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bitterrfruit · 10 months ago

Note

price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate #john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut

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marlynnofmany · 4 months ago

Text

Recreational Food

I admired the scenery as we walked. “I’m glad we came during the dry season. Looks like there wouldn’t be much solid ground otherwise.” This wide flat area was pretty clearly the flood plains for the river just over the hillside, with several tiny plateaus where huge trees had escaped getting washed away. Everything else was dirt.

Paint spread her arms beside me, basking in the sun like the little lizardy alien she was. “I’m just glad to be outside! It’s been so long since we had a delivery on an actual planet, not to mention one that smells nice.”

It smelled like dry river mud to me, which was nice enough, but maybe those trees were extra appealing to Heatseeker senses. There was a scent of something kind of like rosemary on the breeze, now that I thought about it.

Paint was still talking. “We’re not even in a hurry today! The drop-off went fine, so we can stroll back to the ship at our own pace. This is lovely. I could stay out here all day.”

The ground rumbled. Splashes and the bleats of distressed animals sounded from the direction of the river. The rumbling got louder.

I asked, “Are you familiar with the concept of ‘jinxing it’?”

Before Paint could answer, a stampede swept over the hill toward us. Paint screamed and bolted. I ran after her, frantically searching for a plateau that was both climbable and close.

“This one!” I yelled over the noise of what had to be hundreds of alien fauna. Vaguely buffalo-shaped things without horns. I’d study them more closely when they weren’t closing in fast. Paint barely heard me, so I towed her over to the plateau and boosted her up. She wasn’t a natural climber, but she made do, scrambling to safety with me close behind. We made it out of trampling range just in time.

I clambered up and lay flat under the spreading tree while Paint hyperventilated beside me, an ocean of brown fur rolling by underneath. The rocky ground shook and the tree showered us with leaves. But the branches didn’t fall and neither did we, and eventually the herd calmed down from whatever had startled them.

The problem was, they calmed down before they finished passing our tiny island. Thundering footsteps slowed to a mooing, moaning amble, with buffalo-things surrounding us for a good distance in all directions.

My phone rang. We both twitched. Luckily the animals were loud enough to miss it. I pulled the phone from my pocket, hands vibrating with adrenaline, and answered a call from the captain.

“Are you safe?” she asked, her voice distant over the phone. “We got a report of local fauna moving unexpectedly.”

I laughed, wide-eyed while Paint tried to get her breathing under control. “Yeah, we barely made it. I’m not sure how we’re going to get back, though. They’re all around us, and I don’t like our chances if we try to just walk through.”

“Yes, don’t get too close.” I heard claws on keys as Captain Sunlight checked the local information bank. “These creatures are known to be hostile. They also treat approaching shuttles like threats, which doesn’t bode well for an air rescue.”

I tried to breathe deeply and get my heart rate back to normal. “Threats that they should attack, or run from?”

“This says they face off with shuttles, and defend whatever territory they’re occupying at the time. Attempts to chase them away have been unsuccessful, as have attempts to lead them away.”

“Yeah, that’s the worst,” I said, glancing up at the thick branches above. “Our vertical access is garbage right now anyway. We’d have a hard time getting into a shuttle.”

Paint was looking a little more calm, though worried. “Maybe they’ll wander away on their own?”

I relayed the question in case Captain Sunlight hadn’t heard it. She said, “Maybe. Let me contact the local authorities for more information. Stay safe; I’ll call you back.”

I said goodbye and put the phone away, then just lay there listening to my heartbeat and the various grunts from below. Paint sniffed audibly, no doubt appreciating the spicy tree smell. I tried to enjoy the view. The buffalo-things had heavy paws instead of hooves, and their faces were misshapen to my Earth eyes, more mooselike than anything. The thick brown fur was normal enough, though.

I was trying to think of what breed of dog it reminded me of when a cloud covered the sun.

A dark cloud. The kind that might be full of rain.

“Oh no,” I said.

“That can’t be rain,” Paint said, scrambling up. “It’s not the rainy season!”

