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call-sign-shark · 4 months

Text

Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

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#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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novasdarling · 1 year

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I feel like this is an unhinged idea but Mahito with a breeding kink + actually getting reader pregnant with some monster baby

Hahahaha I like your thinking my dear.

Give Me

TW: Suicide Mention, Noncon, Forced Relationship, Baby trapping, Abortion mention, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Female Reader.

The sun was setting. Watching as the sky became darker and darker, as the night rolled in, and the day left. Watching as your safety was being ripped from you for another time. It wouldn't be long till he came. It never was. After all, he came every night like clocked work. Once the moon was bright and visible. He was there, Mahito. Ready to indulge in whatever sick fantasy or curiosity he had that night. Whatever his dead, twisted heart wanted at that moment, he got.

Mahito took pleasure in playing with you. Contorting you any way he wanted, making you do things you had never imagined were possible. Then in the morning when he left, he would leave you in your room begging for death. Pleading with whatever god there was to have mercy on you and end it all, but death would be a mercy from a monster like Mahito and no god seemed like it wanted to get in his way. At one point you had toyed with the idea of giving yourself the so-called mercy you prayed for. Pausing every time you held a knife. Imagining if you were brave enough to plunge it into your chest. To rid yourself of his grip by any means. Yet, you knew death wouldn't stop Mahito from having his fun with you. He made that clear. All it would do would make it challenging for him, but he would still continue.

There was no escape from this hell, neither in life nor death and as you heard the floorboards creak behind you. You recognised all that was granted to you was a monetary relief during the day. A few hours to recuperate and heal your wounds the best you could before it was stripped of you once again. A moment of relief that was now over as the daylight disappeared.

All there could be done now was to wait. Wait for him to come again. There was no see in running. He'd always find you, that much he had proved, but the wait wouldn't be long. The air was getting colder, dropping rapidly. A sign he was near. It was moving around you, engulfing your body as you sat looking out the window. The cold was creeping along your skin. Clawing its way up slowly. Taking its time to leave a trail of goosebumps along your arms until it reached your shoulders. The cold changed to pressure. Laying its weight wherever it had touched you. Sinking you into your seat. Forcing you lower, to fight back against it. The weight was taking a shape, and second by second, it was becoming easier to tell it was him. His hands and body were on you.

"My favourite part of the day."

It was no more than a whisper. Right by in your ear, you could feel his breath. Yet, somehow his voice sounded so distant. He wasn't fully there yet. He was still lingering in the air. Making his way to you slowly. Playing with you. Scaring you before he even got there. You were his favourite. One he would take care of so he could resume having his fun with as long as your feeble mortal body could hold on. After all, all humans died eventually. Mahito just hoped it would not be from the enjoyment you two had.

"The bed."

Abruptly the weight was gone, and the chill had left as well. Mahito wasn't with you now. Which meant he was waiting for you elsewhere. Waiting for you to follow his order and pursue him like a puppy. Like a good toy, he had called you that many times. A good toy follows orders and then gets rewarded.

There was still a part of you that said no, wanting to resist and stay seated or run, but the part that odd part that knew his anger knew no bounds would always follow his orders. Even if you wanted to die, there was still a strong part that wanted to self-preserve.

The bed he had said. The bedroom. He wanted you there. You knew what he wanted. Knew what the bedroom meant. Mahito had figured out sex a few months ago. Figured out what it was and why it occurred. Stating he was curious about it. Wanted to learn. Forced you to show him, and who were you to refuse the curse? To say no to him when he could so easily kill you and everyone you ever cared about, no wasn't an option.

Night after night he would come. Sex was still on his mind, even weeks later. Trying new positions, new technics. Him telling you where he heard it from, where he had seen it. One time he had claimed he learned this position from a couple he had watched before he killed them. Things got worse when he discovered porn. He learned even more. Forcing you to try everything with him. Every position. Trying to make you sound the same as the pornstars. It got even worse when he learned what a female orgasm was. Deciding to abuse it. Making you overstimulated every time. He was having fun while you were in tears. Mahito tended to share with you what his new desire was. being upfront and having no shame, forcing you into any role he saw fit, but this time was different. He was quiet about his true intentions. Not letting you know the truth. He kept silent about his new interest, instead playing it out without your knowledge. You always assumed since he was a curse, something not living, he couldn't force a child on you. That he was shooting blanks. So it didn't matter he was fucking you raw. That a child from a curse was impossible. After all, curses are made not born. That he was just having fun fucking you and filling you with his useless cum.

Making your way to him, your mind still toyed with the question of why had sex stuck. Though all you could really do was endure what he wanted to try this time and hope this fascination drifted away sooner rather than later.

You could hope, after all. That was all you had, hope when it came to Mahito. He always got his way, so who were you to make it harder? If you followed along with his wishes, it would be better. He would sometimes even reward your good behaviour by holding off on a visit or two.

Even as you dragged your feet, you were still were met by him eventually. Seeing his full form sitting on your bed. You knew what to do, following the same routine as the last couple of months. For you to strip and meet him is what he was waiting for. If he had his fun, perhaps it would be an early night. They were rare, but they were given. Though as you stripped, your might was racing. This little interest of his, sex, hadn't disappeared as soon as the others.

Your sweater came off.

Why was it still lingering? It had been months?

Your shirt followed.

Why was he so interested in having sex.? In fucking you every night until the morning light came up?

Then your braw followed.

The worst part was that he insisted on fucking you raw. At least he wasn't living. His cum was all for show, right?

Your pyjama pants came off.

His interest in seeing if he could turn you into something and bring you back had only lasted a few weeks, a month tops.

Then your underwear.

You were now bare in front of him. Standing there as your mind kept asking questions, unable to find answers.

"Come here."

Following his order, your mind still raced with questions, with distractions. As he caressed your body. Stroking and squeezing you. Especially relishing in squeezing your ass, chest and thighs. Laughing when you winced as he got too aggressive. Pain was funny to him. He laughed when you cried that he was being mean. Smiled when you told him the bruises that littered your body was from him. Got excited when you begged him to fuck you softer cause your body just couldn't take it. Human pain was funny.

It wasn't long until you were laying under him, you tried to black out his image. His face, the way the lines ran all along it and his body. The way he grinned at you when he knew you were scared. The worse part was his voice. Talking, commanding. Telling you how much he wanted you today while you were busy. He would describe your day, letting you know he had been watching from the shadows. That he was always there with you. You needed to block him out and shutting your eyes would allow you to get rid of one of your senses that were filled by him.

"Tsk tsk tsk." He had stopped fucking you. "Look at me."

Mahito wanted you to watch. To see his face as he fucked you. As he used your body any way he wanted. Look into his eyes as he filled you over and over. He wanted his toy to be present, to not ignore him or his actions. Looking into his eyes as he had his way with you. Fucked you until daybreak, until you were dripping with his cum. Unable to hold anymore.

This night was like the others, except he had a new position. The mating press. You were shocked he hadn't learned of this one sooner, yet, thankful at the same time. Mahito had you pressed in that position most of the night. Whining every time he finished. Only to continue again and again. His word began to slur as the hours drifted on. Not making as much sense as earlier. However, you could still catch a few orders and words here and there. Some of his words haunted you though.

"I'm going to breed you."

It stuck with you, simply because it made you think. At first, you assumed it was just him repeating words from porn like the others, but then you realized. When was the last time you had your period? Did you have one this month? You couldn't remember. Your body went stiff, realizing what was transpiring. You were late, who knows how long. You had spent so much time simply trying to survive Mahito, you never stopped to realize why you hadn't bled yet. All you could do now was lay there, lay there in fear and continue to let all those questions from before. Find their answers.

As the night turned to day and Mahito disappeared. You ran to your calendar, you had tracked your cycle. Searching through the months, looking for the last of the red boxes. Not this month, not last, no they only appeared three months ago. Three months you had missed your period. Three fucking months.

You raced to the store, hoping that if you were a regular pregnancy test would answer your question. Would this cursed creature even make a pregnancy test be positive? Would any test be able to read if you were or not? Once you got home you found the answer. It was yes, the test could pick up on the creature growing inside of you. It was positive. Mahito had done the impossible.

All you had were questions when it came to Mahito, this only added to them. He never made sense, never explaining his actions fully, but at least before you knew what was happening. This was unexpected. Could you get rid of it? Would an abortion work on this?

Looking at yourself in the mirror. Staring at yourself, analyzing your body. It was mad, but you still lifted your shirt. Gazing at your stomach. Running your hands along it. You couldn't be, this had to be a bad dream. No god, if there were any, could hate you so much.

"Fascinating."

Mahito has sprung into view in the mirror. Standing behind you, in the door frame. He was gazing at your stomach. Looking over it again and again as he stood there.

"What the hell did you do?"

You were scared now, fearing the worse. The way he looked at you was terrifying. As if you were a wonder of the world. Just something to be analyzed and examined. A look he had never given you before.

"I wanted to know if it was true."

You were just his little science experiment. His school project to be tested on. You weren't a person to him, just something for him to use. If that hadn't set in before. It had now. You wanted to scream at him, cuss at him, hit him. Anything to get your anger out, but what use would that be? He had gotten you this time and there was no way out from him. Not that he now knew.

Mahito made his way to you. That same smile never left his face, instead only getting wider. He was behind you know, holding your form against him. Resting his hands on your stomach.

"It's finally taken."

"Mahito...Please tell me-tell me i-it isn't-"

"Oh, sweetie, it is. You're carrying my seed." He was nuzzling his head into your shoulder as he whispered. Kissing in between words. As if you two were a happy couple with thrilling news.

