#I assure you I understand nothing at this exam | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aemondloverr · 25 days ago

Text

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐭. 𝐕

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟔 • 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒 • 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 <- sign yourself up!!

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: I shall say NOTHING, lest I spoil the story 🤐

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: (unfortunately) just fluff, sad and tipsy but VERY jealous Cregan, and you know the routine by now, bratty Jace. But he’ll fix his attitude soon enough.

𝐰𝐜: 𝟒.𝟗𝐤

𝐀/𝐍: I’m sorry I was gone so long y’all 😓 updates will be kind of slow until the school year ends because I have AP exams coming up and things like that. I need to be locked in rn

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩:

"So... How was your hunt?" You ask, to shift the conversation away from you. You need a moment to slow your heart and compose yourself before you start stumbling over your words at his proximity.

"Quite large. Five wlk, a boar, and two does, all in one day. It was an excellent hunt."

"Do you think yours is the largest?" you already know, something else of his is definately large

Cregan scoffs, his confidence unshaken by the question as he responds without hesitation.

"I know it is. No one else will have a kill as impressive as mine, I can assure you of that.

"Well you'd better hope I think so."

The guests find their seats and settle in for an evening of celebration and merriment. The air is filled with the buzz of conversation and the sound of laughter.

"Bring out the hunters game!"

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

The doors to the great hall swing open once more, and the commotion of applause and chatter begin to grow louder. Servants step forth, carrying trays upon trays, laden with venison and boar, the meat sizzling and smelling quite appetizing. On other trays, the heads of the game are laid out, antlers displayed prominently upon a separate table for all to see. As they approach the stairs of the high table, they stop to present them to you.

You clap and the crowd follows suit, applause and cheers filling the air as they all express their approval and admiration. The men from the hunting party, including Cregan, all sit up a bit straighter, egos growing from the praise as they wait for the verdict.

“Hunters, you’ve all done me a great honor, but only one of you will get to dance…”

One by one, you eliminate platter after platter of the lesser sizes of game. Each Hunter sits on the edge of their seat, wondering if they’ll be the next to be eliminated. The servants nod, understanding your command. They move forward, removing the large and impressive stag’s head from the table and carrying it away.

Out of 30, only and an elk remain, and the amount of moose meat is a considerably large amount.

“Who is the hunter of the moose and who is the hunter of the elk?” You call out.

The hunters all look at each other, sizing up the competition and silently wondering who will win. Some of them glance at Cregan, their eyes filled with envy and a hint of jealousy. Cregan himself, however, does not look nervous or concerned.

One of the hunters finally speaks up, his voice loud and clear.

"The moose is mine, my lady. And the elk is Lord Stark’s.”

“Well moose hunter. Congratulations.”

The hunter's face lights up with pride and joy, a wide grin spreading across his face. He nods in gratitude, his eyes filled with appreciation for your choice. The rest of the hall claps and cheers, congratulating him and his impressive kill.

Cregan, on the other hand, looks at you with a mix of surprise and disappointment. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but the look in his eyes is unmistakable.

Though moose are significantly larger, this moose was on the smaller side but had about the same amount of meat as the large elk did. The only thing different was the

“The antlers are magnificent. Have them removed and displayed above my mantel in my chambers please.”

The servants nod and move to obey your command, carefully removing the impressive set of antlers from the moose and carrying them away. The hunter watches, a satisfied smile on his face, clearly pleased to have his kill displayed in such a prestigious place as your own chambers

Cregan continues to look at you with frustration, his eyes fixed on you as if trying to understand why you chose the younger hunter over him. He must only be 18, a bit older than Jace.

“What is your name…?” You ask the young man.

The young hunter bows his head respectfully, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as he realizes he hasn’t yet introduced himself.

"My name is Owen, my lady," he replies, his voice soft and humble.

“Owen who.”

"Owen Cerwyn, my lady," he says, his blush deepening slightly as he continues to stand before you. The other hunters also watch you, each of them no doubt wondering why you didn’t choose them.

“Have the antlers of the elk displayed below the moose antlers” you command once again to the staff.

Ouch. That must sting.

The servants once again nod in understanding, quickly moving to obey your command. The antlers from the elk are quickly removed and brought to the hearth of your chambers, where they are placed below the antlers from the moose, creating an impressive and eye-catching display.

“We shall share a dance after the feasting; for your magnificent hunting!”

His face lights up, a wide smile spreading across his face. He bows deeply, his eyes filled with gratitude and joy.

“Thank you, my Princess. It would be an honor to dance with you.”

Owen nods, his excitement and happiness almost palpable. The other hunters watch, some with jealousy and frustration, and others with respect, as Owen is granted the honor of dancing with you. Cregan, in particular, can’t keep the hint of annoyance from his eyes as he glances from you to the boy.

“Shall we, everyone?” You announce to the lords and ladies. “Let us feast!”

The crowd of nobles and guests cheer and clap, their excitement building as the anticipation grows for the feast that is sure to follow. Servants flood in from the kitchen with platters of food. The guests' eyes widen with delight at the sight and smell of the various dishes. Roasted meats, fresh breads, colorful salads, and steaming stews all adorn the tables. The scent of spices and herbs fills the air, making the mouths of those present water in anticipation.

The guests quickly begin to serve themselves, loading up their plates with food and settling into their seats to eat. Conversation and laughter fill the air as the feast truly begins.

Goblets are already being refilled with wine and ale for those who desire it. The atmosphere is joyous and cheerful, everyone enjoying themselves amidst the abundance of food and drink. Except for one person.

You take a bit of venison, bread and vegetables off of the platters on the table and your cup is filled with wine.

Looking to Jace to check if he’s fixed his attitude, he notices your gaze and looks back at you, his eyes curious.

“See. It’s not so bad.”

Jace rolls his eyes but can't keep a small smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. He glances at the food on your plate, then looks at his own plate, which is piled high with roasted meats and bread. He sighs before responding. "It's... not awful, I suppose." He’s holding back a smile and you can tell.

“Not awful?? Look at you with your plate piled high!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Well... I may have gotten a bit carried away," he admits.

You then turn to Cregan who’s still stunned by his loss. He turns his gaze to you as you address him. He tries to keep a neutral expression on his face, but the hint of sadness in his eyes does not escape your notice. He nods in acknowledgement, waiting for you to speak.

“What about you? How do you think it tastes?”

Cregan looks at his own plate for a moment, which is just as piled high with food as Jace's. He hesitates for a moment before answering, as if debating how honest he should be.

"It's..." he pauses, taking a bite of a piece of meat before continuing. "It's satisfactory, I suppose."

“Good..” you chuckle awkwardly and nod, a small, slightly strained smile on your face.

As you look around the hall, you see the guests enjoying their food, laughing and chatting amongst themselves as they eat. Some of them seem to be already feeling the effects of the ale, their faces flushed and their laughter getting a little louder and more rowdy as time goes on.

Servants continue to move around the tables, refilling goblets and clearing away empty platters and plates, ensuring that the feast continues smoothly.

Meanwhile, Cregan begins to have more ale himself, more than he should. He grabs his goblet and takes a long, deep drink from it, emptying the contents before setting it back down on the table with a thud. He looks like he's trying to drown his disappointment and frustration, eyes fixed on his empty cup as if willing it to refill itself with more alcohol.

You reach out and take a sip of your own wine. You can feel the tingling of the alcohol start to spread through your body, a pleasant, buzzing sensation that’s is a welcome distraction from the tension and awkwardness of the situation with Cregan.

*****

Soon after, it’s time for the dancing, your favorite part of every feast.

As the guests finish up their meals, a murmur of excitement starts to spread through the hall, and they move to clear the space in the center of the room.

You stand once again and stop at the top of the steps. Owen, who had been chatting with some of the other hunters at their table, notices you waiting and quickly makes his way over, bowing respectfully before you.

You take Owen's extended hand, and as soon as your fingers touch, the soft, melodic notes of a traditional Northern dance begin to fill the hall.

Other guests join in, dancing together. Those who aren't dancing clap along to the beat of the music, the sound of their applause adding to the energy and atmosphere of the room.

You hold onto Owens shoulder and he takes your hand and guides you through the dance, his other hand resting firmly around your waist.

“You’re quite the dancer, my Lord” He smiles embarrassingly instead of confidently now, a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“You think so…?” He questions

“Aye. I do think so”

Owen is quick to look away now, avoiding eye contact with you so as to not turn even more red than he already is.

Cregan, watching from the sidelines, takes another swig from his goblet, his eyes fixed on you and Owen as you dance together. The muscles in his jaw clench slightly, and it's obvious that he's struggling to keep his jealousy and disappointment hidden as he watches you with another man.

It should’ve been him.

You and Owen laugh as you continue to dance, the enjoyment of the moment contagious as the music reaches its peak. You can see the other guests smiling and clapping, clearly impressed and entertained by your performance together on the dance floor. It's a moment of levity and lightheartedness, a brief respite from the tension and politics of the kingdom.

He holds you closer, his grip on your waist firm and sure. You can feel the heat of his body against yours, his breath on your skin. Seeing a princess like you enjoy your time with him makes him a happy man. A very smitten one too.

As the song comes to an end, you and Owen come to a stop, both of you slightly out of breath but smiling widely. The sound of applause fills the air as the guests cheer and clap, their appreciation for your dance evident in their enthusiastic response. Owen lets go of your waist, but he still keeps his hand gently wrapped around yours.

He bows before you once again,then helps you up the stairs.

“How did I do?”

Owen looks at you, a satisfied smile on his face. "You were amazing," he says, his eyes filled with genuine admiration and appreciation. "You moved with such grace and elegance, as if you were born to dance. I've never had a more beautiful dance partner."

He bends down to press a soft, gentlemanly kiss on the back of your hand, his lips lingering for a moment before he straightens up again.

You’re caught off guard by his bold gesture and your cheeks warm. “Have a nice rest of your evening, Lord Cerwyn.”

Owen bows once more, a smile still on his face. "Thank you, Princess," he says, his eyes fixed on you for a moment longer before he turns to join the dance.

While the other guests get up to participate in the line dances, you decide to sit back and watch, clapping along with the music as the guests dance in the middle of the room. Some move with surprising rhythm, seemingly well-versed in the steps of the dance. Others are a bit more clumsy, more chaotic and uncoordinated, but their enjoyment and enthusiasm are infectious nonetheless.

Jace doesn’t seem to care all that much for Owen. He’s just glad to see you with someone who isn’t Cregan. Cregan on the other hand, had been watching the entire interaction, and is clearly seething with jealousy and anger. His fingers gripping his goblet tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.

At some point, he can't take it any longer. Owen, making eyes with you from across the room while he dances in the circle. You, seeming to like it. He pushes his chair back with a loud scrape against the floor, the sound cutting through the noise of the feast like a knife. He stands up abruptly.

He raises his arm, signaling for the music to stop and for the guests to quiet down. The room falls silent, and all eyes turn towards Cregan, waiting to hear what he has to say.

"Lords and ladies," he says, his gaze scanning the room as he addresses the guests. "The evening has grown late, and it's time to bring the feast to a close."

As Cregan finishes speaking, murmurs of disappointment and slight confusion ripple through the crowd. However, you quickly step in to ease the awkwardness. “Thank you all for joining me but as Lord Stark has said, it is indeed quite late, and I think it's time for us all to retire for the night..."

You knew he’d get upset, but ending the feast? That was unexpected. At most you thought he’d leave.

The guests nod in agreement to your words, some of them still clearly disappointed that the feast is coming to an end, but most seem to understand. They begin to murmur their goodbyes and thanks, some still lingering for a moment at their tables while others make their way towards the doors.

“Jace, you should probably get to bed. I’ll be up soon, okay?”

Jace yawns and nods in agreement. "You're right, I am feeling quite tired," he says, getting up from his chair and heading towards the great keep.

You rise from your seat at the high table, and as you make your way towards the doors, the guests bow and curtsy to you, their voices blending into a chorus of "Good night, my Lady.” And “Goodnight, Princess.” You continue to smile graciously at them, acknowledging their farewells and polite gestures as you and Jace exit the hall and make your way out.

Cregan remains behind, still stewing in his emotions. He's a bit unsteady on his feet due to the amount of ale he's consumed. He stumbles out of the hall after you, his steps unsteady and his mind a tangle of thoughts and feelings. The ale he's consumed has numbed his better judgment and loosened his inhibitions, making him more impulsive than usual. He follows you down the dimly lit corridors and outside, his eyes fixed on your retreating figure as he struggles to keep up with your pace.

“You're tipsy. Clearly.” you call out behind you “You should go to sleep…”

Cregan is a few feet behind you, and you can hear the unevenness in his voice as he responds. "I'm not that tipsy," he retorts, his tone slightly defiant. Despite the slur in his words, he stumbles forward a few more clumsy steps as he tries to catch up to you.

“You’ve had too much to drink. Go. Home.”

"I'm fine," Cregan insists, his voice a bit petulant. He tries to take another step forward, but his leg catches on something and he almost loses his balance, only catching himself at the last moment by grabbing onto a nearby wall. Despite this, he pushes on, still determined to keep following you.

You walk towards the Godswood, and Cregan follows closely behind, still stumbling and hiccuping as he tries to keep pace with you. The cool air of the night seems to do nothing to sober him up, and his steps become more and more uncertain the closer you get to the Godswood.

"Wait," he calls out, voice a low and hoarse

You hear Cregan call out to you, but you keep walking, as you approach the entrance. Behind you, Cregan's footsteps become more rushed and urgent, the alcohol in his system spurring him on despite the rational part of his mind telling him to stop.

“Please…wait-”

You slow down your pace, and within seconds, Cregan is right behind you, the heat emanating from his body almost tangible as he closes the gap between you both. He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. He reaches out and grabs your arm, his grip desperate as he tries to turn you around to face him.

“What do you want so badly? Why are you following me??” You face him and speak, trying your best not to yell in his face.

How could he do what he did to you and still seemingly be worried about you? It doesn’t make sense.

"Why did you dance with Owen...?"

“Because I said I would dance with whoever hunted the largest game.”

Cregan's eyes narrow at your response, his jaw clenching as a scowl darkens his features. His grip on your wrist tightens even further.

"But why didn't you dance with me?" he spits out, his words edged with jealousy. He draws another step closer, his breath coming in ragged puffs smelling heavily of ale.

Cregan, unlike most men, isn’t the kind of person who becomes violent when intoxicated. Instead, his emotions are unfiltered, his words more honest and open than usual. As he looks at you through his glassy, bloodshot eyes, there's a rawness to his expression, a vulnerability that he might never show sober.

“Lord Fucking Owen…” he spits out the name like its poison. “With his perfect hair and stupid fancy clothes.” He mimics a simpering expression, clearly mocking him. “And you were smiling up at him like he hung the fucking moon…”

He takes another step closer to you, closing the gap between you so that you're almost touching him. His grip on your wrist loosens slightly, his fingers now barely touching your skin as if he's struggling to keep himself from reaching out and touching you more.

"Why didn't you choose me...?"

“The moose was larger Cregan.”

"So it's all about the moose?" he spits out. "You would have danced with me if my kill was bigger than his? Was mine not good enough for you?"

“It was great. That is why I’m displaying it, but it wasn’t large enough to win. Those were the rules. If you wanted me to dance with you so badly, you should’ve offered.”

Cregan huffs, his expression turning sulky and almost childlike as his feelings of jealousy and hurt take over. He grumbles under his breath, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, his grip still firm.

"Why should I have asked you?" he mutters, his voice petulant and a bit whiny. "You clearly would have said no."

“Well…” He’s kinda right. You probably would’ve dismissed his advances, trying to keep your feelings for him at bay.

"See? You would have said no..."

He pulls you closer, his fingers gripping your wrist more tightly, his eyes searching your face as if he's trying to read your thoughts.

"Maybe l'd have considered if you did..." you say , but that’s just a lie to make him feel better.

Cregan scoffs, clearly not believing your words, his sense of rejection and frustration making him irritable and stubborn. He crosses his arms, his expression turning sullen and pouty. "Sure you would," he mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

As he continues to brood, a question seems to pop into his mind, one that you’d dismissed and argued with him about that morning before going to wintertown.

"Why did you even offer yourself up at breakfast, anyway?" he mutters.

“Are we seriously going to have the conversation again? It was exciting for your people and I didn’t see any objections. You'll keep your kitchen's store of meat full for quite some time.”

"I don't care if we have more meat," he mutters, his voice low and rough. "I care about you giving yourself as a prize to another man."

Your heart warms a bit, knowing how much he cares “You act as if I offered marriage.”

Cregan's expression turns even darker, his jealousy and possessiveness spiking at your words. He glares at you.

"You might as well have offered marriage with the way he held you like you were his… And what gives you the right to make decisions about my kitchen's stores, hm? You're a guest here, not the lady of Winterfell."

"Would you stop raising your voice-“

"Don't tell me what to do. I'll raise my voice if I damn well please. You don't get to come here and order me around."

You pull your arm away from him and continue walking, Cregan's frustration mounts. He follows after you, his footsteps heavy and a bit unsteady, his alcohol-addled mind fueling his irritation and making it difficult to rein in his emotions

"You’re throwing a tantrum like a child. You don't get to tell me what is and isn't ladylike. This is tradition. Don't get upset because I didn't dance with you."

Cregan scoffs at your words, reaching out to grab your arm again, gripping it tightly in his large hand as he pulls you to a stop.

"I'll tell you what’s ladylike," he snaps, his voice low and rough. "You're a princess, not a piece of cattle to be traded off to the highest bidder."

“Oh please. You wouldn’t know what’s good for me if your life depended on it.”

"Oh really? And you're the expert on what's good for you, are you?" he retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're so damn stubborn and infuriating sometimes. You never listen to anyone, do you? Do you have any idea how many men out there would’ve gladly taken advantage of your offer? Of you?”

His mouth twists into a sneer as his irritation gets the better of him, and he mutters under his breath.

“Lady like…don’t make me laugh” he scoffs, voice low with words intended to bait and provoke you.

Despite this, you don’t fall for it, instead opting for silence instead.

"You know, it'd be easier if you hated me outright…”

You almost freeze at what he said, surprised by his sudden shift in tone, from defensive and rude to apologetic and regretful. You didn’t hate him. Just what he did. But he didn’t know that.

He rubbed his forehead wearily, as if trying to massage away his thoughts. "Half the time I think you despise me, the other half... fuck, I don't know."

