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revehae · 8 months

Text

indulgence

pairing ↠ killer!johnny × (f) detective reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, johnny is 43

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and johnny suh is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince johnny to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ this is a repost. it is connected to do you like it, dr. lee? but can be read as a standalone story. this fic is somewhat darker than my usual fics and i encourage readers to proceed with caution and heed the warnings; you have been advised.

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold.

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this johnny suh guy, whoever he was, was far from an amateur.

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to johnny’s holding room.

the gate lifted. behind it, you clocked the riveting face of detroit’s worst nightmare, hands cuffed at his back as he sat facing you. there was a sort of twisted grin on his face, not as if he was excited to have a visitor, but excited his visitor had been you.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from johnny.

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way johnny agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, johnny. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

johnny hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, suh.”

“it’s gotten me here,” johnny quipped.

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” johnny said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, johnny. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden our database’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

johnny feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and the college professor this year.”

johnny leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” johnny asked, deflecting.

you were heeding the guard’s warning. it seemed this guy liked to answer questions with questions, your least favorite type of offender. “that’s why when you subsequently added the sex act to part of your crimes, you kept your victims much longer, because you like to see them suffer. until you got bored. then, you killed them and dumped their bodies like trash.”

as if he was disinterested, johnny glanced to the side and yawned.

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, suh?”

johnny replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, johnny. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

johnny cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

you restrained from heaving a breath. there was a crushing weight on your shoulders, the expectation to get this guy to crack. if you couldn’t do it, nobody would - ever. “how many victims do you have?”

“four.” johnny’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

folding your arms on the table, you shook your head. “no, i just don’t think that’s true. see, we’re pretty sure martina mortes, your high school girlfriend, was your first victim, and the college professor was your last.”

johnny cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did johnny deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and johnny had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

johnny teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

you narrowed your eyes, groaning, “oh, come on. i know and you know that you can’t ignore your desires for a month, let alone over ten years. you have a compulsion. killing makes you feel powerful, it makes you feel in control, and you can’t live without the high it gives you.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” johnny remarked, pretending to be offended.

“it wouldn’t be so far from the truth,” you said, glancing over the file at your end of the table. “the first two kills were seven years apart. the second two kills were ten. full offense, i don’t see how you could control yourself for so long.”

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” johnny lied, not that you ever needed to know.

of course, he couldn’t control himself. the second he took someone’s life, it became a part of him, and his purpose in this world became clear to him. for the first time in his life, he felt as if he had something that made living worthwhile.

you surrendered. it was obvious johnny was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” johnny asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

johnny gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching johnny’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

there was something about women he never liked, the seemingly inherent ability to blow almost anything out of proportion, as exhibited now as his girlfriend screamed in his face. his stepmother was the same, never not coming up with a reason to fuss at him. he was always walking on eggshells around that woman.

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, johnny.”

johnny heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat.

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and a goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” johnny roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, johnny. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

johnny sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his careless and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

johnny’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” johnny asked, nothing short of belligerent.

ache spread out through the back of martina’s head, a ceaseless throbbing worse than any hungover. her feet dangled off of the ground, waving and kicking, fingers weakly prying at the ones pressing down on her windpipe. until she was completely still, legs dropping, hands going limp at her sides.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” johnny confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

johnny groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

“i’m sure it did.” your eyes flickered over the file again, but nothing would allow you to familiarize yourself with this killer more than talking to him yourself. “for example, you realized just how much you liked killing.”

if johnny could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, johnny. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

johnny chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded.

johnny leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. johnny pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself.

“detective, did i startle you?” johnny asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

he’s just a fragile man that kills women to make him feel better about himself, because he needs to be in control. don’t give him power over you. that’s what he wants, you said to yourself, shutting any and all other thoughts. “so, you killed martina, nobody could connect her disappearance to you, and by the time they discovered her body you were already studying for college two states over.”

johnny ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

johnny didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

johnny shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, suh. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” johnny told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” johnny suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was johnny’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” johnny insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

johnny shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve answered ten.”

you stared into his eyes, willing yourself not to break contact. he was just as relentless, silently cocking a brow at you, as if to challenge. and you weren’t an idiot. that’s exactly what it was. you asserted, “i go first, you can only ask me yes or no questions, and if i don’t like your final answer i get to press you for another.”

johnny slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” johnny answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why johnny’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

johnny’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

“yes,” you said, focusing your attention on anything but the possibilities of how he could’ve known that. he’d been with so many people to the point where he just knew. “why did you get kicked out of the house?”

“my dad always thought there was something different about me, ever since i was a child. he was a nasty piece of work. he found my journal, read a couple of things i wrote, and decided there was no hope for me in the house,” johnny ranted.

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” johnny sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, johnny rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

johnny cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

“not ones made out of fingers,” you retorted. it was meant to be a joke to hide how unsettled you were, hyper aware of the necklace dangling around your neck. you could feel invisible pressure on your throat.

johnny snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“my dreams,” he admitted vaguely, though in reality, he wrote endlessly about his corrupt fantasies of abusing women. some pages were about his stepsister, and there was a few about what he’d done to martina, though not explicitly. “you have the most beautiful eyes. they’re the perfect shade.”

you were certain he had told many other girls those same words and were not flattered in the slightest. the glare you were giving him was ferocious. “i’m not sure if there’s a question in there somewhere.”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“i haven’t really thought about it,” you told him, quick to change the topic. you’d encountered your fair share of stranglers and it was no secret why he was so interested in your eyes. “was your relationship with your father estranged?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” johnny told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter johnny’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

his family was twisted. you couldn’t fathom how his father, aware of just how unwell his son was, clocked his abusive fantasies towards women, and instead of getting him the help he needed, he left him to his own devices to slaughter them as he pleased.

you blinked when johnny leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back.

“there you are,” johnny said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in johnny’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to johnny, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, johnny, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” johnny told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale.

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, johnny asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest.

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

“a washcloth,” you replied, though only because you needed to ask him your questions and resisting an answer would only waste valuable time. “why did you wait so long before killing sabrina lee?”

johnny smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” johnny said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

a better print on this world. your brows furrowed, until you remembered the child they shared together. “you know what i think? i think whatever you felt for your son’s mother was the closest thing to love you’ll ever be able to pull from your ugly black heart.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” johnny responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, johnny’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, johnny?”

johnny perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late.

“i put these women out of their misery,” johnny continued.

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

johnny winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

johnny merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him.

johnny’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time.

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. johnny was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer johnny crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever johnny needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

he meandered inside with a crisp bottle of water in hand, droplets condensing at its sides. sabrina laid right where he left her, just as broken, dreading her next breath. tape adhered to the flesh over her mouth, muffling her whimpers. there was nobody around for miles, the cabin was totally isolated, but it was a safety measure.

the chains were used likewise. when johnny was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. johnny, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” johnny called out.

jaehyun’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

johnny had snickered. “good.”

had johnny been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even johnny didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

johnny waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“johnny,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

johnny cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, johnny probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, johnny handed her the water, letting her drink.

she didn’t drink in short sips, but in giant gulps as if she’d known for some time that they’d be her last. when her thirst was satiated, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the bottle back, and whispered, “thank you.”

johnny set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. johnny’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew johnny getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

to be frank, it came out of nowhere. she never saw this twisted side of him coming. all she knew was that she became suspicious of his lack of family presence and it was too late when she saw him for the monster that he was, and then she woke here.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes johnny wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come.

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. johnny smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

johnny restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

the end was more than near. it loomed over her, relentless and remorseless, and all she could like it to was dark and leaden clouds in a somber sky. even then, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t give to see the world again, but she’d long kissed that hope goodbye.

“down,” johnny told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. johnny crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

johnny could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch.

“shh, baby,” johnny crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that johnny wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

johnny’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?”

johnny knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, johnny thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if johnny got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch.

just looking at her face as she wept sent shock waves of pleasure rippling through his dick and chest. sabrina didn’t cry in noisy, gasping sobs. her tears dripped from her thick lashes quietly, mouth parting in the most silent of whimpers.

and she orgasmed the same way, johnny remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

johnny pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. johnny couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for johnny, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

johnny’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“johnny.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “johnny, please just cum.”

johnny’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that…”

he stood at the brink of climax, threatening to teeter over, and there was only one thing that could knock him over quicker than anything else. it wouldn’t be anything she said, anything she did, but only a weakness johnny had the power to wield against himself.

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded.

johnny chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

he watched her shoulders slump, releasing all hope of ever knowing anything different again and accepting that this was where things ended. thinking about the feeling he remembered none too distantly, one that almost seemed to keep his blood pumping through him, in a way, johnny’s fingers itched.

johnny lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, johnny!”

his brow cocked.

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” johnny replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell haechan that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” johnny said, grinning.

sabrina nodded, setting her mind at ease. she’d already made peace with this day some months ago. she never knew when it come, but she saw it as something bound to happen. “thank you,” she whispered.

those were her last words. because when johnny tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and johnny had already emptied his load inside of her.

to describe the sensation he got from killing in a way that captured its essence would be impossible. it was more than feeling the life leave her. it was more than watching her eyes become soulless. it was a release, a way of relinquishing all of the vacantness he harbored, and knowing that his heart was still there.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, johnny was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

johnny did tell haechan what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and haechan was her son that they’d created together, and johnny would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even johnny thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, johnny could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. johnny couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would johnny reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’ve just told me is really sad.”

but johnny didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

johnny’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“it was my responsibility to decide whether or not to take my sister off of the ventilator. there was no hope for her,” you confessed, though brushed over it quickly. “what happened to your ex-wife?”

“not that interesting of a story,” johnny said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” johnny told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” johnny replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that johnny didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. johnny glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute.

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

johnny remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked haechan up from school hours ago and johnny wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. johnny remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” johnny’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door.

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. haechan, johnny thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came haechan’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all johnny could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” johnny asked, irritated.

haechan shook his head, though johnny couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” haechan replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that johnny turned around and noticed that haechan was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, johnny was genuinely stunned.

haechan didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

johnny heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. haechan took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, johnny couldn��t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” haechan replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him.

johnny headed for the basement with quick footsteps, haechan following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners.

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that haechan had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. johnny entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse.

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, johnny sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

haechan didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

johnny glanced down at christine. haechan had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet johnny couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to haechan, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and johnny didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued haechan’s curiosity.

johnny was quick to dial jaehyun’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

jaehyun patched her up again. at least for a few months, johnny still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned haechan’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what johnny had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

“you want to know what’s really amazing?” you started, though it was more like disgusting. “how three of the women you’ve killed were your significant others, and somehow, you’ve only now been incriminated.”

johnny looked proud of himself. had it not been for haechan, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed.

“so what if i did?” johnny asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made johnny chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

johnny knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when johnny promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, johnny slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, johnny would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of johnny in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though johnny found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when johnny saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her without a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. johnny already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused johnny to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and johnny thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had johnny held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake.

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in johnny about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was haechan that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

haechan had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, haechan watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke haechan in ways which he would never recover.

haechan had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when johnny had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what johnny had haechan do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. haechan would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, haechan hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. johnny would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but johnny’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that johnny took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that haechan feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

haechan was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when haechan exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release johnny got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further.

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after haechan got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

haechan was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. haechan yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for johnny, wishing he would come home, haechan almost pitied her naïveté.

if haechan hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, johnny would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” haechan said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve. haechan’s interest lay in inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured johnny to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if haechan couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

johnny came home moments too late. haechan left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

johnny glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when haechan came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded johnny’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

haechan’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

johnny shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” haechan asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though johnny wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

johnny figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught haechan off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” haechan sneered.

johnny snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face haechan was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” johnny replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

johnny, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” haechan spat, loathing fizzing in his stare.

johnny froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

haechan nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

johnny heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” haechan replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

johnny shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

haechan’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl johnny had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

johnny massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console haechan, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” johnny said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

haechan scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, haechan. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” haechan told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

johnny tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within haechan and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, haechan lifted his hand to smack his father.

johnny caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

haechan glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

johnny smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing haechan would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” haechan replied, scowling.

setting the phone on the counter, johnny reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

haechan made a face. “what are you talking about?”

johnny sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” haechan shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” johnny hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

haechan shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” haechan asked, bristling with emotion.

johnny sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

haechan blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle.

johnny snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

johnny lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

johnny shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

johnny laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

johnny leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance.

johnny continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” johnny told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

johnny grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” johnny teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind johnny to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. johnny’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

johnny knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for johnny’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

johnny snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life.

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like johnny had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” johnny whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet johnny’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” johnny said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

jaehyun winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” johnny replied. “let’s go.”

jaehyun gave johnny a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like jaehyun had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, jaehyun asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

johnny snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

jaehyun frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” jaehyun replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

johnny quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” jaehyun said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named mark. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

johnny nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” jaehyun said, shaking his head.

johnny grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

#johnny suh smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh scenarios #nct smut #tw: noncon #tw: murder #revehae fics

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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Comet Donati [Chapter 8: Fool’s Gold]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Aemond being very horny for one person in particular, mental health struggles, pregnancy, bodily injury, illness, death, a Targaryen family reunion, the tragedy of a hammerhead shark.

Selected Chapter Quote: “Do you love him?”

Word count: 9.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody

Only 2 chapters left! 💜

“I could love you for more than a day,” you tell Aegon, smiling, drowsy, sipping you blush-pink Salty Dog at the rooftop bar in Kansas City. It’s June, tornado season: a clashing of contradictory air currents, quintessentially American destruction.

“Yeah?” he says, daylight spilling out of his gaps under the night sky: the gleam of string lights reflected in his cobalt eyes, the white of his teeth, the eternal-summer warmth of his voice.

“Yeah. Not on this planet, maybe. But on another, very similar planet.”

He clinks his glass against yours; grains of salt pop off the rims and land on the table like snow, like infinitesimal diamonds, carbon shaped by pressure and time and deadly heat into something cherished. The wind tears through his nearly shoulder-length blond hair. “To other planets, and other lifetimes, and other dimensions where we are all the least-damaged versions of ourselves.”

“Aegon,” you say, and you wait until he’s done downing his Salty Dog and is looking at you again. “Someone’s inability to love you has nothing to do with your merit to receive it. It’s about them, it’s not about you. And that’s especially true when it comes to parents. If your father can’t be there for you in the way that he should, that’s his deficit, not yours. He’s the one missing pieces of himself. He’s the one who has failed. You can’t use his inadequacy to measure your worth. You should be proud of yourself for succeeding in spite of him. You should be proud of the person you are.”

He’s spinning his empty glass between his palms, amused, perhaps somewhat anxious; he is afraid of the answer. “And what kind of person am I?” He waits for one of those familiar soulless tropes to resurface, the disaster playboy, the hot loser, the paradoxically remiss eldest brother, the addict, the slut, the comic relief.

You say instead, somehow knowing that it’s true: “A good one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Takeoffs and landings, highways and streetlights, tarmacs that stretch into the hallways of five-star hotels. You order virgin drinks when no one else is around to hear you do it. You buy prenatal vitamins and stash them in an Advil bottle. You sneak off to see a doctor while Comet is in Boston; yes you’re pregnant, yes everything looks good so far, yes you need to stop eating sushi and lifting heavy luggage. You stay out of hot tubs. You try to dodge secondhand smoke. You follow the band from city to city like children hopping on couch cushions strewn across a floor they say is lava. And now: cold porcelain, too-bright lights, crumpled on the bathroom floor of your suite in the MGM Grand. Sin City, they call Las Vegas. Like it was made for you.

You hear the swipe of a keycard and approaching footsteps, clop clop clop. When he appears in the doorway, you moan and try shield your face with your hands. You finally got your splint off last week in San Diego. “Please go away. Please.”

Aegon doesn’t listen. He gapes at you, chomping noisily on cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. You can smell it; the sickening sweetness twists through your guts. “Damn, Stargirl. You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” You retch unproductively into the toilet bowl; there’s nothing left in your stomach to rid yourself of.

He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and—eternally, faithfully—matching Crocs. “Is it food poisoning? I don’t remember you being fucked up last night.”

Not that he’d know; he spent most of it snorting lines with Cregan. You lower the toilet seat, cross your arms over it, and take a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to tell you something. But you have to not panic.”

“Sure.”

“And you have to not get wasted and accidentally announce it to everyone either.”

“That was not me talking. That was the Icelandic beer. And we’re not in Iceland anymore, so, yeah. Problem solved.”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” you say weakly, haltingly. “Not yet. Not like this. But I need somebody to help me hide it.” Just like Cregan needed someone to tell about Iris. And he chose Aemond. “Baela’s working on her ballet school applications, and I can’t burden Rhaena with something like this, and…wait…one second…” You yank up the toilet seat and heave into the bowl until the wave of nausea passes.

Aegon rubs your back, gentle and sympathetic. “Would weed gummies help?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Percocet? Oxy? Valium? I know where to get heroin in Vegas, but I wouldn’t want you mixed up in something like that.”

You gaze pathetically at him. “I’m eight weeks pregnant.”

“Oh, fuck,” Aegon gasps.

“It’s Aemond’s.”

“Oh, fuck! How…? When…?!”

“Tokyo. Club Camelot. Just once. And then we never talked about it again.”

“Jesus Christ, you love a spontaneous bar bathroom hookup.” He blinks a few times, processing this revelation. “You don’t have to have it, you know. If you don’t want to. You have options. Maybe you wouldn’t back in Kansas, but—”

“Missouri,” you whimper, staring miserably down at your silvery reflection in the water.

“Whatever. But we could fly you anywhere. If you wanted to not be pregnant anymore. If you decided to…uh…serve it an eviction notice.”

“I’ve thought about that,” you say, but it’s not quite true; you thought about it as an option, but not one of your options. “I know, logically, that’s probably the reaction that makes the most sense. But it’s not what I want.”

“Okay.” And if he has an opinion one way or the other, he’s doing a very good job of not showing it. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to resign at the end of this leg of the tour, and then I’m going to go home to Kansas City to raise my fatherless, clandestine bastard child.”

Aegon raises his eyebrows, chaotic blond hair falling in his face.

“That came out weird,” you admit. “But it is essentially accurate.”

“You’re just going to leave? You’re going to do this alone?”

“My parents will help me. They’ll be kind of horrified at first, but…they’ve been through worse. They’ll come to terms with it. They’ve been begging for grandkids since I was eighteen.”

“But you can’t leave,” Aegon says. And his large, murky, deep blue eyes are glistening.

“I have to go home. I have to build a life for myself. I can’t follow Comet around the world indefinitely.”

“But…but…so you’re eight weeks right now, right? So you have, like, I don’t know, over six months until the baby is born? That’s forever, Stargirl! That’s half a year! You could come to the fall shows in South America, and then visit London over the holidays, and…and…I mean I don’t even know what’s next for Comet after that, but you sure as hell don’t have to leave right now—!”

“Aegon, I could have complications because of the blood clotting gene thing. I could have a stroke, I could have a miscarriage. I need to be going to doctor’s appointments and taking leisurely afternoon walks and, like, eating vegetables and grilled chicken, not flying to a new city every couple of days while surrounded by booze and cigarettes.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” He sighs and sits down cross-legged on the bathroom floor beside you, rubbing his face with his hands. He looks at you from between his fingers. “One of our last U.S. stops is in Kansas City. You want to get off the ride there?”

“I think that would be for the best.”

Aegon says suddenly: “Let’s get married.”

“What?” Your nausea is now secondary to your shock. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’ll give you healthcare and child support and whatever.”

“You genuinely think that me marrying a cokehead sex addict is the solution to this problem?”

“I’m not a sex addict. I’m a sex enthusiast.”

“Aegon, I’m not going to marry you.”

He is wounded, pouting, childlike. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want some arrangement. No matter how well-intentioned or generous it is.” I want real, constant, conventional love.

Now he smiles, faintly, sadly. “And you want a different Targaryen.”

You grab the can of ginger ale you left on the bathroom sink and sip it tentatively, averting your eyes, not answering him.

Aegon says: “Aemond doesn’t know?”

“No. He has no idea.”

“You have to tell him.”

“There is a zero percent chance of him taking this well.”

“You have to tell him,” Aegon insists, pointing to your belly, not showing yet but soon, soon, so soon. “If you’re keeping it, then that’s my family in there. You can’t just haul it off to the hellscape that is the American Midwest and push the rest of us out of its life. It can’t be a secret forever. Aemond would want to be involved. I want to be involved.”

“I’ll tell Aemond,” you promise. “But not yet. Not while I’m still on tour, not while I can’t get away from him if he…” You hesitate, not knowing what you are trying to say. Aegon waits. “He’s going to think I did it on purpose. That I was trying to use him or fix him or something. He’s going to hate me.”

“You can explain,” Aegon says, but doubtfully.

“Explain what? That I stopped taking the pill, but then forgot I’d stopped taking it, and then remembered right after we had unprotected sex that I initiated, whoops, oh and also Plan B apparently doesn’t fucking work?”

“His super sperm work, that’s for sure,” Aegon mutters. “Hope mine aren’t that energetic.”

“I’m a nobody,” you say. “And I have a lot to gain from this, even if that’s not how I see it. And Aemond…he’s so goddamn mistrustful. He’s so convinced that no one could want him or believe in him in a way that is pure. I’m afraid to tell him. I’m afraid he’s going to say things in the heat of the moment that I won’t be able to forget.” Like when he called me a slut. Like when he said he loves me.