I got to my feet, clutching a branch. “It could be rain. A flash flood might solve one of our problems, but…”

“Oh, that would be so much worse!” Paint hugged her arms close. The air hadn’t gotten that much cooler yet, but rain could be bad for a cold-blooded Heatseeker. And that was even without considering whether we’d have to swim for it.

I looked around frantically. “There’s got to be something we can do. Maybe throw a rock and scare them into stampeding away again?”

We scoured the rocky plateau, but nothing came off bigger than a fingernail, and the only things up there aside from the tree were some sparse bits of grass/moss and stray dirt. Even the tree didn’t have any small branches that looked easily snapped off; they were all thick limbs. I could probably climb out over the herd if I really needed a stick, but that did not look worth it.

I checked my pockets. “Wait, I have food. Maybe that’ll help.” We’d left right before lunch, and I’d grabbed a few portable things in case the delivery took too long. I thought hard about what kind of food these creatures might like, and how they might react to it, as I knelt and emptied my pockets onto the ground.

It was all Earth stuff from the import sector of the last space station we’d stopped at. A packet of turkey jerky. Freeze-dried strawberries. A tube of peanut butter that had thankfully not ruptured in the scramble up here. Pop Rocks.

I picked up that last one, thinking fast.

Paint was reading the label on the peanut butter. “Oh, this is the one some of your people are allergic to. I suppose it’s too much to hope these creatures are as well?”

“I have a better idea,” I said, eyeing the lowest branch. It was sturdy. There were creatures below. And they were all wet from the river. I turned to Paint. “Throwing something might startle them enough to stampede if we hit one just right, but I’ll bet that’s not as startling as the sound of sudden hissing from the back of their neck.”

“Which of your foods does that??” Paint asked.

I held up the brightly colored package. “Recreational food. They’re basically sugar crystals with tiny pockets of compressed air inside. They pop and hiss when they dissolve.”

Paint shook her head. “I’m not even going to ask why.”

“Great.” I shoved the package into a thigh pocket that I’d be able to reach easily, then hooked an arm over the branch and climbed up.

“Be careful!”

“I will,” I said as the clouds darkened further. Lying on the branch like a particularly awkward jungle cat, I scooted over the edge of the plateau. None of the creatures seemed to notice, busy as they were in nosing the dusty ground for sprouted grass, or whatever passed for it here. Good. I wanted their heads down.

When I was over a big one, I stopped and got out the pack, oh so carefully. Dropping it now could well be the kind of mistake I’d regret for a long time. I ripped open the package with care, knees clamped around the branch, as thunder rumbled closer than I’d like.

Then I gauged the angle carefully, and poured a stream of Pop Rocks directly onto the buffalo-thing’s neck.

I heard it crackle and pop as the sugar dissolved in the wet fur. Suddenly everything was panicked bellows and the thunder of feet. I clung to the branch, hoping desperately that it wasn’t about to snap off under my weight. All I could see below me was waves of brown fur.

It felt like the stampede went on for longer this time. Maybe because I didn’t have any climbing to distract me; all I could do was hold onto the branch like the most desperate of baby monkeys, and hope it held.

It held.

Finally the rumbling footsteps receded over the hill, leaving churned-up dirt below and a very grateful Paint behind me.

“You did it! It worked! Now let’s go; I think I see rain!”

She was right. I shimmied back onto solid ground to pick up the rest of my snacks, shoving them into pockets alongside the crumpled Pop Rocks package, then I helped Paint scramble down from the plateau.

Wind had picked up, blowing rain towards us in a visible wall from the west. But something silver glinted in the sky to the north, which grew swiftly into the welcome sight of a local rescue shuttle.

We ran for it. It landed on the riverbed, door open and arms waving from inside, and we dove in just before the rain hit.

“Safe!” Paint exclaimed as the door shut and a Frillian in a uniform guided her into a chair. “That was too many close calls for one day!”