He waits for a few more seconds but you don’t say anything.

“Would you at least answer me? …You know, most women would talk back. Or hit me. Or-“

A slap. Right across his cheek. The slap snapped his head to the side and his face registered shock for a brief moment but he didn't move otherwise. It stung painfully and jolted him out of his drunken haze.

The only thing you could think as you stood there is that he deserved it.

"Just talk to me. Stop acting like a child and talk to me!" he yells

You explode at his hypocrisy. You’re the one acting like a child? How could he say that when he was drunkenly and desperately following you around like he’s a lost dog.

“You really want me to talk? Fine.” You jab a finger at his chest. “How about we talk about the way you're acting like everything is okay?? You act like you never left. You think I forgot??”

"I know you didn't forget it! Every glance, every cold shoulder - you've been fuckin' throwing it in my face since you got here!" He runs a hand through his hair, struggling to explain himself.

“I don’t know what you wanted me to do - come crawling back, covered in fucking apologies and flowers? Is that what you fucking wanted?"

“YES! IS THAT SO HARD??”

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths as you stared up at him. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stood there. Then, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, he spoke.

"I was sorry, okay? I am sorry, that I left, sorry I let you down, sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. But I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m here…" His voice cracked, the dam of his emotions breaking.

“Just stop-”

"Don't," he pleaded, his voice hoarse and vulnerable as he took a step closer. "Stop treating me like I'm some stranger. I fucked up, alright? I fucked up and I know it." His hands moved as if to reach for you, but dropped again.

"What do you want from me? Blood?" His voice dropped to a nearly breaking whisper "Fucking hell, what does a man have to do to earn forgiveness?"

“I’m the one who came back! I’m the one who came to see you, on my mother’s orders. So don’t say that you’re here. If you were, you would’ve come to see me. You never came back...”

"And you hate me for it…" he says quietly, the realization dawning like a cold, hard truth. He turned away, running a hand through his hair again. His shoulders slumped, "You fucking hate me, don’t you.”

Now you’re tearing up. You wanted to tell him. Tell him you didn’t hate him. Tell him that you still loved him. You turn away from his face so that you don’t cry.

“You promised me…” you start. The look in your eyes - betrayal, heartbreak, anger - all directed at him.

Cregan sees the tears you’re trying so hard to hide, the way your eyes shimmer in the moonlight. It tears something inside him. "Please don't cry..." he begs.

He stares at you, really stares, and suddenly he's seeing himself through your eyes - a selfish, cruel bastard who broke a thousand promises.

Your throat starts to burn from trying not to cry. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to think. It’s hard to not to look at him.

Cregan tries to wipe away your tears but when you push him away gently. His hand falls back to his side like a dead weight. He just stands there, staring at you, seeing the distance between you grow and hating himself for causing it.

A single tear escapes down his cheek, then another. Before he knows it, he's crying openly.

“I'm sorry..." his words come out rough and broken, cutting through the cold silence but it’s only thing he has to offer you right now. "I'm so sorry…"

You finally speak, still trying not to cry, but your voice trembles anyways. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything. Eight summers you spent with me and it was all a waste of my time. After that, another five spent just waiting, hoping you'd come back. Hoping you’d write me… But I meant nothing to you...”

His eyes flash with anger at her words, not at you, but at himself, because he knows you’re right. Eight summers of laughter, of shared secrets, of almost-kisses under trees, and he threw it all away. "You did-”

“No I didn’t-”

“Every single moment of those summers, every smile you gave me, every time you trusted me with your heart - it meant everything to me." His voice breaks slightly.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "You think I wanted this? To destroy what we had, to see you look at me like I'm a stranger?"

“You are a stranger.”

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

IM SORRY I ABANDONED YALL😔 AND IM SORRY FOR LEAVING YOU ON A CLIFF HANGER. ITS EVIL I KNOWWW. You know I love yall tho so leave a comment pretty pleaseeee - ★

P.S if you’re wondering why you signed up for the taglist but aren’t getting tagged, it’s probably because you put “yes” for the answer OR you spelled your tag wrong. Feel free to resubmit if that is the case!

Taglist: @beebeechaos @iv-vee @aemondwhoresworld @6ternal @obscure-beauty @cregansfourthwife @msmarvelknight @kingdomzeldaquest @littlebirdgot @squidscottjeans @jellybeanstacey0519 @r-3dlips @fakem0net @shiggynuggiez @deemee3 @melsunshine @lipgloss05 @cherryheairt @lovevouuu @darlingcharlis-blog @pearldaisy @allexlacazette @onlybells1 @valardohaerisss @itsaslaminak @qtmoonies @fromsaltandsea @duckduckgoos

#fanfic #fluff #smut #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #hotd cregan #house stark #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x reader #cregan x y/n #cregan fluff

137 notes · View notes

wonderlandwalker · 1 year ago

Text

Trying to Forget | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Part 2 of Remember. Finnick is trying to make peace with simply being your friend, because he thinks that is better than not getting to see you at all, but he might be proven painfully wrong. Find part 3 here

Content Warnings/Tags: Memory loss, insinuations of smut, angst, foreshadowing

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I have seen all your requests so here it is, part 2 of Remember. Happy ending is unfortunately not part of my vocabulary so this will have to do. I want to write more as a continuation of this but I have a big exam coming up so unless someone wants to take that for me I might have to take a break for a little bit

He still wasn't used to it, to see you there, to see you sitting next to your friends and how he had to join them as if that’s all he was, a friend. And don't get him wrong, he was glad you were there, he was thankful they had found you, but it hurt too.

You spend your days as if nothing was wrong, and he supposes to you there wasn't. He had to hold himself back from falling to your feet and praying to the gods to give you back to him. And he didn't understand what he had done wrong to deserve this punishment. He knows he has made mistakes in his life, but surely the cruelty of his current situation could not be matched by any and all of his past. When you look at him with those eyes full of excitement he wants to kiss you and make you remember, but it would only push you further away. So he pretends, he pretends he’s okay with the way things are, that he is okay with being a friend.

He tries to let go, he really does. He tries to separate you from his love for you. He tries to remember not to hug you from behind when he walks into a room, but every time he remembers a piece of him withers away.

And he doesn't know how to deal with this, because whenever he was upset, he would go to you. He would talk to you, or lay down next to you, and your presence would assure him he’d get through it, it would show him what he was doing it all for. But your presence isn't assuring anymore, it's shattering.

So he’s stopped touching you, he’s stopped looking at you like you’re about to remember him again, he’s stopped showing you affection. But he doesn't know what to do with himself, he’s spent as long as he can remember loving you, and he doesn't know where to channel this hole that is threatening to swallow him. So he makes sure you have everything he knows will light up your days, even if you don’t remember, he’ll remember for you. He makes sure they don't run out of blueberry jam because he remembers the time you told him it made the perfect breakfast with yoghurt. And whenever he does, you always look so surprised, asking him how they possibly could have known, but the real question is how he could possibly ever forget.

Yes, he’ll remember for you. He’ll remember how you get cold at night after a long day, and he convinces someone to stack an extra blanket on your bed. And you might think it’s a coincidence every time, but he’ll never let coincidence make a turn for the worse.

He sees when you go to visit the doctor, but he doesn't know what is going on anymore, because he isn't your boyfriend anymore. He’s asking people, bribing people to tell him, but it rarely works, because it’s confidential, and he no longer holds the privilege to your heart.

There’s a small party tonight, and he knows you’ll be there. He knows because you’ve become close to Johanna, you laugh with her and you spend your days with her. And he’s glad that you’ve found someone you can talk to, but he still wished it had been him. In a way, it’s a small victory, because Johanna has taken pity on him. In any other situation, he’d tell her he didn't need it, he didn't need anyone's sorrow to comfort him, but he’d just be lying to himself and she knows it too. In any other situation he would have shut down on himself, he would have locked himself in his room and not come out. But you’re still here, haunting him like a ghost from a comforting dream he once had, so he goes on as usual, but it might be worse this way.

Yet he still takes every crumb he can find, and so here he is. He’s standing around talking as if everything isn't so very, very wrong. He sees you walk in, and he wants to look away, because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, but he just can't. He remembers the dress you’re wearing, and if you had too he would have called you cruel for it. But he knows you don't, he knows it's just him basking in the memory of your skin against his, and that you probably don’t even remember what he feels like anymore.

He recalls the memory as clear as day, but if someone has been repeating them in their head like he had been, there wouldn't be any other option. You’re wearing the dress you wore on your anniversary last year. He had seen you wearing it and insisted on staying in, but you just laughed at him and called him silly for the idea, he didn't think it had been silly. He thought that if you had let him, he would have cancelled everything he had spent weeks planning. Because truly, all he really needed was you. You had shown him the dress and asked him how you looked. He had said you looked good enough to eat, and he was ready to prove his point to you over and over until the sun went down and took his vision of you with it, and even then he would have gladly continued.

But this time he doesn't get to, he sees you walk in with Johanna by your side, and he honestly doesn't know if this was intentional, but the grin she gets when she sees him watching tells him it isn't purely coincidental. Johanna had taken pity on him, but she was testing him as payment.

All he wants to do is walk over to you, take your hand and kiss the soft base of your palm as you start to giggle nervously. He wants to, but he can’t. He can’t because this time you won't grace his ears with laughter, you’d just pull away. And he tries not to think of the way he wants to trail his fingers from your silk hair to the top of your dress. He tries to distract himself from the urge to kiss you while he drags the zipper down your back. He tries not to remember the way you used to moan his name as he traced a path up your thighs with his lips.

He wants to forget, he wants to forget so he can find peace again. With all of his might he tries to forget, as if that will make everything more bearable. But in reality, if he did forget, he didn't think he would ever forgive himself.

He tears his eyes away from you and starts to leave before you can meet them, and if he hadn't, if he had given into his wish to keep getting lost in the vision that you were to him, he might have seen the smallest spark of memory flash through your eyes. He might have seen you walk his way to greet him with a new sense of sentiment, trying to nourish the bubbles that had surfaced after the storm. But he never gets the chance, because he has convinced himself keeping his hopes up was futile, he had resigned himself so much to a life of admiring you from a distance that he didn't even consider it might not be forever, that even the cruellest of circumstances can't keep two people destined for each other apart. But if he wasn't careful, the scissors of the fates might take it from him once more before he got the chance to see it.

Part 3: The Will of the Moirai

625 notes · View notes

angel-of-the-moons · 1 month ago

Note

Agsfgs

He's a god of fertility, among other things

Imagine if Y/N prayed to Khonshu for their own fertility and just

Khonshu appears, offers them help with fertility, he gives them a few options. Just the regular magic method of helping or he physically helps them get pregnant... with his child, of course

Like, hot, but also can you imagine praying to a god, they show up and basically say "okay I can help you the normal way, or we can do this the fun way and make a baby together"

Obviously Y/N agreed to have a kid with him cuz like. C'mon. Look at him

He's of course a very attentive father and partner afterward. He's not blind to the struggle new life brings along with the joy

Okay, okay, I know this isn't exactly what you were picturing but--

Wings of A Prayer

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Infertility problems, mentions of miscarriages, self-doubt, depression, suicidal thoughts, sort of alcoholism, fluff, hinted at sexy times but nothing is pictured, Marc and the boys learn that there's more to the pissy old bird than meets the eye! (Naturally canon-fudging and merging with the comics again) And a major time skip! My personal headcanon that Khonshu looks like Oded Fehr rears its head once more!

A/N: Whew... this one is long! Surprisingly, no smut in this one. But I realized I am sorely lacking on Khonshu fluff since y'all are almost always just as horny for him as I am. I also did some research and... Wow. Some scary stuff. I'm sorry if this strikes a painful chord with some of you. I had to stop writing this a few times and take a break because it was making me tear up.

It had been... horrible, to say the least. Your life had been one giant trainwreck so far. Your heart had been wanting for something for so long, and... Well...

Your apartment was a gray, flat... hollow living space to you. It was lacking in... something. And that something was a giggly, chubby, cuddly little person. You thought about getting a pet, but... there was an itching inside of you. And itching for something--someone--of your own.

You had been living on your own since cutting off contact with your parents; and dating had been an absolutely dog shit experience since your teen years. But as you got older, and your friends all went their separate ways, living their own lives and starting their own families, you realized... You wanted that. To be the home you never really had growing up, a source of unconditional love and understanding.

You weren't stupid--you did your research beforehand, looked into every legal document you could. Instead of getting pregnant, you'd looked into fostering or adoption.

But you just... you couldn't afford it. The cost of adopting would have bankrupt you, and your increasing financial instability as the economy fluctuated was an obvious deterrent for most agencies. The same was for fostering--you simply worked too much to bre as present as they wanted you to be for a foster placement. And it didn't help that your particular neighborhood wasn't... stellar or "perfect" for a growing child.

The worst insult, perhaps, was when you looked into IVF after adoption and fostering were out of the question. It sounded like the best option, and so you went to your doctor. As uncomfortable and relatively invasive as the pelvic exam and tests were, your doctor assured you a pregnancy was easy enough to accomplish with the fertility treatments if you were able to get into a program.

Only... you hadn't. Your insurance wouldn't even cover half of the procedures, and your heart was sinking at the thought of going bankrupt and not being able to afford the child you so desperately wanted.

That was a low blow, but, you knew you still had options. You could get pregnant naturally. The real trick was finding a man who was willing, healthy, and responsible enough to agree to father your child.

As distasteful as sleeping with someone relatively strange to you was, you made the decision to be tactful. You made a profile on a dating website with the clear intentions that you wished to find a partner that was clean of any STIs, drug or alcohol addictions, and wouldn't cause problems for you if the impregnation was successful.

And of course, you assured that should they not wish it, you wouldn't put them on a birth certificate or come after them for child support. It would be difficult, surely, but you knew you could manage. There was always well-fare and WIC to help out with needs, as well as a few charities you could apply to. Your elderly neighbors even agreed to watch over your baby when it was born because they didn't have any grandchildren of their own; and the presence of a baby would brighten up their droll days when you needed the occasional break.

When you found a partner who was ready and willing to commit to your "requirements"--especially the STI tests with you present to be sure they were not lying--you both agreed to meet several times a week at his apartment to get down to business.

You planned your meetings carefully around your ovulatory and menstrual cycles, drank and ate anything that supposedly "boosted fertility"; and took every vitamin under the sun to help ensure it.

And then, you got the most wonderful news. You had been late on your period for nearly two months. Missing the first month wasn't a cause for alarm; after all, you had relatively irregular periods--which your doctor assured were because of stress and diet problems--and you weren't insistent upon a pregnancy test until you began to get sick during random times of the day or night and your body began to ache in places it hadn't before, such as your breasts.

You got your blood tested at your doctor's office and sure enough... you were pregnant! You reached out to the father when you got home, and after some arrangements, he agreed to send an unofficial check to you for the baby at the start of every month, but he wasn't sure if he could promise to be present for their childhood; which worked fine with you. It was more than you expected, anyways.

You immediately began to budget, alongside with the financial aid of the father of your baby, and began to prep your bedroom into a shared nursery for your impending arrival.

And as you were settling into your new routine and adjusted workload, you awoke during one night with intense vomiting. As you perched over your toilet bowl, pain began to radiate from your abdomen and deep into your body and pelvis, like sharp, pulsing, searing pain from inside of you.

It wasn't until you stood up to wash your face and brush your teeth that you realized you were bleeding. Your sleep shorts stained a disturbing shade of red. You immediately panicked; and simply ignoring the cost of an ambulance, you called 911, and phoned the father of your baby as dread began to soak into every pore.

It wasn't for several hours after all the tests and exams that the doctor from the ER finally came in with a sad, pitiful look on her face as she delivered the news.

You lost your baby.

It felt like the world opened up beneath you and you were swallowed by a void. You didn't even know you screamed until your vision went black around the edges; prompting you to take a much-needed breath. The father of your baby was sympathetic, he talked calmly to you, rubbing your back and speaking with the doctors for you while you struggled to cope.

They kept you for another day (after giving you some pill) to make sure you... passed the remains of the fetus so you didn't get sick from retained products of the conception.

You fell into a deep depression after that.

Weeks afterwards, you were a drone. You woke up, ate, worked, showered, slept, and performed the same duties again and again as if you were on autopilot. The father of your baby, Alain, checked in on you now and again, and at some point even introduced you to his new girlfriend (who was confused by the awkward situation at first, but in seeing what had gone wrong in your life, felt more pity towards you than anything).

Your elderly neighbors cried for you, made you food when you felt the absence of the want to cook or eat; and said they would offer up prayers for you.

You began to hide how... rotten you felt on the inside, after that. You feigned your old, "normal" behavior if not to just get everyone to stop treating you like some... Faberge egg that needed delicate handling. A doll so fragile from trauma and abuse you had to be put on a pedestal to avoid getting any more broken.

But deep inside you, that raw, twisted, pained feeling festered like a bad wound. It worsened when you discovered that your doctor had been horribly, profoundly wrong.

Your reproductive organs weren't in "perfect, healthy" shape. You had uterine scarring that appeared to line up with what was called Asherman's Syndrome. Your uterine cavity, as such, had a buildup of scar tissue and caused it to shrink, and the resulting damage is what likely triggered your miscarriage.

The doctor that had diagnosed your condition became suspicious, and called for an investigation into your primary doctor.

Turns out, he was responsible for many, many misdiagnoses on over a dozen patients. Many of which required some women to have hysterectomies done to save them; or have to be rushed into cancer treatments immediately. One had unfortunately lost her life due to a misdiagnosis and a fallopian torsion that wasn't treated in time. She left behind a husband and three little children who had to grow up without their mother.

The resulting lawsuits caused a media circus; and once again your life was thrown into disarray when you decided to be a part of it, having to recite the trauma of losing your poor, little baby to a bunch of strangers.

Your heart festered with rage. If you had known that your body was incapable of the one fucking thing it should have been able to do naturally, that you were one different decision away from the heartbreak you now suffered--you would never had tried to get pregnant. But like many of his patients, you took his word for it because he seemed so trustworthy. And if you couldn't trust the person your health was so reliant upon... who could you trust?

The doctor lost his license, and went to jail for the wrongful death, medical negligence and manslaughter of the woman he failed to properly diagnose and failed to treat.

The settlements were of little comfort to you all; those who suffered now-lifelong health problems, the family mourning a beloved wife and mother... and you, who mourned the life of the baby you never even got to feel kick, let alone name.