“The getting pregnant thing sounds bad,” Aegon concedes. “And, yeah…he will most likely not react in an even vaguely sane way. Because he’s Aemond, and that clown from the It movies lives in his brain. But he’ll process it for a few weeks and then he’ll come to the right conclusion: that you wouldn’t deliberately do something to hurt him, and that he wants to be there for you and the kid. And I’ll vouch for you.”

You shake your head, your eyes faraway. “I wish I could wait to tell him until he’s in a better place emotionally. Until he has something…anything…to latch on to…a plan for what to do with his life…”

“Hey,” Aegon says. Gingerly, he turns your face towards his with one hand. His cheeks are splotchy with pink sunburn. He’s sweating out White Claws and Coppertone Sport. “I know you think you’re doing this alone, but you aren’t. I’m going to take care of you.”

You look at him with tears brimming in your eyes, hot, ashamed, blurring out your vision. “You’re so different than Aemond. You’re weightless and warm like daylight. You glow. But you do that for everyone, not just me. And I can’t count on you.”

“I love you,” Aegon says. “Not in a Jack and Rose on the Titanic way. In a different way. But I’m never going to forget about you, Stargirl. I get that I might disappear for a while, but I’m never going to not come back someday.”

You fold into him: softness, effortless proximity, cotton-candy-scented kisses smacked onto your temple, arms that circle protectively around your waist. “I love you too, Aegon.”

“Think you’ll be able to walk over with us to the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay? Criston got everyone tickets to feed the zebra shark.”

“When?”

“Um, soon. But I can buy you some time. I’ll text them that I’m busy FaceTiming Selena.”

“You’re a saint.” Patron saint of mayhem. You groan as you crawl out of his grasp and towards the shower. “I might be okay in thirty minutes. Let me try to start feeling human and wash my hair and stuff.”

“You want some help?”

You stare at him from where you are kneeling on the cold tile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You look…wobbly. You sit on the shower floor, I’ll wash your hair.”

“But I’ll be naked.”

He grins, holding up his hands in a blithe shrug. “I’ve seen it all before, Stargirl.”

“You’ll be naked too.”

“Don’t think you can tempt me into any unwholesome activities, you unwed knocked-up vixen.”

You laugh; it feels incredible. “I will gratefully accept your offer. I might not have a choice, actually. I don’t think I can keep my arms above my head for that long.”

Aegon stands, walks into the shower, starts reading bottles. “You want to smell like Japanese cherry blossoms or a coconut?” He pauses. “A fatherless clandestine bastard child conceived in Tokyo. Cherry blossoms it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A series of walkways connect the MGM Grand to the Mandalay Bay. Comet moseys through faux cobblestone streets in the New York-New York, complete with steam-wheezing manhole covers and operational storefronts of pizzerias, delis, bakeries, Irish pubs. The band narrowly avoids being trampled by droves of exuberant children—and you are looking at children more closely these days, watching how their parents corral them, noticing what makes them happy or sad or afraid—in the strobing, bleeping arcades of the castle-like Excalibur. In the Luxor, modeled after the pyramids of Ancient Egypt and featuring the largest atrium in the world, Criston begs everyone to pose for photos in front of sand-colored statues of sphinxes and pharaohs. “Smile big for your mom, Daeron!” Criston orders between pictures. Shelby, as always, is wearing her camera-ready, gloss-and-veneers grin. She’s also wearing a stunning floral-print maxi dress with a slit up to her thigh, looking glamorous and graceful and very not-pregnant. By the time Comet arrives in the sleek, golden, tastefully nautical corridors of the Mandalay Bay, you are exhausted and dangerously nauseous. You try your best to conceal it.

“Are you okay?” Baela asks. She is scrutinizing you as you stand in the shark tunnel of the aquarium, bathed in rippling sapphire-blue light. Overhead the captive ocean swims by: sea turtles, sawfish, Galapagos sharks, blacktip reef sharks, sand tiger sharks (hideous, in your humble opinion), stingrays, horseshoe crabs, a metallic rainbow of shimmering fish.

“Stargirl!” Aegon scolds mildly, ambling over to massage your shoulders. “I told you not to eat all those New York-New York corn dogs!” He shakes his head and smiles casually at Baela. “You can’t take these Midwestern girls anywhere. They see battered meat on a stick and lose all control.”

“How many did you eat?” Baela says, studying your sweated, queasy, generally unwell appearance.

“I don’t remember. I don’t want to talk about corn dogs right now.”

“You think it might be food poisoning?” Aemond asks. He has appeared in the shark tunnel with a plushie grey beast clutched in one hand. He’s lurking several yards away, but his forehead is creased with curiosity, with concern. His right eye flicks to where Aegon’s hands rest on your shoulders—disapproval? appraisal? fascination? envy?—and then back to your face.

“No, just gluttony.”

“It’s one of the seven deadly sins, you know.” Aegon counts on his fingers. “Gluttony, and pride, and lust, and…uh…uh…oh, right, greed…and uh…”

“What is this, Bible study?” Baela says.

“You’d know all about gluttony, you whale,” Jace tells Aegon.

Aegon shouts back: “I am like a whale, Jace! I am a rare and celebrated mammal!”

Jace mimes shooting Aegon with a harpoon. And then, when Cregan turns to glare at him, he grabs Baela’s hand. Jace’s face is at last fully healed and he has no interest in jeopardizing that. “Come on, baby. Let’s go see the Komodo dragons.”

“Don’t vomit on any sea creatures!” Baela chimes as they leave. Soon only you, Aemond, and Aegon are left in the shark tunnel. Rhaena and Luke are petting stingrays at the touch pool; Cregan, Daeron, and Criston depart to take their turns feeding the zebra shark. And Shelby is…actually, you’ve lost track of where Shelby is. Hopefully getting mauled by something.

“You should see a doctor,” Aemond tells you, stepping closer, although gradually, meanderingly, as if by happenstance. “You look…not great. You might need IV hydration or something.”

“Seriously, I’m okay. I’ll live.”

Shelby peeks irritably into the tunnel. “Honeybunch! Hurry! We have to take a selfie with this fish in the background so I can caption it I’ll love you inFINitely!”

“Will you give me two seconds, please?” Aemond snaps. She retreats with palpable unwillingness. Then Aemond offers you the plushie: a hammerhead shark, you see now. Aegon takes a few steps away from you both and pretends to be enthralled by a sawfish as it glides over the dome of the tunnel.

“What is this?!” you exclaim, delighted. Your nausea has momentarily abated.

“It’s your souvenir for Las Vegas. You can keep it right beside your sika deer from Japan. Hopefully they get along.”

“It’s so cute, Aemond! And very unexpected. Thank you.”

“No big deal,” he says. “I saw it and thought of you, that’s all.”

You pet the tiny hammerhead shark, downy and soft and grey like a storm cloud. “These were in the other tank, right?”

“Those were scalloped hammerheads,” Aemond corrects you. “This is a great hammerhead.”

“Wow. Pretentious.”

He laughs, a miraculously beautiful sound. And as you gaze at each other, painted in sapphire light and the shadows of fish, you remember everything about Aemond, the way he tasted, the sounds of his whispers and his moans, the indescribable fullness as he eased himself carefully into you. And you think: What would happen right now if there was no Shelby, no Aegon? Would he touch me? Would he kiss me? “There are actually no real-life great hammerheads in this aquarium. Not anymore. They don’t do well in captivity. One was flown here back in 2001 and she was on display for a while, but then she died unexpectedly a few years later.”

“She died?” You cradle the plushie shark in your arms. Suddenly, without warning, there are tears welling up in your eyes. You are distraught. You are consumed by irrational pregnancy hormones. “And she was the only shark of her kind here? So she didn’t have anyone who could understand her? She must have been so lonely.”

“Um, yeah, I guess. But sharks really don’t have emotions like people do, they’re mostly brainstem.”

“It’s still awful.” A tear slips down your cheek and falls onto the plushie shark before you can swipe it away.

Aemond is alarmed. “Are you…crying? About a shark that died like twenty years ago?”

“It’s sad, bruh,” Aegon sniffles, conjuring up some tears in his large, oceanic eyes. “The only one of her kind, bruh.”

“Honeybunch?” Shelby whines, appearing once again at the mouth of the tunnel. “Honey Bunches of Oats?”

Aemond sighs. “Yeah. On my way.” And he goes to meet her. A squall of giggling, bewitched children rush into the shark tunnel, pressing their eager little palms to the glass. Aegon’s manufactured tears have vanished and he is typing out a WhatsApp message to someone.

You think, picturing Shelby’s Vegas-themed fingernails skating across Aemond’s skin, flaunting parts of him while shunning others: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Comet returns to their floor at the MGM Grand, there are three strangers waiting for them. Strangers to you, rather; not strangers to anybody else. Certainly not to Criston. The middle-aged woman—auburn hair, vast dark eyes, high cheekbones—rushes to throw her arms around him.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” she is saying, as Criston holds her and blushes a dark hectic pink. Then she turns her attention to Daeron and Aemond, touching their faces and their hair, asking if they are sleeping well, what they have been eating, what their favorite parts of the tour have been thus far. Aegon has not moved from your side. He fidgets awkwardly, shuffling in his Crocs, slurping on the Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino he bought from a Starbucks in the Excalibur. One of the strangers—a weathered older man in a grey suit, tall and vigilant like a wolfhound—examines him with a cool pale gaze. Aegon evades it.

The third stranger, oddly, comes directly to you. She is delicate, nimble, light eyes and hair like watercolors, soft and edgeless. She makes you think of birds: sweet songs, hollow bones. She takes your hands in hers and beams like she’s known you for years, like you are old friends. “You must be the one Aemond has told us so much about.”

Aemond? Me? You smile apologetically. “I think you mean Shelby. She’s over there.”

“Here I am!” Shelby waves from where she is parked determinately beside Aemond.

“No, I know who Shelby is,” the stranger says; and her dreamy, girlish voice is perfectly neutral. She might as well be making some throwaway comment about a squirrel in a tree, a fish in a koi pond. “I mean you. The girl made of stars.”

He talks about me? To people back home? Aemond turns away when you glance at him. Shelby is simmering. You tell the stranger: “That is very poetic. And flattering.”

“Stargirl, this is my sister Helaena,” Aegon says. Then he gestures to the others. “And that’s my mother Alicent, and the frightening bloke who looks like a mob boss is my grandfather Otto.”

“What on earth are you drinking?” Otto chides Aegon, wrinkling his dignified nose.

Aegon is stung, although he tries to hide it. “It’s a Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino. It’s delicious.”

“It’s a milkshake for adults. It’s diabetes in a cup. Put some effort into taking care of yourself for once, it’ll make you feel better.”

Aegon says flatly: “Yeah, I’m so glad you guys stopped by.”

“Are you here for the concerts?” Daeron asks, buoyant as usual.

Alicent looks to Criston; he smiles bashfully in return. “Well, Criston mentioned that you’d be in town, and your father just so happened to have a convention to attend here over some of the same days, so I figured…why not drop in and surprise my wonderful, accomplished, handsome sons?” Her prominent umber eyes drift to you. Helaena is still clasping your hands. “And their…friends.”

“Dad’s not around?” Aegon says cynically.

Alicent stalls. “Well…honey, you know how he is. He’s very, very busy. But he promised he’d try his best to make it to one of the shows.”

“You know, it’s strange. He never seems to be busy when Rhaenyra has her little art gallery openings.”

“So!” Alicent chirps, deflecting. “Criston said there was a pool. Is there a pool?” She pats the massive beach bag slung over her left shoulder. “We brought our swimsuits!”

The MGM Grand has an extensive pool complex featuring drink bars, multiple whirlpools, a waterfall, and a lazy river. Even in September—those last gasps of summer in the Northern Hemisphere—the temperature in Las Vegas hovers in the 90s. As you slather on sunscreen and nibble sparingly at an order of fries, Alicent and Helaena cannot disguise their interest in you. Alicent asks about your hometown, your family, your education, your time with Comet. She seems puzzled by your unmistakable fondness for Aegon, but otherwise smiles pleasantly and chuckles at your (carefully selected, intentionally tame) stories from the tour. Alicent strikes you as someone who is composed and warm on the surface but a jumble of frayed threads below; if you tugged on the right one, she’d unravel until all her seams split open and secrets poured out like dark water. Helaena doesn’t say much, and what she does say is strange, truthful but disjointed, like a line from a poem or a song; but she keeps touching you, a hand on your wrist or on your ankle or absentmindedly tracing the lines of your palm. From several chairs away, Shelby watches this with a toxic glower, for surely she as Aemond’s aspiring baby mama should be the beneficiary of his family’s attention. From behind his sunglasses, Aemond tries to act like he’s not staring as you spread sunscreen over your collarbones and chest and thighs.

“I’ve got drinks!” Aegon announces, appearing with a loaded tray. He weaves between chairs to deliver the beverages. “A pina colada for me…a strawberry daiquiri for Rhaena…a Twisted Pink for Luke…a margarita for Mom…no!” he barks at Daeron as the youngest Targaryen (for now, for the next approximately seven months) tries to grab a red slushie. “Not that one!”

Daeron is confounded. “But it’s a strawberry daiquiri. Isn’t that what I ordered?”

“Yeah, but that specific daiquiri is Stargirl’s.”

“What makes it different?”

“Extra whipped cream,” Aegon says without missing a beat. He passes it to you. Nonalcoholic is what it actually is: sweet and refreshing and without any bite whatsoever.

“Why are you being helpful?” Criston asks Aegon suspiciously, squinting, full of dread. “You’re never helpful.”

Aegon grins. “I’m just a helpful guy.”

“You’re freaking me out,” Criston says. “Cregan? I’m scared. What’s he up to?”

Placidly, sucking on a frozen hard lemonade through a hot pink straw with multiple loops, Cregan shrugs. Sunning themselves beside him are three Victoria’s Secret models. “Cregan?” Romee Strijd croons, reaching over to comb her fingers through his hair. “Could you rub more sunscreen on my back, please?”

Otto is stretched out on a pool chair and reading the Business section of the New York Times. Jace, Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are gathering up their inner tubes and heading into the lazy river, a swift crystalline blue current that reminds you of Aemond’s clear right eye. Alicent gets up to go talk to Criston; they speak in low voices, less secretive than sacred, like each believes the other to be a relic necessitating great care. Shelby is now scrolling through her iPhone. Aemond is still watching you. The speakers are playing Somebody’s Heartbreak by Hunter Hayes.

“I was hoping you could fix me,” Helaena says suddenly.

You don’t understand. You think you must have misheard her. “What was that, Helaena?”

“Aemond says you fix people. That you’re a saint.”

“I’m certainly not a saint.” I’m just an unwed mother from Missouri. Who wears Cookie Monster pajama pants. “And even if I was, I don’t think anything about you needs fixing.”

“But I’m not normal.” And her eyes glisten with it: this knowledge that can’t be escaped, a lifetime of whispers and rumors and being hopelessly misunderstood.

“No, you’re not.” You won’t lie to her. What good would that do? What cure can come from dishonestly, even when spun from compassion? “But Freddie Mercury wasn’t normal. Neither was Jane Goodall. Einstein, Montessori, Dali, Tesla, da Vinci, Curie, Shelley, Newton, they were all extremely, undeniably not-normal. And guess what? Aegon’s not normal either. And neither is Aemond. And neither is anyone else in Comet. They might not be the same brand of not-normal as you, but I can guarantee you they are all bona fide freaks of nature. Because that’s what it takes to make something new, to leave a beautiful mark on the world. Being not-normal is painful sometimes. But that’s not a reflection on you. It’s an embodiment of how small-minded and cruel all those normal people can be. You don’t want to be like them. You’re above them, you can see things they can’t. You keep flying. Don’t worry about the dirt down here on Earth.”

And only now do you realize you have an audience, peering over with wide eyes: Alicent, Criston, Shelby, Aemond, Aegon, Cregan and the Victoria’s Secret models, Otto wearing the first smile you’ve ever seen from him. Helaena, calmed and content, goes to sit by him; he begins braiding a green ribbon into a lock of her hair.

“For the record,” Aegon says. “I am definitely dirt.”

You laugh as you gaze up at him, shielding your eyes form the sun. “No you aren’t. Not even close.”

He offers you a hand. “Ready to get in the lazy river?”

“Yeah, I think so…” You finish your daiquiri, climb off your chair, shed your black swimsuit coverup, and walk over to the pile of inner tubes that Criston collected for the band. You can feel Aemond’s eyes on you as your bare feet pad across the cement. He moves a towel over his swim trunks and then stares at the palm trees, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Honeybunch, let’s go in the water too,” Shelby says.

“Um. In a minute.”

The rushing current has brought Jace, Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron back around again. From his inner tube, Jace splashes you and Aegon as you approach the steps that descend into the lazy river. “Finally daring to enter my watery domain?! I��m the king down here. I’m Poseidon. But if you want to battle me for my throne, you’re welcome to try.”

“Don’t you start bumping people!” Aegon yells, jabbing his index finger at Jace. “You keep your little scrawny chicken limbs to yourself!”

“Aww, someone call Greenpeace, we’ve got a beached whale over here…”

“Careful,” Aegon says, grabbing your arm to stead you on the steps. “They’re slippery.”

And Aemond observes this, lighting one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes and inhaling a deep breath of smoke, his face lined with scars of the past and furrows of worry for the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty-four hours later, the band is enjoying dinner down the strip at the Wynn’s buffet: eccentric modern art and elaborate fruit sculptures, prime rib and crepes made to order, gelato and pasta, sushi you can’t eat. Alicent, Helaena, and Otto are here with Comet. So are the Victoria’s Secret models. So is Selena Gomez. She sits next to Aegon, teaching him the Spanish words for various foods and giggling as he butchers them. When Justin Bieber’s Sorry comes on the speakers, she rolls her eyes and stabs aggressively at her shrimp.

You were violently ill until 3 p.m. and then mercifully improved. Upon arriving at the buffet, you caught a whiff of the Alaskan king crab legs and were at once ravenous for them. You demolish plate after plate, sucking hunks of meat out of cracked shells, licking up dribbles of drawn butter from your fingers and wrists. Aemond—relegated mostly to fresh fruit, chunks of bread, and a vegan ratatouille—ogles while trying very hard to act like he’s not. Jace pulls one-dollar bills out of his wallet and throws them at you.

“You could have an OnlyFans,” Baela says. “Forget a real job. Make millions splattering yourself in crabmeat and butter for sad horny men. You could do a whole series…shucking oysters…dismantling lobsters…”

You imagine your child in kindergarten: So where does your mommy work? She stays home and films herself eating seafood in her underwear. “I don’t think I have the disposition for a celebrity lifestyle. You know I’m always hiding from the paparazzi.”

Alicent chuckles as she takes a bite of her roasted quail. “Yes, I remember the photos! Always tucked behind Cregan or Aegon. Except those times when you were walking with Aemond. That was so sweet of you, encouraging him like that. I’m sure it meant the world to him. Ever since…well, you know…it’s a more stressful experience for him now.”

Aemond, self-conscious, busies himself with stirring his ratatouille. “It was really my pleasure,” you tell Alicent.

“Pleasure, huh?” Jace teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

Baela asks you once again if you’ll ride the New York-New York rollercoaster with her tonight. You pretend to be terrified of rollercoasters. She counters that you definitely rode rollercoasters at Grona Lund when the band was in Stockholm. You try to gaslight her into thinking she has misremembered this. Aegon jumps in with (doubtlessly fabricated) statistics about how many people are killed in rollercoaster accidents.

“Really?” Baela says. “Five million people die on rollercoasters every year?”

Aegon knows he’s made a fatal error, but he is committed. “Yup.”

“You’re telling me that more people are killed by rollercoasters than live in the entire state of Oregon? And no one has addressed this problem? This epidemic of amusement park calamities?”

Aegon shakes his head spiritedly. “Nope.”

Now Shelby is saying something to Alicent at the other end of the long table. You don’t listen too closely, because you’re in the habit of mentally muting her. Still, you can’t help but catch snippets. It’s about the importance of public figures being good role models. “…So it’s probably for the best that she’s not interested. Young girls are very impressionable, you know.”

“Oh?” Alicent is replying, polite but noncommittal, perplexed. Criston brings her a miniature creme brulee from the buffet’s sprawling dessert section.

“Don’t you agree?” Shelby asks you, and the table goes quiet. She smiles sweetly, innocently, all beachy waves and highlighter sheen.

You lower your crab leg. “What exactly am I agreeing with?”

“That people who accept the responsibility to be in the spotlight should be the sort of role models that the youth can look up to.”

“Um, not really, no. I think a popstar’s job is to be a popstar, not to impersonate Mother Teresa or stop global warming or anything. They’re not running for president. But I mean, yeah, I guess they shouldn’t be murderers, so I agree like 1%.”

Aemond glances over at where Shelby sits beside him, not knowing what she’s up to, not especially invested. She sniffs, a dismissive, haughty little sound, like can you believe how uncivilized this bitch is? “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter since you aren’t planning to pursue fame anyway.”

“Lovely Shelby,” Jace says, taunting her. “Are you implying that our supernaturally poised and responsible Stargirl would set some sort of nefarious example for the little girls of planet Earth?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Now Shelby is staring fixedly at you, cold like deep water.

You glare back defiantly. She couldn’t possibly have found out about the baby. Aegon would never have told her, and no one else knows. “Because…?”

“Because of what happened when you were in high school.”

Nothing changes for almost anyone else at the table, but it does for you: your mind goes blank, your skin goes cold, your stomach lurches, you are fifteen all over again. It’s not the fear that anyone in Comet would think less of you for it; you don’t think they would. Alicent might, Otto almost certainly, Cregan’s flock of models could carry the gossip anywhere—and surely this is Shelby’s design—but Comet would not condemn you. No, what paralyzes and disgusts you, what empties your veins and fills them with ice, is the truth that you are not the one choosing if and how to tell them, you are once again powerless and exposed, you are the curves and hollows of bare flesh they’re reading like a newspaper headline.