I followed the directions to take my own seat as the shuttle lifted off. A different Frillian handed me a blanket, though I didn’t need it. Nice and warm, though. I asked Paint, “Ready to go back to the indoors for a while?”

She settled a heat shawl around her shoulders and sighed with relief. “I suppose so. Much less chance of getting trampled or frozen there.”

The official next to me asked, “What caused the herd to move away? We were told they had surrounded the area.”

I grinned and dug out the crumpled package. “Recreational food!” There were still a few Pop Rocks caught in one corner, so I dumped them into my mouth to demonstrate. The expressions on the rescuers’ faces were great as the candy hissed and popped on my tongue. “I poured thith down on a big one,” I explained around it.

Paint added, “It worked great! Scared them right away.”

The officials exchanged a look, then asked to see the package. I happily handed it over and explained where I’d gotten it. Paint said our courier ship would be happy to arrange a delivery of some if they wanted.

By the time we reached our ship, the local officials were ready to talk to the captain about ordering some recreational Earth food, to use for an entirely different purpose than it was made for. But that would hardly be the first time.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #more fun with putting things to creative uses #I definitely wanted to write about this one #but it couldn't be something simple and straightforward #that would be a wasted opportunity #so now we've got a mini adventure instead #featurinnnnnng...#Pop Rocks #an edible thing that is weird by any metric #you can see why I wanted to include it in one of these stories #it just begs to be included just as much as the bubble wrap did

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eenslaved · 5 months ago

Text

Hypno Hucow

Something was wrong.

Rose struggled to think. To remember. She felt weightless and heavy at the same time. What was wrong?

She realized what was so disturbing. She couldn't remember anything specific. She let her mind drift and gradually she remembered dressing for work. She had an important presentation to deliver. She'd worked so hard to prepare for it. She'd...done well, hadn't she? She strained to recall the conference room. Something about the memory made her angry and apprehensive.

Was she still asleep? Was she dreaming?

She could hear voices speaking and she struggled to focus on them. She had a hard time following along. It was like her brain kept skipping over some of the words.

"...been under hypnosis for the past two weeks."

"....hypnotism...works?"

"...effective. We've found that even when they are brought out of their hypnosis, their body and subconscious are still quite attuned to everything that took place while they were in their trance. The longer they remain in that altered state, the more susceptible they are to suggestion even in as their waking selves."

"Remarkable."

"Quite. Rose has spent the past two weeks fully under our suggestion that she is a cow. Coupled with the proprietary hormone stimulation treatment she's been receiving, we have achieved yet another successful outcome."

Rose opened her eyes. She felt languid and weak, like she lacked proper autonomy over her limbs. She felt her body teetering and swaying, and someone helping support her.

"...complete transformation....permanent changes?"

"Indeed. We...as you can...Rose will continue lactating..."

Rose's head felt so heavy. She tipped her head forward and was surprised to see two naked breasts, large and heavy globes, settled upon her chest. That...wasn't right. She must still be dreaming. This...didn't look like her own body at all.

There were hands on her breasts, Rose realized. Hands that didn't belong to her. Someone was lifting her breasts, kneading and squeezing them. Rose started to breathe faster because she was starting to feel really warm. Really nice. But...this was a stranger, she didn't know who this was. She tried to say, "Hey, stop," but no words came. She made a different sound instead. A low, drawn out wordless moan.

"Shh, shh. I know you want me to touch your nipples, Rose, but it's not time to milk you yet," a chiding voice scolded her.

Rose made the sound again. Then she snorted with frustration that she couldn't make her tongue work properly.

"Hush, Rose. I know you just want to be a cow again. But you have to pretend to be human Rose for just a little bit longer. Your patron wants to see what he paid for, so we're going to show off your big boobs."

There was someone else there. Vaguely familiar. It was so hard to think though and she couldn't remember him.

"I'm so hot," Rose tried to say. "I'm so hot and my chest feels so heavy and hurting..."

This time she identified the sound she made. A long, resonant moo.

"Can she talk?"