Your neighbors, Ebony and Malcolm Harris; Alain and his now-fiance, Amelia, had formed a bit of a cushion around you. Having an explanation for your misfortune, and then the financial boost from the punishment of the one responsible aided the pain somewhat... But it still hurt you so, so much.

Part of the settlement included paid-for counseling for those affected, and you took it. As dry and sour as it felt to yet again revisit the pain, you went through it.

But it still didn't help you when you looked at the toys, the unused clothes and set-up crib still sitting in your room, never to be used.

You spent a lot of time on the roof of your apartment building, contemplating... something. You wouldn't take the pills the doctor gave you. All they did was make you feel groggy and... numb. That felt worse than the guilt and grief, it didn't help.

You weren't sure anything would. You just wanted the pain to stop. You wanted to feel something, again.

You just wanted to be a mother.

"Oh, she's so... she's so..." Ebony sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief. Malcolm sat next to her, rubbing her shoulders and sniffling himself. They loved you like their own child. They had none to speak of, since their son died overseas almost 20 years ago. You were the first person whom they felt a familial connection with--who didn't treat them as pitiful, childless old folks who were one bad day away from a nursing home.

"We're so scared for her," Malcolm whispered, pursing his lips. Just like his wife, he loved you like a daughter, too. And seeing you so consumed with pain and want hurt him badly. "She's hurting so badly."

"She wanted to be a mama so badly!" Ebony warbled, her wrinkled hands trembling as her husband held her. "That poor baby just wanted her own baby! She was so excited! Showed us everything, talked about it--I even started knitting a blanket!"

Malcom's own nearly-withered features twisted in sympathetic agony, "Please... is there something--anything--you can do for her? Help her, somehow? Like you helped us?"

The man sitting behind the desk kept his hands linked together as he peered over them at the couple. It was true. He had helped them.

When Ebony grew ill and eventually required dialysis, her body had been becoming increasingly weak and fragile; they were left without options. They tried prayers with pastors and in churches--but it didn't exactly do much with an absent god ignoring another desperate worshipper.

They were nearing the end of their rope when they heard through some whispers about him--the enigmatic "Dr. Moon".

They had only seen his face once, and that was after Ebony was miraculously cured following his strange "treatments", her kidneys back to functioning better than they had in her early 30s. After that, they attended private prayer sessions with him, the second high priest, after Marc Spector, whom he had only really interacted with a handful of times... And did not like how often he went against their god, Khonshu's word.

Begrudgingly, "Dr. Moon", later known to be one Yehya Badr, had started what would be known as the "Midnight Mission" with Spector. In his constant absence, the two agreed that it would work better if Yehya saw to the Mission while Marc traveled to hunt the cult of Ammit, and Khonshu's former high priest, Arthur Harrow.

And, while watching over the Mission and the innocent people... Yehya used his healing abilities and decided to open a free clinic from within the holy place. Many were hesitant to accept treatment from a religious institution, but soon patients and potential followers alike began to trickle in from the streets. People like Ebony and Malcolm.

Yehya felt for the couple and the story they now told him, his brow creasing beneath his white mask, mouth twisting into a pained frown. You sounded on the brink--ready to take one last hurdle into the beyond for the sake of the child you never got to hold.

"Healing something like that..." Yehya sighed sadly, standing up from his chair. The wheels squeaked softly as he pushed it back, and walked to the window that overlooked the street below. "...it won't be easy. I may not be able to do it alone, like when I treated you, Ebony."

"Can't you--can't you call on Him, again? Like you did before?" Malcolm pleaded earnestly. The love these two elders had for you touched him, made his own heart squeeze in his chest.

"Please... if--if His power can come from love, just--just take ours and give it all to her... please!" Ebony sniffled, burying her face in her hands.

Yehya swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly pulled his mask away from his face, walking over to take their hands in each of his. He could feel their heartache through their frail and gentle grip.

"I will see what I can do. Your faith--and love--might help this young woman you two adore so much. But I cannot predict how Khonshu will help her, should he choose to directly get involved."

Another repetitive day. You managed to force yourself to eat some takeout you had leftover from last night and microwaved that for dinner, eating alone in front of your TV as it droned on with some boring reality show you weren't really paying attention to anymore.

For the eighth time that week you contemplated packing away and donating all the baby items in your apartment. But every time you touched them you just broke down into a sobbing fit; your heart rending itself from the reality of what had gone wrong with you.

You couldn't even bring yourself to go into your bedroom, anymore. Everything was in there.

So, you'd taken to sleeping on your couch for the past few months. You only went into your room long enough to get things you needed, clothes and the like (the former just sitting in clothes hampers unfolded after laundry days) before fleeing in the bland space that was your meager living room.

After you finished eating, you sipped at the hard lemonade in your hand. Drinking to cope was bad, but something inside of you kept you from relying on it too heavily. And you never drank to get drunk; only enough to fuzz your senses enough to let you sleep on some nights.

And tonight was one of those nights.

You were on your fourth lemonade when the lights began to flicker in your apartment; your TV freezing frames when it began. Maybe your landlord was fiddling with the power to the building again? Had a fuse blown to the building? Whatever...

"I don't need this right now..." You grunted, taking a deep swig; one mouthful closer to the bottom of the bottle.

"Wasteful." A disembodied voice rumbled, making a chill creep up your spine.

"I... What--" Your head whipped around as you tried to figure out where it had come from--your TV was still frozen, so it couldn't have been that--you were still relatively sober so it couldn't have possibly been drunken hallucinations.

Suddenly, you jumped and yelled in surprise when the bottle went flying from your hand and smashed to bits on the wall, the drink within running down the drywall in rivulets from the impact.

"What the f--"

"My priest told me of you," The voice hummed. It felt as if something unseen was circling you like a predator does with its prey. "And of the pain you have endured, little one. There are those close to you who pleaded for my aid to help you, to heal you."

You felt the presence stop behind you, crowding you in and making your blood still within you; but you just couldn't bring yourself to turn around. The lights flickered weakly once more before going dead, as did your TV, swallowing you in darkness.

As your eyes adjusted to the inky darkness, this voice's words sunk in. "Heal you". "Help you".

"Who are you?" You swallowed.

"I am the god, Khonshu. I protect the innocent, I bring justice. I heal those that ask for it."

Yeah, no. You must have slipped and hit your head. You remembered Ebony and Malcolm saying they'd pray for you--but this was... this was impossible! But... some aching, gnawing, painful part of your heart begged for you to hear the voice out.

"How could you..." You cleared your throat, trying not to sound as scared as you felt. "How could you help me?"

"That remains to be seen." The voice replied with a thoughtful tone. "How do you wish for me to help you? I was told but precious little of your story--only from those around you. Not from you. What is it you wish my aid for?"

Your eyes slowly move to where you instinctively knew your bedroom door was. Even in the dark, you could feel the depressing aura clinging to the space call out to you like a siren in the black sea. The voice seemed to be able to "see" what you were looking at, as well.

Somehow--this Khonshu knew immediately what you were too scared to voice.

"I see." He told you, his voice growing soft and somber, if a touch sympathetic. His presence leaned away from you.

"You wish for me to heal the damage done inside of you?" He mused gently, "To enable you the ability to bear a child? It is easily enough done; but I sense something else bothering you."

Your hands knotted in the hem of your shirt; your stomach twisting itself into a nasty ball of writhing, anxious snakes.

"I... I can't go through it all, again." You croaked, your voice coming out hoarse. "The stress of finding... I just... I can't. It just... I don't want to--to risk it happening all over again, even if..."

"I see..." He murmurs again, giving you your space to breathe, "Then there may be another option--a guaranteed method--to ensure a healthy pregnancy and a healthy child..."

The way your heart hopefully leapt within your ribcage almost hurt--your stomach dropping into a pit. Sure, you may be going crazy and this could be a hallucination... But would it be so bad to give in, to live in some fantasy to alleviate the pain and grief you've been suffering with for nearly over a year?

"So you... you're... offering to... what, be the father of my baby?" You whispered.

A feather-light touch brushed your arm, the feeling warm and gentle on your skin, "Only if you wish it. I can help you, but only if you want me to. I can heal you, but only if it was what you truly want. When a child is produced, I will ensure there will be no struggles for you and the babe."

"You... promise? That it'll work?"

"I swear it."

You swallowed. Thinking hard.

But some part of you had already made a decision--and that part of you spoke: "Okay."

"Very well, then..." Khonshu murmured.

In the span of a breath, you felt large, warm arms wrap around your waist, tugging you close. And then, the next thing you knew... you were laying on your back, in your bed, with him hovering above your in the dark.

Even with the dim lights in the streets below barely filtering in through your blackout curtains, you couldn't clearly make out his appearance. The shadows that were being cast merely gave you an image that couldn't possibly have been true.

"Can I see you?" You whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Only if you wish it." He reminded you softly, his hand caressing your hip, beginning a slow, sweet trek up beneath your shirt.

"I do."

The dim light of the candle at your bedside table flickered to life--the sweet scent of lavender and vanilla filling your senses.

You finally got to see him. And you weren't afraid.

Marc felt uneasy as soon as they got off the plane, and Layla soothed him with a touch as she linked her fingers with his. He didn't like being here--the city was teeming with cruelty and injustice... and he knew Khonshu wouldn't let him rest long. Him, Steven, or Jake.

"Marc, just breathe." Layla said to him as she adjusted the strap of her travel bag with one hand, her other squeezing his. "It'll be fine. If Khonshu has a problem with you taking it easy--"

Layla scoffed, blowing a puff of air from out of her cheeks as they walked out of the terminal, Marc hauling their suitcases behind him, their wheels squeaking sadly beneath the weight. Some of their less... legal belongings were being smuggled in and would be delivered to their destination later in the night.

"Well, the old bastard can deal with it. I'm here, and I'll pick up the slack if I gotta." She assured him.

Marc's shoulders sag; he can feel Jake plucking at the edges of his mind, giving him gentle reassurances and his oath that if anything happened; he would be the one to bear the brunt of Khonshu's work in his stead. Even Steven spoke up to voice his assurances that all would be well--after all, they had Layla with them!

"Yeah," He sighed, smiling at her and bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, "You're right. It's also just..."

"Just..?" She led on, quirking a brow at him.

"The last time Badr and I spoke, it kinda ended in a fist fight." He smiled warily.

"Oh, gods, of course it did..." She snorted.

"I mean, I shattered his nose and he broke one of my knees, so... Yeah. Bad." Marc grinned, earning an elbow to the ribs from his lovely wife.

"Can it, Spector. Don't make me worry about you even more!" She laughed with him.

"Ouch!" A man holding a dry erase board laughed; the writing on his sign clearly stating "SPECTOR" in bold black letters on it. He stood in front of a pristine white car. It was Marc's. Or, well... apparently it was Jake's... A purchase he'd made without Marc's knowledge at some point... like the limo back in London.

Jake would apparently make spare cash when he would take over while Marc slept and Steven lay buried. All without their knowledge, of course...

"Hitting you with the Spectorrrr, is she?" Jean-Paul grinned, his thin, pointed mustache quirking like a fidgety caterpillar. "So cruel!"

"Well, he deserves it." Layla grinned, leaning in to hug him, "Frenchy! So good to see you! How've you been? How's Rob?"

"Happy as a clam in some nice clean water! And my physical therapy has almost concluded." Jean-Paul smiled, kissing each of Layla's cheeks in an affectionate greeting when she asked about his lover.

He lifted his eyes to spot Marc, bringing him in with a closed fist to give a shoulder-hug, "I'm glad you've gotten yourself sorted, Marc. Rob and I were worried about you!"

"As sorted as a guy with two other guys living inside his head that's in service to a pissy god can be, anyways..."

"Ahhh... Right. Right." Jean-Paul said, clicking his teeth as he popped the trunk to the car so Layla and Marc could load their things up. He opened up the back door for them to climb into the backseat."

"Hey, I can always drive us, Duchamp." Marc smirked at him, the corners of his eyes creasing in humor, "After all... it is technically my car."

"No, no--" Jean-Paul grinned, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Let me do it, c'mon. It gives me something to do, today!"

Layla nudged Marc with a giggle and he relented, climbing in behind her.

Marc sighed as Jean-Paul helped them unload their bags, his eyes following Marc and Layla's to the building in front of them; the doors decorated with carved crescent moons in the frosted glass.

He had been to the Midnight Mission only a handful of times--and every one of those times was to assist Marc as his pilot during intense missions for Khonshu. And he of course met Yehya Badr, the two men had a respectful relationship. He himself had conducted a few healing rituals to help with the phantom pains Jean-Paul occasionally felt in his legs.

But he knew that Badr and Marc didn't always get along; Yehya being a die-hard and devout follower of Khonshu and Marc being a bit of a renegade who tended to go against his word and do things his own way. And he knew it had been a few years since the two parted on... well--rather bad terms.

"Well, better get the torture and inevitable lecture over with..." Marc grunted, shouldering one of the duffels. Layla helps gather the rest, letting Jean-Paul close the door and trunk.

As they crossed the threshold, Jean-Paul winced, "Oh, right! There's something you should know about, by the way..."

Marc looked at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Well, Yehya isn't the only one who lives in the Mission anymore." Jean-Paul grinned as their floors squeaked on the waxed marble floors.

"Okay, and...?"

He rubbed his mustache with his index finger, smiling a little bashfully as he looked away. "Well, er... it's kinda... Uh, awkward... Well, I mean, that is--"

"Spit it out, Frenchy." Layla smiled, rolling her eyes.

A door could be heard swinging open from somewhere down the hall as they leave the foyer, and Jean-Paul laughed, grinning from ear to ear as a small, rambunctious human suddenly appeared, colliding with Marc's legs and wrapping her arms around his legs and giggling.

"Daddy!" She giggled excitedly, rubbing her face on his jeans.

Marc on the other hand, began to immediately panic--his eyes going wide as he looked to Layla, whom in turn looked at Marc with her eyebrows risen the highest on her brow Marc has ever seen--awaiting an explanation.

Marc began to sweat, "Baby, I swear to God I didn't--"

The child looked up at him, and frowned. Her little brows creased and she pouted, her bottom lip poking out as she studied Marc. "...Oh." She said dejectedly, sighing deeply. "You're not my Daddy."

Marc's heart felt like it was gonna explode--Jake and Steven had come to co-front to see what all the fuss and anxiety was about. Steven immediately began to go on about how darling the girl was, her shiny and clear her eyes were--how smart and at the same time seemingly ancient they looked. Like polished obsidian stones, a dazzling array of lights shimmering from somewhere deep within.

Jean-Paul laughed and clapped his hands, his face turning red from the force of his laughter. The child brightened up and rushed towards him, allowing him to scooped her up and swing her in a circle, "Hello, petit gâteau!" He crooned, kissing the girl's cheeks.

"Uncle Frenchy!" She giggled as he swung her around one last time before setting her down.

"Yes, yes, it's been a while! A whole week!" He grinned down at her, letting her hang off of his hand. She swung from it for a moment, studying Marc and Layla curiously, the fabric of her dress flowing almost like water as she did so.

"This is--well, I guess this could technically be your... er..." Jean-Paul smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your big brother Marc? And Layla, his wife."

Marc and Layla's jaws dropped, their confusion and curiosity only growing more and more.

(Oh, this'll be good...) Jake snickered, rubbing his chin. Through their reflections in a nearby portrait, Marc could see Steven elbow him.

'Ay, lay off! We can be curious without bein' rude about it, yeah?' The Brit huffed.

Jean-Paul was about to explain, but...

"Savah!" You sighed in relief, running out to see them. You knew Jean-Paul, from his healing sessions with Yehya and how he loved to babysit your daughter. He was apparently a trusted friend and ally of "Moon Knight's" so you knew he was harmless.

"I... agh. I'm so sorry if she jumped you..." You smiled apologetically at them as you scooped her up, bouncing the tot on your hip as she giggled into her hands. "We were playing hide and seek--and she must have slipped out when I wasn't paying attention!"

Steven couldn't help but squee at how adorable the girl was, Jake had to concede that, yes... she was stinkin' adorable. Even Marc was having a hard time arguing the point, and he was very, very awkward with kids.

"Savah, it's one thing to go up and hug your Uncle Frenchy, but it's another to go up to strangers you don't know." You say, gently scolding her. Her little grin falters, and she frowns cutely.

"I felt it... I thought it was Daddy..." She mumbled, plucking at one of the buttons in your blouse.

"Felt" it?" You asked, raising an eyebrow and looking back at Marc and Layla.

"Right! That brings us to the introductions, eh?" Jean-Paul spoke up, rubbing his hands together. "This is Layla el Faouly--er, well, actually Spector now, ain't it?--and Marc Spector, her husband. He's the Moon Knight."

Marc jumped, his eyes going wide at how casually Jean-Paul had introduced him with his mystical alter-ego, barely even registering it when he introduced you by name; "And this lovely little bon bon, is Savah, her daughter."

"Ohhhh..." You said, your posture relaxing, "That's why she got her "funny" feeling! Sorry, she thought you were her dad."

"I, uh... No harm no foul, but..." Marc laughed nervously, smoothing his hair back, "I could've lived without the heart attack of me possibly blacking out and oops'ing a baby with somebody at some point in time..."

Layla actually laughed, "Oh, please... like you have game with anyone but me, Marc."

He looked at Layla and deadpanned; "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised at how many people swoon for Jake's "Spanish charm"."

You blinked, looking at Jean-Paul for an explanation, and he gestured to continue down the hall, "Ah... let's go and... get some tea, hm? Explain a little bit."

"Right, right, I've never actually met this one." You reply, nodding.

"Mhmm, and he definitely doesn't know about you."

Basic introductions happened over warm cups of tea in one of the furnished rooms off the foyer. Badr had shaken hands with Marc, surprisingly polite and almost friendly before he briefly turned his attention to little Savah, helping fix her doll she had accidentally popped the leg off of when she got too rough, and ruffled her hair before leaving once more.

However... Jean-Paul had yet to fully introduce the two of you to the couple. He mostly let Marc and Layla explain who they were, and what they had been doing. Since obviously, you were so trusted as to even know about Yehya's identity as Hunter's Moon; they trusted to tell you about hunting Ammit, and ultimately defeating her.

It was less than an half an hour after that, that Savah suddenly perked up again, hopping up and down into place, her eyes sparkling even brighter. The glimmering lights in her dark depths caught Marc's attention, stopping him dead in the middle of his sentence, "Uh..."