How…? Aemond…? But no: he looks just as horrified as you do, this is the last thing he expected, he didn’t think she knew, his eyes fly to yours and stay there, frenetic blue emotions but no words.

The others peer around the table. Aegon is frowning at Shelby, but he doesn’t know what she means, he doesn’t know how to help…because you’ve never told him. “What about high school…?” Luke says uncertainly.

“It’s not difficult to find,” Shelby tells you. “All someone has to do is Google your name and Kansas City, then comb back through a few pages. There are old Tweets and Facebook posts about it. Pictures, even, if you search long enough. Can you imagine how parents would feel about their daughters’ favorite boy band associating with someone like that? Popularizing that sort of behavior? It’s unacceptable. It destroys innocence.”

Your hands are shivering violently. You take one deep, shaky breath. “Actually, what happened was—”

Aemond lunges to his feet. “Don’t,” he commands you, holding up a hand. Then he turns to Shelby. His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, stormy, cutting, wrathful. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Aemond!” Alicent gasps.

Shelby blinks up at him. She is bewildered; she has miscalculated. She had no idea he knew. Her eyes dart from Aemond to you.

“No, don’t you dare look at her,” Aemond seethes. “You don’t look at her. You look at me.”

It takes effort, but Shelby manages to comply. She gawks at him, dismayed, flinching away from his rage, his scar, his sightless left eye like the lethal atmosphere of Neptune. She cannot hide how she truly sees him, how she will always see him. As something broken, pitiful, less.

“What the hell does she have to be ashamed of?” Aemond asks Shelby. “She doesn’t use people. She doesn’t sell false versions of herself. She is kind, and wise, and forgiving, and beloved. And what are you? A professional liar. A manipulator, a snake. Someone who knows how to pity but not how to cure.”

“Aemond—”

“Stand up.”

Shelby is petrified, shellshocked. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to put you in an Uber, and it will take you to the airport, and I honestly don’t care where you go from there. But you can’t stay in Vegas. And I never want to see you again.”

“Aemond, please!” Shelby cries. She still hasn’t moved from her chair. There are tears flooding down her cheeks: despair, defeat. You could almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“And if you fight me,” Aemond says. “Or if I hear a whisper of you trying to disparage anybody at this table, I will end you, Shelby. Every app you use to edit your photos, every so-called friend you’ve worked to sabotage, every sponsorship you haven’t disclosed, I’ll expose all of it. I’d call up the fucking Rolling Stone if they cared enough about you to publish it. I will end you. Now stand up.”

Trembling, sobbing, this time Shelby obeys. Aemond and a flock of security guards—two of Shelby’s, two of Comet’s—escort her out of the buffet. He is only gone for a minute or two; the table is silent except for slurps of drinks and the occasional squealing of silverware against plates. When Aemond returns, he immediately goes to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder—gently, protectively, the same way Criston does—and murmurs so no one else can hear. He is so close the air you breathe is filled with him: smoke, cologne, dissipating fury.

“I am so sorry. I had no idea she would do that. I don’t think she’ll speak of it again. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you reply in a stunned little squeak.

“Good.” Then he looks fiercely around the table, pausing to lock eyes with every single person. His meaning is clear. You will not ask questions. You will forget this happened. He sits back down beside Shelby’s vacated seat and pops a red grape into his mouth.

“Damn, Stargirl,” Jace says after a moment. “So you’re a serial killer.”

Everyone laughs, and the nightmare is over. It breaks open like dropped glass. “Don’t worry. I only murder obnoxious, curly-haired brunettes.”

He winks as he licks chocolate mousse from his spoon. “I wouldn’t mind being added to your body count.”

“Shut up,” Baela groans. “Shut up, shut up…!”

You excuse yourself. You walk out of the buffet. The Wynn has a gorgeous hallway that passes through a garden of whimsical ornaments, flowers, trees, and string lights. Too suddenly for you to change course, you realize what’s going to happen; you stumble into the greenery and vomit five plates’ worth of Alaskan king crab onto a Ficus tree.

“Need a napkin?” Aegon asks; he has followed you. “I don’t actually have one. But I could take my shirt off and give you that.”

Still hunched over and spitting, you shake your head. “No, I’m okay. I’ll use a leaf.” You don’t make eye contact with him. You don’t want to invite unwelcome questions.

“Relax,” Aegon says, rubbing your back. “I’m not going to ask.”

You are relived but skeptical. “You’re not curious?”

“I figure if it was something you wanted me to know about, you would have already told me.” He smirks. “I do think it’s interesting that Aemond knows something about you I don’t.”

“He gets one secret, you get another. You’re even.” You thought you were done. False alarm. You resume vomiting on the Ficus tree.

“Goddamn, that is disgusting. You want a Percocet or something?”

“I think that would be less than ideal for the baby.”

“Oh. Right.” He considers you with great sympathy. “A lot of discomfort over something that’s the size of what, a chicken nugget?”

“Yeah, probably.” You rip a leaf off the tree, wipe your lips, trudge back to the buffet bathroom to sanitize yourself as best you can.

When Comet’s fleet of Escalades arrives back at the MGM Grand, you loiter in the lobby hoping for Criston to appear. You shoo away the band when they try to wait for you, and once Aegon catches on he ensures that they file into the elevators and zoom up to their floor. You need a minute alone with Criston. You need to arrange your imminent departure from the tour. Criston, oddly, does not come inside. You give him five minutes and then head back out into the arid Vegas heat, dry, ancient, barren. One of the Escalades is still idling in front of the hotel. You open the door. Criston and Alicent are in the back seat: he’s on top of her, her legs and arms curled around him like ivy, the hem of her chic mom-appropriate sundress pulled up to her waist, her lips famished and moaning against his.

You scream, they scream, you slam the Escalade door shut. Seconds later, Criston bursts out of it. He is wearing only his hastily pulled on boxers and a half-unbuttoned white shirt.

“I’m sorry!” you blubber. “I, uh, I didn’t see anything! Um, I mean, I didn’t see that much—”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Criston pleads.

“I definitely will not.”

“Her husband…he’s…he’s not a great guy, you know? And Alicent, she’s…she’s so…she’s so incredible but so sad, she’s been through hell this past year, and after Aemond was hurt we…uh…well we spent a lot of time in hospital rooms together…and I just love her hair and her eyes, and her devotion to her family, and the way she smells…”

“I really, really, really do not feel entitled to nor desire the details that you’re sharing with me right now.”

“Okay.” Criston tugs at the collar of his shirt, catching his breath. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“I have to talk to you about something, but it can wait.”

“You’ve already interrupted us at this point. Just go ahead.”

“Alright. Well. I’m leaving Comet.”

“No!” he cries, distressed. “Really? Why?! Is it something Jace did? What did Jace do? Because I can let Cregan know and he’ll—”

“No no no, nothing like that. It’s just time for me to go figure out my own life now.” Time for me to find a permanent job, have my baby, re-traumatize my parents, the whole American Dream thing.

Criston sighs. “I was hoping you’d stay on through the South America dates.”

“I can’t, Criston. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and how welcoming everyone has been, this has been a fantastic experience…um, overall…but I really do have to go home now. Can we fill out the paperwork and make the Kansas City shows my last stop with Comet?”

He nods reluctantly. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it taken care of. We can do signatures in a few days.”

“Aegon is the only other person who knows I’m leaving. I don’t want anyone else told yet.”

“Got it. You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”

These secrets are multiplying, you think as you enter the MGM Grand and Criston climbs back into the Escalade. Like cells, like storm clouds. Upstairs in Comet’s hallway, Selena Gomez is in a war with the vending machine; it has snagged her Starbursts and refuses to release them. You don’t offer to help her shake the machine—heavy lifting, not good for the littlest Targaryen—but you do use your flip flop to reach up inside the machine and knock the Starbursts loose.

“You’re the best!” Selena high-fives you. “Aegon tells me you’re a really talented therapist.”

“Oh no, no way, not yet. I mean I’m really new at it and I don’t have a lot of confidence in my abilities but I am learning a lot and maybe one day—”

“The work you do is very important,” Selena says; and she seems to mean it. She is so beautiful in a vulnerable, benign way. It is difficult to not be starstruck.

“Thank you,” you manage.

“Watch out for him,” she says quietly, discretely. “Anytime his parents visit, he’s a little extra fucked up for a while.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She smiles, lays a palm briefly against your cheek, floats down the hallway and is gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On their last night in Las Vegas, Comet adds a cover to their usual lineup of songs: Animal by Neon Trees. It was Luke’s idea, which means it was probably Aemond’s. Aemond wanders the lofty catwalks and shadowy hallways making his notes, his comments, his white amendments on night-black paper, stars freckled across the void. Alicent, Helaena, and Otto join you, Selena, Baela, Rhaena, and the Victoria’s Secret models in the front row. Otto dances with Helaena, spinning and laughing; Alicent cheers for Daeron and watches for glimpses of Criston as he studies the performance from just off-stage. Aegon fumbles no less than five lyrics. Cregan has come up with this new trick where he can remove his boxers on-stage while keeping his pants on. He gifts the aforementioned boxers to a group of soccer moms who in the commotion rip them to tiny, sweaty, treasured shreds.

After the show, Alicent, Helaena, and Otto catch a flight back to London; Selena takes a limo to Los Angeles. Jace’s suite at the MGM Grand, per tradition, is soon engulfed in voices and music and smoke and amply flowing alcohol. Criston is chatting with Aemond, who has a Bramble in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. Cregan and the Victoria’s Secret models are playing Jenga with Luke and Rhaena. In Baela’s absence—she’s working out in the hotel gym—Jace is consoling himself with plentiful Vespers and some barely-legal fangirls; he is introducing his tattoos to them one by one. Daeron is toasting Yuenglings with friends at the bar. And Aegon is like he always is: here, then gone, then here again, and finally gone, like a comet, like a tornado that touches down without warning and vanishes just as quickly. You lose track of him. It’s not your fault. He comes and goes like an act of God.

In the hallway, several suite doors are open, including Aemond’s. You slip inside; no need to watch out for Shelby anymore. You find his notebook on his nightstand—the same place you keep your souvenirs in your own bedroom—and you engage in your least-honorable hobby. You’ve been sneaking looks at his lyrics since Paris. You open the notebook and rifle through onyx pages to the most recent, starlight-hued entry:

I was closest to the sun, like Icarus, swimming in your light

You are the only person I’d let melt my wings

Worry a line into your face, I think about it for days

Don’t talk to me about what the end of summer brings

“He’d kill you if he saw that,” Luke says from the doorway, grinning. “Well, he probably wouldn’t kill you. But he would not be thrilled.”

You snap the notebook shut and place it back on the nightstand. “Please don’t tell him. I am but a humble fangirl.”

“I won’t tell him. But you should ask permission.”

“I don’t think he would give it to me anymore.”

Luke is gazing at the notebook now, his face distant. “It’s screwed up, right? I only got into Comet because of Aemond. He fought for me and he won. But when he was the one who needed help, I couldn’t do the same.”

“Luke…” You open your hands: sorrow, futility. “You must be the least blameworthy person in this whole goddamn mess. You tried to fight for Aemond when no one else would. You make him feel valued. Every single day I watch you remind him of his place here in Comet. You’re the only person who does that.”

“I can’t do this without him,” Luke says softly, fearfully. “I don’t know how to write a song without his advice. I don’t know how to end a show without being able to ask him what I did right or wrong.”

“I think you’re more capable than you believe you are.”

Luke is troubled. “Am I hurting him by wanting him to stay?”

You contemplate this for a while before you choose your words. “In my opinion, Aemond needs to know that his contributions to Comet were real and they he will always be welcome here. But he also needs to find a new purpose. He’s a guest in the band. He’s not a part of it anymore. He can’t go back to who he was before the accident, he’s learned too much about how people treated him when he was hurt. Even if he got up on stage again for a farewell performance—which I think would be beneficial for him—he’s never going to be a full-time popstar again. He needs something else. I don’t know what that thing is, but he needs to be free to find it.”

“I understand,” Luke says. He’s quiet, mulling it over. And then, brightly: “Want to play Jenga with us? Cregan is so bad at it. Or he’s letting us win, I’m not sure which.”

“That’s super sweet, but I think I’m going to go lay down. Maybe take a half-hour nap and then see who’s still conscious for me to hang out with.”

“Are you okay?” Luke asks abruptly.

“What? Yeah, of course, I’m just exhausted. I think the tour is wearing on me.”

“You haven’t looked good for a few weeks now,” Luke says. “I don’t mean that in a rude way. You just seem sad or sick or something. Or both.”

You give him your best reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Luke. I promise.”

He smiles back. “Good. Enjoy your nap!”

“Enjoy your Jenga!”

You drag yourself back to your suite, a human-shaped pile of concrete and lead. What had Aegon said? A lot of discomfort over something that’s the size of what, a chicken nugget?

“We’ll be back in Kansas City in a few weeks,” you whisper as you collapse onto the bed, one hand resting on your not-showing-but-soon belly. And as your eyes drift shut, you realize how good home sounds, better than it ever has before. Is that nesting? Is that just getting older? You don’t want to leave Comet. But you do want your real life to begin.

You are nearly asleep when you hear him come in: the swipe of a keycard, the clopping of Crocs, a clumsy dive onto the bed that rocks the whole mattress.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

Aegon doesn’t answer. You sit up and look at him: sprawled face-down, hair in disarray, sunshine yellow Crocs still on his feet.

“Aegon?”

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t move. You reach out to shove him. His eyes are closed; he is limp. He’s not breathing.

“Aegon?!” you shriek, shaking him, hitting him. There’s no part of him that is glowing now. The sun has set, but the moon is full: his skin is silvery-white and bloodless. You’re screaming for anyone who will hear you.

Cregan is the first to arrive; he was out in the hallway leading all three of the Victoria’s Secret models back to his suite. And then it all happens very quickly. Cregan is dialing 911, Aemond is dragging Aegon off the bed and onto the floor, Criston sprints to get something from his room and returns with two small white devices that he’s ripping out of their packaging. Aegon’s skin is turning blue. Criston feels for a pulse, doesn’t find it. He’s telling Cregan what to relay to the 911 dispatcher: no breathing, no heartbeat, Narcan being administered. Criston cradles Aegon’s head and tilts it backwards so he can dose him with the nasal spray. Then Criston looks at his wristwatch and begins chest compressions. You are pinned by shock and horror to the wall. You can hear people out in the hallway, voices and footsteps, clamoring and rumors.

There is Jace’s frantic voice: “Is he okay?!” Cregan pushes him back outside.

“Come on, Aegon,” Aemond is saying, patiently but firmly, slapping at his brother’s face, pinching his cheeks. No blood rushes in to darken the battered flesh. “We’re all here. We’re all waiting for you. Come on back.”

“One minute,” Criston notes as he glances at his watch. Forever, it feels like.

“I’d give him another,” Aemond says.

“Second dose of Narcan,” Criston tells Cregan as he stops compressions and administers another round. And that does it: Aegon gasps, jolts, comes alive again. His skin transforms from blue to white to pink. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Criston hisses, and buries his face in his hands, trembling with relief and adrenalin. Cregan is informing the 911 dispatcher that the patient is back from the dead.

Aemond lifts his brother so he’s sitting upright and holds him, smoothing back his hair, murmuring to him words too hushed to understand. Aegon says, dazed: “Did I do it again?”

“Yeah. Yeah you did. But you’re back now.”

“I’m sorry, Aemond.”

“Stop—”

“I’m so sorry. I should have been at soundcheck.”

“Stop, Aegon. It’s over, it’s done. None of us knew what would happen.”

There are glittering, glass-like tears on Aegon’s face. His voice is choked and heavy, so heavy. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now.”

“One of these times you should just let me die.”

“But then who would torment Father? I don’t have nearly as much talent for it.”

Now they are both laughing, and you see that Aemond has a few tears of his own: only from his right eye, only from the one that fate spared.

Criston says, almost apologetically: “Aegon, we have to take you to the hospital to get checked out.”

Aegon sighs. “Yeah, I know. I remember how it goes.” Aemond and Criston help him to his feet. He can’t walk on his own; they half-carry him out into the hallway where EMS is just arriving. And once Aegon is on the stretcher and being ferried away—with great fanfare, everyone gathered in the corridor to wave him off—Aemond comes back for you.

Together you ride in one of the Escalades to the hospital and stand outside the transparent windows of the room while a lethargic, irritable Aegon is hooked up to machines and Criston talks to the doctors and nurses, vigorously reprimands him, makes a phone call to Alicent so she hears it before TMZ can report the story.

“I haven’t helped him at all,” you say to Aemond. “Not last June. Not now. Never.”

“That’s not true. You don’t know where he started.” He watches you, this man who sees so much and yet so little, who maybe loves you but sometimes hates you and is the father of a soon-to-be child that you already feel you know. “Do you love him?”

“Yes. But not in the way you mean. I would kill for Aegon, but I’d never marry him.”

Aemond chuckles, like this is a ludicrous combination of words. “Has he asked?” And then when he sees your face, too exhausted and woeful to censor itself, his jaw drops open.

“He wasn’t serious.”

“A strange thing to joke about.”

“Not for us.” It would be strange if Aemond joked about it. Because I could actually see myself marrying him. Not in another world, in this one, if only the stars aligned just right.

“Look, I think I have to apologize,” Aemond says. “Because I might have…misinterpreted things. The way you make me feel is…I can’t describe it, you know? It’s like, light, and warmth, and music, and I made the mistake of thinking that was only for me. But you do that for everyone, right? It’s not just for me. It’s never been just for me. And you’ve been so goddamn gracious. You’ve never asked me for anything. You’ve never put yourself in a position to use or take from me. You knew what I needed and you tried to give it to me. So thank you. I know I said that I understood you better in Reykjavik, and I was wrong then. But I understand you now. You help people. You heal people.”

You turn to him, startled. “You aren’t like everyone else. That’s not how I think of you.”

He is intrigued, perhaps hopeful, perhaps too afraid to hope. Pity is familiar. Love would be something else. “No?”

“No.” Truths, like birds with clipped wings, struggle in vain to take flight. “I have to confess something.”

“Go on then.”

I want you. I love you. I want to have this child with you. But I’m so fucking scared that you won’t be able to handle it. And at last, cowardice: “I’ve been reading your lyrics.”

He smiles. “That’s fair, I guess. Everything I’ve written since June has been about you anyway.”

Criston emerges from Aegon’s room. His dark hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead; his eyes are damn near vacant. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the past hour. “He wants to talk to you,” Criston tells you. “I don’t think he’ll be awake in five more minutes, and he might not remember any of it anyway. But he is insistent.”

“He usually is,” you say, and go in.

Aegon is dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, no neon. His feet are bare; you can tell because one of them is sticking out from under the blankets. His hair is slicked back from his face. He is afflicted with a slew of twisted wires and beeping monitors. But he is still Aegon: beautiful, bright, generally harmless to anyone except himself. He blinks blearily up at you. “No one has ever loved me, and it’s because I don’t deserve it.”

“Millions of people love you, Aegon. I love you.”

“For more than a day?”

“For all of them.”

He grins, then presses his right palm to his chest. “Starboy,” he says. Then he points at you. “Stargirl.” His gaze drops to your belly. “Starbaby,” he declares at last. “Not my Starbaby. But a Starbaby nonetheless.”

“You can’t leave me,” you say softly, tears falling down onto his blankets. “I can’t do this without you. Not just the tour. Everything. I can’t live in a world without you in it. You can’t leave Comet. You can’t leave me.”

And Aegon murmurs, petulant like a child as he drowns in sleep: “You’re leaving me first.”

#aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you

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carlsdarling · 1 year

Note

pregnancy fics are sooo cute!! what about carl x pregnant reader (can be his or someone else’s) where she’s starting to visibly show and carl finds it soo hot

New beginning

Y/N is pregnant and her boyfriend is not thrilled when she starts to visibly show. But Carl finds it just sooo hot... Bit of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, pregnancy sex, unprotected sex

You were out on the veranda crying. Jared, the guy you came to Alexandria with who also made you pregnant, had just told you how off-putting he thought it was that you were really starting to show your pregnancy. You were now in the sixth month and could no longer hide the fact that your belly was growing. As if you hadn't suffered from the effects of pregnancy yourself: Your jeans would no longer fit and you had to resort to dresses, your breasts were twice as big as they had been a few weeks ago; they ached and strained, your ankles were always swelling and you felt nauseous every day.

Jared enjoyed the big breasts, but not the big belly. It was as if you had made that baby on your own! He even told you to reduce your food intake so as not to gain more weight. At first you thought he would follow you outside and apologize, but that wasn't the case. You left the veranda to take a walk around Alexandria. After all, should Jared be worried and come searching for you (which he probably wouldn't). You wondered unhappily if Glenn was saying such spiteful things to Maggie, too, or if Rick had ever said them to Lori. But you doubted it. Now that you and the rest of your group were safe, it turned out that Jared was not the person you had thought he was all along. He was now beginning to show his true self. Earlier in the evening, he had shamelessly tried to flirt with Ron's girlfriend Enid, but she had brushed him off.

Sadly, you walked through the streets of the city. There weren't many people around at this time of night, and you were thinking about maybe going to see Enid to talk to her. Maybe you could spend the night there. Because you weren't sure what to do next with you and Jared. Arriving outside Enid's house, you realized that she and Ron were probably already asleep - everything was dark. "Great," you sniffled, and turned discouraged to go back home.