Mahito had gotten you pregnant. He had fucked some fucked up thing into you. He was going to force you to carry this thing to term, to birth it. Would it even be human? Or even resemble anything like you?

"W-what is i-it?" You were holding back tears.

"Hmm... I'm not sure, but I'm looking forward to seeing it." He saw the fear in your eyes. "It's okay if this one isn't to your liking. We now know we can always make more."

He was planning more. Planning to fuck more fucked up creatures into you. Make you something to bread him as many monsters as he pleases.

"I don't want this."

It was a whisper, but you knew he heard. Refusing to look at him in the mirror. Instead staring at his hands on your belly.

"Hmmm, that's sad because I do. I want to see you grow big. Like those women I see. Barley able to walk properly. Not fitting into anything anymore. Yeah, I want to see you like that." His hands began to rub your stomach as he held onto you. "I want you as mine like any other man could have you and if that means fucking you until you give me a whole army of monsters." Mahito leant in more, kissing your cheek before continuing. "Then I happily will."

#yandere #yandere mahito #yandere jjk #mahito #jjk #yandere mahito x reader #yandere x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #yandere jjk x reader #mahito x reader #yandere anime #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #yandere smut #jujutsu kaisen #nova writes

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idle-daydreams · 3 months

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Hi I hope you're doing well I'm not sure if you do these types of requests but can I please ask for a yandere Demon King chuuya with a pregnant darling

Sure thing!

Tw: Yandere, forced pregnancy, mentions of abortion, mentions of blood, cannibalism and violence.

You were three months along before you realized you were pregnant.

It had been easy to ignore the signs in the beginning. Time moved strangely in the demon world, and it wasn’t the first time you’d missed your period since you’d gotten there. You’d assumed that the rest of it - the exhaustion, the mood swings, even the changes in your body - was due to whatever otherworldly food and drink Chuuya gave you, to say nothing of the effects of living in proximity of the Demon King himself.

It wasn’t until Chuuya had pointed out the slight swell of your stomach that the horrifying realization had dawned upon you.

You would have gotten rid of it had you any means to do so. But Chuuya had figured it out just as soon as you had, and had locked you down even more stringently than before. Gone were all the little freedoms he’d granted you over time; he refused to let you out of his sight, insisting on taking care of you himself. He practically forced you into bed-rest, waiting upon you hand and foot so that you wouldn’t stress yourself out. It would have been nice, were it not for the fact that you were carrying Chuuya’s child.

The Demon King’s child.

A demon itself, taking root inside you.

It made you want to tear yourself apart with your bare hands. The thing was strong, leeching vitality from you until you could barely walk. You found yourself hungering for raw flesh and fresh blood, wanting to kill and gnaw and bite and tear things apart, until you could see their entrails and their oozing blood. Chuuya indulged you, bringing you wild animals and letting you sate yourself; you hated it, but you hated him even more, for putting you into this position.

Not that Chuuya seemed to mind. From the moment your pregnancy had been confirmed, the red-headed demon lord had been deliriously happy. He would spend hours resting between your legs with his head on your belly, talking or singing to “the baby”. He would patiently bare your tantrums, all the crying and screaming and general hysteria, even letting you vent your frustrations by throwing things at him. It was only when you tried to hurt yourself did he tie you down, claiming that your safety was more important.

“I don’t want to do this, love,” he said, stroking your hair. “But you’ve got to take it easy. All this stress isn’t good for either of you.”

“Chuuya, I’m begging you, please, end it,” you said, tears pouring down your face. “This pregnancy will kill me, I know it will. I can’t carry a demon child, please.”

Chuuya frowned, tracing a thumb over your cheek. “You’ll carry the baby all right,” he said. “This isn’t the first time a human’s carried a demon child. And you’ve drunk enough of my blood to be part-demon yourself, so this ain’t that big a deal.”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at your restraints, cursing yourself and your miserable life. How had you ended up like this? What had you done to deserve any of this? Why was this happening to you, of all people? Weren’t there worse people in the world, who deserved to suffer more?

You flinched as Chuuya kissed your temple, before settling on his haunches before you and putting his hands on the swell of your belly. “I can sense them, you know,” he said. “They’re a strong one.”

“I know,” you said through gritted teeth. “I’ve never been this uncomfortable in my entire life. I’m nauseous, my body hurts, and my bladder feels l-” you scowled as Chuuya grinned- “why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re pregnant.”

You flinched as he swooped down to hug you tightly. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he said happily, gazing at you with contentment. “Demons don’t really get pregnant; it’s something to do with the way our bodies work. I never thought I would have a family, I never thought I’d ever have someone like you. I love you, I love you so much, you’ve given me - you’re giving me - everything that I’ve ever wanted.”

“And you don’t care if I die in the process,” you whispered.

His expression momentarily soured, before he mulishly shook his head. “That ain’t gonna happen. I told ya, there are ways to make sure this whole thing goes well.” He put a hand on your stomach again, gently tracing its curved with one blackened claw. “You’re not gonna like it, it’s going to be a bit uncomfortable, but I swear to you that you’re both going to come out of this alive. I promise you, on my honor as the Demon King.”

#yandere bsd #yandere chuuya #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere nakahara chuuya #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #nakahara chuuya #yandere imagines #yandere #male yandere

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 2 months

Note

Could we maybe get like snippets or blurb about Hector having a wife w/ him when he goes to join dracula’s generals? And maybe she’s really kind to dracula and then it turns out she’s pregnant and reminds him of his late wife? Does it change his plans or maybe he decides to protect her/hector more so than the other humans?

TW: Some Domestic Violence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Talks of Abortion

It was a stormy, rainy night when a set of voices roused the young woman from her reading. For too long, she had a habit of getting lost in a text, be it fiction or fact, and losing herself to the words on the page, paying no mind to the reality around her.

It had become an even more frequent habit now that she was banished from her previous life, her artisan skills not being needed as frequently in her new home as she would have liked. Then again, it was not the worst of fates. Had she stayed in her family home, her life would have most certainly been cut short. Here, she was safe. Here, she was… well… almost loved.

The man of the house, the one who agreed to let her stay, was a peculiar one. He appeared rather simple unless you spoke to him on certain subjects: necromancy and animals, his two favorites.

His work was deviant. The young woman would go as far as to say it indubitably delved into the supernatural. Contrarily, it was his very association with the supernatural that drew her to him in the beginning.

Hearing what sounded like an unfamiliar voice, the young woman closed the book she was reading and placed it on the small wooden table in front of her. Looking down fondly, she gave the sleeping reanimated cat in her lap a few gentle pets before scooping them up and moving them onto the bed.

Yes, reinstilling the life of a dear feline friend may not seem worth a lifetime of isolation to some, but those simply did not understand the grand nature of the bond between cat and owner. The strange man of the house had brought her dear pet back to her, and despite what her fellow townspeople and own family thought, to her it was worth the duration of servitude she would no doubt be forced to continue in the man’s presence.

Said man was not overly cruel, although he did have a fair temper. His understanding of certain situations was rather naive, yet wholesome all the same.

As the two young people spent time near one another, the strange man and the young woman’s relationship grew. It blossomed from acquaintances to friends, and eventually to lovers, and understandably so. Their position to one another, in agreement with the man’s proximity to such strange magic, made it so they only had each other to rely on for interaction, for company, for… intimacy.

Of course, their first few instances of sex left much to be desired, if the older village women’s stories were anything to go on, but it mattered not to her. The strange man was gentle. He never once made a move to force himself upon her. And despite the woman’s own lack of experience, he always assured her, he was quite pleased about her efforts to please him. As far as they were concerned, they were officially a marital couple. Although they did not share rings or papers officiating their status as such, their entwined futures were enough to reassure the other of their intentions.

It certainly wasn’t the life the young woman had planned for herself as a little girl, but it was a life, therefore, it was good enough.

Hector, as peculiar as he was, was good enough for her.

And on the subject of Hector…

The young woman walked down the short corridor from their quaint shared bedroom to the main room of the house which Hector used for his rituals. It was very delicate magic, he once explained, so it could not be tampered with. The young woman didn’t mind. She came from a family of four, who all shared a single bed and a single rented room within a dwelling. Therefore, sharing a private bedroom within a private house with only one other person was very much a luxury, as far as she was concerned.

“Hector? Is that you?” Her soft voice asked, clearly curious. “I thought I heard voices.”

Appearing around the curve the young woman made her presence known, clothed in a simple muted dress, and old-yellowed apron. Her eyes were bright and clear, a direct contrast to the dark and dingy walls surrounding her person. Everything about her seemed too bright, too kind, too merciful to be inside the same home as a devil forgemaster, but there she was, clear as day.

In front of her, Hector shifted, clearly apologetic about his new wife’s timing. Not more than two long strides from him stood Lord Dracula, the king of vampires, and Hector’s respected friend. Mere seconds before her arrival, Dracula had informed Hector about the death of his own, very human wife.

Shuffling over to the young woman, Hector stood between the two strangers: his much older friend, and his new one, hoping to break some of the ambiguous unease between the two.

“Master Dracula,” Hector addressed the towering vampire in the room, “This is (Y/N). She’s my-”

“Friend”

“Wife.”

The young woman huffed, a slight blush rising to your cheeks. “Yes, ‘wife’, is what I meant to say. I’m, uh, still getting used to that,” she admitted bashfully.

After looking into the unfriendly gaze of Hector’s guest, the woman lowered her head, trying desperately to shrink herself under the vampire’s irate aura.

“I’m so sorry,” Hector repeated. “That you’ve lost your wife at a time when I’ve found mine.”