"Oh... look's like he's home after all... wonder what he was waiting for?" You muse, smiling at your daughter happily, watching her as she ran to the door when it began to open.

A man with tanned skin, graying black hair, and a short beard walked in; his white suit crisp and immaculate. His hazel eyes were stern, his chiseled features only softening as Savah rushed up to him, holding her arms up expectantly until he picked her up and cradled her body gently against his, kissing her forehead gently.

"Daddy!" She squealed, giggling as she tried to wrap her tiny arms around him. It was now pointedly obvious this man was indeed to be her father--especially because of how many of his facial aspects she had. She had your skin tone and hair color, but certainly had his looks...

You rose from your cushioned seat and walked over to them, brushing your nose affectionately against his with a smile as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

"See? See?" Savah said excitedly, grinning like mad. "I told you I felt Daddy! I always do!"

"Yeah, you do, munchkin. Yeah, you do." You snorted, shaking your head.

Jean-Paul cleared his throat and awkwardly stepped around the three of you; "Well... I guess I don't have to do the rest of the introductions after all... I'll see you two later!"

"Bye bye!" Savah called out to him as the door shut with a faint click behind him.

Savah's father looked at Marc with a rather bored expression, almost... annoyed, really. Gave Layla the same look, as well. Marc rolled his shoulder stiffly, suddenly very uncomfortable under his unflinching gaze.

"It took the both of you long enough to get here." He said in almost a sneer; his voice unmistakably, painfully familiar.

Layla and Marc shot to their feet, almost falling over themselves as the realization dawned on them. Jake and Steven were in an uproar within Marc's mind.

"Khonshu?!" They both cried.

His brow quirked upward in an unimpressed gesture, "Gah. How can you two be so perceptive when hunting artifacts and evildoers, but cannot pick up on this? I am disappointed in you, Marc. You should have figured it out, first."

"Th-that's why her... her eyes--?!" He sputtered.

Finally, the corner of Khonshu's mouth tilts upwards in a cocky smirk; his eyes flashed an almost blinding white. And when Savah looked at the both of them, they could see the lights in her eyes swirl and shine even brighter and in tune with Khonshu's, shifting and dancing until they briefly solidified in an unmistakable crescent-shape before parting in a fractured dance, again.

"Yes, this is my daughter." He stated proudly, his arm tightening around you a fraction, "And my wife."

"Wife, huh? When did that happen?" You snorted, giving him a snarky look.

"I assumed it happened sometime after Savah was born." He hummed, his snark matching your own, "After all, you live under my roof, mother my child, sleep in our bed..."

You rolled your eyes and elbowed him, "Smartass."

You looked at the couple across the room and smiled awkwardly, "I never did get to explain much... But, since that's outta the way... mind explaining to me why there's such a weird vibe in the room, right now?"

Marc and Layla merely blinked at you, before once again exclaiming in unison:

"You had Khonshu's god-baby?!"

#🌙 answered #moon knight #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #layla el faouly #khonshu #khonshu x reader #Khonshu x you

80 notes · View notes

midnight--sadness · 2 months ago

Note

do u have hcs for pregnant gi-hun? or just in general the 457 dynamic while gi-hun is knocked up

yes, i do bc i think abt pregnant gihun more than i think abt my own grandma

i feel like my very first hc is that i think they're having twins!

gihun is the type of pregnant person who glows. his skin is smoother, his hair is shinier, his cheeks are flushed, he gains weight in all of the right places (cough ass tits thighs cough), he has virtually no stretch marks. its like he was made to be pregnant.

while his physical appearance improves, i think gihun would be an emotional wreck. he is already prone to outbursts and i think pregnancy would worsen it. he once stopped talking to inho for two days bc inho had to stay at work until late at night and didnt eat at home.

he talks to the babies all the time, non stop, even when he is only a few weeks along and not showing.

his weird pregnancy craving is a piece of white bread stuffed with apple jam and a shrimp dumpling. inho gags when he first makes it and tries to get gihun to eat something else but gihun loves it so much that inho ends up making it for him when gihun wakes it with a craving.

gihun is super relaxed bc he has been through this once with gayeong but inho is a stressed, protective mess. he barely lets gihun out of his sight, insists on going to every doctor's appointment and asks them to run every test and exam possible because he couldnt bear it if gihun got sick like his wife and he and the babies died again.

inho would decorate the nursery with soft pastels (pink, green, yellow, purple) and buy all kinds of toys to improve the babies' development.

on that note, he would read a million parentings books. gihun on the other hand is more of an "instinctual" person, convinced that he'll know what to do when he gets there.

the first person inho tells is junho because there are some concerns he doesnt feel good talking about to gihun. he confides in his brother his fears and junho assures him that everything will be fine and nothing will happen to gihun or the babies.

the first person gihun tells is inho of course. he cant keep a secret to save his life and he knows inho will be excited. when inho's reaction is to immediately be worried, he is a bit disappointed but he understands.

the good thing of having two babies is that gihun and inho dont have to fight over names and each pick one they like.

gihun LOVES using the pregnancy as an excuse for anything - he wants to sit on the couch watching trash tv all day? he wants to eat half the things on the dinner table? he wants to watch a sad movie despite knowing that he'll cry for an hour straight after it is over? he wants inho to skip work so they can cuddle in bed? well the babies want all of those things 🥰

what hcs do you guys have???

#the food one is inspired by my mama bc when she was pregnant with my sister #she ate sandwhichs with quince fruit jam (marmelada) and a deep friend shrimp turnover (rissol de camarao) inside it #i had to translate marmelo and rissol into english so it might be wrong #take it with a grain of salt #yapping 4ever #asks #457 #inhun #ginho #seong gi-hun #hwang in-ho #squid game #there are def more but im forgetting and this is already long enough #mpreg

76 notes · View notes

jellybonbons · 11 months ago

Text

Patches and Coffee

ೀ Leon Kennedy x gn!reader

Summary: You found yourself in the crossfire during one of Leon's cases in another state while visiting your family. Despite being bedridden, you tried to lift his spirits, assuring him that accidents happen and that you were just glad to have him with you.

Tags: established relationship, civilian!reader, pure fluff.

W/C: 1.2k

A/N: heyy so just a heads up, I'll be taking a small break to focus on my upcoming exams. Uni's been pretty intense lately, so I need to give it my full attention <3

—————

As you reclined in the hospital bed, snuggled up with your plushie, Patches, the soft glow of your laptop illuminating the dim room, a gentle creak announced Leon's arrival. Instantly, a wave of warmth washed over you at the sight of him.

"Hi," you greeted him, a smile naturally spreading across your face as you paused your series to give him your full attention.

Leon returned the smile, though it was tempered with weariness evident in the shadows beneath his eyes. With sluggish steps, he approached your bedside.

"Hey," he replied softly, his genuine concern evident in his tone. "Just wanted to check in on how you're doing," he added, sinking into the chair beside you.

"Better, now that you're here," you responded sincerely.

Leon’s chest swelled with a subtle sense of relief at your words, a feeling he hadn't experienced in days. It was reassuring to know he could make a difference, even in a small way. "What were you watching?" he inquired, leaning in to glance at the screen of your laptop.

"Criminal Minds," you answered, briefly diverting back to the screen. "I'm already on season 9."

"Damn, you're quick. Weren't you just starting season 8 two days ago?" Leon remarked with a chuckle.

"Well, I've got nothing better to do," you retorted with a playful smirk, your eyes meeting his with a hint of mischief.

With a small grin, he met your gaze and replied, "Fair enough," appreciating the lighthearted banter that lifted the sombre mood. "Don’t mind me, you can continue watching," he added, gesturing for you to unpause the show. As you resumed watching your series together, a comfortable silence enveloped the room.

After a while, you turned to Leon, curiosity evident in your expression. "So, how was work after all of this?" you asked softly.

Leon took a moment to ponder, appreciating your interest. Work had been an endless stream of stress lately, but your company and conversation had a way of melting away the tension, if only temporarily.

"It was alright, I guess," he sighed, rubbing his strained neck. "Had a chat with my supervisor earlier... He made me realise I might've been too close to the case, so he helped me refocus."

You listened intently, your gaze fixed on him. You could feel the weight of his words, the lingering tension beneath his casual demeanour. Reaching out, you gently squeezed his hand, offering silent support.

"It sounds like you’ve been through a lot," you said softly, your voice filled with empathy. "But I’m glad your supervisor is looking out for you. You shouldn’t have to carry the burden alone." You offered a reassuring smile.

Leon's expression softened at your words, a flicker of gratitude crossing his features. "Yeah…you’re right," he replied, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. He raised your hand and tenderly pressed his lips to your knuckles, silently appreciating your understanding and compassion.

To lighten the mood even further you reached for Patches, your childhood plushie, and held it up with a playful smile, using a slightly cartoony voice. "Hey there, Mr. Agent," you said cheerfully. "Patches and I are here to cheer you up!"

Leon's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the plushie, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, hello there, Patches," he replied, playing along with you. "It’s good to see you, old pal."

You giggled, bringing Patches closer to Leon. "Patches says you're doing a great job and that everything's going to be okay," you added in a playful tone, using the plushie's paw to tap his cheek gently, hoping to bring a smile to Leon's face.

Leon chuckled softly, his expression relaxing as he reached out to give Patches a gentle pat. "Thanks, Patches," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I appreciate the pep talk."

As you watched Leon interact with Patches, a sense of relief washed over you, “You should take care of yourself and grab a bite to eat together, okay?” you added, playfully wiggling the plushie.

Leon smiled and raised an amused eyebrow at the plushie. "Oh really now? So you think I need a break? Well, I don't know...what did you have in mind? You think you'll be able to convince me?"

You nodded enthusiastically, giving Patches a little shake as if the plushie were nodding along with you. "Absolutely! Patches and I have it all planned out. We're thinking of a nice sandwich and coffee from the cafeteria. You know, surprisingly hospital’s food ain’t that bad!" you said, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "Come on, Mr. Agent, even superheroes need to refuel sometimes!"

Leon's grin broadened at the adorable sight of Patches in your hands, and your words brought a sparkle to his eyes, especially the part about superheroes needing to refuel. “So Patches is the expert on superhero protocol now, huh?" He leaned in as if sharing a secret with the plushie.

"Of course! Patches is a wise plushie," you replied, pretending to confer with the stuffed toy. "And he says it's essential for super agents like you to keep their energy levels up!”

Leon chuckled, feeling his mouth starting to ache from smiling too much. Amusement danced in his eyes, causing them to crinkle at the corners. "Well, if Patches says so, who am I to argue?" he said with a mock-serious expression.

You smiled at his playful response, ready to stand up and fetch your crutches, but a sudden grimace crossed your face, causing you to wince and sit back down. "Ouch," you muttered, glancing down at the cast on your leg.

Leon's smile faltered slightly as he noticed your discomfort. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

You forced a smile, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, it's just this darn cast. I forgot I can't walk properly with it," you admitted sheepishly. "It's still a bit sore."

"Do you want me to grab you a wheelchair?" he offered, gesturing towards the nearby hospital equipment.

You hesitated for a moment, realising that accepting help wouldn't make you any less capable. "Actually, that might be a good idea," you admitted reluctantly. "Walking with this cast is more of a hassle than I thought."

Leon nodded, understanding written all over his face. "Alright, let me go grab one," he said, moving towards the equipment.

As he returned with the wheelchair, you thanked him, feeling a sense of relief wash over you knowing you wouldn't have to struggle with every step. "Thanks, Leon," you said gratefully, settling into the wheelchair with Patches still in your lap. "Let's roll!"

As Leon guided the wheelchair out of your room, a heavy sense of guilt weighed on him. "Hey," he said softly, his expression clouded with remorse. "I'm sorry that you're here because of me."

"Leon, it's okay, really. It's not your fault," you reassured him gently, reaching for his hand. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Besides, it's not a major injury." You offered him a reassuring smile.

He returned your smile with a soft one of his own, though the guilt still lingered in his heart. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Thanks again for cheering me up," he said gratefully.

"Anything for you," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "And besides, it's not like I'd let a little cast keep me away from my favourite federal agent." You punctuated your statement with a playful wink.

“You’re such a goof,” he teased, shaking his head in amusement.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #resident evil 6 leon #leon kennedy fanfic #re6 leon kennedy #✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

230 notes · View notes

samiiy20 · 1 year ago

Text

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: Song mingi x fem!reader 𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗲: Smut 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.9k 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: masturbation,voyeurism, unprotected sex (don't do it), reader is older than Mingi (but only by a couple of years)

You were hoping to have a quiet night of relaxation with yourself, but an unexpected visitor knocks on your door and changes your plans.

N/A: I know I promised Yeosang's story, but I was thinking that maybe it will be some kind of series that connects with the other members, but rest assured I will do it. Just wait for it soon <3

masterlist II tag list

This content NOT is for minors!!!

This is merely entertainment, this does not represent any real person.

It is forbidden to copy or translate my work.

English NO is my first language.

The day had been a disaster. That morning when you finally woke up and noticed something unusual, you checked your phone, only to realize that the alarm didn't wake you up on time. You missed the first two classes at the university where you happened to see important topics for the exam, but everything got worse at work, where your boss came up with the brilliant idea of assigning you a difficult project for the weekend. And when you finally got to the room you were renting so you could eat something, you realized that you hadn't gone to the supermarket and there was nothing.

“This couldn't be worse,” you whispered to yourself as you lay down on the bed.

Maybe there was a way to get all the stress out of your body. Cheering up a little, you opened your closet drawer and took out a toy. You needed to distract yourself and forget your frustrations, you deserved it for surviving a shitty day.

You smiled, settling down on the bed and abandoning your shorts somewhere on the floor. You sighed, clearing your thoughts and spread your legs, turning on the toy. You rested your head on the pillows when you felt the contact of the toy on your core and you began to relax, but when you were starting to forget everything you heard a knock on the door.

You screamed inside, angry you got up looking for your shorts and hid the vibrator under the sheets. The doorbell wouldn't stop ringing and if it didn't stop you would greet whoever was waiting with a knock, but when you opened the door all your thoughts were erased.

“Mingi?” The anger disappeared and now you just felt confused, you didn't expect to see him here, especially so late "What are you doing here?"

“Hello, I didn't want to bother you but…” her words were suspended in the air when she noticed what you were wearing.

“Let me guess, Yunho?” He nodded, scratching his head awkwardly when he noticed your clothing, but you didn't notice his eyes running over your shoulders or focusing on the silhouette of your breasts. You sighed, cursing your brother, “That idiot.”

“I didn't know where to go… it's already late and” You sighed defeated and felt a little sorry for him, your night of pleasure could wait.

“Don't talk anymore, come in” you stepped aside letting him enter.

It wasn't the first time Mingi came to your house when Yunho decided to bring someone into the apartment they shared and even though he had promised not to do it he broke his promise too soon.

"I'm sorry"

“Leave the drama, it's not that big of a deal,” you responded, hitting him on the arm, “do you want to sleep?”

“I don't know” You noticed that he was more nervous than normal, but you didn't understand why and you stood in front of him, challenging him, putting your hands on your hips.

"What's the matter?" Mingi looked at you once and tried to just see your face, but since you opened the door he saw through your light pajamas (if you could call them that) and noticed that you weren't wearing a bra, plus the shorts. …well they were too short.

He didn't want to think about you that way, you were his friend's sister, plus you were older than him and he blamed himself for coming here, you were too kind to let a pervert like him pass that the only thing he thought about It was in your body.

“It's just that Yunho… worries me,” he said, trying to focus his attention on something else.

You sighed giving up and walking to the kitchen to make some tea thinking it would calm him down.

“Me too” Mingi stayed where he was resisting the urge to turn around to see your figure “that girl is just playing with him, I'm sure” you passed him the cup of tea and smiled when he took it, noticing that he calmed down a little "Besides, it's not fair that I leave you out"

Mingi nodded, tasting the hot drink as they passed into the small room. You sat on the couch in front of him without noticing that he became tense and you put your feet up on the table in front of you, settling down to pass the time.

They didn't talk much and Mingi forced himself to talk, but your bare legs distracted him for a while, imagining how soft your skin was and how it would feel if he kissed it, he wondered what face you would make if he ran his hands over your breasts and then kissed your breasts neck, he wondered how he would feel if he put his…

He put those thoughts out of his mind, it wasn't the first time he had them, but he had managed to contain himself well until now, he set limits and stopped thinking about you talking to other girls, but sometimes, certain nights, when the memory of you It tormented him, he couldn't resist massaging himself thinking about you.

He shifted in his seat, but he was already tense enough and having you around wasn't helping him.

“I'm dying of sleep,” he whispered, interrupting your conversation. “I think I better go.”

You looked at the clock and got up to stop him. It was too late, you were worried that he would leave in the middle of the night, plus you didn't want to accept it, but you enjoyed his company more than you should.

"Stay"

Mingi could have refused and stopped the trouble he had started having in his pants, but seeing the way your eyebrows furrowed and your lips curled he didn't find the courage to say no.

After leaving him a pillow and some blankets, Mingi prepared to get comfortable on the couch. The lights went out and he closed his eyes to avoid thinking about the smell you had left in the room.

You went to your room and lay down on the bed trying to fall asleep, but something kept you restless. You shifted on the bed until you felt something under you and you pulled it out, embarrassed for forgetting that you had the dildo hidden.

Suddenly the idea that you had had from the beginning came back, you still felt tense and you knew that you wouldn't be able to sleep well tonight, but a part of you was fighting to contain itself, you were not alone and you liked the idea that Mingi could hear you, but you liked it. You were sure that he wouldn't like someone older like you, plus he was your brother's friend.

You closed your eyes, everything was silent, it seemed as if no one was around. You bit your lip and without thinking much you opened your legs, moving your hand down your abdomen until you reached your clothed pussy. You ran your fingers gently over your clit, rubbing it in circles and sank further into the bed.

You slowly increased your movements as you felt your slickness seeping through the fabric. You bit your lips and closed your eyes imagining that your fingers were someone else's as you took off your shorts and directly touched your soaked pussy, forgetting a little that you were not alone and you moaned.

Mingi was restless and although he tried to sleep he was distracted when he heard a strange noise, at first he was scared thinking it was something but when he heard it repeated constantly, curiosity took over him. He got up and walked silently to your room where something could be heard on the other side. A ragged breath and moans reached his head causing him to freeze with his hand on the door.