"Hey, Y/N," you heard a voice and were startled. You saw Carl standing on the dark street and then he came towards you.

"Hi, Carl," you said, quickly wiping your tears.

"Are you crying?" he queried, concerned.

"No," you lied.

Carl, however, was not fooled. "What's wrong?" he asked, hugging you gently. "What are you doing out here alone at this hour, in your condition?"

"I... Jared and I had a fight," you said lamely. "I was going to stay over at Enid's, but she's already asleep."

Carl looked at you thoughtfully. "Do you want to come to our house?" he then offered. "We have a guest room." You pondered for a moment, then agreed and followed him to the house where he lived with Rick, Michonne and Judith. "What were you guys fighting about?" he asked kindly.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. "Jared doesn't find me attractive anymore," you sobbed. "We haven't had sex in weeks. He...he doesn't like the big belly. He said it's gross." Ashamed, you looked to the side. Carl would surely feel the same way about this as Jared did.

Instead, he gently took hold of your hand, stopped, and looked at you. "Then he's an idiot who doesn't deserve you," he said firmly. "You're beautiful." His eyes desirously grazed your swollen breasts and bulging belly beneath your red summer dress. You looked Carl in his one eye. The scar was hidden, as always, behind the bandage, which you didn't think he needed at all; you had seen his wound once, briefly, and didn't think it disfigured him or that he should be ashamed of it. Carl had such a cute face.

"You really mean that?" you asked, trepidatiously.

"Yes," he confirmed softly, gently stroking your belly. Standing in front of his door, you kissed tenderly, and immediately you felt arousal building up inside you - it had just been too long since you had last engaged in sex.

With a heavy gasp, you disentangled yourself from him. "Carl, this..."

"Don't you want it?"

You sighed. "Yes, I do." Screw Jared. He hadn't been so mean to you for nothing. And if he didn't want you anymore - there were other guys who did. You snuggled up to Carl and kissed him again. You went up the stairs, and he pushed you into his room and closed the door. Breathing heavily, you sank onto his bed, kissing and caressing each other.

"May I see your belly?" he whispered. Blushing, you slipped off your dress. Carl looked adoringly at your body, and you could see how aroused he already was. "This is getting me so horny," he said, caressing your belly and the protruding navel, then kissing it until he slid his tongue lower and began eating you out. You arched your back moaning his name and buried your hand in his hair as he kept teasing your clit with his tongue, circling it and caressing your belly. He let go of you before you cum, laying down next to you and kissing you. "I wish I had breed you myself", he pouted. „It’s so hot.“

You felt his erection rubbing against your hip quite hard. "Get undressed too, Carl," you whispered, your voice husky with desire. He obeyed, and the sight of his fully erect cock only increased your arousal.

"Are we sleeping with each other?" he asked - unsure if you actually wanted to.

"Yes please," you murmured in his ear. You turned on your side so you were lying with your back to him, so your belly wasn't in the way. He moved closer to you, sighing softly as he kissed your neck and gently penetrated you from behind, eliciting a moan from you. He felt so good, and clearly he was completely hot for you. "Oh, Carl," you sighed as he slowly began to thrust into you, alternately petting your breasts and belly.

"You are so wet and tight," he moaned, pressing himself against you and increasing the frequency of his thrusts. Again and again he hit your most sensitive spot, it nearly blew your mind.

"Carl, I'm cumming," you said, clutching at the sheets and biting the pillow as the orgasm literally overwhelmed you. You felt Carl shoot his load into you, some of it landed onto your buttocks, the hot liquid seeping into the sheets. He moaned so loudly that someone had certainly heard you.

Afterwards, he played with your hair and looked at you lovingly. "If you don't want to, you don't have to go back to Jared," he suggested. "You can stay with us, too. With me. I don't mind that the baby isn't mine. I'll make you another one. Preferably right now," he joked, and you realized he was ready for you again. "I like you," Carl confessed. "I've just never had the guts to ask you out because you're in a relationship."

"Not anymore," you said firmly and smiled happily. "I'd love to stay here with you, Carl.“

He grinned. "Then it's definite."

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes smut #carl fanfiction #carl grimes #carl grimes imagines

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deathbxnny · 1 year

Note

YQ's Mother Requestor Anon here! May I request Yanqing and Jing Yuan reacting to Mother!Reader being pregnant or adopting another kid?

Also you may or may not have left out a few fics...

-----♡

A/N: Hey there! Thank you for the once again great request! Also I'm not exactly sure what you mean by the last sentence, so could you please clarify? Thank you!<33

Content: This lowkey turned into a crackfic, unserious, Yanqing being done with everything, Jing Yuan being a menace, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, Yanqing attempting to throw himself off a bridge?, sfw

Reader is afab here and reffered to as Yanqing's mother!

((Not fully proofread))

-----♡

Jing Yuan was unbelievably happy to hear that you were pregnant with his child. It was like a dream come true and he was so excited to have a new addition in the family soon. He spoiled you with gifts and affection, before practically announcing it proudly to everyone that could listen. Soon enough all generals and important people of the Xianzhou alliance were informed and happy to hear the good news.

But that left you with only Yanqing to tell, who until then, was blissfully unaware of the approaching doom that was Jing Yuan, who had agreed to tell him about the news himself. You were too worried of what his reaction would be, as you didn't want him to think that you were replacing him. And so, your dear, perfect husband took it upon himself to tell him, since no one could do it better than him, the man who raised Yanqing since he was a boy.

Now, if you weren't so happy and swooning over your husband's act of bravery, you would've maybe noticed the evil grin on his lips, as he went on his way to tell the poor unsuspecting boy the great news. Finding Yanqing was relatively easy, as he was calmly resting at a bridge near the training grounds, after a long day of refining his skills.

He greeted Jing Yuan like he usually did, but stopped himself, when he saw that grin. He immideatly knew that whatever came next would be life altering. And so, he slowly turned his head to stare off into the distance, whilst his mentor made himself comfortable next to him. It took Jing Yuan a moment to get to the point, but when he did, the silence that followed was absolutely deafening.

The older man turned his head to the boy, just to receive the biggest side eye in all of history. To say that Yanqing was not amused, would be an understatement. Sure, he was extremely happy and excited to finally have a sibling... but he knew that he'd never find peace again with the older man now. And he certainly didn't want to admit to defeat either.

Yanqing asked him if he was serious and when Jing Yuan confirmed it, the boy simply hummed and took off his swords, before neatly placing them against the bridge. And then, he unceremoniously swung his leg over the railing and attempted to just jump off the bridge out of spite.

First he took away his mother, then his allowance and now he dared to be smug? Yeah, Yanqing will see to it, that he stops playing with him like that. Jing Yuan let out a yell of surprise, as he grabbed onto the boy's collar and stopped him, as he flailed around and tried to escape.

Meanwhile, you happily clasped your hands together and smiled in awe at the sight of them "bonding" over the great news from where you were hiding. It seems like Yanqing can't wait to be a big brother to his new sibling!

-----♡

A/N: Alright, I hope you don't mind this being very unserious. I just needed a break from the angst, that is going to fill up my inbox soon. Thank you again for the request!<33

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr jing yuan #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr yanqing #hsr yanqing x reader #hsr

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noritoshiikamo · 2 years

Text

reassurance [kamisato ayato x reader]

a part of manipulative!ayato series

cw reader is going through insecurity phase, post partum depression post pregnancy, brief mention of needle against skin, penetrative sex, lactation, female receiving, male receiving, spanking, spitting, light body worshipping, reader and ayato both tried to manipulate and rile each other up (failed successfully)

a/n yes this is the last part yes i tried to make ayato a little sweeter but i failed lol yes its not that long i want to retire /j hdjdjsjsj no more longer fics ill probably go for shorter now feel free to hmu would love to hear any ideas we can discuss on side *wink wink*

taglist— @cheolinn @duskamethyst @crashed-wing @cl-0-vr @shadowarchon @tezzy-lovez @ninefuckingoneone @rifran @somemydayy @ryumishou @kokoirne

you’ve changed.

it was just something you had noticed even without staring at the large mirror in the washroom. you felt different. you had never felt like this, you are not the type to get hung over of changes because you adapt a lot. your entire life consist of running away and adapt so you won’t appear to be interesting. hiding behind the title of shrine maiden worked. you blend into the crowd, stay out of trouble by keeping your words and works true and get paid. but shrine maiden was your old life. it wasn’t your shield anymore.

being lady of the commissioner felt like someone had stripped you naked and put you on display.

you carried his name, his family legacy, his child- you centered your existence around him. you felt insecure. your tilted your head, staring at your bare body in front of the foggy mirror. for the first time in your life, you were afraid of your reflection. your shaky fingers ran along the healed scar over your stomach. everyone said you were a strong mother- a warrior. giving birth to a healthy baby girl was like seeing a someone broke a vase and left it for you to clean. you had to pick yourself up and get your shit together. you didn’t understand the cheering as the loud cry of the baby echoed the estate. you felt tired, disgusting but he didn’t left you. you swore you had broken his bones with your grip, with your own cry. when the baby cried, they cheered but when you cried earlier, they told you to man it up and push. and when you failed, you feared the look the healers threw you.

while others tend for the baby, you spend a quiet seconds consoled by him as the needle sew your torn pieces together. you won’t lie that his word went in one ear and out of the other until he told you he loved you.

“w-what?” you asked, as he peppered your skin with kisses.

“i love you and thank you for going through this.”

you couldn’t believe your own mind. listening to the words escaping the commissioner’s mouth. a soft scoff escaped your lips. you felt appreciated despite all the ironic outcome. but it disappeared once the baby reached his arms. unexpectedly, he held the baby silently, tears brimming his eyes and to your own surprise, you did too. you made that with him. even out of a marriage that started out of seed of spite, you made something grew out of love.

but you still lost yourself.

between taking care of a small growing child, the needy father and his family, you felt naked again. the warm bubble burst when you kept being left alone, fending the quiet night holding a child threatening to burst into piercing cries the moment you set her down. you were exhausted. you couldn’t count the night falling asleep on the floor beside the baby crib, alone and waking up on the bed, alone. you rather go through another 20 hours of labour than admit that you miss him. but silence was louder than words anyway, he knew what you think. his love language evolved as you grew. for the time he couldn’t be with you, he made up as best as his could, his way.

it started small. a glass of water on the nightstand to greet you in the morning. warm bath just enough for you ready to step in the morning. baby changed, showered and dressed and ready for you to breastfeed. until your duty was no longer to serve the clan but to devote your entire time for the child’s growth. but how long could it last until you’re an empty shell of your previous life.

the time you wished you could bother him just to drop off a cup of tea became a hassle as the housekeeper ushered you back to your room as the child screamed for attention. you barely had dinner together. you lost the time you had with him to his own child. and now people won’t stop talking.

they’ve changed.

you winced at the words. you know it even without people pointing out. you did change. you cut your hair in a more manageable way, easier for you to manage and away from your curious child’s grip. you put on a little weight as your fingers gripped the excess skin. you looked tired, eye bags accentuated and longed the feeing of the heavy blade in your hand while you stared into his eyes determined to beat him up to his own game. you tried to shake the insecure thoughts out of your mind, startled by the opening and shut of the door. you sat in silence, waiting for a loud cry and such or the pestering yell from the housekeeper for leaving your child alone too long. your breasts ached. maybe the child is hungry, you thought to yourself as you felt the nectar threatening to leak off your bud. the silence was deafening. you hated it. your feet pitter pattered on the floor and before you could slide the door opened, you were greeted by a figure.

“the baby-” you instinctively muttered.

“what baby?” ayato asked back.

you rolled your eyes and pushed your way out and rushed to the crib. your spine chilled. your lips moved but words choked in your throat as you stared at the empty crib. you turned and ran against a cold hard wall, into his chest. he chuckled. “breath, i asked the housekeeper to take her for the night. she’s still sleeping,” your husband reassured, soft hushes while carefully brushing away the stray hair off your face. your shoulder hunched in relief as you lost your balance, his arms quick to hold your weight up. you muttered something out of relief, thanking the archon or some sort as he rocked you against his chest. “my lady,” he chuckled, “since when you are a believer?”

“shut up, ayato.”

he tilted his head that was inching closer and closer to yours, “make me.”

something ignited in you when your lips touched. your mind scrambled to think of the moment that matched and it brought you to the night he took you to the firework festival. it was from far, your growing body inching closer to your due date weren’t meant for long travel so you settled by the ledge of the estate. you remembered the moment so fondly because you didn’t remember the fireworks going on the back but the feeling of his lips pressed against you in the quiet, empty estate. you didn’t dare to look him in the eyes, buried your face in the crook of his neck. “i thought you were busy.”

“you need me. no one is important right now.”

the words echoed in your head. your fingers grabbed the corner of his shirt as he shrugged the jacket off his shoulder. the armory clanked on the floor. “should i ask why is my wife running out of the bathroom bare naked or should i wait for a bit?” he whispered naughtily into your ears. your face warmed up as you suddenly felt so aware of his arms wrapping around your bare waist. “shut up,” you whispered below your breath, but loud enough for him to catch. you stayed in each other arms, something you hadn’t done in a while. you counted the rate of his heartbeat with the palm pressed against his chest. “you’ll catch a cold. i don’t want you to be sick,” he tried again, fingers bare rubbing circles on your back.

“make me warm then.”

his chuckles echoes in your ears. being bold isn’t something he was surprised anymore, but it felt good in his heart to know that he was still needed. you knew, you could feel his heart skipped a beat. “well, i could never say no now that you are served on a pretty silver plate.” he kissed you again, slowly backing away. your feet followed as he led you to your bed. his kiss never broke off, ayato was getting good at this. the undressing was quick. even after months of no intimacy, it was like your brain had been doing this for days. the undoing of his vest and belt and pants came so naturally to you. it felt good when his bare chest rested against your mounds, his toned arm wrapped around your waist with his hand gently holding your neck as he lowered you down on the soft bed.

kamisato ayato had learned how to be soft.

because coming to someone so hard-headed like you with such a hard approach was like fighting fire with fire, immune. to tame a beast takes time and effort, taming you was his biggest achievement. lips mould to his own, the sound you made when he touched you was like a reward worth waiting for. he deserved this and you deserve it. “you know how insane it was,” he panted against your lips, eyes wild as he took his time to take your face in, “i spend months, day and night waiting to touch and kiss you again. i’m selfish. i want this child but i don’t want to share you.”

you smiled, hands cupping his cheeks, “you talk too much.”

“too much?”

you nodded as your hands moved to his shoulder, gently pushing him further down, “way too much.” he took your invitation, venturing down south; not without getting a quick taste of your hard buds. your face warmed up, mouth quick to mutter an apology. but he didn’t stop, even with a slight drip of the pale milk on the corner of his lips he continued his assault on your tits. he found it sweet, like you. the more his tongue swirled around the bud, the more you felt wetter. both on your mound and your core.

your moan echoed the room, as his hips pressed harder against your core. you felt impatient and he could sense it as his lips planted kisses down your belly to the small mound. he was like a child in candy store, eyes glistening in excitement. “c’mere,” he whispered, pulling you closer to the edge as he knelt on the floor. he didn’t take his time, fingers spreading your slit apart, tongue straight on your clit. your body jolted in pleasure, held down by his arms around your thighs. it moved in a random pattern then to a circle; his pointed tongue pressed against your swelling clit as your moans echoed the room.

“i forgot how fucking good you taste, my wife,” he slurred, haze in lust as his thumb replaced his tongue and it went lower. your back arched in pleasure, fingers fisting the sheet underneath. you could feel his tongue, swirling around your throbbing hole, teasing with a little jab in and out slurping loudly as the sweet fluid that kept on gushing out. you stuttered his name, room echoed only with his sloppy noise and your choked up moans. you felt dizzy; spit dribbling down the edge of your lips with your eyes rolled up. he was tongue fucking your cunt with his thumb pressing hard but pleasureful circles on your clit.

you opened your mouth, not a moan but a question.

his tongue stopped. his hair was a mess as he looked up. reality hit you like a brick as you propped yourself up on your elbows, brain raking for an explanation. stringy saliva mess connected his lips and chin to your aching cunt. you looked down on him, unsure if your words had ruined the moment.

would you still love me if i’ve changed too much?

you swallowed the lump in the back of your throat, the hot sweaty moments put past as you suddenly felt that heaviness weighing on your chest. he rested his cheek against your calf, breath tickling as he planted a kiss on your skin, “now why would my love ever think of such odd question?” ayato wondered, fingers lightly brushing against your inner thighs, “is that what has been bothering you?” he planted more kiss. “you think a little skin here and there, your hair or the fact that our child is latched to your breasts more than i’ve ever did is going to change the amount of love i had for you?” his brows jolted as his hands hooked underneath your legs pushing you backward on the bed. you gasped, as he pinned your legs downward, carefully not to hurt your body. his eyes curled into a smile so soft but his lips reflected otherwise. his breath hovered over your aching cunt again. your eyes met briefly.

“it would never.”

you threw your head backward, spine slowly arched as his hoarse tongue ran a long swipe along your folds up to your clit. it was getting harder to control the noise you were making, thighs begging to close on his head, unable to take the constant assault of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to edge but he kept it apart. you will not deny him of this pleasure. the tensed knot in your belly snapped in a second as you gnawed down your fist, muffling your scream from breaking the silence of the night. this is what you’ve been missing. the thigh trembling, cunt numbing from waves of pleasure that he won’t stop assaulting until he got every single drop of your sweet, sweet mess on his tongue. whatever ayato wants, he will get it.

still high from your orgasm, you could feel his lips peppering your sweaty skin with his kisses, mouthing along of how a good wife you were, sending more chills down your spine. his words were drowsy, sending your head spinning. it felt like an out of body experience, watching as he covered every inch of your skin with his kisses. “ayato, lay down,” you muttered, holding him by the chest. his brows shot up in confusion, cock already aligned against your cunt. “why?” he asked nervously.

“that’s not a request, it’s an order,” you muttered, a half of smile plastered on your face.

shrugging, despite a look of protest visible on his face, he followed your request. as you sat between his legs, you couldn’t help to how lucky you were. he rested against the bed post, wandering what was your next move. you could hear his sharp intake of breath as your fingers danced along the inside of his legs. his muscles tensed the closer you were to his crotch. he watched your intensely, clouded with excitement and curiosity. his cock rested against his belly, hard and warm and the moment your cold hand wrapped around the length, it twitched. not that you had any reference, he was your first and to his words, your last. you never had a moment to marvel on his, fingers running curiously along the bumps of vein as more pre cum started to drip along the length. you gave more strokes, eyes glued, head tilted in fascination. running your thumb along the slit, you couldn’t help but wondered how all of it fit.

bending down, you pressed a kiss on the tip, tongue lapping lazily on the slit.

“y/n,” he warned, disliking the idea of being teased.

you looked up, head slightly tilted on the side, no regrets in your mind, “beggars don’t get to choose, they get what they get.” the light roll of his eyes meant something to you. you knew the line at heart, it was his lessons; your punishments. your tongue moved again, slowly around the head before pulling back with a gentle pop. he stared mouth agape, cheeks flushing as strings of fluid connected you to his cock.

you weren’t punishing him. you were just learning about him better.

when you kissed his cock, his body twitched. when you looked up to him hazy, he flushed.

so when you took his entire length down your throat, it was excited to see how his hips bucked upward. you never heard such colourful words escaped melodiously out of his lips, hand quick to grab the base of your neck. “s-slow down,” he chuckled nervously, yet his action spoke the opposite. you held down well, pulling out with your tongue swirling along the length but never enough to pull out. you hummed and bopped, sucking on the tip and making sure that his tip hit the back of your throat every time. it made your cunt squirming, aching when you could taste him.

pulling out for a breather, your hands took the position, making sure that his cock was constantly occupied and ready for you. every stroke made the man swallowed faster, breath hitching when your hand sped up. you caught a glance of him; head back, eyes half opened holding back moans out of his throat. you leaned kissing his neck, jaw until you were looking in his eyes planting kisses on his lips.

“do me a favour?” you mewled.

he was almost breathless, “whatever you want.”

“fuck my throat please?” you batted your eyes, pleading with your eyes always work. he could never say no that, excitedly pushing your head down. you grew to like it, looking up with your glistening eyes as he kept a steady thrust in your mouth. his deep muttering of fucks echoed with the squelching of your throat throughout the room. you kept your fingers tight against his thighs. gagging sound was all he could hear from you, letting out moans of pleasure as a praise. “that’s my good girl, keep it wise.” he knew your limit, he trained you for this. you were so obedient, it made him obsessed. his cock twitched even more when tears started spilling down your cheeks.

“fuck, baby spread your legs a bit. i want to see you touch yourself.”

you did happily. you were more than wet, you could barely rub your clit. your moans only provide more stimulation to his cock every time it hit the back of your throat. it was a blurred sense of reality. both of you couldn’t take it anymore. “fuck, fuck, i’ll fucking cum if you keep doing that, c’mere,” ayato gasped, pulling you off. it was the sense of urgency as you kissed each other, climbing on his laps. his shaky hands welcomed you, while you scrambled to align yourself. you drank of each other’s gazes, swallowing the moans as you sank yourself down on him. you were breathing heavy, it was months ago when you had him deep. even with the amount of wetness you were, adjusting to his length took some time. he peppered kisses all over your face, shushing you, a hand on your waist gripping tight, “slow down, you’ll hurt yourself,” he warned, holding your face, teasing your lips with kisses. you shook your head lightly, his warning fell on deaf ears because all you wanted was all of him in you.