The woman’s bright, curious eyes turned back up. “Lost?”

“They killed her.” A deep, grave voice came from the behemoth of a man. “The stupid humans.”

The woman’s face contorted as a wave of sorrow rushed over her. “I… I am so sorry. That’s awful.”

Her condolences seemed to hang in the air, suffocating her more than the previous silence or Dracula’s gaze did. Taking the hint, the woman excused herself, retracing her steps back to the bedroom.

“I apologize for the intrusion. I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

━━◈◈◈━━

“I cannot believe you’re even considering this.” Already in their shared bed, the young woman lay there under the covers, her arms crossed defiantly.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset.” Across the small room, Hector worked to scrub off the blood and muck from his arms with a rag and a bucket of salted water. “He says it’s going to be a cull, a reduction in numbers, that’s all.” Grabbing a second towel, he dabbed his arms dry before moving to join his wife in bed.

“It’s genocide, Hector,” his wife spoke, her voice more urgent this time. “He is asking you to help commit genocide against your own people!”

Hector scoffed, his brows furrowed. “My own people cast me out, treated me like filth, and now, you ask me to have mercy for them?” There was a venomous edge to his voice his wife had never heard before.

Trying to rectify the conversation, the young woman swallowed harshly before continuing: “I know they were awful to you. I know they hurt you, and I know you didn’t deserve any of it.”

Hector sighed as he lay down beside his wife. Soothingly, (Y/N) began massaging soft circles into his scalp, waiting for the man to fall deeper into relaxation.

“I know you’re a good man Hector, and I am forever grateful for all that you’ve done for me. But this, this plan, it cannot end well. Not for you, not for me, not for anyone.”

With a jolt, one of Hector’s hands shot out, latching onto his wife’s hand, abruptly stopping her massage efforts. “I don’t want to have this conversation again,” he sneered. “I am going to help Dracula with his plan, and you’ll have no choice but to come with me. I am your husband and you are my wife. That is all there’s to be said on the subject.”

Just as suddenly as he grabbed her hand, Hector released it and turned over, facing away from his wife, before blowing out the last candle on their bedside table so the two of them could sleep.

Frozen in shock, and unable to move, (Y/N) lay there on her back, afraid to even breathe heavily, lest Hector turn back over and speak such harsh words to her again. Her wrist stung where he squeezed it, and the position it landed in was anything but comfortable, but she dared not shift it. Laying there, concentrating on both the ache in her wrist and her breathing, the young woman stared up at the pitch-black ceiling over their shared home before the exhaustion was too much to bear, and sleep overcame her.

━━◈◈◈━━

The move to the castle was silent. The young woman dared not speak lest she voice a contradictory opinion. Hector stayed silent as he simply had nothing else to say.

Dracula’s castle was beyond daunting. The structure appeared as if it were plucked directly out of hell: dark, and foreboding, with jagged architecture that seemed to change within a blink of an eye. The entire building housed an almost unbearable energy- one of decimation and total grief. It did not feel like the birthplace of some grand war plan, it felt more like society’s tomb.

Of course, (Y/N) could not say as much to her spouse, now that he was fully invested in aiding Dracula’s army. His forge was already set up within the castle, a molten hearth at the ready to create any instrument Hector would require in his efforts.

A little week into their stay, Hector emerged victorious from his forge, claiming he had made a perfectly balanced hammer, a tool that would enable him to forge night creatures at an unprecedented rate. He boasted to a very proud, but equally concerned (Y/N), how so few devil forgemasters ever made it to this phase of power.

Of course, his private proclamations made it all the more humorous when Isaac, another specially chosen devil forgemaster of Dracula showed up at the castle. Isaac, a much more stoic and disciplined man than Hector, used a blade, a red glowing dagger of sorts to create his night creatures. With a slice of the knife, Isaac could accomplish what it took Hector several hammer strikes to do.

The young woman held her tongue but secretly relished the indignity Hector must have initially felt upon meeting his colleague. Then again, whatever victory she felt was short-lived, as she too got the impression that Isaac cared as equally little for her as he did Hector.

Isaac became the least of her worries, however, when Dracula’s other generals and his vampire generals arrived one by one at his castle.

Each time Dracula introduced Isaac and Hector as his devil forgemasters, and her as Hector’s wife, she felt their red eyes sizing the young woman up like a piece of meat. Thankfully, Dracula made it clear that his three human guests were not to be harmed, and his dominion over the vampire generals was enough to keep them away from her.

Well, most of them anyway. Godbrand, a Viking vampire, was a different story entirely.

“I still don’t get what you see in the guy,” Godbrand questioned as he followed her down one of the castle’s many corridors. “I mean, sure, he can make night creatures, but he’s not a fighter. Hell, he’s barely a man! With his heart bleeding for all those little mistreated pets of his.”

She walked faster, doing her best not to spill the contents of the tray she was carrying. “Be that as it may,” she kept her voice curt, “Hector is my husband, and I am his wife. I made a promise.”

“Promises can be broken. I mean, it’s,” Godbrand emphasized his ‘s’es in between his slurred-sounding words. “Ss’not like you’re really married. Hector brought back your dead cat, as this deformed creature. That’s not exactly a wedding ceremony.”

The young woman rolled her eyes. “And what constitutes a marriage ritual where you’re from? A fight to the death?”

Godbrand chuckled. “You know, you may be the first human I don’t find fucking boring.”

The young woman grimaced, as she backed into a doorway, pushing open a heavy study door with her body. “Oh Godbrand,” she turned to enter the room, “If only I could say the same for you.”

Letting the door shut softly behind her, she ignored Godbrand’s continued grumblings. She had much more important matters to tend to.

Taking the two bowls of seeds off her tray, she placed them in new shallow dishes on her testing table. She then picked up the lidded cup, placing its cap to the side. She poured out a small amount of yellow liquid onto one of the bowls that contained new seeds as well as onto the bowl containing seeds from days before.

Placing the now empty cup back down on the tray, the young woman sighed. The older seeds were indeed beginning to sprout from their dishes, and to make matters worse, her monthly cycle was late. On all fronts, the message was clear: she was with child.

“Shit.”

━━◈◈◈━━

The young woman took a deep breath before knocking gently on Dracula’s door. She knew it was foolish for her to approach the man herself, but she found she could not face Hector, not after she discovered the truth of her condition. If she were to even look Hector in the eyes at the present moment, she feared all her composure would shatter, leaving her a sorry, sobbing mess in his arms.

Oh, his arms! How she longed to be in his arms once more. How she wished for a nighttime of conversation that used to follow their moments of shared pleasure. Now it was brief, still existent but wholly impersonal. The act was there, and all the motions were followed, but thanks to her line of continued questioning about Dracula and his intended efforts, Hector was often in no mood to sleep in the same bed as her, much less hold a conversation with her following a round of passion.

It just had all unraveled so fast.

It was on the anniversary of Dracula’s poor wife’s death when the first group of night creatures and vampire soldiers were released upon Targovieste. They spread out like a plague in the night, their howls hinting at what was only the beginning of all the unthinkable horrors they would unleash.

Before she knew it, the words were coming out of her mouth faster than her mind could think them, her new hormones no doubt adding fuel to the fire. “Traitor!” She had called him. “A child believing himself to be God, punishing the sins of man!”

In her fury, she could not control the veracity with which she spoke. The only thing that stopped her from berating Hector further was the sharp sting of an open palm slapped against her cheek. Stunned into silence and knocked to the ground, the young woman looked up at an equally shocked Hector through teary, blurred vision.

“I…” Hector started, almost at as much of a loss for words as she was. “I am so sorry, I…” he trailed off. He couldn’t finish his apology. How could he? When he was uncertain as to whether he even meant it.

Thankfully, Hector had the sense to leave his wife alone to wallow, and wail without his scrutiny, at the very least, allowing her the dignity to mourn the death of whatever they once shared, alone.

The test she had run confirmed her worst fears shortly after that. There was no mistaking it. The man who had forsaken his own species, the man who she once loved, the man who struck her down, was going to be the father of her child. That was unless she decided to do something else about it.

She knew Dracula himself possessed great knowledge. She also knew his late wife was a healer. No, even better, a doctor. Surely, she would have some collection of remedies and treatments on the subject. If she had heard correctly, Lisa Tepes was also a mother herself.

Recalling that fact, she shuddered. The thought of housing a human baby made her insides crawl, she didn’t even wish to begin to imagine what carrying a half-vampire child to term must be like. Perhaps, she mused, Dracula would be willing to speak on the subject, barring that he didn't strike her down for her insolence first.

“Master Dracula?” She asked as she pushed open the door to his study a sliver. “Permission to enter?”

With a loud sigh, the older vampire relented. “Granted.”

As the young woman entered, she was shocked to find such a large empty room. In the middle, sat Dracula in a large chair, and before him was a fireplace. Off to the side, there was a desk, with a portrait of the vampire lord’s late gorgeous wife above it. But aside from that, the room was sparsely decorated. It certainly did not feel like the study of a vampire lord. And in the middle of it all, sat a large, very disinterested, and downcast Master Dracula.

“What is it now? Have you come to make your case on behalf of the rest of humanity? Beg me to spare their souls?” His words were serious but his tone was largely indifferent.

“I see Hector’s spoken to you,” the young woman fiddled her fingers, shamefully. “ I must admit, my position has not changed. Nor has Hector’s. But no,” she settled for clasping her hands together, “That is not what I wish to speak to you about.

Dracula raised a brow, telling her to carry on in her explanation.

