cecil loses himself for a moment, simply drinking in this pretty view he's going to be seeing a lot more of now. Shit, for once his luck was looking up. At least one good thing was happening after everything, even if it was mostly good for him.
As Cecil's hips slot against your ass, you let out a slow breath, dazed as you stare up at the ceiling.
You feel so… full. Full and stretched and warm. Yet your mind is blissfully quiet. You don't have to think or worry, no point in fighting– Cecil has already won, after all. His grip around your neck is firm, grounding; it let you know without a doubt that if you ever lost control or tried to hurt anyone, he'd be there to scruff you and crush you underfoot again, pressure on your skull until everything went quiet and all you could feel was him.
You'd never doubted he was perfect for you. Not even once.
You just hadn't dared to hope.
Pulling back, Cecil feels himself shudder as your walls try to hold onto him, to pull him back in. He couldn't recall the last time he'd actually slept with anyone, so it was a challenge not to blow his load then and there.
But once he regained control of himself? Once Cecil was sure he wasn't going to blow his load like a virgin? He snapped back into you and began to thrust.
Slow and steady at first, hips rolling forward to grind his tip against your g-spot with every plunge, then faster as he found a good rhythm that had your head falling back and eyes half-lidded, gaze distant and unseeing as you clenched around his cock and soaked his table with more arousal than he thought possible to produce.
Another part of your Viltrumite biology?
Regardless, it wasn't something he was going to complain about– much. His desk was probably going to smell like pussy for a while though.
All the while Cecil fucked into you, his hand remained around your throat like a brand, almost managing to bruise you. Each time his fingers flexed and adjusted their grip, you'd flutter around him, a sound warbling in your throat.
Considering the amount of teasing you'd received, it didn't take long for you to cum. Cecil felt it, cock gripped like a vice as your walls rippled around him, pulsing with heat and liquid as you jolted under him, mouth opening in a silent scream.
Cecil took a calculated risk and slapped you. Light, not able you harm even if he put his all into it.
A small gush of squirt escaped you.
“Fucking hell, kid, you really do like it rough.” He gruffly said, focusing on his breathing and pace, jaw clenching as he felt his balls tighten and draw up. “Next time you need this, tell me, and I'll prepare some bondage for you. Bet you'd like being tied up and incapable, yeah?”
You whimpered, legs encircling his hips.
“Yeah.” He nodded, hunching over you, thrusting just that bit faster to reach his finish. “Don't worry, kid, I'll handle everything. You just keep being good, and I'll give you what you need.”
His ragged words were cut off by a groan, and Cecil fell on top of you, forehead sweaty and pressing against your shoulder, holding onto you as he came. Thick ropes filled you, each pump stuffing you with (thankfully) unviable sperm.
Once done, he began catching his breath, turning his head so he wasn't panting directly in your ear. He also released his hold on your neck, shaking his hand out.
“Christ, I think that was more painful for me.” He muttered, slowly pushing up. “You alright?”
You just blinked slowly, an affectionate look on your face as you gazed at him, body limp and radiating satisfaction.
Huffing in amusement, Cecil slumped back into his chair, simply taking a moment to calm down, his old heart giving him its complaints.
When you sat up some time later, you looked down, embarrassed.
“Thank you for doing this, Cecil.” You whispered, voice somewhat hoarse; he had no doubt it would be fixed in less than an hour. “I… I know it's weird–”
“Damn right it's weird. But so are most kinks. And believe me, kid, yours is on the lighter side of the spectrum.” He said, wiping himself clean before tucking himself back into his pants. “So don't kick yourself over it. You hardly heard me complaining or needing convincing.”
You gave him a shy look. “You… like pretending to force your partners?” You ask almost hopefully.
With a sigh, he stood again, gently stroking your hair back.
“Not quite. But I do cross the line most of the time.” He hesitated, then, “… I've been watching you. At night. While you were getting off.” He admitted quietly.
“… you watched me masturbate?”
“Mmm-hmm. And I, uh, joined in.” He awkwardly admitted, but you deserved to know he was just as, if not more, perverse than you.
You stared at him, then shuddered, lips pressing together as your eyes fluttered shut.
“Kid?”
“… I think I just came again.”
Jesus.
You cleared your throat. “Uh… anyway, that's hot and I fucking knew I was hearing something, but uh… feel free to keep watching.” You offered him a slightly less embarrassed smile. “I don't mind.”
Cecil just chuckled, partially in disbelief and partially in shock. You just kept surprising him, huh?
“Sure thing, sweetheart. Now… how about we go shower?” He suggested, feeling filthy.
“Yeah! Ooh, and if it's alright… can I tell you about some of my fantasies? For future reference, of course.” You ask, Cecil withholding a smile at your eagerness.
Would you ever stop being so adorable to him?
“Yes, just don't expect me to act on any of them. Again, I'm old. Be glad you even got this much from me.”