“i want you now.”

he grinned, “i know you do, but if i break you again, i will have to go back to fucking my hand and it’s not that much fun.”

his finger brushed against your cheeks, “go slowly, you’re so fucking tight i can fucking cum right now.” your thigh trembled. you chose to play the teasing game and it was eating you alive. you are aching for the fullness, desperate to be fucked blissed out of your mind. you deserved his entire attention. “for someone who spend the entire marriage begging me to slow down, you surely look disappointed right now,” he teased, biting lightly on your pouting lips, “so desperate for me to fuck your little cunt huh?” you rolled your eyes.

“ayato, your little lessons bore me, are you gonna keep teasing me or are you going to fuck me?”

he was taken aback by your brashness, a small proud smile etched on the corner of his lips. “keep running your mouth like that, i’ll keep you high and dry, my lady,” he warned playfully, jolting his hip upward like a tease with his grip on your jaws left it aching. you obeyed his silent request, cunt pulsing excitedly as he spitted in you, patting your cheek proudly like an obedient dog when you swallowed. he took his sweet time teasing you that you didn’t realise you had him whole all along. you could feel his pelvic against your bundle of nerve, a little wiggle was enough to make your body tingled. “there we go, you need to be a little patient. we do have all night you know?” his hands roamed lower, excited to see the familiar bulge in your tummy where his cock sat. you continued to rock your hips, hands against his chest, grinding against his bone. his hands against the hips helped, occasionally landing a playful hit against the fleshy side. the fullness you crave was aching, you wanted to move.

“please can i move?”

he grinned, rubbing your thighs, “always so eager to please, of course you can,” he leaned forward, warm breath brushing your ear, “but you’ll cum when i say you can.”

he always need some control—as if looking down on you with both hands against the back of his head, leering on your body wasn’t enough. your fingers dug deep against his abs as you moved your hips. as long as you are moving, you were in control. ah the false control you knew but chose to ignore. it felt so lewd to look at him as you selfishly chase for your high, milking him of his own. his tongue licking his lips hungrily as his gaze glued to your bouncing tits. every time you whined and lids moved to close, he clicked his tongue. your cheeks grew warmer.

“keep your eyes on me, y/n-chan.”

your lips trembled, choking on your words only managed to let out a chortled whine. you forced your gaze on him, earning yourself a pretty proud smile. he was red all over, beads of sweat coated his skin and lips apart with every deep thrust you could hear his own whine. his hand moved to brace himself against the headboard, knuckles whiter than the sheet. your body pressed against each other as his lips found its way back to your tits. swirling around the bud, lapping and grazing his fangs against it eliciting more of the sweet, sweet nectar. his fingers dug deep against your back deeper as you lower down as if to push himself deeper, leaving crescent marks and bruising your cervix. he pant, switching from one breast to another. you ran your hand through his luscious lock, eyes crossed path again. knowing all the signs, you pushed his head back, pinning him against the board by the shoulder.

“nu’uh, you’ll cum when i tell you to.”

his laughter echoed the room, “we don’t play that game here.”

you squinted your eyes, shaking your head, “no, we play it fair and square and you are about to cum.”

“so? you think one cum will get me done, baby, i can go all fucking night. i’ll get the second right back in you.” his threats send shivers down your spine but you weren’t about to bow down. he married for your stubbornness, he paid the price. despite the banter, your hips continued to move, pooling more of your mixed arousal down to his thighs. you could feel his body tensing underneath you, your tightened walls started to feel a little too much for his cock. you were doing him a favour by pulling out the moment he could taste the release. the red angry tip now resting against your belly outside. you tried to shove his disappointment down with a kiss, unable to hide your little smile against his lips.

oh, he will play your game.

you thought he thought he won with his hand against your head pushing against the bed with your ass propped up. your giggles didn’t last long the moment he slipped inside you so easily. his pounding were merciless. you bit your tongue, hissing into the bed as he continued to land more spanking against your cheeks until it was sore. you didn’t dare to speak, knowing this is all on you, the one who started it. the stinging pain and his cock rearranging your inside intertwined in such a pleasureful way; all you could muster out of your throat was his name in repeat. like a prayer, like a beggar begging for more. “you could’ve say that you want me to fuck you like a whore, i would’ve bend you over from the start,” his fingers weaved along your hairs yanking your head upward, “since when is my sweet little wife is a big fucking tease?”

you were little fucked in head, he made you like this. you love the time he would make love to you, but a little fucking is nothing compared to that. you craved his harshness.

“does it hurt baby?” he cooed, mocking your weak whimpers with each words emphasized by his cock hitting your sweet spot, “want me to stop? just say the word.”

you shook your head, “h-harder,” you mewled, gripping on the sheet. the hell you’re giving up this opportunity. the different position was a bliss, you could feel his cock against your gummy walls raking, every thrust up to your throat knocking breath out of your lung. every time he pushed your lower back, he hit different little sweet spot you didn’t even know you like. your squeals and curses were his praises. his hand made his home against your throat, pulling you up against his chest. your muffled moans echoed louder around the room as his lips latched against your neck, the other found your throbbing clit. “f-fuck fuck, m’gonna cum,” you cried, clawing on his wrist. he disapprovingly hummed, biting harder against your skin until iron overwhelmed his taste buds. “you can hold it, that’s least you could do after denying mine,” he locked your neck, moving on to where your pulse pounded heavily, lapping the skin above it hungrily.

you were drunk in pleasure, seeing stars in your eyes as his pace grew faster. he didn’t even stop when you were squirting, dripping down the thighs, the resistance made it more fun for him to fuck through. thanks to his hand around your throat, you would’ve slammed your face down. he constantly reminded you that you asked for it, that you can take it. his thumb circled harder against your clit, enjoying the pulsating walls around his cock. you fought to close your thighs together, overwhelmed by the pleasure. your trembling thighs were just a warning that you were closing to the limit. yanking your head backward, he kissed you ferociously. “s’close, does my lady want cum on my cock?” he cooed, happy to see your little nods with tears down your face. you looked so pretty when you cry, but he had to do it. with a pouty lips and a weak apology, you gagged on his heavy fingers on your tongue. he wasn’t planning to wake everyone up this late.

you liked it anyway, he could feel you sucking on the digits.

he focused on his thrusts and palming on your leaking chest. rolling on your hardened buds with his two fingers, you trashed weakly against his arms. he hushed you, reassured you that he would take care of everything. you were getting sore, from his unfaltering thrusts and his skin slapping against your sore ass. your teeth clamping against his fingers didn’t hurt at all, he was high on pleasure and adrenaline. “that’s it, give me all that, lemme see you cum on my cock,” he kissed the back of your ear, another one of your weak spot. your fingers dug into his arms, the knot in your belly tensing and threatening to snap any seconds. you got all blurry, seeing stars; probably tasting some as you rest you head back against his. your words were incoherent slurs of pleas when his free hand moved back to your clit. it didn’t take any longer for your second orgasm to finally hit you like a wave. your head spun in pleasure. he showered you with praise, slapping lightly against your aching cunt. your body jolted, the oversensitiveness from the second orgasm you had for months after giving birth was catching up on you.

ayato wasn’t unfazed, fucking through your orgasm, ignoring your weak whimpers to chase his own high. the pain of your teeth against his skin was apart of his high, listening to his words and whines mixing making more nonsensical noise which was ignored, thrusting desperately into your oversensitive cunt. he was getting rougher and desperate as he rocked you and the bed underneath.

the walls hadn’t heard the loud sloppy sound of his cock jackhammering your cunt in a long time and he couldn’t hold his loud mouth as he felt it coming. the high he was denied was so close he could feel it at the tip of his tongue. a couple more thrusts and he unloaded himself in you, painting the inside full of his cum. he groused and tensed, his own body shaking in pleasure. he was more surprised that he could last longer than you, hips still moving slowly halting into a stop when he was sure he had filled you up of his entirety. filling you up full of his cum was the highlight of his day, something he could never get tired off. maybe this one will stick again, he smiled against your skin. your jaw ached as his fingers left you, replacing with the softest kiss he could muster at the moment. “are you okay?” he asked, brushing away beads of sweat on your forehead, kissing it lightly. you nodded weakly and he spend a few seconds assessing you, laying you down on the cleaner side of the bed. the room was quieter other than the sound of two lovers trying to catch their breath.

he didn’t understand where did the insecurity came from nor did he care but if reassurance was all you need, he would shower it as you needed. he kissed every inch of your skin until all was on your face was a smile. exhaustion left as you found yourself trapped with your legs apart and he was ready to take you again for a second round. holding the base, he scooped the leaking cum. he berated you for being wasteful. you heard it again, those three little words as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. his entrance was a little more smoother and you rolled your eyes in pleasure as he filled you up once more. you asked the same question again. he laughed, kissing your cheeks as he looked down into your glossy, lustful eyes. you couldn’t really focus, not that it mattered if you were listening or not. his words were like a promise; sealed by every thrust against your cervix.

“if i have to fuck you for the whole night just to prove that there’s no one in this world that could replace my scheming little wife, i would. in a heartbeat, in every single universe, the whole tevyat will know who’s name you’ll be screaming. you belong to me.”

#manipulative!ayato series #writing: genshin #writing: fics #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #kamisato ayato smut #ayato kamisato smut #genshin ayato #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x reader smut #kamisato ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x you

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mara-xx217 · 1 month

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Gone and Now Forgotten: A Dead by Daylight Song-Fic Comission (Tarhos/Fem!Reader/Vittorio)

This is lyric/son fic commissioned by @prettycutebunny! I hope you enjoy!~

Song used: Peter by Taylor Swift

Long ago, he made a promise to marry you and take you away from your horrible situation. But then he forgot about you, and in turn you forgot about him.

Warnings: Rape/Noncon, Prostitution, Arranged Marriage, Slavery, Canon Typical Violence, Loss of Virginity, Unwanted Pregnancy, Abortion, Hurt No Comfort, Death

Forgive me Peter

My lost fearless leader

In closets like cedar

Preserved from when we were just kids

Eyelashes were sticky with tears and thick makeup as you looked in the full body mirrors before you. The skirt of your dress was fluffed as your breath caught in your chest, the cords of your dress tightening to uncomfortable degrees. A frustrated sigh was released and a filthy cloth was scrubbed against your raw eyes.

“Stop crying! Most girls would give anything for a chance like this! Be grateful you won’t be seeing the madame’s floors after all!” The woman that scolded you was much older than you. Much older… Or perhaps it was a hard life that made her appear as such. There were fires of jealousy in her eyes, as well as in the eyes of the younger girls that fixed your dress and brought the woman more paints to apply to your splotchy face.

Why should someone like you get such an opportunity? You always longed for greater things and yet when it is gifted to you in silks and gold, you weep. Because it is not the one you wanted?

Selfish.

“Really? You mean it…?!”

Face red, you stared down at your hand, clasped in between the slightly larger hands of the boy that kneeled before you.

“Yes! M’lady, I would take your hand as mine, if allowed…”

Your destinies were tragedy.

A slave knight.

A prostitute.

Both never to marry or to find happiness.

Destined to die low and forgotten.

Is it something I did

The goddess of timing

Once found us beguiling

She said she was trying

Peter was she lying

“Can you at least try to look happy on your wedding day?! That man decided to buy you on your name day, you can at least pretend you’re excited. This will be no different from what you were taught.”

The older woman brought her fingers to the corners of her mouth and forced her cracked, pale lips to smile. The young girls popped their heads up, smiling too, just as they were taught. Nearly a decade of training overridden the agony that you felt and in spite of yourself, you smiled too.

“See? Happy. You are happy to be wed to your new husband. You are happy to serve as his wife. Isn’t that right, little girl?” Was it supposed to bring you comfort? Or was this merely to ensure you would not embarrass the madame? You felt your tears dry up even though you felt yourself sink further into the depths of despair.

“W-What…? You’re… Leaving me…?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you stared at his back.

His hand was clasped tightly to his side in a clenched fist.

“Only… Only for a while.”

He turned to face you, already becoming sharp and broad in spite of his young age.

“I will return.”

“But… Tarhos… I’ll become a-”

“You won’t. I won’t allow it.”

He returned to you and sank to a knee, clasping your hand in between his just like how he used to.

“We will marry, just as I promised. You will have an entire company to protect you.”

You smiled.

You never wanted anyone else.

You didn’t care about anyone else.

You only wanted him.

My ribs get the feeling she did

And I didn't want to come down

I thought it was just goodbye for now

You cannot remember the ceremony. Faces and figures were blurred, voices were distant echoes in your ears. You had practiced this day for the entirety of your life, first in secret, in your girlhood fantasies, and then obligated to do so, for this very day where you were to be wed to an eccentric nobleman that could find no wife among his peers.

You have no memory of the sound of that nobleman’s voice as he said his vows, nor do you remember his face as he leaned in to kiss you. You mistook the scratchiness of his beard for another’s, and you could almost trick yourself into falling in love all over again with the boy you thought you knew.

“W-Wait… Before you go-”

Your face was awash with colour as you beckoned Tarhos closer.

A last kiss goodbye.

You wanted to memorize the sensation of his lips, the roughness, the clumsiness of his kiss…

He tried to lift up your skirt but you patted it down, sheepish.

“We… We can’t-”

“Why not?”

“My- I have to- If they were to ever find out I’m not a-”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word.

“I understand.”

The silence between you became strained.

“...I’ll keep myself for you.”

A nod.

“You… will return? B-Before…?”

“Yes.”

“You promise me?”

“Yes.”

“Swear it.”

You cannot remember what he said on the night he left you. Did he swear to you, on your life, on your chastity that he would take as his? Did he swear on his own, promising you that he would remain yours until the end?

What would he think of you, now that you have failed to keep your promise to him? Would he still call you his ‘beloved’, or would he call what you feared the most?

Whore.

You said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

You said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

You cannot remember the night of your wedding. The feeling of the dress loosening, slipping down your shoulders and pooling at your feet, your warm, bare skin kissing the cool air before hot moisture tickled the back of your neck…

‘A man would love to claim a virgin but he would only have any sort of faith towards a whore. Remember this well, girls.’

The words of your tutor echoed in your head all throughout the night. You were a virgin, yes, and you didn’t have the experience of a practiced whore, but you were the best compromise in between the two. The perfect little wife for a nobleman who believed he was worthy of purity yet also craved the talent of a working girl.

You didn’t need to be told, you didn’t need to be asked, you just did as you were taught. You had no practice on real men, but vegetables and wooden replicas weren’t so different from the real thing.

Your new husband guided your head, stroking your hair as though he had some sort of care for you. Your mind drifted back to him, to Tarhos, and you found yourself becoming aroused only then.

Why didn’t you let him take you, then and there?

Why did you turn him away?

Now you’re giving yourself to the highest bidder.

You couldn’t keep your promise…

Said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

Words from the mouths of babes

The only thing you could remember as you laid on your back was the blank, colourless ceiling that stretched to an infinity over your head. Your mouth moved and your face scrunched up in appropriate ways, complemented by the sing-song lilt in your voice as you felt your barrier break. Tears involuntarily welled in your eyes and slid down the side of your face, staining the pillow underneath you as your body rocked like a boat in the middle of a storm.

“Fa male?”

The words meant nothing to you. You didn’t speak his language, only smiling hollowly up at him as you tried to squirm away from his touch.

How could something like this be pleasurable?

Would Tarhos make it feel different?

Or would it be-?

“Ah… Tarhos…”

His hand was up your skirt.

“We can’t-”

“Your body says otherwise.”

His fingers dig into your womanhood.

“I-It hurts-!”

He doesn’t stop.

Your face twists up as something in your gut spasms.

Your hand was full of him.

Your mouth would have been too, if he hadn’t claimed it with your mouth.

It was too much, yet-

You didn’t want him to stop.

Promises, oceans deep

But never to keep

Oh, never to keep

What would you do, if you knew, that while you were being sold off that he was in a brothel half a continent away?

With his men, they had the pick of the litter, rounding up all the pretty little girls that swooned when they saw a man in armour and taking them together.

They had sworn a blood oath of brotherhood, a bond unbreakable. What was one was one for all. Food. Clothing. Weapons. Women…

What about that oath he had sworn, so long ago?

“Oh, what does it matter! We’re here for the fucking!”

His friend laughed as he held the girl on his lap close to him. She giggled and kicked her feet as she fluttered her thick eyelashes up at him.

“There’s a dozen or more girls here that are waiting for some unwashed cock! Why would you leave a lady waiting, Tarhos?!”

A whore caught his eye, standing against the wall as she observed him and his guards. She smiled and began to saunter over to him, and his already straining cock began to pulse as he easily found your features within her own.

It was different for men, he reasoned to himself. He needn’t keep his body pure, but his heart he would. A whore is a whore, but love is something entirely different. Always he pictured your body, your face, and heard your voice whenever he bedded them. When he couldn’t, he would turn them onto their stomachs and push their faces into the cushions, so he wouldn’t hear himself breaking his solemn vow.

Are you still a mind reader?

A natural scene stealer

I've heard great things Peter

His name would be associated with death, destruction and a battle prowess that was unmatched by the noblemen in any royal army across the lands. Even you would hear whispers of it throughout your life, just enough to cause you the most debilitating of ills: hope. A lowborn name known is difficult to ignore, especially to the nobility that desperately try to will it away. Tarhos Kovács was on his way to greatness before that anticipated name day of yours.

But he didn’t come.

It wasn’t enough, not yet. He was still a slave-knight. He was still less than a commoner, a lowborn.

He needed more.

Tarhos couldn’t face you, not yet. Not while he was still in chains. He couldn’t buy you out until he was free.

Yes, that was the truth. He wasn’t ready. It wasn’t time yet. Tarhos would fight his bloody battles with his pack and they would carve a slab of the world out for themselves, and there would be a spot for you there too, right beside him.

But life was always easier on you

Than it was on me

And sometimes it gets me

When crossing your jet stream

You were sent no letters.

You received no word.

You were left in silence as you were bedded, night after night, by a man you didn’t love and who’s name you could barely remember.

The ceiling was the only thing you could recall in the large house that you were supposed to call home. Always moving, always waxing and waning in rhythm to the incessant motion in your gut…

You should be grateful you weren’t a whore.

You should be grateful that you weren’t fucking every man in the city every single night.

“Ci si sente bene?”

“Come posso farlo sentire bene?”

“Voglio farti sentire bene, moglie mia…”

All you could feel was the chill in the air, and a hollowness whenever your husband finally rolled away from you in the middle of the night.

You hated the feeling of his hands on your body.

You hated the feeling of his lips against your own.

You hated the feeling of his cock emptying itself inside of you.

What you hated the most was the feeling of his bastard growing inside of you.

We both did the best we could do underneath the same moon

In different galaxies

And I didn't want to hang around

We said it was just goodbye for now

What would he say if he saw you now, with your belly swollen with another man’s seed?

Whore.

So many whores walked around with swollen bellies in the madame’s house.

“They didn’t take care of it while they had the chance.”

“They can still make good money in spite of their affliction.”

One woman with a grotesque swell was pointed out to you.

“It’s not so bad for her. Her child will make her money, if the madame is feeling kind.”

Little children running around the brothel, just like you, not so long ago.

Were you born in this place?

It was all you had ever known…

You stare in the mirror as your new dress is fitted. Ever since he left “solo per un po’”, whatever that was supposed to mean, a swell has begun to grow in your lower belly. A bump that had quickly become a lump, and soon enough, that lump would become a bloat, not so unlike the corpse you once witnessed being pulled out of a well. Your breath caught in your throat as the cords were left slack at your back.

“Pull them tighter.”

“M’lady…?”

“I said ‘pull them tighter’!”

The servant girl hesitated but obeyed your wish with a bowed head. You commanded her, ‘tighter, tighter, tighter’, until you felt faint from the pressure and the pain and you no longer saw that hideous bulge in your gut.

You sent all the servants away any chance that you had. The thought of anyone seeing you in this horrendous state made your skin crawl. What did they all think of you? Did they pity you? Did they find you disgusting? Were the young girls under your husband’s service jealous of your predicament?

‘Any girl should be jealous of a nobleman’s wife. They don’t have to scrub the floors or fuck whatever scum stumbles into their rooms. What’s the hardship of giving birth when you live in luxury?’

No.

It wasn’t fair.

You had already given up so much…

Why did you have to give up even more?

Why couldn’t Tarhos have come back to you like he promised…?

You said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

His thoughts were with you, though less and less among recent days. The road to freedom was long and it was to be hard fought.

Had you been taken by a husband?

Were you being bedded by fiends such as himself every single night in his absence?

Tarhos pinned the woman down underneath him and did not heed her cries for mercy as he took what was owed to him.

Her husband chipped his armour when he tried to stop him from torching their wood and straw home.

Now his wife lay screaming in a pool of his blood as ‘the Knight’ threw her scraps to his hounds.

You said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

You drank.

You ate.

You did things you were not supposed to do, ‘for the health and safety of the child there within’.

‘No parsley’.

You devoured entire bushels.

‘No pennyroyal’.

You drank deeply from its oils.

You scoured your mind for old recipes you would make for the older women of the brothel and you put it to work, frustrated nothing seemed to work.

A pinch-

No, more.

Four leaves of-

No, more!

Said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

Pain overtook your belly during the high moon hours, unbeknownst to any of the servants. It wasn’t until the sun had crested over the mountains and a servant girl fetched you for breakfast did an ear piercing shriek fill the castle walls.

“Hurry up, girl! Fetch the water!”

Your legs were too short to carry you far and you nearly spilled it all by the time you returned to the room.

“Fool! Go get more!”

A scream unlike anything you had ever heard before shook you to your core.

You knew whose voice it belonged to, a girl that was born into the brothel, like many of the others were.

Perhaps like how you were.

The room was heavy with the scent of copper, it washed over you every time you ran into the room.

The screaming lasted for a night and a day before she fell silent.