“I was wondering if you knew how I might go about procuring these items,” fishing out a parchment from her apron pocket, the young woman shakily extended her hand out to him.

Taking the paper much gentler than she expected, the vampire lord began to read the written list himself, his expression remaining unreadable. “Birthwort, yarrow, barberry, honey, and yue?”

“Yes,” the young woman confirmed. “I wasn’t certain if you had any here. I understand your late wife was a physician and that she learned much of what she knew from you. I thought perhaps some of these herbs would already be gathered and dried in storage within the castle.”

“Does Hector know?” Dracula finally turned his attention to the young woman as he asked.

Caught red-handed, the young woman looked down to the floor as she shook her head, hot embarrassed tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “No,” she finally admitted. “I cannot bring myself to tell him.”

“You intend to keep this from him?”

“Why?” The young woman spoke up, louder than before. “Do you think I am denying him his right to inheritance? That I am betraying my wifely duties if I do not consult him first?”

“The decision concerns him as well.”

“The hell it does!” The rage that had been brewing in her stomach all this time once again found its way to her throat. “It’s my body that will be forced to endure the changes. It’s my body that will risk its life in childbirth. It’s my heart…” She clutched her chest as she spoke, her angry tears now falling freely. “...That will break when the child I have worked so hard to carry into this world is slaughtered right in front of me by a night creature of his own father’s making.”

Breaking into silent sobs, the woman shook her head, condemning her outburst of emotion.

From his chair Dracula said nothing. His irritation at her intrusion slowly faded away as he watched the formerly spirited young woman break down into tears.

Dracula turned his gaze away, looking over to the portrait of his wife as he recalled how conflicted he felt upon learning Lisa was pregnant. Despite his wife’s optimism and joy, he could not help but feel afraid for what lay ahead. Dhampir pregnancies were uncommon, and highly dangerous, especially in cases where the mother was human. He would have been more than ready to aid Lisa in terminating the pregnancy had she asked, only she hadn’t. Just short of eight months later, Adrian was born. It might very well have been both the most terrifying and the most joyous day of Vlad’s immortal life.

If Lisa was ever scared, she did not show it. Perhaps she knew she could not be scared, as Vlad would be fearful enough for the both of them. It was an entirely different situation than the one present before him now. Lisa and he were very much in love, and they had years of practice communicating with one another. Hector and his wife’s marriage was fresh. And in many ways, Hector was still a child, naive to the real world around him.

Not to mention, Hector’s wife did have a point. Dracula intended to end the human race, as well as the vampire race. No humanoids would be left on the planet once he was done with it. That included Hector and her, as well as any future children they might manage to have. It was only a matter of time. Hector did not know that, but she did. Which is precisely why she came to him.

How terrifying, he mused, it must have been to knock on his door and beg for an abortifacient, knowing full well he intended to kill all those like you sooner than later. How terrifying it must be to live in a castle surrounded by vampires, the undead, always hungry parasites, and have no choice but to hide behind an immature man who could not yet see the forest for the trees?

Perhaps the great lord Dracula did feel a semblance of pity for the young woman, if only for a moment.

On the far side of the study, the young woman managed to compose herself for the most part. She rubbed her eyes free of any tears and wiped her nose of any snot, only sniffling on occasion. “I apologize,” she began. “For my interruption and my… outburst.”

Dracula said nothing as he slowly stood to his impressive full height, nearly reaching the ceiling of the room they were in.

Suddenly struck by how close she was to such a powerful creature, the woman pushed herself against the farthest wall, trying to increase the space between her and the vampire lord.

“Do you wish to have this child?” He asked her.

“Only if I know they are never to suffer.”

Dracula gave a dry chuckle at her response.

Huffing, the woman smiled bashfully. “Yes, I suppose it sounds rather silly when said out loud. But it is the truth.”

“Suffering,” Dracula began, “Is not unique to the human condition.”

“Nor the vampire one I suppose.”

Dracula’s eyes softened upon hearing her words. “No,” he finally agreed. “No, it is not.”

The two of them stood suspended within the silence that followed for a great deal of time. Or rather, perhaps it merely felt like a great deal of time because it was one of the few sentences uttered out of pure unadulterated truth between them. Either way, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They simply stood in each other’s company, occasionally making eye contact.

Although she found she quite enjoyed the comfortable silence as opposed to the oppressive kind that seemed to consume her in her previous conversations with Dracula, the young woman still found she had a pressing question on her mind. As such, she was the one to eventually break the silence.

“Do you think Hector would make a good father?” The young woman enquired, feeling much more impervious in her position to ask questions.

Dracula stayed silent.

She nodded solemnly. “That’s what I thought.” Her move to leave was interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor behind her.

“Dracula, sir?” She asked through sniffles.

“Come,” he said, leading her out of her office. “There is something I wish to show you.”

━━◈◈◈━━

The castle was beyond enormous, there was no way around that. If one did not have a map of the grounds, or a guide to show them the way, it was amazingly simple to become lost in its maze of hallways and ever-changing corridors that seemed to spawn out of nowhere and vanish just as quickly as they came. It did not seem possible for a building to change and shift on its own, but, then again, it did not seem possible for a building to move from city to city in its entirety within the blink of an eye.

For the most part, the castle had settled once Dracula’s vampire generals and their troops arrived. It would have been too complicated to educate them all on the shifting nature of the castle, so Dracula demanded it cease. Even with the castle’s internal architecture remaining consistent, navigating the halls remained challenging. Especially for the lesser intelligent vampire spawn and the easily overwhelmed human partner of a devil forgemaster.

Dracula watched from the corridor as the young woman flitted about the apothecary room, taking breaks in between her searching various cabinets to look down at notes that no doubt once belonged to his wife. Lisa was always interested in aiding the other women of Wallachia, and she had a fondness for the maternal edge of medicine. Briefly, Dracula recalled the first time he had shown Lisa this room. Admittedly, Lisa’s reaction was quite similar to the one Hector’s wife was having now: full of not just awe, but determination as well. As it had mostly been frequented by his late wife during her time within the castle, it had been left alone to gather dust and cobwebs for the past several years or so. Still, if there was any lab or apothecary within Dracula’s home that had the processed herbs she was looking for, it was this particular room.

He led Hector’s wife there after their previous encounter, granting her his permission to take anything she found that she’d need. It was uncharacteristically generous of him to offer, but it did not make the young woman as pleased as she thought she’d be. This was what she wanted, right? To be rid of this child? Or was it possible she wished for something else?

Bitterly, Dracula knew it was not the child, but the circumstances, the young woman was considering aborting. She could not promise them a future, much less any degree of safety, so she was ending things before the pain became too great to do so. It was odd. The argument could be made that she was acting out of self-preservation, then again, it sounded as if the young woman knew her death was already imminent. To end this child’s life before it began was not an act of selfishness on her part, but an act of mercy. Despite the grief Dracula could see it caused her, this young woman was determined to prevent her child from seeing the horrors the world, his world, was capable of producing. It was selfless. It… It did not make sense.

Humans were selfish creatures, greedy, and cruel for sport. They thought only of themselves and anyone who dared show kindness or intelligence was cast out or killed. They did not deserve the teachings of his wife, who worked so hard to provide for their ill. They did not deserve Wallachia, nor did they deserve any part of the world. Their species was a plague, a never-ending mistake. They would not learn even if he gave them centuries more. They had to go and yet…

Before the last sunset, Dracula would not have cared how the humans suffered and died. Nor did he care about the vampires, who would inevitably turn on each other, once they were finally faced with starvation. All that mattered was their death- all of their deaths.

Then why was it that Lord Vlad Dracula Tepes could not think of anything but birth?

He had shown Hector’s wife what she asked for, he had given her the materials needed to prevent such a birth. Granted, it was what she had asked for. One favor for a selfless thing.

Perhaps… a long-since silent voice of reason in the back of Dracula’s mind spoke up… Perhaps there is hope for humanity yet? Maybe the good few, the intelligent, the brave, and the honorable could be… salvaged from this genocide? Perhaps what was needed was a true cull after all?

Seated once again in his study, Dracula gazed into the flames of the fireplace. He would need to make plans to speak with all his Generals tomorrow.

The war, as they knew it, was about to change.

A/N: Ahhhh! Why is it so longgggg? Forgive me for getting carried away. But to answer your question, I do think there’s a sliver of hope Dracula would be swayed not to stop or anything, but maybe to shift his plans to allow a select, approved few humans to survive. No idea how’d that’d be implemented or how the Generals would respond (prob not well lol.) But that’s sort of my line of thinking. I also believe he’d be even more encouraging for Hector and Isacc to become friends. For Sources, check out these super cool links: Medieval ‘Pregnancy Tests’: (x) And this really cool on medieval abortion/menstruation remedies: (x) And As always, if you liked it, please REBLOG!

And please consider donating to my Kofi!

#castlevania imagines #castlevania imagine #hector castlevania #hector x reader #dracula castlevania #castlevania x reader

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hereisrachel · 7 months

Text

Vladimir Makarov dating headcanons

Tw : Might be ooc, I try to be as close to canon as possible, Mentions of sexual abuse and physical/verbal abuse, some 🔞, mentions of pregnancy and abortion

- I'll start with saying that yes he could fall in love with you, I don't like labelling villains as COMPLETELY heartless monsters, at the end of the day we're all people and we all feel love

- It won't be as hard as you think it can be honestly

- I think he could fall for you just by you being a woman and following his orders/being loyal to him

- he values loyalty over anything

- If you aren't working for him, he will have no interest in seeing you. He is deeply focused on his job and he will only fall for you if you two are practically forced to talk.