He rubbed his eyes thinking that he was still dreaming, but when another moan was heard he couldn't do anything. His entire body tensed and he felt a slight pressure in his crotch that wanted to be addressed, his head was hallucinating and his senses had stopped working. It was wrong to stay and listen to you but he couldn't move. He sighed, running his hand over his pants as he pressed his ear to the door and held onto his cock.

It wasn't enough, he needed to see how you gave yourself pleasure, to see how you moaned and joined your fingers up to the knuckles in your pussy. He bit his lip, doubting whether he should turn the knob, but his instincts seemed to react first and he just peeked through the small crack.

Your back was arched and your legs were shaking as your fingers pumped your pussy over and over again, you moaned desperately, biting the sheets to try to silence yourself. Mingi stayed still recording that image in his head for later but when he saw your shiny pussy and your heavy breathing he couldn't contain himself and let out a loud moan.

You had been aware that you might wake Mingi up, but that was your plan and when you heard footsteps outside you moaned louder for him to open the door, you smiled when you heard the low squeak and arched your back sticking your fingers into your pussy, you were close and Knowing that he was watching you helped you elevate the sensation, letting your pleasure release with one last moan.

“Mingi…”

The boy stopped his movements holding his breath, had you moaned his name? What should he do? Have you seen it? Should he run away? but he couldn't answer any of that when he saw your silhouette moving on the bed.

“I know you're behind the door.” Mingi still didn't move, trying to process everything you said, but he wasn't expecting your words. “Are you going to watch or come help me?”

Mingi's head spun, he must have been dreaming, there were no more explanations. The way everything was being too good couldn't be true, but, if it wasn't true it didn't matter at all, right?

Mingi hesitated for a moment, fighting in his head and shouting that this was wrong, that you were his friend's sister, but he gathered his courage and opened the door completely. You smiled when you saw him, leaning on your elbows to notice how his eyes roamed around your naked body you opened your legs even more, letting him see every part of your pussy and you bit your mouth as you watched him run his tongue over his lips.

“Did you plan all this on purpose?” His voice became deep and his eyes darkened a little as they met yours as you closed your legs and stood up to walk to where he was.

His eyes didn't leave your body the entire time, he was fighting not to grab you and throw you onto the bed, but he remained calm when he felt your hand on his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut as you ran your fingers over his lips giving him a small taste of your taste.

“You should apologize for invading my privacy darling” you saw him salivate and as he parted his lips to lick the tips of your fingers “you're a bad boy” you continued putting your fingers in his mouth when he started breathing harder and harder.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, connecting his gaze with yours for a moment and moving away a little.

“Show me,” you said, standing on tiptoe to be at the height of his mouth. “Show how sorry you are.”

Mingi didn't wait any longer and he left all doubtful thoughts of him behind. He grabbed your waist and brought your bodies together while he kissed your mouth.

You moaned in surprise, letting him take you to the bed, letting his hands run over your butt and squeeze it hard.

You leaned your head back and arched your body as his mouth descended on your neck and you felt him mark your skin with soft bites. You ran your hands over his chest trying to get rid of his shirt but before you could do anything he threw you on the bed and placed himself on top of you.

His eyes were lost in yours for a moment before he placed short kisses on your breasts, sucking on the skin and passing his tongue over your nipples, making your skin crawl. You let yourself be carried away by the sensation of his mouth slowly going down your abdomen until it reached your thighs and you felt his hands caress the inside of your legs, playing a little with your pussy.

“Min…”

“I want to know every part of your splendid body” he whispered as he brought his mouth closer to the middle of your legs “I want to taste you and feel the pleasure through you” his words made you sigh, no one had ever spoken to you that way.

There was no time to respond when you let out a moan as you felt his tongue in your pussy, your back arched as he began to play with your clit and his fingers caressed your entrance. You felt like you were pressing against nothing and you were already feeling the rush inside you from the overstimulation. You grabbed his hair, urging him to continue licking your pussy and you felt his tongue go faster when he inserted a finger to add to your pleasure but it was not enough.

You closed your legs, crushing his head in between but Mingi didn't complain, he felt like he was in heaven when he felt your flesh crushing him at the same time he tasted your slick. His tongue was fast and his finger lightly touched your g-spot making it torture, tears gathered on your face as you felt so close to orgasm, but suddenly everything stopped.

Mingi withdrew knowing that he couldn't stand it any longer with his cock in his pants either. You saw him undress and you did not hide your astonishment when you saw his worked body, but what surprised you the most was his cock. The tip of it was red and leaking precum and you couldn't help but lick your lips, which he noticed making his cock even harder.

“Fuck me” Mingi smiled, leaning over you, taking the base of his cock and passing it over your clit. “Please…” he left the tip at your entrance and focused on your face while he grabbed your hips tightly and slowly introduced his thick cock inside you making you moan from feeling so full.

“Fuck… it feels so good” Mingi moaned when he saw their joined bodies. He leaned over you and wiped away a tear you had shed, pressing his lips together in a passionate kiss, feeling his tongue and your taste in your mouth.

His hands caressed the outside of your legs and lowered them to your thighs to raise one leg over his body and let it rest on one of his shoulders.

He grabbed your legs and smiled before starting to move his hips crashing against yours, you moaned into his mouth as you felt his cock throb through you. You placed your hands on his shoulders and dug your nails into his skin as he picked up a faster pace.

Mingi could die right now, he had dreamed about you so many times and now that he was buried deep inside your tight pussy he felt like he was in fucking hell. His body was burning and he could only focus on the image of your face while he watched your marked tits bounce with each thrust. He couldn't stand it for long if you continued to squeeze him like that.

“I'm close,” he whispered, feeling his cock throb.

You looked at his body for a moment, taking in his muscles and the small beads of sweat on his chest.

“Do it, I want all of you Min” your warm voice combined with the nickname made Mingi tremble and leave your legs, you received him in your chest as you felt the client liquid seeping inside you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and stroked his hair, letting yourself be carried away by the feeling of his semen spilling down your thighs.

Silence took over the room for a moment, you kept your eyes closed feeling Mingi's body on yours and her breath on your neck. You weren't sure how this would change the relationship you had with him and how it would affect his relationship with your Yunho, but you didn't want to think about that now.

“Min…” the boy raised his head, resting his hands on the sides of your head.

“I know…” they both looked at each other sharing the blame for a moment until he caressed your cheek “we should go take a shower” he confessed making you laugh a little to cut the tension of the moment.

“Okay” you held hands as you walked, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed yourself against his lips “only if you promise to fuck me again pretty boy”

“You're corrupting me,” Mingi blurted out so seriously with red cheeks that you almost forgot the way he had just fucked you in bed.

They laughed on their way to the bathroom without hearing any of the forgotten ringing phones while Yunho sighed angrily at the missed calls they left him.

#mingi #song mingi #ateez mingi #mingi ateez #ateez #ateez smut #mingi smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #mingi hard hours #ateez hard hours #mingi x you #ateez imagines #ateez x you #mingi x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #smut

174 notes · View notes

magics-neptunes-things · 1 year ago

Text

Hand On You (Woso Prompt)

22. I won't let anyone lay an hand on you with Laia Aleixandri.

This one is short, but enjoy :)

TW : Angst, Creepy guy.

______________________________________________________________

It’s only when the library supervisor asks you to leave that you realize what time it is. You are in full preparation for your exams and you haven't seen the hours passed, which is rather embarrassing since you are supposed to go home with public transport and you hate it, especially at night.

After you gather your things, you get your coat and find the fresh air of Manchester. The good news is that it wakes you up a little, after spending so much time locked up it feels good to breath some fresh air. Your apartment being far away, you have to take two different buses. Luckily the first one arrives quite quickly and you manage to find a free place at the bottom.

A few stops later, a man comes to sit next to you, which is not strange considering that it's public transport. What is a little more strange is that you feel his look on you and that he absolutely doesn't hide it.

When you apologize to him for letting you through so you can get down, his smile gives you chills. You swallow and hurry to reach the exit door of the bus, finding with relief the fresh air. But your relief doesn't last long since you realize while standing in front of the stop for your correspondence that it also came down.

He's looking everywhere, upset and evil. It doesn’t take you long to understand that what he’s looking for is you.

Luckily, he didn’t see you. And for it to continue this way, you move quickly to hide behind the bus shelter, hoping he will quickly drop the case. In your maneuver, you shoved a young woman a little too abruptly.

"I’m sorry" you mumble a low-pitched apology.

You don’t hear her answer though, preferring to look over your shoulder to see if you’ve been spotted. You feel the panic seizing you when you notice that the man has disappeared and you expect to see him reappear at any time at your side.

"Hello?" says the brunette you shoved earlier, drawing your attention back to her. "All right?"

"Yes, I-"

But you shut up suddenly, eyes wide open with terror. The face of the man is only ten meters away from you and he saw you. His predatory smile gives you shivers again. One of the two young women in the trio of people who are together follows your gaze.

"Do you know him?"

"No. I think he’s following me."

The three young people react quickly and it takes you out of your torpor. The brunette and the man, also with brown hair, turn in the direction of the man who is making his way towards you, while the blonde passes her arm around your shoulders to train you a little further.

"Everything will be fine" she assures you with an accent you can’t recognize. "My name is Laia, and the others are Leila and Moise"

Laia makes you sit on the bus shelter bench, glued against the ads, which makes you see nothing at the scene that takes place a few meters from you.

"Maybe I’m getting the wrong idea, but he was really weird"

You hope you’re not provoking a fight or argument for nothing. But the blonde is smiling nicely.

"If you didn’t feel safe, it’s enough to ask for help"

You look up at her and give her a little smile, grateful for her understanding. When she leans slightly to see beyond the bus shelter, you hurry to question her.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, don’t worry. I won't let anyone lay an hand on you."

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #laia aleixandri x reader #laia aleixandri imagine #laia aleixandri

203 notes · View notes

crusty-chronicles · 1 year ago

Note

Hi hi!

Can I request a kurapika x reader (headcanons, or you can do a oneshot if it's too difficult.)?

Where the reader also had an immense hatred for the phantom troupe for something they did to reader?

Kurapika also finds them enjoyable to be around because reader is just such a chill person?

(Also this is random but can the personality for the reader be super shy to everyone they meet and they just draws whenever they can? Because that's just my personality.)

Kurapika with a Phantom Troupe Hating S/O

----------------------------

He first noticed you during the first phase of the hunter exam

You were just another contestant to him at the time

Just another stranger.

And it would have stayed like that had you not stopped during Leorio's crisis

Staying put as he contemplated quitting. Only to say something that Kurapika couldn't quite hear.

But whatever it was, it had Leorio jumping up with new vigor and running once again.

Words he would later learn were, "You're friends are waiting for you, ya know? So don't give up just yet."

The next time Kurapika notices you is during the third phase. Where a group of five was needed to advance.

And by chance, you just so happened to be the fifth member.

He immediately noticed your skittish behavior upon seeing them.

Back to the wall with eyes the size of dinner plates.

A quiet 'Hi' escaping you as the cogs turned in your head.

But you didn't have to think for long as the instructions for the third phase were explained.

With the assurance that you wouldn't have to fight anyone, you relaxed.

You didn't talk much, at least not to him

Usually giving one worded responses if you had to.

Despite this, your actions didn't come off as malicious. But rather nervous.

Like you were unsure of yourself.

However, with constant prodding from Gon and Killua, you opened up a bit.

Adding some insight whenever a choice had to be made

For some reason he couldn't place, Kurapika wanted to hear a little more of your voice.

To have you talk without you feeling strained

He would get his wish during the next challenge of this phase.

The prisoner with a spider tattoo.

Seeing him had caused enough rage within Kurapika to activate his scarlet eyes.

So much anger.

So much hatred that he couldn't focus on anything else.

Unaware of you fuming from the sidelines.

Your first clenched so tightly, there were imprints of your nails.

Leorio was the one to bring it up after you were forced to give up 50 hours.

"I thought Kurapika hated the Phantom Troupe, but you were absolutely pissed at that inmate! You wouldn't happen to be a Kurta would you?"

You looked up from the sketchbook you were doodling in with a frown.

"No. I just can't stand that gang of brutes."

Your voice came out harsh, your pencil strokes getting faster.

But that answer wasn't satisfactory for the blonde sitting next to you.

If you knew something about the Spiders, he wanted to know. He needed to know.

"What business do you have with the phantom troupe?" His tone dangerously dark.

But instead of answering him, you slid over the piece you were working on.

To his and Leorio's shock, bloodied scenes filled the pages.

"The leader stole my brother's nen ability and practiced it on him. Over and over again." Until there was nothing left.

But you didn't want to get into specifics right now. If you did, you most likely wouldn't be able to finish the exam.

"Drawing helps. A way for me to remember so that I never forget what they did to him. I need to become a hunter so I'll have a better shot of finding them."

It was the most you've ever spoken, and when you looked up, you were met with sympathetic and understanding gazes.

You were a lot less quiet after that.

A lot more friendlier too.

And while Kurapika had someone to relate to, he just couldn't stand the thought of you being the one to cause the spiders' demise.

He understood your rage, but his own would never be satisfied unless he took down the Phantom with his own hands.

So as a friendly warning, he told you so himself.

"As you're aware, the Troupe murdered my entire clan. And I can never forgive them for that, just as you can never forgive them for taking your brother from you. But it's me who's going to bring them to justice. I will not allow someone else to be their downfall. No matter if we're friends."

And instead of you arguing with him, instead of you fighting, instead of either of you lashing out....

You spoke in that soft tone of yours.

"I want to kill him. All of them, but I can be content just knowing they'll suffer. If you want to go after them, I won't interfere. But I'd like to help."

Relief immediately flowed through him.

You weren't upset.

You weren't going to push back.

You were still friends.

"Then let's stick together after the exam. Your presence is enjoyable."

The beginning of a partnership built on loss

Of relying on each other because no one else understood.

Trying to complete the ultimate goal of finishing the Spiders while justifying the closeness between each other

But neither of you pushing for more.

Destroying the Phantom Troupe came first after all.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter x y/n #hxh x reader #hxh x y/n #kurapika x reader #hxh kurapika #kurapika kurta

163 notes · View notes

breederking · 25 days ago

Text

TW: rape

John nervously gripped the edge of the crisp, white exam table, his heart hammering in his chest as he stared at the frigidly cold walls of the doctor's office. This was his first appointment with a new physician, and the thought of explaining his medical history made his palms sweat. The sterile smell of the room did nothing to ease his anxiety.

The doctor, Dr. Hartwell, walked in with a curt nod and a professional smile. "Good morning, John. It's a pleasure to meet you. I understand you're here for a routine check-up?" His voice was calm and even, his eyes scanning over the intake forms with a practiced gaze.

John swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Yes," he croaked, trying to keep his voice steady. "Just the usual."

Dr. Hartwell nodded, his expression unreadable. "Alright, let's get started." He began the examination with a gentle touch that grew bolder as John's discomfort grew palpable. The doctor's fingers lingered on John's abdomen, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. John tried to ignore the feeling of his doctor's eyes on him, focusing instead on the ticking of the clock on the wall, the muffled sounds of the busy medical office outside the door.

As the exam continued, Dr. Hartwell's demeanor grew more casual, his questions more personal. "How long have you been on testosterone?" he asked, his tone conversational.

John tensed, his grip on the exam table tightening. "Five years," he replied curtly, hoping to keep the conversation professional.

Dr. Hartwell nodded thoughtfully. "And have you experienced any... side effects?" His eyes held a glint of something unsettling, something that made John's stomach twist into knots.

John took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. "Just the usual," he replied, hoping to keep his voice from betraying his fear. "Some mood swings, but nothing too severe."

The doctor's smile grew wider, almost predatory. "Ah, yes," he murmured. "The hormones can do quite a bit to the body, can't they?" He leaned in closer, his breath hot on John's ear. "But they can't change everything, can they?"

John stiffened as the doctor's hand slid down to the top of his underwear, his fingers lingering at the waistband. "What are you doing?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Just a quick check, don't worry," Dr. Hartwell assured him, his tone patronizingly calm. "It's all part of the routine, especially with your... unique situation."

John's eyes widened as he felt the doctor's hand slip into his underwear, cupping his genitals with an invasive familiarity that made him want to scream. Panic surged through him, but he was frozen, unable to move or protest. The doctor's touch was cold and clinical, yet there was something else, something darker and more sinister behind it.

Before he could even think of pushing the doctor away, Dr. Hartwell's other hand was suddenly over John's mouth, muffling any sound he might make. "Shh," he whispered, his breath warm against John's cheek. "I know this isn't what you expected, but it's for the best."

John's eyes watered with fear as the doctor's hand began to probe and manipulate his body in a way that no medical professional had ever done before. He struggled, trying to break free, but the doctor was too strong, his grip too firm. John's mind raced, trying to understand what was happening, trying to find a way to escape, but the panic was paralyzing.

With a swift motion, Dr. Hartwell pulled his own pants down with his one hand while keeping his other hand firmly over John's mouth. His erection sprang forth, a stark contrast to the coldness of the room and the horror etched on John's face. John's eyes grew wide with horror, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the true intentions behind the doctor's gentle touches.

The doctor then lifted the gown up, exposing John's privates to the cold air. John's body was trembling with a mix of fear and disgust, his eyes darting around the room for any means of escape. But the walls remained unforgivingly bare, offering no help or solace. The doctor's eyes gleamed with a twisted excitement as he took in John's exposed flesh.

Ignoring John's muffled protests, Dr. Hartwell tapped his cock against John's pussy a few times, the sound echoing in the small room like a macabre drumbeat. The sensation was alien and horrifying, sending shockwaves of revulsion through John's body. His mind screamed for it to stop, but his voice was trapped beneath the doctor's hand, reduced to muffled whimpers and pleas.

With a vicious thrust, Dr. Hartwell pushed his cock into John's pussy, making John's eyes roll back in his head. The pain was searing, a stark reminder of the violation taking place. John's body convulsed, trying to reject the unwanted intrusion, but the doctor was relentless, his hips pumping with a brutal rhythm that seemed to match the pounding in John's ears. Each thrust was a new wave of pain, each movement a fresh hell that John could do nothing to escape.

The doctor's eyes were locked on John's, his smile twisted in a sadistic glee as he watched the fear and pain dance across John's features. "You see, John," he said, his voice a sickly sweet purr, "you can't just erase your past with hormones and surgeries. Nature has its way of reminding you where you came from."