"Speech and language takes a while to come back. Especially after she just spent 24/7 for two weeks as a cow. Give it another hour and she can probably string a sentence together."

There were more hands touching her now. Molesting her enormous boobs. Lifting them and letting them bounce. Rose started breathing faster, fighting her way through the fog. She could feel herself beginning to surface...she could feel...her pussy was throbbing with insistent heat.

"She seems drugged. Can't she stand on her own?"

"Temporary side effects from such a deep immersion in her hypnotic state. Remember, as a cow she's been forbidden to walk on two feet. Standing up right now is about all she can do. Eventually she'll remember how to walk, but what feels most natural and comfortable to her now is to be on all fours."

"I want to milk her."

"Certainly. Would you like to milk her as Rose, or as a cow? Oh and you should know — her name isn't Rose when she's a cow. We call her Rosie."

Rosie. The name went through Rose like a lightning bolt. She had a flash of a dream...a memory...of kneeling on her hands and knees in a large, brightly-lit room...a barn...a stout leather collar with a bell on it clasping her neck. Fingers pulling on her nipples, drawing down her milk into a metal pail.

Rose shuddered and blinked.

"I want to milk Rosie. I want to fuck her after, too. Then I'll have a conversation with Rose and tell her about her new life in my home, with my cum dripping from her cunt."

"Absolutely. Rose, look at me. Watch my eyes. Listen to the bell."

A voice said don't look! but Rose looked. She thought—

She stumbled and someone helped ease her down. Rosie mooed her gratitude. She could tell it was time for her milking. Her udders were very full and heavy, the round slopes brushing against each other as she put herself in position. She was happy to be milked. It felt good, and then she would get her treat.

She mooed because the hands that touched her udders were inexperienced. A new farmhand who didn't know what they were doing. They were rougher. But eventually they latched onto her teats and began to tug and express her yield.

#hypnosis #hypnok1nk #hypno toy #story by eenslaved #huc0w #hucow fantasy

140 notes · View notes

anyamaris · 1 year ago

Text

Once Upon a Crimson Moon

Word Count- 15825

Pairing- Fae!Yeosang x Fem!Reader

Summary- Leaving behind a tragic past, you've crossed into the realm of the fae in hopes of finding a better life. Yet, you find yourself thrust into an existence equally horrifying. Discarded by one court, traded like cattle to another, you make your escape but where will fate bring you?

A dark, mysterious creature that leads you to your inevitable demise might just be the one to save your soul.

Trope-Fantasy AU, Smut, Strangers to Lovers au

Warnings-Adult language, sexual language, heavy trigger warnings for alluded: abuse, torture, SA, death. Please be aware of these, they are alluded to, not explicitly spoken of. Both characters have a dark, tragic past. Some topics are depressing. Unprotected sex, sexually explicit scene outdoors, minors DNI 18+

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @ksmutsociety @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @starlitmark@millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions@changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @millennial-fangirl @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo

@cafekitsune and @saradika Thank you for dividers! 🤍💜🤍

A/N- First- @1-800-shedevil, you've been here through the entirety of this process with me, encouraging me, cheering me on, soothing me when I doubted myself. There aren't words to describe how much I adore and appreciate you. I feel like you know these characters almost as well as I do at this point. Thank you. 🤍💜🤍@kwanisms for making my header as well as my Yeosang character picture for me! GAH YOURE SO AMAZING AND TALENTED! I love you. @sanjoongie and @stardragongalaxy for creating this collab from a simple picture and conversation, I've fallen deeply in love with writing and this story because of you two. Thank you so much for setting this all in motion and dealing with me through all my screaming and excitement. @mint-yooxgi for all the hype and my screaming and yelling as well, and for always encouraging me when I doubt myself.

This is a collab with CODN for Thrill of the Hunt and please go check out the other writer's submissions!

I have a lot more planned for this if people like it, a whole story lives in my mind so I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I loved writing it!

I've included my original mood board at the beginning for some visuals as well as a commissioned art piece She.drawssss was so amazing to do for me beneath the cut!