- Makarov will be impressed and glad if you're hard-working. He likes people who value their jobs as much as he does.

- And all of the above? He will absolutely not show it. You work like you should, there is no reason to be happy for that right?

- But when he is stressed and irritated by all of this shit, it's nice to see someone who is devoted to him.

- He needs to be sure that you fell for him as well first, he won't make much moves until that.

- He is smart and calculating, he knows when to strike so he can catch you

- Yeah this is his way of thinking. He treats people like objects, you are not different. He thinks of you as something he can own, as his weapon.

- Is that even love? Maybe it is.

- but he is euphoric when he notices that you seem much softer for him than anyone else.

- It's not good euphoria, it's the kind of euphoria when a wolf finally catches a rabbit after sneaking up on it for months.

- You were partially his from the beggining, as his devoted worker. Now he has you eating from his hand.

- You're loyal as a dog, happy to finally have your owner (well he practically owns you now 😭) and he is happy that he got to have a new toy

- You're an idiot if you think he will treat you good.

- He will treat you like a ragdoll, taking out his anger at you in sexual and non-sexual way

- i don't think he often gets drunk when he has a bad day, but it happens sometimes.

- If you somehow forgive him or be too scared to leave, he'll be pretty normal about it. He never thought of you leaving him.

- but if you try to, he won't let you (obviously) he can get more abusive, possesive, torturing you and locking you in a room.

- If you have a mission thought, he will just leave some bruises on your body and threat you to be sure you'll always come back. After all you are his weapon, he won't let you go to dangerous mission with stab wound right? He takes poor "care" of his toys but he still does.

- He won't give you flowers or take you out on dates (if that wasn't clear yet lmao)

- On good days, he will treat you with some human decency, he has to do it from time to time so you will believe that there is good in him

- He uses this form of manipulation to keep you close to him

- Why thought if he won't let you go anyways? He can't ALWAYS be with you and keep an eye for you. If you want to leave, you eventually will. But he doesn't want to deal with stress of you running away and shit.

- and he can't get his loyal worker to turn way from him

- He doesn't have sex with you often. Believe it or not but sex is his best way of showing his "love" for you. It makes him vulnerable as well and he doesn't exactly want you to see him like that.

- He will relax a bit if you'll like that side of him.

- He is also very often stressed with his work, if he will be a little stressed it'll be the most likely for you two to have sex then. If he is completely stressed out he won't have sex with you, he just wants to rest and it's hard for stressed body to get turned on anyways.

- He will be only rough when he is frustrated, if he's mad, he won't have sex with you as well.

- if you get pregnant, he will force you to abort the fetus no matter how much you scream and kick. He will drag you by your hair and tie you to your bed if he will have to.

- He'll be calm if you also don't want a child.

- so that's basically it, if you are clinically insane, relationship with him won't be so bad. If you are not, well, welcome to a nightmare

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I've been imagining a lot of scenarios while writing it, and I am definitely going to write second part where the relationship is a bit different 👀

‼️I am not glorifying anything in this post, abuse is not something that can get romanticized‼️

#call of duty #vladimir makarov #cod makarov #makarov #makarov cod #makarov x reader #vladimir makarov cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty headcanons #modern warfare ii #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod mw3

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pinkcherryblossom18 · 6 months

Text

I Bet On Losing (You)

Aegon ii Targaryen/Reader

Summary: Another trip, another month of nothing but grueling time spent with a family that neither you nor Aegon truly wish to be part of. A family that pushes you both, to anger and to tears.

I almost cried while writing the ending...take that as you will.

TW: Modern AU, Chubby!Aegon, Angst, Mild fluff, Hints of smut, Miscarriage mention/refrenced, Descriptions of a miscarriage, Past suicidal thoughts, Forced abortion mention, Aegons childhood, Referenced alcoholism, Otto Hightower, Viserys Targaryen. This is some heavy shit.

Word Count: 7.7k

The backseat is full of blankets that Sunfyre has easily taken over with a quick leep from the back where his dog bed is along with his food bowl and water bowl but you knew that Aegon was already going to feed him whatever you two picked up in the five hour drive. Along with Sunfyre and the blankets is a cooler, it’s small and painted red, inside it holds a pack and a half of hard seltzers for both you and Aegon when you two get to the Targaryen summer home. A bottle of rum is also within it but you two have promised not to touch it until you got there as it was your only bottle of actual alcohol for the month. Something that you two had started with in three months of dating and a tip from the fifth AA meeting that you both went to before you both got involved.

Its a vacation that neither of you wanted but one that you two have no choice in as Aemond had threatened Aegon over text and Alicent had made sure to call you every day over the past week, asking for speciality items the two of you may want or wondering if she should perhaps visit, just to help you pack. You had kept the peace and politely turned her down, instead you asked if she was alright and how everything was going and if she had finally gotten some kitchen staff to come to the summer home to help. She hadn’t.

She had been quite certain that you were the only one packing, it wasn’t entirely true but not exactly wrong either. More so it was you having to fold everything when Aegon just tossed his clothes into his suitcase.

A sigh comes from beside you and the hand that you hold in your own squeezes with a strength that most wouldn’t think that the plump frat boy that was Aegon would possess. It doesn’t matter as you squeeze back. Both of you have reserves for this trip; neither one of you wants to go. Both for the same reasons but also your own.

It wasn’t an option though, that was abundantly clear to everyone who attended. Aegon’s father only made it mandatory so that they could all be together for once, so that they actually looked like a family and not a clumped together mess of lies, vices, insults and piercing glares that started physical fights. The only way out was if someone had a life threatening cause that made them stay away or if you were Daeron, you had already been invited somewhere else. The boy had used that excuse since he started high school, always having a reason to be away and you couldn’t blame him.

Two hard seltzers were already opened, they both rested in the cup holders with you both separating hands every once in a while to take a sip, then your hand conjoined once more with ferocity that only came from the clingness that was adopted by anxiety and dread.

Aegon sighed again but you kept staring out of the window. Cars flew past, those in them ranged from color to gender to what they were doing. Some had white skin, others bronze; some were women and some were men and most of them were on their phones or talking to another that was in their car. You wondered what people would think if they looked into Aegon’s car, they would probably see two people who were both frowning with one gripping the wheel so tight that the sound of the leather against flesh was audible and the other looking out the window with sad looking expressions, watching as the cars passed.

It was probably a horrid sight, they most likely thought you two to be displeased with each other, two people going through a rough breakup but forced into a space so small that it was bound to be suffocating. It wasn’t the truth and you both knew it so that was truly all that mattered, it was the upcoming couple of months that was weighing on the both of you like bags of bricks that was close to breaking your backs each time this reunion was set.

Aegon sighed again and you breathed deeply, trying to push off the questions until later when the roads weren’t filled with cars all too close to experience the type of anger that can come from the both of you. But it all seemed inevitable when he sighed once more, again.

You didn’t even move your head off of the window when you asked him: “If you want to say something just say it.”

“I want to say absolutely nothing,” he replied quickly and you rolled your eyes and looked at him. A small quirk of a smile was on his face and you fought to keep one off of yours.

“Oh?” His smile widens more and you lean your head back onto the seat, staring at him as he stares out into the road. “So you're just suddenly having breathing problems?”

He nods. “Which is a good reason to go back home,” he says, eyeing an exit that leads to the opposite direction of your intended location.

You laugh and shake your head at him as he starts to move toward the exit. “Aegon, we’re literally thirty minutes away from the house. Plus your mom would want to visit us if we told her that was the reason,” you state and he sighs.

Shaking his head, Aegon flashes you a small pout that only grows bigger when he faces away from you again. “You have to spoil my plans?” He whines childishly.

You only shrug. “Make up a better plan,” you say and he only scoffs.

Silence takes over the car once more but with an atmosphere that shrouds that tension that had once been there. Small smiles stay on both of your lips and only leave when you both sing along to a song that plays on the radio.

The tension returns when Aegon turns onto the exit and the car approaches the small grove which leads to the house. In any other circumstances, you would have been delighted to visit the God’s Eye, the Riverlands provided beautiful spaces of untouched land surrounding it and it was a popular place for tourists and people on vacation. Houses close to it were expensive and those who held as much wealth as the Targaryens did could secure one.

“How much do you want to bet that mom is going to ambush you with marriage questions an hour after we show up?” He suddenly asks as soon as he turns on the gravel road leading to the house.

You shake your head. “I’m not playing this game.” It always leads to losing at least a hundred and only gaining very little.

“And why not?” He asks, playing innocent too well for who he was.

“Because you cheat,” you shoot at him and Aegon only chuckles.

Aegon never lost at this game, even in the last few years that you two had been playing it you’ve never won. Had never even come close to winning.

Groaning, Aegon gently slaps at your leg in some type of encouragement. “Oh, come on. It’s just a bit of fun,” he says, trying to coax you into his asinine idea of a fun game that only he can win. He knows it too but it’s never stopped him from trying to persuade you.

“Not for my wallet.”

He shoots you an unimpressed look. “Come on, how much?”

You sigh and pull out your phone, ready to record your bets and the money that you’ll probably lose. “I’ll bet ten she’ll wait until tomorrow during lunch to ask me.” Last time she had asked you not even an hour after you two arrived. “How much do you wanna bet that your dad won’t even remember my name?”

Aegon snorts. “That’s unfair, he never remembers.” He pauses before tapping your phone. “Twenty. I bet thirty that Aemond will only speak to us a total of nine times for the entire two months.”

“That’s too easy,” you say, typing down the bet. “How much do you want to bet how long it’s going to take for Otto to mention class structure?”