There was no cry of a babe to be heard, only stiff silence as the midwives looked on at the misshapen lump that passed through you.

You bled.

You bled for hours until it stopped.

It stopped and you were left wondering if it would have been better if it never had.

Maybe you should have thrown yourself from the window, instead.

Maybe you should have jumped into the river the night Tarhos left you.

Maybe you didn’t care anymore and was relieved it was finally out of you.

Words from the mouths of babes

Promises, oceans deep

When you heard heavy, quick footfalls up the steps one day, you very nearly believed it was him.

He’s come for you, just like he promised!

Tarhos promised to come, he promised to love you, even if you were to be forced to work…

Your tear filled smile falls flat as you witness your husband throw open the doors, tears in his eyes as he rushes to embrace you.

“Mia cara!”

“Oh, mia cara…”

“Mi dispiace tanto…”

“Il nostro primogenito…"

Did your face tell your story?

Did he know what you had done?

He cradled you as he cried, and all you could see was the ceiling looming overhead, just like then, just like all the times before it.

You laid back and pulled the skirt of your nightgown up.

And he placed his hand atop yours and stopped its ascent before you exposed yourself.

“No.”

“No…?”

“...no.”

“Men will never say ‘no’, they have no understanding of the word, itself. Don’t bother to use it. It's bad for business.”

“They do as they please, damn your feelings.”

“Let him take what he wants. It will keep you alive and your pockets lined with copper.”

“A man would always choose a wet hole over decency.”

“What do you want from me, then?”

He looked at you with an expression mixed with confusion and hurt. You felt something in your stomach twitch.

But never to keep

Oh, never to keep

Tarhos whored and slaughtered his way up and down the known countrysides, leaving a blood trail in his wake. Another urge, one that had not been forgotten but had simply been overtaken with another, had reared its ugly head.

The feeling of violence wasn’t enough.

The feeling of death wasn’t enough.

He has seen it, tasted it, known it as intimately as any woman he had ever fucked, yet to him it was still unobtainable.

“Where are we going?”

“What are we doing?”

“Who are we going to kill next?”

He didn’t care. He just needed more.

Thoughts of the girl he promised his hand to was a foggy cloud in the recesses of his mind. She meant something to him, but he was too close to obtaining something so important, more important that sustenance, than water, than warm, wet holes to fuck.

You suffered without him.

You still longed for him, but for how much longer?

How much more blood could be shed between the two of you?

And I won't confess that I waited

But I let the lamp burn

Another swell, another bloody end.

When would he stop trying?

When you would feel something other than emptiness?

You felt nothing when he was rubbing back and forth inside of you. You didn’t bother to pretend, anymore. In the midst of it, he took your face in between his hands and caressed your cheeks with his thumbs.

And he removed himself from you and let you be in peace.

It was something a whore wouldn’t be afforded. Once you stopped pretending to enjoy yourself, he no longer touched you, no longer sought you out for any intimate relations. That was the end of it for you, you thought. He would sell you back to your madame, maybe he would sell you to another. Perhaps he would make use of you in other ways…

He came to you for dinners, still. He offered to take you to the garden, he still wished to sleep beside you, even though you have failed in your duties as a wife.

As the men masqueraded

I hoped you'd return

“Why… are you doing this to me?”

You seethed with contempt. He wished something of you, for an heir, yet he has stopped trying. Why? What more can you offer him?

“Che cosa…?”

“Why are you doing this to me? What do you want from me?”

He wasn’t unattractive, but he wasn’t the one you wanted. You didn’t want to love him. You didn’t want to feel anything from the soft, kind gestures that he has demonstrated towards you. You wanted him to be like the vile men that frequented the brothel.

Why couldn’t he just take what he wanted and let it be done?

“I- You are mia moglie- my wife.”

“A wife is supposed to give her husband a son.”

“You… have tried.”

You stood up and walked away.

You were left alone during the night.

He did not creep in to take you. He did not send in the servants to rip you from your bed. You could have slept, if your mind would have allowed you to do so. It was alight with possibilities, fears, wants, hopes, desperation… What did this man want from you? He bought you. He owns you. You are not his equal, in marriage, in social standing, as a human being.

With your feet on the ground

Tell me all that you'd learned

“What… do you want from me…?”

“I want… to love you.”

His answer remained the same, no matter how many times you asked him.

‘Love’... Love. Did you even remember what that felt like? Was it kind and gentle, or was it a venomous viper that strangled you in your sleep? Could you even love anymore, if you really, truly tried? Were you worthy of it, after having poisoned your mind, body and soul against him?

Did Tarhos remember what it was?

Did he remember the way your hand felt against his? The way you would kiss him, with chastity and blind adoration? You thought you felt a phantom of this when your husband gently took your hand into his and placed a warm kiss onto your knuckles.

Was he still fighting his war for freedom? You wondered every now and then if he had succeeded in his quest, though this thought was beginning to drift further and further from you every single day.

Cause love's never lost when perspective is earned

And you said you'd come and get me but you were 25

She was black and blue by the time Tarhos and his pack were finished with her. She could barely limp out of the room, weeping as not a thread of her clothing survived its encounter with them.

“Send in another.”

“A-Another…?”

“ANOTHER! Younger, this time!”

The girl was chosen from the group he had preselected. She was skittish and squealed as she was snatched by the wrist and thrown into one of the men that eagerly awaited her arrival.

“Ahh…”

The smallest of his pack sniffed her hair and licked a stripe from her chin to her ear.

“This one is much better. So close… Don’t you think?”

Tarhos grabbed the girl by her hair and threw her down onto the cushion below, flipping her so she was laying on her back.

That day, he should have taken you.

Damn what you said.

Your body was so soft and warm.

Inviting.

He should have made you his and stolen you away.

Now you made love to another, undeserving man.

Did he take you like this?

Did he make you cry like how these whores did?

Have you birthed him any children?

A girl?

A boy?

The whore screamed even after they were finished with her. She bled and they were thrown out of the brothel, like they were a dozen others before it.

They didn’t give Tarhos what he wanted.

No one could give him what he wanted.

But someone was trying to give you what you deserved.

If he knew this, would he be happy for you, or would he be sick with jealous rage,,,?

And the shelf life of those fantasies has expired

Lost to the lost boys chapter of your life

Life wasn’t what you had wanted as a girl, nor was it what you wanted as a woman, but it was far from what you would have expected it to be. Was it what you deserved? Maybe not. Maybe you don’t deserve nice things, to be looked after, to be loved… But you would allow yourself to be selfish. You wanted love, you craved it. If your husband was still willing to give it to you- if Vittorio was still willing to give it to you- you just couldn’t turn away from it any longer.

The days weren’t so short, nor the nights so long. The bed was warmer with him in it, and the walks through the garden were not so lonely with him at your side.

For the first time, you engaged in intimacy with another.

It wasn’t euphoric, though it was neither unpleasant at the same time. It was like trying on a new dress, or experiencing a new smell or taste for the first time.

It was different.

It was exciting.

You longed for more, more with him.

Vittorio.

Was it a lifetime ago that you only pined for Tarhos? Was it merely a few moons ago? You wept the night you made love to your husband, both rejoicing for your new union and in mourning for what you had lost.

Forgive me Peter, please know that I tried

To hold onto the days when you were mine

In the end, you couldn’t keep your promise to Tarhos. You tried, but you simply couldn’t wait for him any longer. Days had turned into weeks, then into months and then years. You had never received word from him, and the fleeing conversations between servants that seemed to revolve around a familiar company of slave-knights sent shivers down your spine.

Was your Tarhos even still alive? Perhaps he had died long ago, on the battlefield, and all that was left was some husk that wore his face.

How would you know? You hadn’t seen him in… well, a lifetime it would seem.

How did that last meeting between the two of you go, again…?

“̵̨͇͖͕̯̎͑̃̅̐̉͆̈́́.̶̬̟̋̋́̍̋̒̂͗͘͘͠.̶̛̠̘̗̠͈̲̔̐̇̒̓̀̌̅̆̑̂͜.̸̡̡̢̛̱̜͖̩̫̲̝͖͕̱̞̞̎͗̍̎̇̔̓̈́̚͜Ī̸͈́̂̌̾̾́̇͋̇̀̃͂͘’̷͔͈́̋̏̂̓̓̄l̴̺̤͙̥̖͓̱̭̱͊͜l̷̢͚͍͖̤͔͎̯̩͎̳̩̀͊̐̿͗͐͊͘ ̴̛̛̰̟͖͍͉̘̆̓̋͑͛̄̀͆͌̔̂̐k̸̨̛̦̱̜̙̫̜̟̰̗̦͕͇͔̙̽̒̿̂͛͆̏͠͠͠ͅẻ̶̤̝̙͖͈͕͕̖̰̀̓̎̄̋̑̐͜e̷̢̧͙̻̞̼̫̫̘̠̩̗̭̬̙̐̉͗p̵̢̢͇͔͙͖̭͕̩̯̗̙͕̻̄̉̀̇͊͛͛͝ ̸̤̟̰͖̰̀̍̌̎͂̑̀̍̌͝m̵̧̢̟͕̼͖̺̙̰̭̫͉̝̩̭̲̈͜y̸͇̯̲͇̳̯̺̜̦͘s̵̢̢͖͓̞̤͍͍̰̱͓̮̼͔̠͕̆̿̈́̈́͂̊͂̊̾̀̕̚͝͝e̵̜̮̜̥͍̪̩̘͊̈́͊̆́̌͊̐̆͆̊̋͑̊͆̈́̕l̶̛̻͙̲̬̱̈̐́͗̉̈́͗̀̂̎̄̉̏͑̈̚f̸͉̣̻͌̀̓̃̃͆͑ ̸͈̣̈́̀́̒̽̓͛f̴̯̯̎̒̾̓̈̃̃̂̎̓̚͝ỡ̶̝̜͎̲̪̞̹̘̪̺̲͕͉͋̑̀̔̊͐̐̏̂̇̍̉͘͜͜͝ȑ̴̹̟̓ͅ ̴̨̡͙̠̬̣̬͖͈̦̫̩̰͍̅͊̄̊̔ͅͅỵ̷͓̙͍̫̬̻̤̽͗͒̌́͗̍̿̇͆̽́͆̈̕͝ͅo̶̻̖͗̋̈́̚͘ṻ̶̢̺̣̤͙̖͉͇̙̣͔̭́̈́͊̋́̈́͌̕ͅ.̴̡̡͇̱̤͇̺̖͖̮̼͔̊̅̌̾̍̊̏̄͆̊̂̏̏̓͜͜͝͝”̷̡̛̜͎̉͌̂̉̈́̇̊́̂̍͛́́

̷̨̖͓͗̂̀̎̋̆͑͊̌̋͊̓́̈́͆ͅ"̵̧̯̳̲̈́̇͋̎̓̂͌̂̔͋̈͝A̴͓̜̳̺̞̼͒͆͊͝s̷̢͍̜̹̜̱̜͙͙͍͙̗͉̓͌̒͂̑̑̊̍̔̽̏̀͝ ̷̢̧̫̤̳͉̲͒̏͛̔͌̅͐̓̎̎̊́͝y̴̤̫̳̜̫̝̤͎̼͓̝̻̏ơ̸̢̧̱̝̼͔͈͓͉͖̭͔̫͒͂̕ụ̴̟̈́ ̶̨͓̲̟͇̗̝̜̭̥̫̮̼͇͙̊̃̆̆̆̏̎̈́̐̉̆̒͠͠s̸̨̟̰̍͂̓̓̍̀͋́̄̊̏̋̐̚͠h̵̨̡̧̛̞̲̜̩͎̟͓͆̐́́͋̑̃́̌̒̓̕͝o̸͕̠̺͚̳̝̞̫͎̝͌͒́̉̕ͅu̴̧̘̳͍̖̳͔͛̾͆̃̈́͋̿͐̾l̸̼͙̍̾̒̓̌͜d̸̡̡̹̹̹͔̿̎.̸̛̖͕̮̳̟̝̙͙̦̺̰̟͆̎̾̓͒̀̍̓̀́̏̓͘̚"̴̧͔͇̟̟̳̰̗̭̖̝̯̬̆̈͗̎͋͑̈́̾̈́̄̎̚̕͠ͅ

̶̢͆̎͆͋̎͊̆͆͑̕̚̚͝“̸̬̙̎̆̋͗̓Y̶̡͇̮̼̘̺̪̯͎͇͉͎͕̳̘͍̟̿̉̔̈́̀̂̑o̷̡͔͉͙̺̫͙̝̗̟̿͋̃͌̓̂̚ư̷̼̣͉͛͂̅͆̍̂͋͌̅̈́͜…̶̨̧̦͖̘̻͖͈̭͈̱̹̃̓͑͒͘͠ͅ ̴̡̢͍͙̠͈̝̻̺͎̭̳̭̬̑̄̄̽̈̂͆̑̉̍̂͒̇̕͜͜͜͝ẃ̴͎͖͇̘̥̞̠̹̺̝̽̂̀̇̈̒͗̈́̿̓͝ỉ̶̺͍̮̗̞̥̻͚̝̯̤̭̖̰̑͊̓̀̕͜͠ͅͅl̵̥͖̙͔̙͕͖̝̖͙̰͚̝̤̳͚͓͒̎͊̂̌͊̈́̚͝͝l̴̢͔̙͕̖̊͑͛͜ ̵̲̭̲͙̜̰͖̳̾̐́̇̚r̵̡̧̠̞͙̩̯͔̭̮̠͙͍̿̓̽̇̀̑ȩ̶̧̳̰͇̜̦̜̦̬́̀͐̆͗̾̒͐͋̈̚̕͘̚͘ţ̸̯̣̖̺̤̪̲̳̐̉́͂̐̋͐̌u̶̢̖̟͍̻͖̟̮̔̍ŗ̶̼͓̤̙͍̝͚̠̩̹͎̠̜͖͊́͆̐̀̄̆n̶̨̛̥̘̙̫̦̲͖̺̤̩̰̞̟̟̭̓̓̇̆̄́̿̍̊̓̓̈́̐͝?̶̬̜͕̰͔́̉͑͗̿̉̉̾̂́̏͛͆̅̕͠ ̴̮̩͎͍̬̜̖̬̼̣̜̯̿ͅB̶̢̢̡̬̮̙̦̖̭̱̫̞̖̦̜̽̀͑͑̀́͘͘͘͝-̵͖̟̜͓͐̏͐̓̒͘̚B̷̹̱̺̩̯̣͖̟͈̙͕̮̏͛́̀̅̔͘̚͘̚͝ͅe̶̛̩͔̺̪̥͚͈͇̰̲̹̱̦̤͓̰͉̾͋̀̓̆̏͌͛̈́̈́̔͘͝͝f̸̖̼͓͎͈̲͖̲̞͕͇͓͖̅̈̈̓͋ô̴̧̘̯̝͍̦̹̭̰̤͍̣͇̋́̽̾̇̿̽̍͠͝͠͝ŗ̶͉͇͍̘̩̥̪̞̺̰̭̮͕̭͕̊͛̃̐̈́̍̔̿̄̊͘ę̴̡̭̩̦̜͔̔͛̈́̀͂̕͝…̴̖̖̼̣̺̯̗̙̄͗̊̈́̇̎͋̃̌́̚̕͠͝͝?̷̛̺͇̱͈̅̉̍̐̅̾̃̈́͐”̸̢̠̺̪̞̠͎͉͕̱̗͈̯͚̬́͆́͑̀͊̊̄͒̔̓͘

̵̢̡̟͚̩̮̪͑̓̿̌̒̅̽̅͒̎̋̆͌̊̋“̶̢̢̼̣̼̼̩̙̿̇̃̎͂̍͗̈̇̋̋̊̇͆́͠͠.̶̨̛͓̭͔̪͖͍̭̲̩͛̎̓͗̑̿̈́̑̅́͑̏̐͝.̷̢̨̘̰͔̙̮̠̝̦̠̦͚̙̰̣͆̆.̵̛̛͈̞̹̼̟̼͑̅̾̽̅̽̂́̌͛̀͝͝p̵̤̥̖̥̭̲͈͓͛͜ë̶̢̥͓̝̙́͗̒͑̈́́͝ŗ̴̛̛̥̲̩̱͔̙̟̖̼̼̙̞̳̽͑̉̃́̕͜͠ȟ̸͎̏̎̒̈́̐̇̈́͐̌̓͐̓͘̚͠ą̷͇̣̥̗̖̬͇͇̩̾͛̃̒̾̕̚̕͠ṗ̶̞͚̯͈̟̝s̷͈̹̿̃̈́̔͊̈́̈́͂̈́̀̈́̍͐̕̕,̷̢̱͓͉̲̰̟͈͉̖͈͉̙͎̋́̿̕ͅ ̷̬͉̋̐́̈́̾̕i̵̡̖̲͉̭̱̩͆͆͊͐̓͗̏͗͘͘͜͜͠ḟ̵̨̢̜̠͖̘͖̫̬̜͓̹͎̱̤̞̾͗̔̐̎̈́̀̈͂͛̌̀̔̍̉̕ ̴̧̧͙̩͇̗̭̮̠͖͇̖̅̅͗͊͌́́̉́͘͝͝Ḯ̴̛͕̠̫͎̻̬̹̯͈͔̼̻̩̞̆̂̃̽̃̇̀̐́ͅ ̶̻̥̪̩̲̠̦̪̺̘̑͂͆̓͗̈́̒̈́̊͘̕̕͝͠͝͠ẖ̸̲̜̒̾̍̈́͐͐̓͌͌͠͝ͅå̸̡͓̭̤̼̘̲̾̎͆̽͛̏͆̚͘̕͝͝v̶̛̥̭͖̺͙̲̯͙͔̅̓̽͆͛͑̅̋̍̋̀̕e̴͇̪͇̎̀̋̆̌́̄̿̎́̃̽̊̈͊͝͝ ̵̧̨̘̻̝̼̱͈̬̻̳̳̼̤̹̼̪̓͐͆̓̾̿͑̈́̐̌͘̕ǎ̷̢̧͔̻͇̣̬̳̫̜͕̯͕̺͋̈̇̈̂́̔̈́̚ ̸̛͙̥̱̞̃̌̿̏̆̆͛̆͒̈́̅̌͑́͝m̵̨̻̱̣̭̻͉̻͇̻̭̏͒̂̔̎̀͑͌͆̈́͛̄͋̚̚̕͜ȋ̵̪̪̦̝̫̹͙͖̘̀̓̈́̔ǹ̵̜̟͖̻̯̼̳͙͚̰̻͖̪͖͎͍͒̏̌̇̚͠ͅḓ̵̡̹̹͓̓̈͛̍͊̋̈̿̈́ ̷̛̺̏͒̑̽̌͒̓̇̈̋̂͗̓t̶̡̛͍̖̮̟̭̝̙̅̄̽̌̓ǫ̵̖̩̺̳̓̉̉͌̎̔̓̀̃͂̆̕͝͠.̸̡͔̦̹͖͓̖̮̅̚"̵̼̦̽̇̇̃̓̃̽͐

̶̢̣̖͕̘͙̜̜̖͚̼͚̝̣̱̖͛̀̀̃̐̍̎͑̎̒̋͊̈́͜͠͝“̶̛̛̰̘̖͕͈́́́͒̈́̍̎̑͛̒̂̚P̷̢̛͎̻̗̤̤̪̙͖̠̪͖̐͌͆l̸̢̛̙̫̹͚̙͉̬̩̝̬̊̏̈̿̈̾́̏̓̿͑̉̈̚̚͜e̴͎͚̰̮͔̿̈́a̷̖͍̎͘̚s̷̻̖̞̰̺̠̫͐ͅe̷̹̱̜̹͖̍̎̓̈,̷͍̼̱͎͓̱̆̅͋ ̴̱͉̙̳̅̏̊̈́̌́̓̈́̽̏͑̎͌̎̑͘p̶̛̘̭̐̎̔͒͗̇̋̀̍̑͛͂̀̎̚͜r̴͕͖͉̗̺̮͉͙̂̓̀̊͗̈́̀̆͂͊͐̓͒̈́ŏ̶̦̜̮̖̝̲̠̯͓̱̮̀̅̃͌͋̔̀̒͜͝͝m̸̨̨̻̭͖̪̹̘͎͖̝̣̻̎̀͆́̅̃̆͊ï̴̦̦̤̘̙͔͛́s̶̰̪̠͇̯̊̈́̍̂̋̄̀̈̽ę̵̛̦̣͉͉͍̫̥̘͙̮̉̆͐́̇͊͜͜.̸̢͔̱̼̥̟̣̻̯͙̐͋͊͌͛͆͋̎́̋̊̃̚͜͝͝͠.̵̦͖̻͕̠̩̥̫͔̦̩̎̀̿̈̎̽͜.̶̦̺̰͚̩̟̭̅̔͑̇͛̿̾̍͋͘ͅ”̶̧̭̲̱̗͙͉̰͉̻͉̩̼̤͇̯̒̾͆̊̚͝ͅ

̶̧̠̻͚͖̮͖͑̂̐̕"̷̳̗̯̙̞̺̙͗͗̿͗̂̊̕͝͝͝.̴̧̧̰̯͓̹̀́̎̊̄̈́̐̇͆͜͝͝.̵̧̧̮̩̰̻̦̟̙̰̾́͑̀͆̄͌̓́̽͝͠ͅ.̵̖̞͓͇̦̰̟̮͈̾͂̉͒̈́̉̏̿̓̈͆̂͒͌̌͘͝.̶̧̲̜̭͍̬̻͕̤͕̦̪̺͎̱̎̿̌̎̊̒͂̑̃́̂̅͝ͅ"̵̡̧̻̤̱̍͐̓̒͊̚

̴̺̥̙͆̀̓

̵̢̨̲̞̤̝̠̥̟̥͎̹̝̳͎̂͂̓̂̊̇̈́͐

…you couldn’t remember, anymore.