John's vision blurred with tears as he felt the doctor's cock fill him, the sensation foreign and revolting. He could feel his body's involuntary response, a betrayal that made him want to tear himself apart from the inside out. The doctor's hips ground against him, the friction sending jolts of pain through his body that only served to heighten his panic.

John's own body grew wet, a reaction that was not lost on Dr. Hartwell. He paused in his assault, his eyes flickering down to the slickness that had formed around his cock. The realization dawned on John with a cold, sickening clarity: the doctor had noticed his body's traitorous response, and it only served to encourage him further.

"It seems your body remembers what it used to be," the doctor murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and malice. "It's quite fascinating, really. How even after everything you've done, you can't change your true nature."

John's thoughts were a tumultuous storm of anger, humiliation, and pain, but he remained silent, his eyes filled with a mix of hatred and despair. The doctor's words cut deeper than any knife, but he knew that speaking out would only give him more power.

Dr. Hartwell noticed the change in John's demeanor and chuckled darkly. "Don't worry," he cooed, his voice dripping with patronizing condescension. "This won't take long." He resumed his vile assault, his strokes becoming more erratic as his excitement grew.

John's mind was a whirlwind of horror and disbelief, trying to comprehend the reality of what was happening. His body, despite his fierce resistance, responded in a way that only served to fuel the doctor's twisted pleasure. The pain grew with each thrust, the invasion feeling more and more unbearable.

The doctor's breath grew ragged, his eyes glazed over with lust as he continued to fuck John. John felt his own body begin to react, a traitorous arousal that only added to his revulsion. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, his nails digging into the exam table's hard surface.

The doctor's grip on John's face tightened, his thumb tracing a line of John's bottom lip. "You see, John," he murmured, his voice a low growl of triumph, "you can't escape your biology." His hips slammed into John's with more force, his movements punctuating each word. "You're still a woman, deep down."

John's body was a maelstrom of conflicting sensations. The pain was intense, but there was also something else, a strange and unwelcome arousal that washed over him, making his body respond in ways he despised. His mind screamed at him to fight, but his body seemed to have a will of its own.

With one final, violent thrust, Dr. Hartwell reached his climax, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into John. John felt the warmth of the doctor's semen filling him, a sensation that only added to the revulsion and anger coursing through him. The doctor's hand left John's mouth, his breath coming in heavy pants as he leaned over, his weight pressing John into the unforgiving exam table.

"There," Dr. Hartwell said, his voice still a sickeningly sweet whisper. "Now, my semen is looking for an egg to fertilize. It's what it's made to do, John. It's the most natural thing in the world." He stayed inside of John for a moment longer, his cock still hard, enjoying the feeling of John's body beneath him, his power over his patient palpable.

John's mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. He felt dirty, violated, and utterly powerless. His body was trembling, his legs weak and unsteady as the doctor finally pulled out. He stared at the floor, unable to meet Dr. Hartwell's gaze.

The doctor took a step back, tucking his erection away with a satisfied sigh. "Don't worry," he said, his tone light. "It's a common reaction. Your body is simply readjusting to its true form." He cleaned himself up with a wipe from the medical tray, tossing it into the trash with a flick of his wrist. "Now, let's talk about what happens next."

John's mind was racing, trying to piece together what had just occurred. The doctor was acting as if nothing had happened, as if this was just another part of the exam. He forced himself to look up, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and disbelief. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he managed to spit out, his voice hoarse from being muffled.

Dr. Hartwell's smile didn't waver as he cleaned himself up. "Now, now, John," he chided. "There's no need for such language. You're just a bit overwhelmed, that's all. It's a natural response." He washed his hands with the antiseptic soap by the sink, his movements deliberate and calm, as if he performed this act every day. "Now, let's discuss your treatment plan. We'll need to keep an eye on your hormone levels, especially after... this." He glanced down at John's trembling form with a gleam in his eye.

John's mind was a haze of rage and disgust, but he forced himself to focus. "What the hell do you mean, 'treatment plan'?" he growled through clenched teeth. "You just... you just..."

Dr. Hartwell dried his hands with a paper towel, his eyes never leaving John's face. "As your doctor," he began, his tone still disturbingly calm, "it's my duty to ensure your body is functioning properly. Given your... condition, it's clear that we need to re-evaluate your hormonal balance." He picked up a chart from the counter and made a note. "I'll be expecting to see elevated levels of hCG and estrogen, and a corresponding decrease in testosterone at our next appointment. It's all part of the process, John."

John's body felt like it was on fire with rage and humiliation. "You can't just do this to me," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "This isn't right."

"Oh, but it is," Dr. Hartwell replied, his tone still infuriatingly calm. "You see, John, your body has been fighting against nature for far too long. And nature, she has a way of correcting things." He placed the chart back on the counter and walked over to John, his eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Now, get yourself dressed. Make an appointment at the front desk for 8 weeks out. 10 weeks at the absolute latest."

John stumbled off the exam table, his legs shaking as he pulled his pants back up. He couldn't believe what had just occurred. "What happens in 8 weeks?" he asked, his voice shaking with fear and anger.

"Well," Dr. Hartwell said, his tone still disturbingly casual, "if everything goes as it should, you'll start to feel some... changes. You'll probably be experiencing some nausea. You might have some breast growth, some widening of your hips. I wouldn't expect any stomach growth yet at that point, but we will monitor that as the pregnancy progresses. For now, we will just check on how you're doing around week 8."

John felt his stomach drop, the reality of what the doctor was saying finally sinking in. "Pregnancy?!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the exam room. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

Dr. Hartwell's smile never wavered as he nodded calmly. "Indeed. Your body's natural reproductive system is quite resilient, even after all the interference. It's quite fascinating, really." He paused, watching as the color drained from John's face. "But fear not, John. I'll be with you every step of the way. I'll make sure everything progresses smoothly, and we'll keep a very close eye on your hormone levels."

John's mind was racing as he struggled to process the doctor's words. The thought of being pregnant filled him with a terror that was almost too much to bear. "This is... this is rape!" he choked out, his voice trembling with rage.

Dr. Hartwell's smile grew even wider, a chilling sight that only fueled John's fury. "Ah, but it's not, John," he said, his voice a low purr. "It's just your body doing what it's naturally meant to do. You see, even with all the hormones and surgeries, you can't change your fundamental biology. And now, thanks to me, you're going to get the chance to experience the beauty of motherhood."

John's hands balled into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "You're insane," he spat, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. "I won't let this happen. I'll report you."

Dr. Hartwell's smile grew even more predatory, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Oh, John," he said, his tone patronizing. "You're in no position to make threats. Who would believe you? A man claiming his doctor raped him? With your history... your transgressions against nature..." He trailed off, shaking his head as if in dismay. "No, I think we'll just keep this little secret between us. Besides," he added, leaning in closer, "you know how much you enjoyed it. Your body didn't lie."

John felt the bile rise in his throat at the doctor's words, his cheeks burning with a mix of anger and humiliation. He knew the doctor was right; the fear of being outed and the doubt that anyone would believe him made the prospect of reporting the assault unbearable. The thought of reliving the experience, explaining what happened to someone who might not understand, was more than he could handle.

He turned on shaky legs, desperate to get away from the monster in the white coat. As he stumbled out of the exam room, his vision blurred with unshed tears, he was aware of Dr. Hartwell's eyes on him, watching him with a detached curiosity, like a scientist observing a lab experiment gone awry.

The receptionist looked up from her computer with a bright smile as John approached, completely oblivious to the horror that had just unfolded. "Need to make another appointment?" she chirped, her voice a grating cacophony to his ringing ears.

John nodded numbly, unable to form coherent words. "Yes," he managed to croak, his hand shaking as he took the pen she offered. "In... in 8 weeks."

The receptionist typed away, her fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard. "Alright, we've got you down for 8 weeks from today. Dr. Hartwell will see you then, sir."

John nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He couldn't believe he was agreeing to this, but the fear of what the doctor might do if he didn't was too great. He took one last look at Dr. Hartwell as he left the office, his heart racing. The doctor's smile was knowing, as if he could see right through John's facade of compliance.

The walk to his car felt like a never-ending journey through a nightmare. Each step was heavier than the last, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. He collapsed into the driver's seat, his hands shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. The world outside was a blur, the sounds of traffic and the bustle of the city muffled by the fog of his trauma.

John's thoughts were a chaotic mess, cycling through anger, fear, and a deep sense of betrayal. He had trusted Dr. Hartwell, had allowed himself to be vulnerable in his care, and this was the twisted result. He started the engine, his mind racing with the implications of what the doctor had done to him.

Six weeks later, John woke up with a start, his stomach lurching violently. He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he vomited, his body heaving as it expelled the bile that had been festering in his stomach. The bitter taste of fear filled his mouth as he realized that the doctor's words might have been true.

He took a pregnancy test that morning, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold the stick. The two pink lines that appeared seemed to dance before his eyes, taunting him with their reality. He sank to the floor, the cold tiles offering no comfort as he cradled his stomach, feeling the betrayal of his own body in the most visceral way.

John knew he couldn't tell anyone about what had happened. The fear of not being believed, of being laughed at, or worse, being told that he deserved it, was too much to bear. He had always known that there were risks with transitioning, but he had never imagined anything like this. The doctor had taken his vulnerability and twisted it into something monstrous, something that made John question his very existence.

The weeks leading up to his appointment were a living hell. Each day brought new and terrifying symptoms that confirmed the doctor's words. The nausea grew more intense and he swore he could feel his hips widening. He tried to ignore it, to pretend that it was all just a bad dream.

John sat in the waiting room, his eyes glued to the floor as the minutes ticked by. His mind was racing with thoughts of escape, of how to get out of this situation without anyone knowing. The idea of facing Dr. Hartwell again was almost too much to handle. But as much as he dreaded it, he knew he had to go through with it.

When his name was called, he forced himself to stand up, his legs wobbly beneath him. He walked back to the exam room, his heart pounding in his chest. The sight of the same cold, unforgiving table sent a fresh wave of terror through him. He took a deep breath and told himself he could handle this.

Dr. Hartwell walked in, his smile as chilling as ever. "John," he said, his eyes sweeping over John's form with a hunger that made him want to retch. "How have you been feeling?"

John couldn't bring himself to look at the doctor, focusing instead on the poster of a smiling family on the opposite wall. "Fine," he lied, his voice a monotone whisper.

"Good, good," Dr. Hartwell said, his voice dripping with faux concern. "Now, let's have a look." He gestured to the table, and John reluctantly lay down, feeling more exposed than ever. The doctor's cold hands began to probe his body, his touch no longer gentle but more possessive. He could feel the doctor's eyes on him, studying every inch of his skin with a sickening hunger.

The examination was thorough, bordering on torture as Dr. Hartwell felt for any signs of the pregnancy. Each touch was a painful reminder of what had been done to him, and John had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. His body had become a battleground, a prison for a fate he never wanted.

Finally, Dr. Hartwell spoke. "Looks like everything's progressing nicely," he said, his voice devoid of any genuine concern. "Your body is adapting well. Your test results looked great. Your hormone levels are right where they should be. I won't be refilling your script for testosterone, at least not for the next 9 months or so."

John's eyes snapped up to meet the doctor's, anger flaring in his chest. "What?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "You can't do that."

"Oh, but I can, John," Dr. Hartwell replied, his smile never wavering. "As your doctor, it's my duty to ensure the health of my patients, and that includes the little life growing inside of you. You can't be on testosterone while you're pregnant."

John felt a wave of panic wash over him. He had been on testosterone for five years, and the thought of going off it, of letting his body revert back to what it used to be, was unbearable. "What about my... but..." he stuttered out, desperation lacing his voice.

Dr. Hartwell leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Your transition is on hold for now, John," he said, his voice cold. "We need to focus on the natural process occurring within you. You're having a baby."

John felt his stomach turn at the words, the reality of his situation hitting him like a ton of bricks. "This isn't right," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I'm not a... I can't..."

The doctor's eyes narrowed, his smile slipping into a cold sneer. "Your denial doesn't change the facts, John," he said, his voice a low growl. "You're carrying a child now. A child that will be a reminder of your true nature. Your testosterone treatment is done for now."

John's mind was racing as he sat up, his body trembling with rage. "What do you want from me?" he spat, his eyes burning with anger.

Dr. Hartwell's smile grew, a twisted glint in his eye. "Only for you to accept the truth, John. To embrace what you really are." His hand slid down to John's abdomen, pressing down gently. "To nurture this little life growing inside of you."

John's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. "Get your hands off me," he snarled, his voice filled with a primal rage he hadn't felt in years.

The doctor chuckled, his hand retreating slowly. "Now, now, John. No need for that. We're all just trying to do what's best for you, after all." His eyes held a challenge, daring John to argue.

John stood up, his legs shaking with a mix of anger and fear. "This isn't what's best for me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "This is your sick fucking game."

Dr. Hartwell's smile grew even wider, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Is that so, John?" he asked, his voice taunting. "I'd say it's nature's way of correcting a mistake. But you're free to believe whatever helps you sleep at night." He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're going to need to make 6 more appointments before you go. One for each month. After that, we will increase to one appointment every 2 weeks. Once you're at 36 weeks, I'll be seeing you weekly until you pop. But we will start with the 6 next appointments now."

John's heart sank as he realized the doctor had no intention of letting this go. He was trapped in a nightmare with no escape. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. "Fine," he ground out, his voice tight with anger. "I'll do it."

The doctor's smile grew more predatory at John's acquiescence. "Good," he murmured. "You're going to make a wonderful mother." The words were a knife to John's soul, but he bit back his retort. He had to survive this, for his own sake and for the sake of the child he never wanted.

The months that followed were a blur of anger and despair. John went through the motions, attending each appointment with a heavy heart. Dr. Hartwell was always there, his eyes gleaming with a dark excitement as he monitored John's progress. The other patients in the waiting room, the nurses, the receptionist – none of them knew the horror that played out behind the closed door of the exam room.

At his 6th appointment, John was 28 weeks pregnant. His belly was a round, unavoidable testament to the doctor's cruel actions. He wore baggy clothes, hoping to hide the swell of his stomach, but it was clear to everyone who saw him that he was with child. The weight of his situation bore down on him like a crushing stone, each day a painful reminder of his stolen agency.

The exam room was cold, the same as it had been every other time. Dr. Hartwell walked in, his eyes raking over John's form with a hunger that had only grown with time. "Look at you," he said, his voice dripping with a faux admiration that made John's skin crawl. "You're glowing, John."

John could feel his stomach churn as he lay on the exam table. He had done everything he could to avoid looking in the mirror, to ignore the changes happening to his body. The sight of his own swollen stomach was a constant reminder of the violation he had endured, of the monster that had taken everything from him. "Let's just get this over with," he said through gritted teeth.

The doctor's hand was cool against his skin as he began to palpate his belly. John's body stiffened as the doctor's fingers dug in, feeling the baby's movements with an enthusiasm that made him want to scream. He could feel the creature inside him, a living, breathing reminder of the doctor's sick obsession. The doctor's eyes lit up with excitement as he found the baby's head, his hands moving with a disturbing tenderness.

John's eyes squeezed shut, his teeth grinding together as he endured the touch. "Your baby is quite active," Dr. Hartwell said, his voice filled with a perverse delight. "It's a good sign."

John's body tensed as the doctor's hands grew more insistent, his fingers pressing and prodding in a way that was no longer medical but something more intimate and possessive. He could feel the child moving, a fluttering and kicking that brought a mix of fear and anger to the surface. Each movement was a reminder of the doctor's control over him, a constant taunt that he couldn't ignore.

Dr. Hartwell noticed John's discomfort and leaned in closer, his breath hot on John's neck. "You know, John," he said, his voice a sly whisper, "pregnancy can do quite a number on your libido. It's perfectly natural, of course." His hand slid down John's thigh, his thumb tracing the line of his inner thigh, dangerously close to his genitals. "Your body is going through a lot of changes. It's only natural that it would crave... release."

John's eyes snapped open, his entire being on high alert. He couldn't let the doctor touch him again, not like that. He swallowed hard, trying to form words, but his mouth was dry and his throat was tight. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Don't," he managed to croak out, his voice trembling with fear.

But Dr. Hartwell didn't listen. His hand continued its descent, slipping beneath the waistband of John's pants. John's body tensed, every muscle screaming for him to fight, to push the doctor away. But he was paralyzed with terror, unable to move. The doctor's fingers slid over his skin, his touch cold and foreign.

John's eyes widened as the doctor's hand reached his pussy, his touch unexpectedly gentle. The doctor's smile grew as he found John to be extremely wet, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "It seems your body has quite the response to all these changes," he murmured, his voice a dark caress. "It's all part of the natural process."

John's mind was racing, trying to figure out what the doctor was planning. He didn't dare move, didn't dare to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He just lay there, his eyes staring straight ahead, his body taut with tension. The doctor's fingers slid into him, moving in a way that was both clinical and obscenely intimate. John's stomach churned as the doctor's thumb circled his clit, the sensation of the unwanted touch making him want to scream.

The doctor's eyes never left John's face, his expression a twisted mix of amusement and excitement. "You see, John," he whispered, "your body is still a woman's. It still responds to a man's touch." His hand began to move faster, his thumb pressing down harder on John's clit. The pain was unbearable, but John knew he couldn't show it. He had to be strong.

John's breath hitched in his throat as the doctor's hand worked him, his movements growing more aggressive with each passing second. The doctor leaned over him, his face a mask of perverted pleasure. "You're going to like this, John," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "You're going to show me that you're still a woman."

John's eyes squeezed shut, his mind racing with thoughts of escape. But his body was trapped, his will subjugated to the doctor's depraved desires. He could feel the doctor's cock, hard and insistent against his thigh. The doctor's hand was relentless, stroking him to a peak of horror that he hadn't thought possible. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the scream that threatened to tear from his chest.

And then, with a swiftness that belied his calm demeanor, Dr. Hartwell pulled John's pants down to his ankles. The cold air of the room hit John's exposed flesh, making him shiver. The doctor's hands were everywhere, pushing him into place, spreading his legs wider, exposing him completely. John's cheeks burned with a humiliation so intense it was almost physical. He felt the doctor's cock probing at his entrance, the tip slick with lubricant. He wanted to fight, to kick and scream, but his body was a prison of fear and disgust.