It had happened as soon as he sat down that first night last year, the year before that he mentioned it before you two had even shown up at the house.

“Forty that he mentions it as soon as he sees you,” he says confidently.

You think about it for a moment. “Fifty that he’ll do it during dinner,” Aegon nods at your words and you add “and Daemon makes fun of him for it.”

“He didn’t last time,” Aegon points out.

“That was because he was too busy staring down your sister's shirt.”

“So?” Aegon shrugs and then a smirk comes onto his face. “I said something and I was staring down your shirt.”

A chuckle comes from you when Aegon glances at your breasts. “That’s because it’s a natural state for you at this point,” you quip and he only shrugs.

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

You shake your head and move his head so that he’s looking at the road, his headlights starting to reflect meaning that you were close to the gates. “Look at the road before you make us crash into a tree.”

“It would at least get us out of this.”

Like every year, you and Aegon are—surprisingly—the first ones out of the rest of his siblings to show up, pardon for Rhaenyra. It’s only her, Daemon and their three youngest children, the eldest three had opted for driving in a less crowded vehicle but forgot that Jace was now living in the North for college so it was taking longer than normal. Rheana and Baela were still in Driftmark with their grandparents but had said that they would be there in a week or two.

The meetings have gone smoothly so far, Rhaenrya was kind and welcoming as usual and Daemon had kept his distance but still made his normal quick quips. Alicent had been the one to greet you two, with a big hug and a smile as she led you inside with Sunfyre following you and leaving Aegon behind with the luggage. She had shown you the new additions to the house, mostly in the kitchen which included more counter space, like it wasn’t already a vast block of wood.

Thankfully, she hadn’t mentioned marriage yet.

Later, you heard the sound of Dreamfyre through the house, then Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes when the boys finally showed up. The only indication that Aemond was here was Vhagar hopping onto your and Aegon’s bed and curling up in a ball right on his pillow. She hissed and scratched at him when he attempted to take her off of his pillow but allowed for you to pull her into your lap, petting languidly at her graying pelt with soft purrs.

Vhagar hissed when Aegon’s hand went near her and you laughed, continuing to stroke the cat’s fur. “That’s unfair,” he pouts.

You shake your head at him and look down at the old cat in your arms. She was old but you never knew how old, all Aemond had told you was that she went through two previous owners in his family before ending up with him. And that Rheana was still upset about the fact that Aemond got her mother’s cat. “She would probably like you more if you didn’t kick her all of the time.”

A snort comes from Aegon and he plops down beside you, making Vhagar grumble before settling down again. “In my defense, I was eight,” he said in self-defense.

“No, you act like you’re eight,” you quip.

A small shriek comes from your lips when Aegon pokes your side. “That’s rude,” he murmurs, his head settling on your shoulder.

“You love it,” you say and he hums in agreement.��

His pale hair spreads over your shoulder like a waterfall, you remember when it was longer before he cut it and sometimes you found yourself missing it. Your hand starts to play with the ends of his hair and chuckle when some strands tickle you under your chin. His eyes open a few seconds later, never truly able to handle silences for too long unless it was in the morning, with you both still dreary from sleep and finding comfort in each other's arms basking in it like you would die without it.

Sometimes his hand would travel downward and trace over your stomach, bringing in a certain sadness to your mornings that not even the greatest of warmths could fix. No other warmth than Aegon’s, who ran hot and held you during nights when the sadness from three years ago settled back in like a tidal wave.

You two could try again, truly you two could. It wouldn’t be difficult considering that you both fucked like rabbits anyways but you couldn’t do it.

Fear lingered heavily on your shoulders everytime Aegon would bring it up, even as something to get you more worked up during sex or it just slipped out. It always ended there and the ruined orgasm was nothing more than a small hindrance to what you felt. To the fear that clung to you like glue; that hovered over you and would shadow you for the rest of your life.

It didn’t matter if it wasn’t your fault.

The anguish followed you everywhere, on every piece of happiness that resembled what you felt when you heard the news. Even with Aegon and him recovering reminded you of your loss, how he was more focused on stopping, wanting to be present, wanting to be there unlike how his father had been. How you both had fallen back into that old routine when it happened, how you both cried all night with a bottle of whiskey in your hands and your arms wrapped around each other.

Those bright blue eyes look up at you, full of stars and adoration. You were sure that if anyone else saw him like this, they would believe that this was Aegon Targaryen, the party clown, the alcoholic, the druggie and man whore. You were sure the same could be said about you. “Yes I do.” He let in for a kiss but then yelped and pulled back with a pained groan. Vhagar growled at him and went to strike him again. “Fucking—Aemond!” He yells and a few seconds later you hear soft steps coming toward your room, Aemond’s was only a few rooms down as he refused to be any closer. “Get your cat before she rips my balls off!”

Aemond glides in with quick strides and scoops Vhagar off of your lap. “That would be an improvement.”

“Hey Aemond,” you greet him and he flashes you a small smile.

“How was the trip?” He asks. “I imagine it was difficult having to deal with two dogs.”

You stifle a laugh behind your hand as you feel Aegon nestling further against your neck, only pulling away for a second to say: “That was actually funny, brother,” with a mocking smile before shoving his face back into the crook of your neck.

In his arms, Vhagar glares at Aegon and then jumps out of Aemond’s arms and leaves. “Not as taxing as usual, one of them was more behaved than usual.” You giggled when Aegon nipped at you with his teeth before relaxing once more. “How was the trip? I heard about that hurricane in the Stormlands, I was meaning to call but never got the time.”

He only shrugs and leans on the door frame. “It was nowhere near me.”

“What grave news for all of us,” Aegon mumbles, hot breath raising hairs on the back of your neck.

You swat Aegon’s back and smile at Aemond. “I’ll talk to you later Aemond,” you say, voice sweet and cautious unlike how Aegon is being.

He nods. “I’ll see you then,” he says and then leaves.

A loud thud echoes throughout the room when you push Aegon off of you and he accidentally falls to the floor, not expecting to be shoved. “Can you not be civil with him?” You ask, exasperated. “Especially with everything that went down a few months ago.”

Aegon pushes himself off of the floor ad lays down on the bed before shrugging. You turn toward him, seeing him propped up against the pillows, your eyes darting to the exposed skin of his stomach for a second before looking back at him. The only indication that he knows is a small smirk on his lips. “He would despise it if I treated him like you and mom do,” he states simply.

“Kindly?”

“Like glass.” Aegon shifts and grabs your ankle, and you scoot closer to him on the bed. “It didn’t work on me, it doesn’t work on him.”

You huff. “Well I can’t comfort him the way I comfort you.”

That smirk on Aegon’s face widens and he moves his face closer to yours, hand finding the back of your thigh and throwing it over his legs. You stumble and fall onto his chest before righting yourself up. “I might be needing some of the comfort now,” he breathes, his eyes catching themselves on your breasts.

“Not going to wait until midnight?” You ask him.

Aegon groans, his head falling back against the pillows. “We always wait until midnight,” he whines.

You shake your head at him. “There’s a reason for that,” you say pointedly.

His head emerges from the pillows, a mischievous smile on his face. “Perhaps if my grandfather hears how I fuck you, he will leave you alone,” he says, his hands starting to push up your shirt.

You push his hands down with difficulty. “Maybe he will say that I am corrupting you,” you counter.

His eyebrow quirks. “Maybe then I can convince father to send him back to Oldtown for retirement as his memory is deteriorating, rapidly.”

A giggle comes from your lips and you lean down, pecking his lips. You go to pull away and almost fail at such a task when Aegon’s hand threads through your hair, wanting to keep you where you are. “Merry Christmas to me then,” you mumble against his lips.

“No one in this family has ever resented early presents,” he says, “this would be put into the photo album as the best one yet.”

You laugh and sit up straight. “That would be your favorite present?”

A lewd smile comes onto his face. “Second to that blowjob you gave me last year,” he says, his smile widening at what you presume to be at the memory of you sucking his brain out of his balls.

You poke his chest. “Your turn this year,” you remind him.

Once more his hands go under your shirt, one going up and the other playing with the top of your pants, waiting to be invited in. “Another early Christmas present,” he hums, his fingers grazing underneath your bra.

Humming, you bend down and kiss his lips once more. “Sure…at midnight,” you say and jump off of him, laughing at the pout on his face.

“Tease,” he shoots at you, hatefully but his lips are upturned.

You blow a kiss at him. “Love you too,” you say before leaving the room.

The dinner table is filled with individual whispers. Awkward glances are exchanged every now and then when one thinks that they have spoken too loudly but despite that, everyone keeps to their own.

Jace, Luke and Joffrey are talking to each other, though it’s mostly only the oldest two and the six years old seems content on listening but not understanding what his older brothers were saying.

Aemond and Helaena are immersed in their own world of bugs, college and whatever else they liked to converse about.

Rhaenyra and Daemon are busy with little Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya but Rhaenyra is exchanging small talk with Alicent.

You and Aegon are talking only to each other, still taking bets and wondering who was going to win the first one. Small quips are made about his family, about what they were doing when they weren’t all together that he somehow knows and what he is sure is going on with his own family. You put little faith into his words but are sure that he’s most likely right about most of it.

All of you are waiting for Otto and Viserys to show up and pretend to be one big happy family for the rest of the dinners that are on their way. The fabrication of feelings was only made for the older man as he was growing only sicker as the days went on, Alicent had spoken to about it during her monthly calls to check up on the both of you.

You’re sure that she’s only calling to make sure that you’re both sober still and not passed out in an alley somewhere like you two would have been four years ago.