Did it even matter anymore, now that you were learning to love your husband? A part of you will always remember the feeling of that promise you made to each other, but now it was nothing more than words between children, a fever dream of hope that you no longer blame yourself for holding onto.

What else were you supposed to do, as a child…?

What else were you supposed to do, now that you were a woman…?

But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light

This time, things were different. Everything was. The way you felt, in your body, mind and soul. You were not alone. You felt… complete.

The swell in your belly didn’t bring you feelings of heartbreak and disgust. You weren’t overjoyed, but you weren’t in pain, either. A little numb, yet you still felt sparks of joy whenever Vittorio touched your growing belly, or pressed his ear to it whenever the babe inside of you shrugged or kicked.

You had never been this far along before. You had never felt such an overwhelming sensation of helplessness before… Yet it wasn’t like it was then. This is… so much different, so… acceptable. You weren’t by any means unhappy, but you weren’t ecstatic either.

But that was okay.

It was becoming easier to bear, even as the child grew heavier and more unruly. Maybe this could be another start for you. It wouldn’t be absolution, you didn’t want it, but it could be something beautiful, you think.

You said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

The waters released early.

You collapsed in the garden with Vittorio at your side.

The midwives and the doctors were at your side through it all, but nothing they did would stop the bleeding.

You said you were gonna grow up

You bled through the bedclothes and through the floor.

You didn’t live long enough to see your son, but Vittoro held him before he gasped his last breath.

There was no way to honour you two in his eyes. A grave wasn’t nearly enough, but a crypt felt so cold and unyielding.

A fine casket of polished wood, inlaid with the softest silks was what you and your son would be laid to rest in. Vittorio wanted you both somewhere pleasant, if such a thing could be called that, where the sun would shine on you and flowers could grow side by side with your resting place. Your favorites were planted nearby, and like you were tending to them from the grave, they took over within a fortnight, not growing wild but in an agreeable manner that was befitting the grave of ones so loved, Vittorio thought.

Then you were gonna come find me

Said you were gonna grow up

You said you were gonna grow up

Life became melancholic for Vittorio. There was little reason to remain so homebound, though it pains him to leave you and your child behind. He would contract work from a well traveled company, one that was once a part of the well known la Guardia Compagnia. A knight and thus surely a man of honour, one Vittorio could entrust his values into.

Tarhos Kovács and his loyal men.

Then you were gonna come find me

Said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

Tarhos was no knight, and he was loyal to no one other than himself. He saw the nobleman’s home and decided he would like to have it as his own. Upon hearing the expedition he was to undertake, and that the fool wanted no blood to be spilled, Tarhos felt himself become encumbered by rage.

“The weak die and the strong survive… That’s what you believe.”

The weak laid slain across the battlefield, the survivors still standing and picking through the wreckage for valuables to take.

“Yes. The strong take what is theirs and the weak give it up because they have no choice.”

Tarhos looked over to the women that huddled together in a compact cart, chained together and weeping as they cradled their wounded bodies.

“The weak deserve to die.”

You said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

The home was destroyed. What was Vittorio's now belonged to Tarhos, and he wanted every trace of him eradicated. Paintings were defaced, clothing was torn to ribbons, old dresses were laid before him and probing questions were asked.

“Like to dress as a lady, do we? You noble types really are the scum of the Earth!”

Alejandro laughed as Vittorio tried to break free of his chains.

“Don’t touch-! Those are hers-!”

“‘Hers’? Here that? He’s having an affair! Scandalous!”

He laughed as he spilled wine all over them, casting them into the fireplace so they would burn to ash.

They dragged him all throughout the house, beating him and whipping him as they went. Vittorio could barely stand by the time they made it to the garden.

“What do we have here?”

It took two of the men to hold him in place as Tarhos stepped up to the well kept grave located underneath a large oak tree. Unbeknownst to him, two names were written on it, along with a modest poem. Vittorio’s heart seized in his chest as he nudged your grave with his armoured boot.

“Fermare! Quelli sono di mia moglie e di mio figlio...!”

He was cut off by a punch to the gut.

“Your wife and your son…? Tch-”

Tarhos felt a burning need to quash everything that was linked to this nobleman.

So pathetic… He has tears running down his face and he is begging.

Tarhos angled his foot and began to push on the grave, then kicking it as he forced it free from the earth. Vittorio could only watch in horror as your and your son’s gravemarker toppled over, one of his shoulders going slack as Tarhos motioned over to one of the men holding him in place.

“Break it.”

He was held back, screaming as the stone was crushed by a massive battle axe, the laughter of a madman ringing in his ears as he was placed in a headlock and forced to watch.

CRACK!

CRUNCH!

“I wonder what’s underneath, though? Is she still pristine and pretty? Or is she all sticky and ghoulish?”

Did Tarhos remember the promise he made all those years ago?

Does he even remember your name?

What about your face? Would he recognize it after he unearths your casket and pries it open?

Would he even realize that he finally made good on the oath he swore to you, or would he only see another source of weakness that he could leverage against the nobleman in your and your son’s corpses?

Words from the mouths of babes

Promises, oceans deep

But never to keep

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @cherrysodalite, @thanksatt, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather @horny-3

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd x reader #dbd vittorio #dbd the knight #dbd tarhos #hurt no comfort #canon typical violence #warnings above the cut

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aeligsido · 5 days

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I have thoughts but too many fic wips (I will probably add this idea into it anyway) so please have this:

Sirius dies at the end of OotP (as usual) and Remus discovers he's pregnant. For reasons™ (let's say Death Eaters and Greyback and probably Minister related on top of the werewolf one), he can't exactly tell anyone about say pregnancy, but Tonks somehow learns about it. She decides to bring him to her parents and then they devise a plan™ where 1) they get married 2) they pretend Tonks is the one pregnant 3) Remus stays with Andromeda & Red while Tonks is out there pretending to be Remus. (It's convoluted!!! I know!!!! Let's just go with it plz)

Anyway the only one who knows about it other than those four is obviously Harry, and since he can't keep a secret from Ron and Hermione they know too ("if we have to die to keep the secret, we will" "there is really no need to go that far, Ron" "well I sure so but you know. just in case."). The baby is born, Harry is godfather (he cries), Tonks is godmother (she almost cries), everyone is mostly happy (and a bit a lot sad Sirius isn't here).

Fast-forward to maybe the Battle of Hogwarts and suddenly Sirius is back from the dead. And absolutely believes that Remus and Tonks' marriage is real. And also he can do maths and if they got a baby during Harry's sixth year it means they had sex while Sirius was having sex with Remus which :/// he's not happy about. So he starts spite-dating because fuck it.

Meanwhile Remus is trying to find a way to break it to Sirius that 1) the whole marriage thing is fake actually 2) the baby is his 3) he would very much like to date him.

Anyway. They're idiots for a bit and then happy ending.

#hp #rambles of my soul #mpreg #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #harry potter #nymphadora tonks #golden trio #for just a bit and i love them #fic ideas

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deliciouskeys · 1 year

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@cozycornerkinktober ’s prompt #3: Breeding/pregnancy

Deleted scene from The Selfish Gene (Butchlander)

Warnings: Let’s see. Homelander is pregnant. Homelander has both male and female equipment. He’s carrying Billy Butcher’s child. If that sounds inexplicable, well, it all makes perfect sense in the fic (or not). This deleted scene is supposed to be comedy, but ymmv. Could also be horror.

Inspired by the finale of a long conversation about mpreg with chatlander:

“What’re you always checking in there?” Billy asks. Homelander shifts his gaze off of his belly —off of Lena’s innocent adorable little face— and turns his attention to Billy who’s sprawled out on the bed, underneath him. It’s true that he got distracted, even while moving up and down his cock.

“Nothing. I can’t take a look at my baby once in a while?”

“Look, you asked to f—”

Homelander shushes him. “Stop swearing, she can hear.”

Billy raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You think she’s gonna pop out of you preloaded with all sorts of curse words she heard?”

“Maybe!” Homelander glares. “Just because most babies don’t learn, doesn’t mean she won’t.”

“Alright, in any case, you’re the one who wants to get it on, and then the entire time we’re doing it, you’re staring down at her, and- you’re flippin’ doing it again! While I’m talking to you!”

Homelander shifts his gaze off of her.

“Is she able to look clean through your skin or something?” Billy asks and Homelander’s eyes flee to the side in spite of himself.

“What? No…” he says, trying to sound neutral but he can hear he’s protesting a little too much. He guesses that telling Billy this sort of truth would be offputting. “No, what makes you say that?”

“Because you’ve been babytalking to your stomach and making faces as if she’s looking at you the last few days.”

Homelander gets a guilty look. He’s been less circumspect than he thought, because a few days ago, he feels like his relationship with Lena changed dramatically.

~~~

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten cottage cheese in my life,” Homelander grumbled as he peered into the container he just opened. It smelled strange, and it looked lumpy. “You better have wanted this, because I have no idea what possessed me to order it otherwise,” he said. He talked to Lena throughout the day, whenever Billy wasn’t home. He knew it would sound a little bit insane to any bystander. Maybe it was a way of coping with his sense of loneliness, but it was a vast improvement over how he used to talk to himself, in the bad room, and then later on in his own apartment. He’s left that behind with Vought. He’d never be unkind to his own child. Lena might not talk back, or respond in any way really, but that was fine by him. She should be able to hear him now, if the info online and in the baby books was to be believed. And if she was anything like him, she might also be hearing the neighbor three floors up and two to the right having an irritatingly vacuous conversation over the phone discussing some reality show finale.

He dipped the spoon in and tried the cottage cheese. “It’s not that bad actually,” he said through a mouthful. He took the entire container with him and put his feet up on the coffee table to alleviate some of the swelling in his ankles. The cottage cheese hit some weird spot he didn’t know he even had just right. He ended up eating the entire container. “Good choice, baby,” he said, smiling, and glanced down only to see Lena’s upturned face, eyes wide open and staring up at him through the veils of amniotic fluid, tissue, skin. He felt a little taken aback at how penetrating and focused her gaze was. He moved his hand toward her, then moved it to the side and waved it. Lena’s eyes tracked it perfectly.

“Holy sh- smokes. Hi baby,” he whispered, breath catching when he saw her swivel her head back up towards him. “I’m not even sure your eyes are supposed to be open yet,” he said to no one in particular. She was definitely on the early side for every milestone, but babies allegedly didn’t focus their eyes until after they were born. Babies also probably didn’t see much inside the womb without penetrative vision though.

“Maybe we won’t tell your other daddy about this. He might get weirded out,” Homelander said to her, conspiratorially, as if she might understand him.

Billy might say he’s fine with the idea of their daughter having all the superpowers he has, but Homelander didn’t want to push it any more than necessary. All in due time. His super senses were the powers ordinary people seemed most worried about, somehow. He looked down and Lena was staring up at him again. She definitely seemed particularly interested in his face.

“You’re adorable. I love you so much,” he said, shivering because now it really felt like he was talking to a real person. He kissed his fingertips and touched them to his belly. Lena blinked. “Can’t wait to hold you.”

~~~

“I’m just- I’m pretending she can see and hear me. It’s for my own sake. She’ll be out in a couple of months, anyway.”

Billy raises his eyebrows, tilting his head and Homelander can’t stand it, not when they agreed not to lie to each other, and Billy seems to have a pretty good sense when he’s lying.

“Okay, fine, yes, she can see me, and she looks up at me a lot, and it’s really hard to ignore her. So sue me.”

“And you still want to do this?”

“Well why not?”

“I don’t know.” Billy grimaces. “It feels wrong to have her coming along for the ride if she can see and hear everything.”

Homelander scoffs. “She’s not going to know what we’re doing.”

“And yet she’ll remember the word ‘fuck’?”

“Fine! Say whatever you want.” Homelander rolls his eyes. “God forbid I stifle your self-expression by cutting a few words out of your vocabulary.”

“Those few words are very useful and versatile.”

Homelander cracks a smile. He tries to start moving up and down again, but Billy seems to have gone soft inside him, and he opts to squeeze him with some kegels, and just tilt his hips back and forth instead. Billy runs his hands up Homelander’s kneeling legs, and ends up holding his hips, tapping his fingers against his lovehandles.

Maybe it’s a bad position. Homelander’s hips have started to ache if he puts them under any kind of pressure. The doctor said it was supposed to happen— that all of his joints are looser at this stage of pregnancy, but especially his hip joints. Knowing it’s from pregnancy makes him sort of relish those aches though. He starts to move himself up and down, now that Billy’s body is back in the game. At least he tends to have powerful orgasms when his thigh muscles are working hard. He’s soon distracted by Lena looking around.

“Stop looking at her, you’re throwing me off,” Billy grumbles. “Now I’m wondering where she’s looking.”

“She just looks… a little scared… about why everything is… bouncing around her…” Homelander says between movements. Then his voice changes as he looks at her. “Baby, don’t be scared…” He rubs his belly.

“Oi, this just isn’t going to work. I can’t look at you baby talking to her and just keep going.”

“Well, tough, she’s my priority, and she will be for the foreseeable future. If she’s scared of our sex, I’m going to comfort her.”

“She’s not the only one scared of our sex right now.”

“Oh boo-fucking-hoo,” Homelander says, not catching himself before saying the f word because he’s fed up with Billy’s arbitrary turnoffs. He pulls himself up off of Billy’s cock, and lies down beside him, turned to the wall.

“You cross with me?” Billy asks, and he does sound apologetic.

“No, just... do it from behind. That way you don’t have to see me watching her.”

“You even want this?” Billy asks, positioning himself and slowly entering him from behind.

“Yes I want this!” Homelander says impatiently. He’s been pretty sexually frustrated, easily turned on throughout the day by the extra blood that seems to just hang out around his uterus and pelvis. But jacking off was becoming physically awkward, to the point where he’s found it easier to reach behind, and snake his hand between his legs and stroke his dick or clit that way. But Billy can’t possibly guess all of that. So he tacks on a quiet ‘please’, and sighs happily when Billy grips his thigh and starts to move.

AO3 link

#cozy corner kinktober #butchlander #homelander #billy butcher #mpreg #the selfish gene #mystuff #fic #the boys #the boys tv

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littlezarp · 2 years

Text

Recommendations

Call of duty, MW2

@gh0st5bby4life fics are *chef's kiss*

Jitters : 141 x OC (Jitters is a PMC brought onto the support 141 operations, much to the distaste of the 141 group of PMC's)

@halcyone-of-the-sea's every work

Ghost :

Can't trust me ?

@uselsshuman 's Masterlist

he tells me to shut up, i got this

The choices we make

Angsty shit with Simon

The truth is out

Living with ghosts

Sugar Daddy

@nsharks 's one shots + Bleeding blue series

I'm with you

Keep you close

Butterfly effects

Wolf and the lamb - (Lion and the Lamb prequel)

One night stand leads to pregnancy

@charnelhouse's Ghost Masterlist

He knows

Mistaken friendship

No more

Protector

Mausoleum

All Alone

The things I never said

Dad!Simon by @lundenloves

Paperwork

Between dreams and sugar

Alpha!Ghost x reader

Protected

The witch and witch hunter

Mary on a cross

Werewolf!Simon x reader

I can't marry you

Menage

Sassy series

Situationship with firefighter!ghost

The little things

The roommate series

Cowards always run

Open his eyes

Accidentally hurting you

Others

One, two, three - Ghost x reader x soap

It's time to have fun - Ghost x reader x soap

Don't touch my boys - Ghost x reader x soap

Afterburn - 141 x F!reader

That sex pollen fic - everyone x reader

Dead Disco - Ghost x Soap x F!reader

COD monster men

The Pack

Poly relationship with Simon and Johnny

Safeword with the cod boys

Knights in shining tactical gear - Ghost x reader x soap

John Price :

All I need

Deep Breaths

Four

Lion and the Lamb

Viper and the Lamb

Argument and makeup

The Killing Moon

Professor Price

Rest

Bad dreams

Trust me

Apollo, do you copy

Imagine

What's so great about war ?

Songs that sound like sea foam - Fisherman!John Price x Mermaid!reader

Not in your life

Guilt

Bloodstained honesty

John Price x F!OC Tank

Salt and pepper

The Last of Us

@guess-my-next-obsession's Joel Masterlist

@charnelhouse's Joel Masterlist

Confused Warmth

You came back for me

Reject me, I get it

Who are you if not alone

Cold as ice (part 2 : Cold as ice II)

Savior complex

Too late

Summer Lovin

Say it with your hands

Hot single dilfs in your area want to chat!

You're losing me

Chasing

The Hayloft

Still here

The whole @pedgeitopascals Joel Miller masterlist

Call my name

Love in the middle of a firefight

Lucky for me, I run on spite and sweet revenge

Once again in your arms

Angst with Joel Miller

Narcos

Boss - Javier Pena x DEA!OC

The Rookie

The dangers of misunderstanding

To sell your love for peace

Just dumb enough to try

@absurdthirst's Javier Pena Masterlist

Are you staying ?

Just Friends

The last goodbye

Love me not

Haikyuu

All I wanna do is save you - Dilf!Matsukawa x College F!Reader

#simon riley x reader #joel miller x reader #captain price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #141 x reader #cod fic #javier pena x reader

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bluedalahorse · 2 months

Note

Hi Blue!! I’m very interested in the pro choice fic! What is it about?

Okay so this was a post season 2, written pre season 3 fanfic I was working on, and it was quite angsty! Essentially Sara turned out to be pregnant, and decided to get some abortion pills and take them far away from home. She asked Rosh for help, and although Rosh was pissed at Sara, she decided she’d help her all the same. Felice (who was also not talking to Sara) ended up on the journey too. Felice, Rosh, and Sara were the three POV characters, and there would also be bonding, but also a lot of uncomfortable moments and moments of tension, too.

I think I wrote this one in part out of spite, because there were anons arguing that a teen pregnancy plotline would be oh nooooooooooo the worst thing ever, and I was like, hang on, I can actually see one being done well? And fitting into the themes of the show? Since so much of it is about parent-child stuff and cycles of generational trauma. So I started writing.

You can read the beginning of the story over here at this post.

I’m going to include two more excerpts from the story below the cut, just for fun.

Rosh explaining her reasons for helping Sara:

Rosh’s Phone

Messages with Ayub

Rosh: I’m going to be a little further out of range than expected

Rosh: but Sara’s still with me and she hasn’t done anything worrisome

Rosh: you and Simon good?

Ayub: the video games are keeping him busy

Ayub: but he’s pretty pissed you’re hanging with Sara right now, after what she did

Rosh: we’re not exactly hanging

Ayub: I know

Ayub: well. I don’t know. You can’t tell me the details. But I trust you.

Ayub: and I can look after Simon for both of us

Rosh: look I’m pissed too

Rosh: but she came to me, and she asked me to do this favor

Rosh: and I figure I’m being loyal to the part of Simon that wants to keep Sara safe

Rosh: I have to take over that for him, because he has to be angry with her right now

Rosh: and you’re going to stay with Simon and that’s how you and I are going to look after him

Ayub: three musketeers, baby

Ayub: do you think they’ll ever forgive each other?

Rosh: I don’t know

Ayub: I don’t know either

Ayub: …so weird

Rosh: right?

Rosh: anyway we’re ending up at some rich girl’s vacation cabin. Long story as to why but pray for me.

Ayub: I will be disappointed if you don’t come back with china teacups and raised pinkies and opinions on artisanal cheese boards

Rosh: shut up

Ayub: I mean Simon’s going out with the prince of Sweden, you may as well hook up with a golden coffee mine heiress

Rosh: shut UP, when have I ever gone for a posh girl

Rosh: also coffee doesn’t come from mines

Ayub: not with that attitude it doesn’t

Rosh: oh god our best friend really is going out with the prince of Sweden

Rosh: so weird

Ayub: SO WEIRD

Ayub: …do you think he can get us tickets to the Eurovision Song Contest? Or maybe the Stanley Cup?

Ayub: asking for myself

—

Felice and Sara have a really complicated conversation, content note for discussions of upsetting relationship dynamics (incomplete, but you’ll probably get the idea)

Sara plans to sleep that night with a piece of bar soap tucked into her pillowcase. She’s careful to slip it into the pillow she brought with her, instead of one of the pillows she’s borrowed from Felice. When she packed the soap into the very bottom of her backpack this morning, she wrapped it up in a scarf first and then zipped the scarf into a makeup pouch. Whether she’s hiding it from herself or others, Sara doesn’t really know. The soap is the color of eggshells, and weighs about as much as eggshells in her palm. Sara stole it off of August’s sink a few days before they all met in the field with the gun. If he knew about the soap, he never mentioned it or teased her for it.

The soap smells minty in a way that stings Sara’s nostrils. She breathes it in through the t-shirt soft layer of pillowcase, and even though her heart calms, her stomach tightens. Since Sara let a boy rewrite the way her body works, tension travels and transforms inside her in ways she can’t predict.

Of course Sara wishes that she could fall out of love all at once. Most of all, she wishes she could erase falling in love in the first place, for Simon’s sake. After the doctor at the clinic informed her, however, that she would need to take two pills over two days, and that her bleeding would diminish gradually over two weeks, Sara understood. She knows now that she is going to lose a piece of these feelings at a time, that their falling away will be like the erosion of a cliff, rather than a magician’s disappearing act.

When the morning comes, Sara wakes up to Felice sitting beside her. She is briefly hopeful, as Felice encourages her to sit up and hands her a glass of water, that the erosion is something Felice will understand, too.