The doctor's hands were surprisingly gentle as he positioned John's legs over his shoulders. John's eyes squeezed shut, unable to look at the monster that was about to violate him once more. He took a deep breath, trying to brace himself for the pain. But the doctor didn't enter him immediately. Instead, he leaned down, his mouth hovering over John's swollen stomach. "Such a good mommy," he murmured, his breath hot against John's skin. "Taking your medicine like a champ."

John's stomach twisted in revulsion at the words, his mind reeling from the sheer depravity of the situation. The doctor's tongue darted out, tracing the line of John's belly button, sending a shiver of fear through his body. He felt the doctor's cock, thick and hard, pressing against his entrance. And then, without warning, he pushed inside.

The pain was searing, a fresh violation that made John's vision swim. He bit down on the pillow, muffling his screams as the doctor began to fuck him with a brutal, punishing rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of agony through his body, his mind reeling with the knowledge that this was happening again. The doctor's hands held him down, his weight pinning John to the table as he claimed him, over and over, his movements punctuated by grunts of satisfaction.

John's mind was a tumult of anger and despair. He hated his own body for responding, for betraying him in this most intimate way. He could feel the doctor's excitement, the sick thrill of power that he took from John's suffering. The doctor's eyes remained locked on John's face, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he watched the pain and humiliation etched there.

John's breath came in ragged gasps as the doctor's cock slammed into him, the sound of their bodies meeting a perverse counterpoint to the silent screams echoing in his mind. He wished he could shut off his senses, to block out the feeling of his body being used, but it was impossible. Each thrust was a stark reminder of his helplessness, a stark contrast to the fierce independence he had worked so hard to build.

The doctor's movements grew more erratic, his breathing more ragged. John felt his own body begin to respond against his will, the traitorous arousal mixing with the pain and fear. He clenched his eyes shut, willing himself not to orgasm, not to give the doctor the satisfaction of seeing him pleasure himself. But his body was no longer his own, a marionette dancing on the strings of the doctor's depraved desires.

As John felt himself approaching climax, the doctor's eyes lit up with excitement. He leaned in closer, his voice a sinister whisper. "That's it, John," he encouraged, his thumb pressing harder on John's clit. "Let go. Show me you're still a woman." The words were like acid, burning through John's soul. But his body had a mind of its own, betraying him with every involuntary twitch and spasm.

John's body began to convulse, his hips rising off the table in a desperate attempt to escape the doctor's merciless grip. But it was no use. The doctor's cock was too deep, his hands too strong. The orgasm washed over John like a tidal wave, a mix of pleasure and pain that left him gasping for breath. The doctor's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with triumph. He had broken John in the most fundamental way possible.

As the doctor reached his own climax, his movements grew even more erratic. He slammed into John one last time, his body shuddering with the force of his release. John felt the warmth of the doctor's seed fill him, the sensation making his stomach roil. The doctor's hand moved to John's stomach, rubbing it in gentle circles as he whispered sweet nothings into his ear. "Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Such a fertile little slut."

John's body was a tapestry of pain and violation, but the doctor's touch was gentle, almost loving. It was a stark contrast that only served to fuel John's anger. He could feel the doctor's semen inside of him, a sticky, unwelcome presence that made his skin crawl. He wanted to push the doctor away, to tell him to go to hell, but his body was still caught in the throes of the forced orgasm, his muscles refusing to cooperate.

As Dr. Hartwell withdrew, John's legs dropped to the floor with a thud, his body feeling like it was made of lead. He couldn't even bring himself to look at the man who had just raped him. The doctor took his time cleaning up, his movements deliberate and casual, as if he had just performed the most mundane of tasks. "Good boy," he murmured, patting John's head. "You're doing so well."

John's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted nothing more than to punch the smug expression off the doctor's face, but he knew it was futile. He had to play along, had to survive this. He took a deep breath and sat up, his eyes avoiding the mirror that reflected his swollen stomach and the bruises that were surely starting to form. He quickly redressed, his movements mechanical and detached.

"You're making excellent progress," Dr. Hartwell said, his voice sickeningly cheerful as he jotted down notes in John's file. "Your hormone levels are just where they need to be. And look at that little baby bump. It won't be long now. We can schedule your upcoming appointments all the way through week 40, so be sure to do that at the front desk."

John nodded, his eyes on the floor. He couldn't bear to look at the doctor, to see the satisfaction in his eyes. The doctor had been increasingly aggressive with each appointment, pushing him further and further into a role he never wanted. His mind raced with thoughts of revenge, of finding a way to make the doctor pay for what he'd done. But for now, he had to play along.

The doctor leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face. "Now, John," he began, his tone a mockery of concern, "you're going to need to start preparing for the birth. We can go over breathing exercises, and I'll make sure to refer you to a good obstetrician for the delivery."

John nodded stiffly, his eyes burning with a rage that threatened to consume him. "Whatever you say," he managed to get out, his voice a barely contained snarl.

"Good," Dr. Hartwell said, his eyes never leaving John's face. "I'll see you in two weeks. Remember to keep up with your vitamins and prenatal care. And no strenuous activity, of course. Wouldn't want anything to happen to the baby." He winked, the gesture sending a shiver down John's spine.

John forced himself to his feet, his legs wobbly and unsteady. He could feel the doctor's cum slowly leaking out of him, a sticky mess that only served as a constant reminder of his plight. He took a deep breath and nodded, his voice a brittle shell of its former self. "I'll be there," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor's eyes searched John's, as if looking for any sign of dissent. When he found none, he nodded approvingly. "Good. I'll see you then." He turned and walked out of the room, the door closing with a soft click that seemed to echo through the cold, sterile space.

John stood there for a moment, his body trembling with a mix of anger and fear. He couldn't believe this was his life now, couldn't believe he was trapped in this nightmare with no way out. The baby grew inside him, a constant reminder of the monster he was forced to endure. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself before walking to the front desk to finish scheduling his appointments.

The receptionist looked up at him with a friendly smile, oblivious to the horrors that had just taken place. "How are you feeling, John?" she asked cheerfully.

John's hand drifted to his stomach almost of its own accord, rubbing the small bump that grew there with a mix of fear and resentment. "I'm okay," he lied, his voice shaking. "Just need to get these appointments set up."

The receptionist nodded, her gaze never leaving her computer screen. "Very well," she said, typing away. "We'll get you scheduled for every two weeks, as Dr. Hartwell recommended. And don't forget about the ultrasound at week 35. It's such an exciting milestone!"

John nodded numbly, his hand still resting on his stomach. The thought of going through this for the next several months, of being subjected to the doctor's twisted attentions, made him feel like throwing up. But he forced a smile, not wanting to arouse any suspicion. "Thank you," he murmured, taking the schedule from her. "I'll be sure to keep them all."

As he left the office, the weight of his situation settled on his shoulders like a leaden shroud. He walked down the hall, his eyes straight ahead, avoiding the eyes of the other patients and staff. He could feel the doctor's semen still inside of him, a disgusting reminder of the violation he had just endured. His mind raced with thoughts of what he could do, who he could tell, but he knew the truth was that no one would believe him. Dr. Hartwell was a respected member of the community, a well-liked and trusted doctor. If he said it was part of the treatment, who would question it?

The months dragged on, each appointment a new hell for John. His belly grew rounder, his breasts fuller, and his body softened in ways that were both terrifying and fascinating. He found himself staring in the mirror, his hand on his growing stomach, the reality of his situation sinking in deeper with each passing day. He was so very pregnant, carrying a child that was never meant to be.

The sensations were strange and unwelcome, yet he couldn't help but feel a morbid curiosity. His chest swelled with milk, the tender flesh aching and leaking with each step he took. The sight of his swollen nipples, so sensitive to the touch, brought a mix of fear and fascination. It was a constant reminder of the monstrous act that had been perpetrated against him, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. He felt like a puppet, his strings being pulled by the doctor's twisted desires.

John tried to ignore the changes, to focus on the anger and betrayal that coursed through him, but it was like trying to ignore a screaming siren. His belly grew larger, more pronounced with each week, the weight of the unborn child a constant, heavy burden. He would lay in bed at night, his hands tracing the curve of his abdomen, feeling the baby kick and move, and he would think of the doctor's words, "Your body is still a woman's." The idea was like a cancer, festering in the back of his mind, making him question everything he knew about himself.

The day of his 36 week appointment came with a sense of dread that felt almost palpable. John took a deep breath as he sat in the waiting room, trying to calm his racing heart. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic. He couldn't help but wonder what new horrors awaited him in that exam room.

When the nurse called his name, John forced himself to stand, his legs feeling like jelly as he made his way down the hall, holding his belly up as he went. The door to Dr. Hartwell's office loomed before him, a stark reminder of the hell that awaited him. He took a moment to compose himself before entering, his eyes fixed on the floor as he walked in.

The doctor was already waiting for him, a cold smile playing on his lips as he gestured to the exam table. "Hop up, John," he said, his voice a sickly sweet blend of authority and malice. "Let's see how our little project is coming along."

John's heart raced as he climbed onto the table, the paper crinkling beneath him. The doctor's eyes raked over his body, a hunger in them that made John's skin crawl. He knew what was coming, had endured it so many times before, but the fear never truly diminished. The doctor's hands were on him again, probing and poking, his touch cold and clinical. "Good, good," he murmured, his eyes lighting up as he felt the baby shift inside of John.

The doctor's hand grew more deliberate, his rubs turning into firm caresses that lingered on John's swollen belly. "It's a boy," he said with a wink. "I can just feel it." John's stomach roiled, his entire being screaming in denial. This couldn't be happening, couldn't be real. But the proof was right there, in the doctor's knowing smile, in the way his cock grew hard at the thought of the life he'd forced into existence.

John's eyes were glazed over, his mind racing with thoughts of escape, of justice, of anything other than the reality of his situation. But each time he tried to push the doctor away, the doctor's grip tightened, his touch more insistent. "You're going to make a wonderful mother," he said, his voice a mockery of kindness. "Your body was made for this."

The doctor's hand drifted upwards from John's swollen belly, his fingers moving to the sensitive flesh of John's chest. John's breath hitched as the doctor began to squeeze his breast, his touch rough and possessive. The sensation was alien, and John felt a wave of nausea wash over him as his body responded with a painful spurt of milk. The doctor chuckled, his eyes alight with a twisted pleasure as the white liquid spilled onto the exam table.

"Look at you," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Already preparing to feed your baby." His hand moved lower, sliding into John's underwear, his fingers seeking out John's clit with an ease that spoke of long practice. John's body stiffened, his teeth gritted as he tried to push the doctor away, but the man was too strong, his grip too firm.

The doctor's thumb began to rub circles around John's clit, the sensation sending bolts of pleasure and pain through him. "Don't fight it," Dr. Hartwell murmured, his breath hot against John's ear. "You know you like it. Your body is begging for this." John's hips bucked involuntarily, his body betraying him once again. He couldn't help the whimper that escaped his lips, a mix of pleasure and despair.

The doctor's hand moved lower, two fingers sliding into John's pussy. He groaned in disgust as he felt the doctor's semen from their last appointment still lingering there. "Look how eager you are," Dr. Hartwell said, his voice dripping with false concern. "It's like your body knows what's best for you."

John's eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out as he endured the doctor's touch. He hated his body for responding, for the way his clit grew hard despite his mind's protests. The doctor's fingers moved in and out, the sensation a twisted dance of agony and arousal. John's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to scream, to tell the doctor to stop, but the words were trapped in his throat, a knot of fear and anger.

The doctor leaned over, his mouth by John's ear. "You're so wet," he whispered, his voice a sick imitation of passion. "Your cunt is begging for it." His words were like a slap in the face, bringing John back to the reality of his situation with a jolt of clarity.

John's eyes snapped open, his anger burning through the haze of despair. "Stop," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I said stop." He grabbed the doctor's wrist, trying to pull his hand away from his body, his eyes meeting the doctor's with a fiery determination.

But the doctor was not deterred. With a chuckle, he was suddenly stronger, his grip on John's wrist tightening. "Now, now," he said, his voice a sneer. "You know you can't refuse me. It's all for the baby's sake." And with that, he yanked John's pants and underwear down, exposing him to the cold room once more.

John's body was a battleground of emotions, his mind screaming for him to fight back while his body remained stubbornly aroused. He watched in horror as the doctor got down on his knees, his eyes glinting with a twisted hunger. "No," John whispered, his voice hoarse with fear. But the doctor paid no heed, his tongue darting out to taste the pregnant man's pussy.

John's legs trembled, his body responding despite his every effort to resist. The doctor's mouth was wet and eager, his tongue swirling and lapping with a disturbing enthusiasm. John felt his stomach turn as the doctor's mouth moved over his clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. He was not strong enough to push the doctor away, not with the weight of the unborn child pressing down on him, not with the fear of what might happen if he did.

So he gave in, his hands moving to hold his belly as he moaned quietly, his body betraying his mind once again. The doctor's tongue was skilled, his touch sure as he brought John closer and closer to climax. It was a perverse dance, one that John never wanted to join, but he found himself unable to resist. His hips began to rock slightly, his breathing growing more erratic as the doctor's mouth worked him over. The doctor looked up at him, his eyes gleaming with triumph as John's body responded to his ministrations.

Before he could stop it, John's orgasm crashed over him, a mix of pleasure and pain that made him cry out. His body convulsed, his pussy spasming around the doctor's tongue. The doctor pulled away with a smug smile, his face glistening with John's juices. "See, John," he said, his voice a sickening purr. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind won't admit it."

John lay there, panting and trembling, his eyes squeezed shut. He could feel the doctor's cock pressing against him, his hips moving with an unmistakable urgency. "No," he murmured, his voice weak and tremulous. "Please, no more."

But the doctor was insatiable, his hunger for power and control over John's body all-consuming. With one swift motion, he buried himself deep inside John's pussy, the slickness of John's own arousal easing his passage. John's eyes flew open, his nails digging into the exam table as the pain and revulsion hit him anew. The doctor's eyes were on his, a twisted mix of triumph and lust. "It's okay, John," he whispered, his voice a lie wrapped in a gentle tone. "This is what you were made for."

John's body was a whirlwind of sensation, the doctor's cock moving in and out of him with a rhythm that seemed to sync with the thud of his own racing heart. He closed his eyes again, trying to block out the sight of the monster that violated him. His mind was a tumult of anger and despair, his body a traitor that seemed to welcome the unwanted intrusion. The doctor's hand moved to John's throat, squeezing gently as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming into John's with each thrust.

The doctor's grip on John's throat grew tighter, his eyes never leaving John's face. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice a dark caress. "Body and soul." John choked out a sound, a mix of protest and pleasure, his body responding despite his desperate mental rebellion. The doctor's thumb pressed harder against his Adam's apple, cutting off John's air. "Mine," he repeated, his eyes glinting with a madness that sent a shiver down John's spine.

John's vision swam as the doctor's cock pumped in and out of him, the friction unbearable. His hands clutched the sides of the exam table, knuckles white with the effort of not pushing the doctor away. The doctor's hands moved from John's neck to his belly, his palms cupping the round mound of his stomach. The baby inside of him stirred, a gentle reminder of the monstrosity that had been forced upon him.

The doctor's grip tightened on John's belly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he used it for leverage. The belly bounced in his hands with each punishing thrust, a macabre dance of power and domination. John's eyes watered with the pain, his mind a maelstrom of anger and despair. He wanted to fight back, to push the doctor away, but his body felt so heavy, so trapped beneath the weight of his own pregnancy and the doctor's relentlessness.

With a final, brutal thrust, Dr. Hartwell reached his climax, his cock pulsing deep inside John's pussy. John felt the warmth of the doctor's cum fill him, a feeling of utter violation and disgust that brought bile to his throat. He lay there, panting and trembling, as the doctor pulled out and straightened his clothes. "That was good," Dr. Hartwell said, patting John's thigh with a sickening paternalism. "You're doing so well."

John couldn't find the strength to move, his body feeling like it had been shattered into a million pieces. He felt the doctor's cum leaking out of him, a sticky mess that seemed to seep into his very soul. The doctor walked over to the sink, washing his hands with a whistle. "Now, let's get you cleaned up," he said cheerfully. "You don't want to leave here looking like a mess, do you?"

John's eyes remained on the floor, unable to look up. The doctor returned with a wet wipe, wiping him down with the same cold efficiency he'd used to violate him. The humiliation was almost too much to bear, but he knew that fighting back would only lead to more pain. The doctor helped him into a sitting position, his hands gentle now. "You're doing so well," he said, his voice dripping with faux concern. "Your body is really coming along nicely."

John couldn't bring himself to respond, his mind a blank canvas of shock and anger. He watched as the doctor scribbled some notes on his chart, his pen moving with a disturbing nonchalance. "Everything looks good," Dr. Hartwell said, his eyes flicking over John's naked form. "We'll schedule an appointment for next week to discuss your delivery options."

John stumbled out of the office, his legs shaking, his mind reeling. The world outside the clinic looked the same, but it felt alien, tainted by the horror he'd just endured. He walked in a daze, his thoughts swirling with the need to tell someone, to make this nightmare stop. But who could he tell? Who would believe him? The doctor held all the power, and John was just a patient with a sordid secret.

The days grew longer and heavier as John's due date approached. He avoided looking at his reflection, the swollen belly a constant reminder of the doctor's twisted games. He felt his body changing, preparing for the birth, and with each shift and stretch of his skin, he felt a piece of himself slipping away. He'd always been so strong, so sure of who he was, but now, he was nothing but a vessel for the doctor's perversion.

The day of his 39 week appointment loomed like a storm cloud over John's head. He knew what was expected of him, what the doctor would demand. His stomach churned with dread as he walked into the clinic, his eyes fixed on the floor. The nurse's cheerful greeting barely registered as he made his way to the exam room, his heart pounding in his ears.

When he was finally alone, he allowed himself to look up, to take in the cold, sterile room that had become his personal hell. His eyes fell to his own belly, now so swollen and heavy that it was a constant burden. It was a testament to the doctor's twisted whims, a symbol of his defeat. He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering over the round mound before finally resting on the firm flesh. He could feel the baby move, a tiny flutter that should have brought him joy, but instead filled him with a deep, visceral anger.

The door opened and Dr. Hartwell strode in, his smile wide and his eyes gleaming with excitement. "John," he said, his voice like a caress. "Look at that belly."