Soon enough the door opens and you can hear the sound of a cane tapping against the ground and a scratchy voice followed by another one that sounded more refined and arrogant. Now came the part that everyone despised the most, now card the need to act like you all loved each other to some degree other than mild tepid disinterest that you all held for each other.

The sound stops and in the threshold of the dining room stands Viserys Targaryen. His face was wrinkled and pallid; his structure was seeming to be on the verge of becoming bone thin and even with the cane, he still needed the assistance of Otto Hightower to walk.

A shaky smile was spread over his lips as he looked at the viewage in front of him, finding nothing wrong at all. “Ah, what a joyous sight! All of my family together again,” he says joyfully.

The dinner went downhill from there.

Stories were exchanged. Happenings that were not given to others in the family were talked about and only a few jabs here and there were thrown but not enough to elevate the underground tension that lingered underneath everyone’s skins. The wine flowed freely, everyone besides Alicent, Otto and Helaena were already on their fourth or fifth cup of the red liquid. You and Aegon went through it as slowly as you both could, only refilling your glasses when the other was done with theirs; the two of you were only on your second glasses and still regretfully sober.

You could feel Otto’s eyes on you the entire time, judging and calculating, rounding up whatever he had in his arsenal to eventually fire at you. Alicent was also watching you but was also keeping her eyes on Aegon, watching and perhaps waiting for one of you to slip back into your old habits.

Otto cleared his throat, tearing you away from Helaena who had been telling you of some drama that was happening at her work. “I wasn’t aware that the rabble was still with us this year,” he says smoothly, taking a sip out of his glass.

Aegon’s hand nudged yours, twenty five added to your wallet already. Now Daemon just needed to butt in like usual.

The smile on your face fell and was replaced by a fake one. “Well I’m surprised that you’re here as well Otto, especially eating dinner for the early bird special was only two hours ago,” you say innocently. Chuckles disperse across the table by those who are listening.

A sardonic smile copied your own. “I don’t have a big enough appetite to eat twice,” he remarked.

You nodded. “Many don’t when they get older.”

“And how is college?” He asks. “Still studying…English?”

Your eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, you say and nod toward the top of his head. “Your hair looks great tonight, but I would recommend trying to master the comb over.”

A wicked look comes into his eyes. “How is college?” He asks, taking a sip from his cup.

You shrug. “It’s alright, the classes were different toward the end but I came out on top.”

“Not a common occurrence,” Aegon mutters beside you.

Alicent gasps. “Aegon!” She chides.

Aegon only raises his hands up in surrender. “Simply stating a fact mother, you have always told me not to lie,” he says cheekily.

She only sighs, a changrine look on her normally perfectly molded face as she looks away from her eldest son.

Under the table, Aegon passes you twenty five dollars and you grin in satisfaction.

It’s a few minutes later when you are halfway through your meal that Alicent turns back toward the both of you. A look is in her eyes that helps to remind you that she is Otto’s daughter.

With her hands clasped in front of her, she peers at the both of you thoughtfully and you reach into your pocket, ready to hand Aegon his bet money. “Have you two considered…moving along in your relationship?” She asks, sounding hopeful for the news that she has pestered you both about for two years now.

Aegon shakes his head and plucks the ten out of your fingers from under the table. “No mother, we still aren’t ready yet,” he says calmly.

A disappointed look is on her face, all of the hope and yearn draining out quickly. “After four years?” She asks, her voice slick with confusion. “I married your father after a year.”

“Months,” Aegon whispers to you.

At the same time you tell her: “We just aren’t ready yet, Mrs. Targaryen. With college and work, life is just too busy at the moment,” you explain, hoping that this will be the last she will bring it up.

“The AA meetings must take much of your time as well,” Otto says slyly.

Agitation nips at your heels with barbed teeth, making them bleed and hoping that you will soon see nothing but red. “They do but we only go on Wednesdays and Saturdays,” you explain to him, trying to keep your voice even.

Otto opens his mouth once more but Jace intervenes with a gliding grace. “I met someone,” he announces and everyone’s attention goes toward him.

“Really?” Aegon asks in disbelief.

“Who is it?” You ask, hitting Aegon on the arm.

“What is she like?” Rhaenyra asks, a bright smile on her face.

Jace breathes deeply. “His name is Cregan, he’s on the hockey team,” he says and everyone stops in their tracks for a moment.

“He?” Alicent asks and a quick glance toward the end of the table, you see Otto’s lips curl up in disgust.

Jace nods. “Yes, he.”

The smile on Rhaenyra’s face is still bright when she asks: “When can we meet him?”

A smile is on Jace’s face, relief is in it. “He’s in Winterfell right now with his family but he should be free soon.”

Alicent nods. “Well we have more than enough room Jace, it would be nice to meet your…friend,” she says slowly.

“I had a male friend once,” Aegon pipes up, “the memories still make me—

“Aegon!” Alicent shouts, her eyes darting toward you.

You sink into your seat as Aegon places his arm on the back of it. “Oh she doesn’t mind, we’ve had our own play dates with our male friends before,” he says and you feel an overcoming heat on your cheeks from both embarrassment and the memory.

A groan comes from the chair from the end of the table as Viserys leans forward, looking toward his second son. “Ah Aemond, how is Alys?” He asks.

The air grows stiff as everyone stills, even Aegon stops in his laughing tracks and stares at his brother. Worry paints his eyes and you're sure that he would be ready to assist his brother should he need it. “I wouldn’t know,” Aemond states, his face an absent canvas of burdening pain.

Viserys only looks disappointed, seemingly not noticing the breath that the rest of the table holds. “Well that’s unfortunate, she was quite lovely,” he remarks.

At that, Aegon pushes away from the table and stands before reaching down to grab your hand. “Excuse us,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically choleric.

Alicent’s eyebrows furrow as Aegon pulls you out of your seat. “Where are you going?” She asks, concern lining her voice.

Aegon only brushes that concern away and starts to leave, bringing you with him. “Somewhere where I don’t want to pull my brains out of my ears. Come on,” he whispers to you.

“It was nice seeing you again,” you say to the table before turning toward Helaena. “I’ll talk to you later, Hel.”

Aegon pulls you out of the room and down the hall toward the stairs. His jaw is set tightly, anger toward his father plain in every muscle of his body as you two go up the stairs.

He pulls open the door into your room and pushes you up against the door once it is closed. “You are one of the rudest men that I know,” you joke.

A grin comes onto his face but his fury is still evident. “Must not know many men then,” he remarks.

“Aegon—”

He cuts you off by mashing his lips with your own, stopping your words as he releases all of his anger that he possibly can into one kiss. Your arms go around his neck and pull him closer and you two only part if it is entirely necessary.

Pulling you toward the bed, you pull away from his lips with heavy hesitance. “It’s not midnight yet,” you tell him.

He only shrugs and pushes you down on the bed before glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s seven, close enough,” he remarks before grabbing your jaw in his hand and kissing you hard.

Sunfyre has made his home in your lap despite being too big to fit. Not that he cares. The golden only tries to snuggle in further whenever you try to push him off of your lap and you know exactly who he learned that from.

The sound of the shower is starting to lull you into a daze and a yawn falls out of your lips, a sudden tiredness starting to cling to your bones. You settle against the pillows and close your eyes, water hitting porcelain, the weight on your lap along with the slight nip in the air combined with the heat the Sunfyre is giving you; a light sleep comes to you easily.

It’s the sound of the door to the bathroom hitting the wall that makes you jolt awake and Sunfyre finally gets off of your lap. You look toward the direction of the noise and see Aegon staring at you sheepishly.

You shake your head at him and then let your eyes drift down toward the wet landscape of his torso. Droplets of water cling to his pale skin and drip down every now and then, making your eyes follow them. They fall over his shoulders and down between his chest and over his stomach, traveling over the slight bulge and finally being taken by the towel wrapped around his waist, something that you’re surprised that he’s even wearing.

Aegon looks at you, amused. “Do you have no shame?” He asks, striding toward the bed with a smirk on his face. His hand plays with the towel around his waist, looking ready to drop it at any second; no matter if you tell him to or not.

You roll your eyes at him. “Do you?” You ask, leaning up on your elbows, jostling Sunfyre who only grumbles unhappily before settling down again.

He places his hand on his heart, looking at you with mock offense. “Of course I do, I’m a proper gentleman after all,” he says, kneeling on the bed, moving closer to you with every beat of your heart.

A small snort comes from you and your arms wrap around his neck when he props himself above you slightly. “Yeah and I’m queen of the seven kingdoms.” He hums softly as his lips meet yours,digging into you with everything that he has. Grasping onto your sides and pushing a grumpy Sunfyre out of your lap so that he could take the dog's place. You pull away, hand massaging the back of his neck and the back of his scalp. “How bad do you think this is going to be?” You ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “On a scale of one to ten?” He laughs and kisses you once more before sliding off of the bed. “Twenty six.”

You flop back down on the pillows, letting out a long sigh. “That’s not reassuring,” you whine before turning your head to watch as Aegon changes. The clothes he takes out are fairly simple, he doesn’t truly care to dress up for his family much. Only for galas or certain restaurants does he care to dress up to the nines, always tempting you throughout the night.

As you watch him, your fingers start to intertwine and trepidation builds up in your very core. Nervous for the dinner and the looks that Otto has given you for the past month that you two had been at the vacation house. All of them were slimy and cruelly calculating. It was only a matter of time until he mentioned what happened. He had last year and you both had left early, that was the second year you two couldn’t make it through an entire month alone with Aegon’s family.

“Do you think he’ll bring it up again?” You ask Aegon.