They don’t talk much, at first. Instead Felice works the tangles out of Sara’s hair with careful fingers. Then, gradually, she begins to braid Sara’s hair, and as she braids she tells stories. There were a few other guys before Hillerska, all of them older. The first used to constantly pressure Felice for blowjobs. Another was a family friend in his first year at university; he was funny and liked to explain to her about the female authors he was reading for classes. He also called her exotic and kept trying to top off her wine glass when they sneaked away from their parents’ dinner parties. The last boy seemed kind and sweet—he had a dog he said he would die for, always texted her pictures—until Felice found out he was keeping a very blonde, very serious girlfriend a secret from her. The summer before Hillerska, Felice had to use emergency contraception after one of her hookups with the third guy. She had another girl buy it for her and smuggled the packaging off to a trash bin in a public park so her parents didn’t find it. She never told the guy.

Sara has heard Felice allude to other guys before, but never these details and personalities. She wonders if their other friends know the stories, and if so, why Felice didn’t tell her.

“Our friendship is still over,” says Felice, as she binds off the end of Sara’s new braid with a hair tie. “I’m just saying, I know it’s scary. I guess I don’t want you to be scared and alone right now.”

“Thank you,” says Sara, and part of her means it.

Another part of her is still at the back of the Bjärstad bus, the rough fuzz of the bus seats pricking at her legs through her school tights. Her fingers are numb and heavy now, just the way they were when she dialed the police that day. She was alone and scared, already. Still is. Sara accepts this as her punishment.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” Felice says. “About what was happening between you two.”

“I told you, I didn’t know how,” Sara replies. “I know it’s too late for anyone to forgive me.” The phrase I feel like the worst person in the world echoes in her thoughts. She closes her eyes against it, then opens them again.

“If you told me sooner,” says Felice, “We could have done something. I could have given you more time with Rousseau. Your real true love.”

Sara balls her hand into a fist and presses her knuckles gently to Felice’s arm. “Stop that.”

That’s the part that Felice doesn’t get—that the love is the same. Not in the vulgar way TikTokers claim it is, when they’re making fun of horse girls. Only the way there’s an addictive thrill in being the one person who can tame someone known for trouble.

That’s crazy, right? Sometimes Sara is convinced that she’s going crazy.

“I wouldn’t have let Rousseau get sold, at least,” says Felice.

Sara’s stomach lurches. It occurs to her, in that moment, that Felice doesn’t know what happened with Rousseau. Sometimes Sara forgets it herself, it’s so strange. Grand gestures happen in movies, not in real life.

“August bought Rousseau for me,” she says. “From those awful horse people. Not that I accepted—”

“He bought you an entire horse?”

“I said I didn’t accept. I don’t think he knows how to take care of Rousseau.” Sara presses the tail of her braid between her fingers. She presses hard enough to bring pain to her fingertips, so she can block out the image of her horse—whose horse?—alone. “And now he can’t learn how. Not since I… not since the police.”

Felice flops backward onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling.

“He bought you an entire horse. And you were squeamish about the riding pants we got you. So that’s why you let him do anything he wanted?”

“I didn’t, though.”

“Alright. You did report him in the end.”

“He’d done bad things. He hurt people. I had to.”

“So he got you pregnant. Did he try to like—I’m sure he told you it would feel better without a condom. So many guys say that.”

“He never said that. We were always careful. I think one of the condoms must have been defective.”

“You can be honest. Sometimes boys lie, or secretly slip stuff off or—”

“I’m not lying.”

Sara wraps her arms around herself and rests her chin on her knees. She isn’t exactly sure what she’s supposed to say, but she’s fairly sure that whatever she’s saying now isn’t what Felice wants to hear. Maybe the price of forgiveness is pretending she’s been a helpless victim all along. She’s supposed to recite lines about August like: He manipulated me and tricked me. He didn’t let me say no. I was screaming and he put his hands over my mouth. I couldn’t fight back.

That’s easier for Sara’s old friends to swallow than: I saw him take pills and I know he was lying to me about what he was doing but I also planned to ask him about it until he got help. I was sure I could do it because he wasn’t as far along as Pappa, and I know what far along looks like.

Easier than: to be quite honest he treated me like his princess and we took turns doing the rescuing and I liked that and it even kind of turned me on, okay?

Until August took the prince and princess part more literally. Sara keeps reminding herself that she drew her line there, that she was able to put her foot down and refused to go to Valentine’s with him and be publicly recognized for that reason. She reminds herself that she isn’t going to let the tabloids talk about her. That she doesn’t want to live in a toy castle even if the castle is real, even if sometimes it even seems like it would be easier living in a castle than anywhere else.

(August doesn’t actually want that either, right? His words and actions say he does, but Sara also knows his body now. She’s felt how his breathing relaxes in the brief moments that he stops holding himself to royal standards.)

#young royals #sara eriksson #felice ehrencrona #rosh young royals #asks

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viviandroidcardigan · 2 months

Text

Absolutely massive (4k+) outline of a fic I'll never write! Extra clunky bc it used to be a twtr thread.

YS/HJ/SH omegaverse

tw: sa, pregnancy

YS, HJ and SH established omega trouple who are very much childfree. For HJ it's mostly about prioritizing his career, YS is still trying to establish boundaries with his very proper, very conservative family and figure out what he wants outside of what he was constantly pushed into before he snapped and left and SH carries a lot of trauma from his own miserable upbringing (single teenage mother, thrown out by her parents for getting him out of wedlock became abusive and neglectful and eventually died leaving him with very strict and spiteful grandparents that he went no contact with as soon as he could) and he is determined to break the generational trauma by never becoming a parent.

The three of them have been together for almost a year and have a very stable and loving dynamic.

Until one day YS goes to visit his family to their rural town, who insisted he must be present on some stupid family function despite him being in the middle of a work deadline and in pre-heat. And it went for longer than expected but he was hopeful about catching the last train back to the city and tried crossing the fields to get to the station on time and just like that some random alpha in a rut caught and assaulted him.

YS didn't catch the train. He woke up in the field at sunrise, barely remembering the night before bc apparently the rut of his rapist triggered his heat to start on early but now it was all gone and he never had it gone so quickly so it only added to his confusion and dread and he just wanted to get home so that's what he did, suddenly very happy that he kept postponing moving in with HJ and SH bc the work commute was too far from their place. YS got home and finally had his

little breakdown in the shower. He didn't know what to do, he didn't even see the attacker enough to identify him and also he knew well enough that omega in heat had very little success in pressing charges. And his family would make such a mess of everything and would tell him it

was his fault for even going out alone at night. He couldn't fathom how to tell his partners either.

And he did have a work deadline so for the next week or so he buried himself in work very carefully not thinking about anything until he had a horrible idea and sure enough, his test was positive. YS had a larger breakdown bc he was slowly psyching himself up to telling HJ and SH about everything but now he would have to admit to this as well and to his absolute dismay he realized that he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. He abhorred the notion that his omega instincts will kick in one day as his parents kept telling him but apparently it was exactly the case.

But now he really couldn't tell HJ and SH. They were very clear on their position but also he hated the idea that if he told them everything they might force themselves for his sake and

he couldn't take their choice from them like it was already taken from him.

YS arranged a dinner, as they were messaging him non-stop, the work deadline cope out going only so far to postpone the inevitable and they could immediately tell that something was wrong.

So YS just straight up asked them about their thoughts on having children and if those changed at all. HJ shrugged bc not really but also it wasn't a hard no for him. Maybe some time, years down the line, when he is better established in the industry, bc if he ever were to have kids, he'd want to be present and not constantly away in the studio. SH shook his head with a serious expression, hasn't changed: no, never. YS sighed and was like, I think it's a goodbye then. I love you but it's something I'm planing to pursue soon so....

They are hurt and confused and ask if his family got into his head while he was visiting but YS is barely holding on as is, he can't really talk anymore. He hoped that there was a way to keep them and the child both but now he knows how foolish that idea was. They keep asking him questions but he is far far away and eventually they stop and they go to their respective homes and at least he didn't move in.

HJ and SH keep messaging him but YS is self-isolating and grieving the relationship. He doesn't think he can manage to stay friends with them, a constant reminder of what he have lost. He can't really tell his family either, sure that they will either force him to abort or worse. He has a recurring nightmare that he resorts to asking for help and his family marries him off to a local alpha who is his rapist but there is no way for him to know for sure and he is forever trapped wondering and not knowing if he is succumbing to insanity or it's a reality that he cannot escape.

There are also worries about the future as his research makes him realize just how dire the situation is for single omega parents in their conservative society. He either has to pay for everything out of pocket which is A LOT or apply for governmental aid but then lose his job bc he has just decent enough income to make him not eligible. But entering the benefits program he will have "single omega parent" on his file forever that is almost sure to guaranty he never gets hired again for any serious job as a "promiscuous omega". Not to mention all the medical things he had no clue about but now has to go through.

For the first month he barely manages to get out of bed at all, spiraling into a depression visible enough that his boss allows him to start working from home. And YS feels so bad about using that kindness to hide the reality of his situation but what other choice he has. Especially when morning sickness kicks in HARD.

YS goes to all his medical exams and works overtime and compartmentalizes so hard he is barely conscious at all as time both crawls and flies.

And then just past the third month his manager request an old project from him, something he always knew will come in handy so he had it saved on a flash drive he cannot find. Until he remembers HJ using it to transfer some work files to home computer and figures out where it is.

YS comes in the middle of the day, when no one should be home and hopes they didn't change the code (they didn't) but just as he locates the drive, sleep-rumpled HJ comes out of the bedroom. They stare at each other until YS blurts out "why are you here?" "Launch party ran late".

YS figures out that HJ finished the project he was working so hard on when they broke up and something that he looked SO much forward to, as he loved HJ's music but didn't allow himself to listen to it all this time in hopes to get over him quicker. It really didn't work at all.

HJ looks at him guarded and before he asks, YS explains that he needed the flash drive for work and apologizes for coming without a notice. HJ asks why he stopped answering their messages. "I though, we were at least friends". And YS knows he has to leave bc he always knew he was hurting them but he cannot face it rn when he is barely holding on.

But HJ waves his mumbling attempts at answer and says they have a box of all his stuff that he left behind. It's a pretty big box, he left his whole life behind here. But as he stands up, HJ looks him over and sees the small but noticeable bump he already has. HJ notes bitterly "you moved on fast, huh. Well, congratulations." And YS doesn't know what to say but something must be on his face bc HJ looks away and apologizes, fiddling with his sleeves, says he is hangover from the party.

YS wants to congratulate him on the release as well but he really can't do this anymore so he goes to grab the box but HJ is like woah-woah, what do you think you are doing, it's very heavy! YS just shrugs and says he will get it to the elevator and call a taxi. But HJ frowns at him and says he will get it down but he knows that YS lives on a third floor of a house without an elevator. HJ is like can your... ugh, partner, pick it up for you. And YS is thrown by this conversation enough to say the truth: no.

HJ frowns harder, what kind of a shitty alpha lets his pregnant omega lift heavy things, even if he is working or whatever, that's not ok, he should be able to come and help. And as YS cannot find a response to that HJ insists that he will get their car and drive him home and get the box to his place. YS tries to argue but there is no point when HJ already decided everything.

They get in the car and now HJ is worried about him enough to get over his bitterness and unexpected jealousy and starts pestering him with questions and YS just gives up and says there is no partner in the picture at all.

That gets HJ even more worried and riled up. Wtf? He got omega pregnant and dipped?? YS is probably heartbroken! He must have been SO in love to break it of with them so abruptly and change his whole stance on kids just for the guy to leave him?? Any hurt HJ was still harboring

gets totally overflown with indignation. Who DARED to leave YS and in that position too? It also dawns on him that YS was probably going no contact bc of all this mess, bc of the embarrassment.So now HJ is determined to mend their friendship. He still cares and SH does too.

They will do all in their power to support YS on this path. YS makes a weak attempt to refuse the offer but really, he is at the end of his rope as well and it doesn't take too much to cave in and accept it. Especially when SH calls him later to assure that he is very much on the

same page with HJ and he can and should lean on them. That's what friends are for. And it brings YS a lot of relief but also opens all the wounds that really didn't heal at all. He misses them and loves them and needs them but now he must be satisfied with their friendship.

HJ and SH come back into his life with vengence. SH immediately proceeds to deep-clean YS' apartment, something that he really couldn't muster the energy to do for... a while. HJ volunteers to drive him to all the doctor appointments even when YS insists that it's entirely fine.

But it does make a difference not even comfortable transportation wise but just having someone there, waiting for him in the car. Hospitals are weird. No one is straight up mean to him but as he did tell the doctors everything he feels like they are treating him like a child.

He has to keep rejecting suggestions that he should bring his parents along. They don't explain him stuff either because when HJ starts pestering him about this or that factoid he read about online, YS is lost on most of them. His first trimester was him moving on autopilot. It turns out that he really needed someone caring around bc YS can finally feel himself unfreezing a bit. But with that comes the onslaught of feelings.

Yes, SH and HJ are there for him but they don't have the time to visit more than couple days a week and also inevitably leave.

They hug him hello but obviously never kiss and one time SH does peck his cheek lulled by familiarity he apologizes for "overstepping". They have new inside jokes he doesn't understand. YS is thrown from elation of their presence to devastation of their loss even more sharp when

they are right there, close enough to touch.

For the first time he starts doubting his decision. Is it really worth it, some random baby against his entire life? He could have had it. Maybe he still can. If it was just out of the picture. He still cannot contemplate abortion but In his darkest moments, silently sobbing into his pillow in his empty apartment, he thinks... maybe if he miscarried. Would it be so bad? They say that unbonded omega, with no alpha pheromones around, with a traumatic conception, he is in a slightly higher risk group. So maybe…

Until one night he wakes up in a puddle of blood and SCREAMS in horror. His whole ride in the ambulance that HJ called him, bc YS was only able to call him, he keeps saying he didn't mean it. He doesn't want the baby gone! He didn't mean it! Please!

HJ and SH still in their pj's run in just as the doctor finishes explaining to him that everything is fine, things like this can happen and he just should go double on his vitamins and come more often for check ups and avoid stress and they will let him go after getting an IV. YS is relieved but still very shaky so he dives into a hug HJ and SH envelop him in, murmuring comforting things and rubbing his back.

In retrospect he understands the kind of a picture they make and can hardly blame the nurse who comes in with an IV. She is an older alpha that always fusses over him. And YS is too out of it to participate in a conversation when she asks how long they know him and SH says that's it's been almost two years. The nurse looks surprised and then delighted as she says"I know it's not my business and some ppl are weird about relationships between omegas, but I'm so happy to know he has you! You can't imagine how many partners leave the omega who got pregnant from a rap3, as if it's their fault. You are great for staying and you can come with him for the check ups, we are quite progressive here!"

She leaves and YS is completely rigid not able to breathe, with his face still smushed into SH shoulder. Hj makes a raw wounded sound but SH only hugs YS tighter and says "Not now. We will talk about this later."And YS hopes that later means never but he is off the hook for now so he just clings on.

HJ and SH take YS to their place after that and he is so grateful that they are not asking more questions so he goes along with them and let's them push him into a shower and into the softest pj's and into their bed where he just drifts off right away.

Next morning YS wakes up and even though he is dreading the conversation, it was also the best sleep he had in months, surrounded by their scents, so if there was ever a time he

was even halfway ready, it was then.

As he emerges from the bathroom, there is a tasty breakfast. SH and HJ look terrible like they haven't slept at all and maybe cried all night so even if YS didn't want to talk he felt like he owed them honesty for all the stress he caused them.

So after breakfast they move to the couch and he tells them that yeah, it's what happened when he went to the countryside.

"Did someone in your family..."

"What? Oh no. It was a random alpha. I was in the fields alone at night and he was in a rut. I haven't even seen his face. It was so sudden and then, I was in pre-heat and it... kicked it off all the way, so I barely remember anything at all."

The fact that assault made his heat start early is something YS can't really think about, it makes him hyperventilate and make all the sounds and vision go dark and muffled so he doesn't dwell on it.

Just like he can't think how the existence of the baby instantly put him in the protective mode. It's not as much a decision he made as some nature's great imperative working through him, moving the axis of his entire being, sprouting love and care where there was none while he was still very much aware how alien and rapidly occurring those feelings were.

In many ways his own reactions, no doubt fueled by massive hormonal changes, feel even more violating and YS tries his best not to think about that either. He is intent on not thinking or feeling anything at all but that's so much harder when he has to explain things to them.

HJ keeps fidgeting with his sleeves "Why didn't you tell us, you know we would-"

"Stay with me? Yeah. I know you would. That's why I couldn't do that. The choice was taken away from me and I couldn't do that with you too. I wanted to know your honest opinion and you told me."

HJ is frowning but SH nods at him. "It was your call to make and you did and we can respect that. I understand why but I just wish you didn't cut us off so suddenly. You know that we misunderstood the situation badly and went through a heartbreak. You know we still... l- care."

They talk it out some more. And YS has to clamp down on his feelings hard when SH reiterates that they are friends and won't abandon him. Bc tiny part of him was hoping for more but also there is a relief that they don't just fold their lives around him, even though HJ is still

not saying much until he insists that YS stay with them until he is in the clear with doctors.

And so it's decided and YS starts living with them. HJ takes it upon himself to research everything pregnancy related when he realizes that YS has no clue about his own condition.

As the one with the most flexible schedule he also takes it upon himself to drive him to all the appointments and start going with as well and not correcting everyone assuming they are partners.

YS doesn't quite know what to do with all of that so he quietly allows himself to be

taken care off. Also HJ starts BUYING stuff. Some special pillows and clothing when he found out YS never got anything like that and vitamins and more and more. As always buying shit is his way to deal with anxiety and after some initial reluctance, YS just lets him.

It's different with SH. It's almost like there are two different ways he treats YS. If they just watch a drama or talk about work or anything like that, it's almost like it was when they just started dating. SH is smiley and teasy and affectionate. Cooking all his favorite meals.

But as soon as anything pregnancy related comes up, he becomes very distantly polite and reserved. YS knows that he is not comfortable with the whole thing and especially how HJ hyperfixated on his research and how many things start getting delivered and filling up their place.

YS tries to do the right thing and move back to his apartment as a month later he is pronounced to be in great health but the truth is he IS terrible at taking care of himself and more so in a current state. He is still spacy and missing big chunks of his day.

They know it and HJ insists that he stay with them and so he does, slowly turning their living room into a nest, without even thinking. YS is very aware that SH doesn't ask him to stay but he doesn't object either so YS defaults to once again latch on to what they are willing to give him. Guilt and dread always close to the surface in his heart.

Until it all blows up. HJ orders a fancy high-tech crib and he is struggling to assemble it, refusing help from YS who could clearly see all the ways he was doing it wrong and so giggling in his hands, when SH comes back from work.

SH looks over them and asks what is that. And HJ mumbles something about scrapped metal and YS explains it's a crib. SH is like... a crib... to be put where? HJ pauses and looks up alarmed by his tone and he is like well, it wasn't decided yet.

And SH's expression darkens bc

Wasn't it? Wasn't it decided, considering he is assembling it right here. Next to the nest. And that's the first time either of them acknowledge that YS has built one on the couch. YS looks at it in panic bc it is right there, with their hoodies and towels and plushies mixed in.

HJ stands up and asks SH what is his problem and SH says nothing but HJ insists and so he starts quietly saying that maybe he would have appreciated being consulted on decisions like this, maybe they could discuss things about changing their apartment or LIFE for that matter but

Clearly HJ is too busy being happy and playing house with YS and apparently his opinion is not really necessary on it. Not like HJ asked his opinion on anything recently. Not like they even had much of a relationship by this point that didn't revolve around YS and his pregnancy.

And YS starts grabbing some of his things, determined to leave asap. HJ is not even saying anything, he is silently crying. SH looks at YS tired and defeated and says to not be stupid and put things down and it's that moment that YS breaks and starts screaming at him.

That's exactly what he knew would happen. He KNOWS SH hates the idea of parenthood. He knows it brings up his terrible childhood. That's what he was trying to avoid all along! They brought him back and now he ruined their lives just like he knew he would! SH tells him something but he can't hear and can't even fight a hug SH locks him in.

Can't fight being tugged to the couch into his nest. SH is there still hugging him and then HJ is there too and it's the first time they lay in his nest and YS can't help crying harder at how right it feels.

They don't really fall asleep but it takes a long time until anyone can speak. HJ is the one to start and he apologizes to SH for not seeing how he was hurting, for hiding away in his research and purchasing frenzy so that he could ignore all the fundamental issues they were dancing around. Like the one where he really loves YS and absolutely wants to be a part of his life forever, especially as a partner if he is allowed to. And YS has to clutch his hand and nod.

SH then apologizes to YS bc he didn't deserve any of this. It's not even that he hates the idea of parenthood. He is just terrified. He is nowhere near to being ready, he won't do a good job, HJ is so much better than him at this already, they would make for a great family and he doesn't see where he would fit in there. YS and HJ both try to assure him and it's not like he doesn't know that many of his fears are just that but it doesn't make them less real.

But he does want to be with YS, with both of them, baby and all.

They all agree that they need therapy and do they need it! It takes months of active work for them to even scratch the surface, mostly for YS.

They decide to restart their relationship for the third time. Starting with going on dates, doing silly (but also very serious) proper courting, slowly reintroducing intimacy. They manage to get back to having a s3x life for a while until it's too much work for the heavily pregnant YS and while he is afraid of birth he kind of also can't wait for that to happen so they could go back to it.

And he is not really 100% ok but he is getting a little better every day and he actually starts believing that he has a life full of love ahead of him to get there.

End.

#ateez #yeosang #hongjoong #seonghwa #plot bunny

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