John felt his stomach clench at the sound of the doctor's voice. He didn't dare look up, didn't want to see the triumph in those cold, unfeeling eyes. The doctor's hand was on his belly before he could even react, his fingers pressing and kneading as if he owned John's body. "Almost time," he murmured. "Almost time to bring a new life into the world."

John's hands balled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. The anger was a living, pulsing thing inside of him, a beast that demanded to be let out. But he knew he couldn't, not if he wanted to protect the baby. So he endured the doctor's touch, the way he talked about the baby as if it were some sort of prize to be won, some sort of victory for his sick games.

The doctor's hand moved lower, his fingers sliding into John's pussy with a wet squelch. John's eyes squeezed shut, his teeth grinding together. "Your body is ready," Dr. Hartwell said, his voice filled with a perverse excitement. "Your cervix is dilating nicely."

John's breath came in ragged gasps, his mind racing for a way out. "Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please stop."

Dr. Hartwell's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of power. "You're so close, John," he said, his voice a sick parody of encouragement. "Any day now, you'll pop."

John's stomach turned at the words, his body trembling with the effort to remain still. The doctor's fingers were still inside of him, moving in a way that sent shudders of revulsion through him. "Please," he murmured, his voice a broken whisper.

The doctor's hand stilled, his smile fading. "Now, now, John," he said, his tone cold and dismissive. "You know the rules. You don't get to say no." He leaned closer, his breath hot against John's ear.

John's eyes snapped open, his fear and anger coalescing into a fiery determination. He couldn't take this anymore, he wouldn't let this monster touch him again. With a roar of rage, he pushed the doctor's hand away and swung his leg, catching him in the side of the head. Dr. Hartwell stumbled back, his expression one of shock and fury.

For a moment, the room was still, the only sound the harsh breathing of the two men. Then, the doctor's hand shot out, grabbing John by the throat. "You ungrateful little bitch," he snarled, his grip tightening. "You'll regret that."

John's eyes widened with fear, but there was a spark of defiance in them too. He tried to struggle, his hands flailing against the doctor's chest. But the doctor was too strong, too determined. He pushed John back onto the exam table, his erection pressing against John's thigh.

With a vicious growl, Dr. Hartwell ripped John's pants and underwear off, exposing him once again to the cold, unforgiving room. John's body was trembling, his muscles tense with the effort of trying to fight the doctor off. But the doctor's hands were everywhere, holding him down, exploring his body with a cruel, possessive hunger.

The doctor's eyes narrowed as he took in John's struggle, his smile twisted into a snarl. "You're going to pay for that," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. He shoved John's legs apart, his cock standing at attention, ready to claim his prize once more.

John's body was a whirlwind of fear and anger, his mind racing as he tried to think of a way to escape. But the doctor was too strong, his weight too much to bear. He felt the head of the doctor's cock press against his entrance, felt the cold, unyielding pressure as it began to push inside of him. He couldn't fight, couldn't move, could only lay there as the doctor reclaimed his body once again.

The doctor's grip on John's belly was firm and unyielding, his eyes never leaving John's face as he pushed into him. Each inch was a new hell, a fresh wave of pain that made John want to scream. But the doctor was relentless, his strokes deep and powerful, his eyes gleaming with a sick triumph. "You're going to enjoy this," he murmured, his voice a twisted parody of tenderness. "You're going to cum for me, just like you did before."

John's eyes were squeezed shut, his body rigid with tension and fear. He could feel the doctor's cock filling him up, stretching him in a way that was never meant to be. But even as his mind rebelled, his body responded, a traitorous betrayal that made him want to die with each stroke. His breath hitched, his muscles clenching around the doctor's cock despite his desperate mental commands to relax. He could feel his own arousal building, a treacherous warmth that only served to fuel the doctor's sadistic desires.

"Look at me," Dr. Hartwell demanded, his grip on John's belly tightening. John forced his eyes open, meeting the doctor's gaze with a mix of anger and despair. "You like it, don't you?" the doctor taunted, his voice a low, dark whisper. "You're going to cum for me, John. You're going to show me who's in control."

John's mind was a tumult of emotions, his body a battleground for the doctor's sick game. But amidst the fear and disgust, there was a flicker of something else: rage. He channeled that rage into his legs, pushing against the doctor's chest with all the strength he could muster. The doctor grunted in surprise, but didn't relent. John's eyes searched the room for anything that could help him, anything that could put an end to this nightmare.

The doctor, unfazed by John's futile struggle, held his arms down firmly and sped up his thrusts, his eyes never leaving John's face. "You're going to submit to me," he murmured, his breath hot and ragged. "You're going to cum for me, and you're going to like it."

John felt a tear slide down his cheek as he realized the futility of his resistance. The doctor was too strong, his will too unyielding. With a heavy heart, John went limp beneath the man, his body giving up its fight. The doctor's eyes lit up with victory, his grip loosening slightly. "That's it," he cooed, his hips moving with an increased fervor. "Just let it happen."

John's pussy grew wetter and wetter with each stroke, his body's traitorous response to the doctor's rough handling. The doctor groaned with pleasure, his movements becoming more erratic as he neared climax. The room was filled with the sickening sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, the scent of their mingled arousals heavy in the air.

Suddenly, a warm gush of fluid soaked the exam table beneath John, the suddenness of it taking both men by surprise. Dr. Hartwell's eyes went wide with excitement as he realized what had happened. "Ah," he murmured, his smile growing even more predatory. "Looks like baby's decided to make an appearance."

The doctor's gentle strokes grew more frantic, his eyes never leaving John's swollen belly. John felt a fresh wave of terror wash over him as the reality of his situation hit him full force. He was about to give birth to this monster's child, a living testament to his violation. "No," he moaned, his voice cracking. "Please, no."

The doctor's eyes flicked up to meet John's, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. "It's too late for that," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Your body knows what it's doing, even if your mind won't accept it."

John's eyes were wide with terror as he felt the first contraction ripple through his belly. The doctor's cock was still buried inside him, moving with a gentle, rhythmic motion that seemed almost tender in the face of the horror that was unfolding. The doctor's hands continued to rub John's swollen belly, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh in a way that was both soothing and terrifying. "You're going to be such a good mother," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

John could feel the contractions growing stronger, his body responding to the doctor's sickening words. The pain was intense, but there was something else, something almost primal, taking over. He felt his pussy clench around the doctor's cock, his body preparing for the birth he never wanted.

The doctor's eyes lit up with excitement, his strokes becoming faster and more erratic. "That's it," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You're going to give birth for me, John." He leaned over, his chest pressing against John's, his breath hot and ragged. "You're going to be a mother, and it's all thanks to me."

John felt another contraction, his body tightening around the doctor's cock. The doctor groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Fuck, you're going to make me cum," he panted, his grip on John's wrists tightening. "You're going to make me fill you up one last time before the baby comes."

John's eyes squeezed shut, his mind racing. He had to get out of here, had to escape before it was too late. But his body was trapped, his legs trembling with the effort of bearing the weight of the doctor's thrusts. The doctor leaned down, his breath hot on John's face. "You're fucking huge," he whispered, his voice thick with pleasure. "It's what you were made for."

John felt his body tense with rage, his muscles straining against the doctor's iron grip. But it was no use; the doctor's weight was too much, his cock too deep. The doctor's strokes grew faster, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants. "You're going to make me cum," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "I'm gonna fill you up."

John's eyes squeezed shut as another contraction hit him, his body involuntarily pushing the doctor's cock deeper. The doctor's eyes widened in surprise, a twisted look of pleasure crossing his features. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking erratically. "I'm so close."

With one final, violent thrust, the doctor reached his climax, filling John's body with his semen. John felt the warmth flood into him, a stark reminder of the doctor's control. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to react, not to give the monster any satisfaction. But his body had other ideas; his pussy clenched around the doctor's cock, his muscles contracting with each spurt of cum.

The doctor pulled out, a look of triumph on his face as he took in John's trembling body and the evidence of his own dominance. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice a sick parody of admiration. "Simply beautiful." He wiped himself off with a towel, tossing it aside without a second glance. "Now, let's get you cleaned up," he said, his tone cold and detached.

John's body was still reeling from the assault, his legs shaking as he tried to sit up. The doctor's semen leaked out of him, a sticky, unwanted reminder of the violation. He couldn't bring himself to look at the doctor, his eyes fixed on the floor as he felt the man's hands on him, wiping him clean with cold, clinical efficiency.

Finally, the doctor stepped back, his eyes lingering on John's taut belly. "I'm going to miss that belly," he murmured, his voice almost wistful. "I can't believe how big you got." He paused, his gaze traveling over John's body, a look of possession in his eyes that made John's skin crawl.

John took a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose himself. "I need to go," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Hartwell nodded, his expression unreadable. "Of course," he said, his voice still that infuriating calm. "But first, let me just give this one last rub for good luck." He leaned over, his hand sliding over John's distended belly with a familiarity that made John's skin crawl. His hand felt cold and clammy, his touch a stark reminder of the life growing within him.

John's eyes watered as he felt the doctor's hand move in slow, deliberate circles over his skin. He wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything but lay there and take it. But he knew he had to keep the peace, had to get out of there without endangering the baby. So he clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, and waited.

The doctor's hand lingered on John's belly for what felt like an eternity before he finally pulled away, his smile never faltering. "Alright, John," he said, his tone a caricature of kindness. "Get to the hospital and crap that brat out."

John's eyes snapped up, a flash of anger crossing his features. But the doctor's words had hit a nerve, one that was already raw and exposed. He nodded, his voice hoarse with pain. "I will," he said, his voice a barely audible whisper. He slid off the exam table, his legs wobbling as he tried to stand. The doctor stepped aside, watching him with a smug satisfaction that made John's stomach turn.

John stumbled to the chair, pulling on his pants with trembling hands. Each movement sent waves of pain and revulsion through him, but he forced himself to keep going. He couldn't let the doctor see how much he was breaking inside. He had to get out of here, had to get to the hospital and get away from this monster.

As he dressed, he heard the doctor washing his hands, the sound of running water a stark contrast to the horror of what had just occurred. The doctor's calmness was a slap in the face, a reminder of his own powerlessness.

John waddled out of the building, supporting his belly with one hand, trying to keep the panic and pain at bay. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but one thought stood out above the rest: he had to get to the hospital. He had to get away from this place, from the doctor who had stolen his dignity and impregnated him against his will. Each step was agonizing, his legs feeling like they might give out at any moment.

Summoning the last of his strength, John fumbled with his phone and called a cab. His voice was shaky as he gave the address to the operator, trying to keep the tears at bay. The cool air hit him like a slap in the face as he stepped outside, the reality of his situation setting in. He was going to have a baby, a baby that was conceived in rape and violation. The very thought made him want to retch, but he knew he had to keep it together.

The bench outside the clinic was cold and hard, but he didn't dare sit anywhere else. His trembling hands rubbed his swollen belly, trying to soothe the child within him even as the contractions grew stronger. He had never felt more conflicted in his life; part of him was terrified of the pain that lay ahead, while another part felt a strange, protective instinct for the innocent life growing inside of him. The baby had done nothing wrong, it was just a byproduct of a monster's twisted desires.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the cab pulled up. The driver, a burly man with a kind face, took one look at John and rushed out to help him into the backseat. John's legs had turned to jelly, his body still reeling from the assault. The driver's gentle touch was a stark contrast to the doctor's rough hands, and for a brief moment, he felt a glimmer of hope. "You okay, buddy?" the driver asked, his voice filled with concern.

John nodded, unable to find his voice. The driver took the hint and climbed back into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling away from the clinic. Each bump in the road sent jolts of pain through John's abused body, the doctor's semen still leaking from his ravaged pussy. He couldn't believe what had just happened, still couldn't believe that he was carrying the child of the monster who had just violated him.

The drive to the hospital seemed to take an eternity, the tension in the air thick and suffocating. John's mind was a whirlwind of fear and anger, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. What would happen when he got there? Would they believe his story? Would they help him? Or would they just see him as a freak, a man who had let this happen?

As the cab pulled up to the emergency room entrance, John took a deep breath and forced himself to move. The cool night air was a slap in the face, but it also brought with it a newfound sense of urgency. He had to get help, had to get this... thing out of him. He couldn't bear the thought of carrying that monster's child any longer than he had to.

The hospital was a blur of white lights and sterile smells, a stark contrast to the dark, twisted world he had just left behind. The nurses looked at him with confusion and concern as he stumbled in, his eyes wild and desperate. He tried to explain what had happened, his words tumbling over themselves in a jumbled mess of pain and fear.

"I need help," he panted, his hands protectively cradling his belly. "He did this to me. He raped me."

The nurse's eyes grew wide with shock, but she remained calm. "Okay, sweetie," she said gently, taking his arm. "Let's get you into a room and get you checked out." She led him to a private space, her movements swift and professional despite the horror of his words.

The doctor on duty, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense attitude, walked in a moment later. She took one look at John's distressed state and her expression softened. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked, her voice devoid of judgment.

John's eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of the malice he had encountered with Dr. Hartwell. "I...I've been raped," he managed to choke out, his voice trembling. "The baby...it's coming."

The doctor's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't miss a beat. "Honey, you're in labor," she said, her tone dismissive. "We need to get you to the delivery unit and check how far you've progressed. You can file a report later but right now we have to see what's going on with your baby."

John felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him. "But you don't understand," he began, but the nurse was already leading him down the hallway, his words swallowed by the cacophony of the busy hospital. The doctor's indifferent reaction was like salt on an open wound.

As they approached the delivery unit, John's contractions grew stronger, the pain making it difficult to walk. The nurse guided him to a hospital bed, her grip firm but gentle. He could feel his body preparing for the birth, muscles tightening and releasing in a rhythm that was as terrifying as it was natural. The doctor checked him over, her eyes cold and professional as she confirmed his worst fears.

"You're fully dilated," she said, her voice clipped. "We need to get you prepped for delivery. Start by putting on the hospital gown and the nurses will help put some monitors on you so we can check baby's vitals."

John felt a sense of dread wash over him. He had hoped that by coming to the hospital, he could somehow reverse the situation, but the reality was setting in. He was going to give birth. He couldn't even bring himself to think of it as his own.

The nurses bustled around him, strapping monitors to his belly. He could hear the steady beep of the heart monitor, a grim reminder of the life that was about to be brought into the world against his will. He felt the pressure building, his body preparing to push the baby out despite his mind's screaming protests.

John's vision grew blurry with tears as he tried to focus on the cold, sterile surroundings of the delivery room. The doctor was speaking to him, but he couldn't make out the words over the roar in his ears. He knew he needed to be strong, for the baby, but he felt so weak, so broken.

The nurse handed him a pillow, her eyes filled with pity. "Bite down on this when the contractions come," she instructed, her voice a gentle whisper. John took it, clutching it tightly as the next wave of pain hit him. He bit down hard, trying to keep the screams locked inside.

The doctor checked the monitor, her eyes flickering to John's face. "It's time to start pushing," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "When the contraction hits, bear down and push as hard as you can."

John nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he braced for the pain. The contractions came in waves, each one more agonizing than the last. He could feel the baby moving down, the pressure intense and unyielding. He pushed with everything he had, his muscles screaming in protest. The doctor's voice was a distant echo, guiding him through the motions, but it was the thought of the monster that was Dr. Hartwell that gave him the strength to keep going.

"That's it," the doctor said, her tone brisk and business-like. "Just a few more pushes to get the head out."

John's teeth dug into the pillow, his body straining with the effort of pushing. Each contraction brought a new level of agony, and he felt as if his entire being was being torn apart. Yet, he couldn't stop, driven by a primal instinct to survive and protect the innocent life within him.

The doctor's voice grew more urgent. "Come on, buddy, just one more big push. We have to get this head out." He bore down with all his might, the pain so intense that it felt as if it would consume him. And then, with a guttural roar, the baby's head emerged, slippery with sweat and blood. John's body trembled with the effort, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The room was a flurry of activity, the nurses moving quickly around the bed, whispering to each other. John felt a strange detachment from his own body, as if he were watching the scene unfold from outside himself. The doctor's face was a mask of concentration, her eyes never leaving the monitor that displayed the baby's erratic heartbeat. "Keep pushing," she urged. "Almost there."

John gritted his teeth and pushed with all his might, feeling the baby's shoulders slip from him. It was an odd sensation, one that was both terrifying and surreal. His body was doing something it had never been meant to do, something that had been forced upon him by the cruel whims of a monster. But in that moment, as he felt the child begin to emerge, he found a new strength. He pushed again, harder, driven by a desperate need to get this over with, to be rid of the evidence of his violation.

The doctor's voice grew more urgent. "Come on, John, you're almost there. Just one more push!" And with that final push, the baby slid free, a tiny, squalling creature that was immediately whisked away by a nurse. John's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in great, heaving sobs. He watched, detached, as they cleaned and weighed the child, the reality of what had just happened crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

He wasn't sure what he had expected to feel when he saw the baby, but it certainly wasn't this. There was no madness, no disgust. Just a baby, helpless and innocent, brought into the world under the most horrific of circumstances. The doctor looked up from her work, her eyes meeting John's.

"It's a girl," she said, her voice devoid of any warmth.

John's heart stuttered in his chest as the doctor handed him the squalling, red-faced newborn. He didn't know what to expect, but the sudden weight of her in his arms was surprisingly... comforting. He stared down at her, his emotions a tumultuous mess. She was so tiny, so perfect, so utterly oblivious to the horror of her conception. Her eyes searched his, a silent plea for protection and love.

John's throat tightened as he looked at his daughter. He couldn't hate her, this little being who had done nothing to deserve the fate she had been dealt. He cradled her against his chest, her warmth seeping into his soul and filling the cold, empty void that Dr. Hartwell had left behind. In that moment, he knew that he would do anything to shield her from the monsters of the world, even if it meant facing his own fears and the pain of his past.

The doctor cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "Do you want to hold your daughter, or shall I take her to the nursery?" Her voice was cold, as if delivering a stranger's baby was just another part of her daily routine. John nodded, unable to speak, his eyes never leaving the tiny face of his child. He didn't trust the doctor not to harm her, not after how she treated him.

Despite the horror of her conception, she was his. He knew he would love her, protect her, and give her a life free from the monsters he had encountered. As he cradled her, the pain of the delivery began to fade into the background, replaced by a fierce need to keep her safe.

#ftm pregnancy #story #trans pregnancy

18 notes · View notes