Aegon huffs and you watch as red starts to color his pale cheeks, his fists clenching around a freshly pressed shirt, no doubt wrinkling it. “I hope not.” He shakes his head and scoffs. “He better not or I’ll bash his already flat face in.”

Pushing off of the bed, you walk toward him before wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You press a kiss against his shoulder blade and he looks over at you. “My hero,” you whisper, smiling into his skin.

The dinner goes as it always does, separate chatter among chosen groups with very little intermingling. Jace talks to you every now and then or even Baela who had only shown up with Rheana two nights ago. Helaena makes an effort to speak to you as well and a few sentences are exchanged between you and Aemond but not enough to win you that bet.

You don’t converse with Rhaenrya or Daemon, not even to Alicent who wasn’t speaking with anyone. Otto was even talking, seldom only to Helaena and Viserys but that still weighed something. Her shoulders were sagged, the pressure of cooking, cleaning and managing getting to her more over the last week now that the rush of conforming to a new schedule and making sure that everyone was settled was over. She had even taken your request for help when she was cooking dinner, truly showing that she was starting to get into the stressed stages of the trip.

It's a few minutes later when you all start dessert that Viserys clinks his spoon against his glass and stands. Daemon and Otto sit up in alert, ready to catch the older man should he fall away from his wobbly legs.

With a groan of pain, Viserys raises up his glass, ready to do a toast that always marks the first month of the trip.

Alicent stares at Aegon, waiting for something to happen as you both rarely ever stay this long. Normally, you two would have left last week, over all of the bullshit that circles around the family. The bullshit that Aegon says had started his whole drinking problem.

Viserys clears his throat and a weak smile forms on his lips. “It brings me unattainable comfort to see you all here for these two months. All together again as friends, family, cousins, uncles, fathers and mothers. It’s a sight that I do not get to see often,” he says and you smile warily.

A quick glance around the table shows that everyone is doing much the same.

And Alicent is still staring at Aegon.

Viserys seems to not notice it and his smile only grows bigger, warmer even. No matter if the words that he says are nothing but spit in everyone else's food. “To my family, it is always a joy and pleasure to be around you all.”

He goes to take a sip from his drink and the rest of you go to follow but a whisper makes it to your ears.

“That’s bullshit,” the whisper snaps.

The table goes silent, all of you stopping in your very tracks.

Alicent glares at her son. “Aegon,” she whispers harshly at him but Aegon isn’t looking at her.

His eyes remained focused on his father, narrowed and of poisoned hate that you almost wonder if Aegon had ever even loved his father. If he had at any point in time, it doesn’t show.

Stopping his action, Viserys looks at his eldest son. The son that he had killed his first wife for, only to have one with another woman. The son he sought for but never ever truly wanted when it came to competition with his eldest daughter. “What did you say?” He asks, his voice a cold that you had never heard come from him. It didn’t match him; his face, his body, his very demeanor but it sent chills down your back anyways.

Slowly, Aegon stands up and blue meets blue in a harsh battle of dominance and emotions padded with soft fluff that's finally deteriorated and grown into a poisonous black mold. “I said that’s bullshit. Family,” he scoffs and then shakes his head, “we don’t even know what that word means.”

You reach up and grab his hand, those harsh eyes meet yours and watch blankly as you shake your own head. Not here, you hope he can see. Not here, not now. Not like this.

He doesn’t seem to understand your meaning and faces his father again.

“Aegon, sit down,” Alicent says harshly, backing down when Aegon settles a glare on her.

A dark look painted his features as he shook his head, the jerking motion making you grip tighter on his hand. “No, you might all pretend that this is nothing more than a slight inconvenience but we all know the truth: this is the worst two months of our lives every year.” A cruel laugh passes his lips and he runs a hand through his hair. “Why do you think Daeron never shows up? If you remember him.”

Viserys looks at Aegon, offended. “Of course I do,” he defends quickly, unconvincingly.

“You liar!” Aego shouts and Viserys flinches. “You know you can have all of the speeches you want but we all know who they’re really for. You’re perfect Rhaenyra.” You glance at the woman, she only looks at the table and Daemon looks at Aegon murderously. “Rhaenyra who has never done anything wrong in her life. The perfect heir, the perfect child. The perfect whore.”

Daemon jerks out of his seat and Jace follows him with a large crashing sound from his fists hitting the table. “That’s enough,” Jace warns.

Aegon is still only looking at his father. “Come on, those are no Velaryons but they look quite similar to her old bodyguard. What was his name again sister?” He asks, turning toward Rhaenyra. “Harwin? I think that’s it.”

The next to stand is Alicent, fire in her eyes as she leans across the table to look at her son. “Aegon, you have said quite enough. Make your peace and be done with it,” she snaps at him.

Aegon only nods but it is not submissive, he is far from done. “Yes mother, I have made my peace with Rhaenyra but can you say the same?” He asks her and Alicent doesn’t respond but doesn’t sit down either. Aegon ignores that and looks back at his father. “My perfect wife and my perfect kids, that was what you would say to your clients during galas but it isn’t true is it?”

He points as he talks, starting with his second brother. “Aemond fucked a woman twenty years older than him and got her knocked up. Helaena is so high all of the time that she can barely walk in a straight line. Daeron is never here, he would rather be anywhere but here!” He shouts.

It is now that he looks at his mother again, a cruel smirk on his face. “Mother—oh mother,” he leans closer to his mother and it is then that you can see just how much they look alike, “you still crave that realm's delight don’t you?”

Viserys bangs his fists on the table. “Sit down Aegon or I swear—

“Swear what?” Aegon snaps. “I always knew I was going to get disowned at some point, so that doesn’t scare me. Perhaps you’ll swear that you’ll make sure my girlfriend has a miscarriage again. Well you and Otto.”

The table goes quiet and tears start to prick at your eyes, phantom pain caused by the tea that Viserys had handed to you that day causing you to taste bile on your tongue.

The pain comes back tenfold, as does the feeling of blood running down your legs and the screams that tore your throat open as you laid there on the bathroom floor in Rhaenyra’s arms, sobbing profusely as Alicent went out searching for her son.

The ride to the hospital is fresh and clear in your mind. The fact that you could have died is a whisper in your brain, fresh and still cutting jagged lines into you. The doctor had only meant to soothe you but all you had wanted was to join your child in a similar fashion.

A similar fate.

The hangover from when you were released from the hospital and went straight toward the bottle is still loud and clear to you. The jackhammer against your skull when you woke up on the couch, curled into Aegon and wanting nothing more than to go home still throbs whenever you look at a bottle of whiskey.

The funeral had been fast, you didn’t want to be there longer than you had to be. The small, dead baby lying in the even smaller casket had you throwing up.

Little Aenar Targaryen, a little boy who had never had the chance to take a single breath of air, never got to even meet his parents who loved him like no other.

Little Aenar Targaryen who never got his little stuffed dragon that his grandmother had made for him—the stuffed dragon that you threw away in a sobbing rage a few months after the funeral—or the room in his new home that you and Aegon had made so meticulously with the help from Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, Alicent and Rhaenyra. Who had never got to see the handmade butterflies Helaena had made him or lie in the crib that took his father and two uncles to build. Never got to see the walls that you, Alicent and Rhaenyra hand painted a wonderful light blue color—the color was no longer there, neither was the crib or the butterflies.

All because of your blood. Your status.

Otto would have rather seen you and his great grandchild dead than alive and full of blood not tainted by the blue that he and the rest of his family carried. He hadn’t failed to remind you of such a thing in the years since, only managing to make you and Aegon leave early and not come back until it was necessary.

Though it wasn’t Otto this time. It was Aegon.

In all of his pent up rage and padded room full of wrath that were straightjacketed to the walls, the miscarriage had been the biggest and burliest of them all. More likely to burst out of its confinement and it was only second to Aegon’s childhood, full of neglect and mental abuse that had started his drinking problem at the ripe age of twelve.

A small sniffle and a squeeze of your hand made Aegon look at you and all of the rage went away in a flash. Regret replacing it. “Aegon, stop,” you whispered to him, your voice raspy with the straining effort not to cry. “Please.”

He nods and faces the rest of his family. “Goodnight family, it was a true joy and pleasure to see you again,” he says curtly before storming off, the sound of the dining room doors slamming sounding his departure.

Pity is all that you see when you look around you after Aegon leaves. Alicent is reaching towards you when you stand up. “Excuse me,” you say before leaving the room swiftly.

Aegon is throwing clothes into your suitcases when you get to your room. Every single item is piled on top of each other but you can't bring yourself to care like normal. “We’re leaving,” Aegon says harshly, clearly expecting it to be someone else.

“Yeah I kinda figured that,” you whisper and Aegon whips around.

He quickly gathers you in his arms, squeezing you against his body, like he's trying to protect you from his own words. His hand is a soothing and clutching presence as it grips your hair, fingers scratching in the same rhythm as your tears. “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t do it anymore,” he whispers to you before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You pull back and smile slightly when Aegon’s thumbs start to wipe away your tears. “I know but Aegon, do you know what could happen?”

He shrugs. “I get kicked out of the family Christmas picture, that’s the most that he’ll do. The rest of them…I’d leave now just in case Aemond decides to slash my tires,” he jokes and you chuckle at him.

“That would keep you here,” you quip.

“Of course, perhaps he’ll do it when he passes by Kings Landing on his way back to the Stormlands.”

A laugh bursts out of you. “You’re awful.”

“I know.” He grabs your hand and the suitcase, the rest could be left here, none of it was truly important and Alicent would more than likely send it to you during their second month in this hellscape. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen

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