You awake in the cold damp cell yet again, your eyes dry from dehydration. Groaning as you pick your aching body off of the filthy cloth they called a bed, you do your best to stretch and look around.

No one has come for you yet, it appears, as you glance at the empty bowl they feed you in. Sighing, you pull the ragged material of your gown down over your legs, looking up at the small window that barely allows any light in. Luckily, the acrid smell of rust overpowers any sense of your own odors, you think, frowning at the metal bucket they’d given you for your personal toilet.

“Still not the Ritz Carlton.” You whisper with a twist of your lips.

Your life has come down to this; a damp, dirty cell in the midst of a world you know nothing about. The series of events leading you to this very moment are hazy, vague memories you struggle to remember.

Nothing of your old existence is present here.

Running away from everything seemed like such a great idea at the time. Following the silly legends about faery rings, dreams of starting over completely.

Well…you had.

You’d run.

But now you wonder if the abuse and hardships from before were preferable to this disgusting tiny cell.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

Somewhere between here and there you’d just given up hope.

As you feel a tear slip from your eye, cursing the loss of moisture, your ears pick up the melodic sound of a bird. Looking up, you spot the small blue bird perched on the small window above you. It hops a bit, then lets out a little chirp, tilting its head at you.

“You again?” You ask it, unable to stop the tiniest speck of happiness it always brings with it.

Another tiny chirp reaches your ears and you sigh.

“Smile? Why? What’s the point?” you ask it, shaking your head.

It hops then chirps once more, and you just let out a small laugh.

“Fine…for you…I’ll try.” Seeming to be placated at your words, the small bird flutters its wings, flying away with a song.

The clank of the doors unlocking behind you has you turning, expecting the daily meal of mush in a bowl, but instead a tall figure grunts a few words in a language you don’t understand.

Before you can stand, two others are entering the cell, throwing a bag over your head and dragging you from the room you’ve called home for over a year.

“Shh, don’t speak a word, it’s the damned one…”

“Don’t look him in the eye, lest he remembers your face….”

“Why do they suffer such an abomination?-”

“HUSH! One cry from his cursed throat will doom us all!”

“I hear he killed his-”

“QUIET! Don’t be foolish or-”

The whispers are nothing he hasn’t heard before, in fact he’d be shocked if he doesn’t hear the murmurs as he walks through the busy market area.

Bodies part before him as he strides forward, gathering in his wake to curse his very existence. His red eyes scan the beings in front of him, daring any brave enough to meet their steely glare.

Not one takes the opportunity, ducking their heads, pretending to be busy.

The smirk that tugs at his lips beneath the black mask holds no mirth.

Their disgust and revulsion only mirrors his own as he makes his way to the fae he reports to.

“Quit frowning at her, she’s not worth your pity.” One of the elves hisses out, spitting to the side as he chuckles.

“Barren, that one. Not even worth the effort of transporting her. Should just leave her out here to the wilds.”

You just blink at the sky as the cart trudges along, studying the darkening clouds, letting your mind wander. You only half listen to the two fae who are charged with taking you to trade. You’d heard them say it a few times as you traveled; Oidhche court.

After having spent the last year being subjected to numerous atrocities by a variety of creatures in what you’d heard called Ciaradh court, you can only let out a breath at finally being outside once more.

It has been a long while since you’ve seen the open sky and you smile a bit as you take in the sight.

“Pretty”, you whisper and the smaller elf cocks his head back to look at you.

“Eh?” he says, a look of disgust passing over his face as your eyes meet his. “Tch,” he wrinkles his nose at you, then turns away.

“Too bad, clean her up and-”

“Let those mongrels in Oidhche have their way with her, I want to wash my hands of her as quickly as possible. Not worth the coin paid, when they will just dispose of her…”

Your mind tunes them out, focussing instead on gazing back towards the vast sky above you.

Would it rain today?

You hope so, the idea of the sound of droplets hitting the leaves on the giant trees around you has you closing your eyes again, drifting off into your own imagination to escape the stark reality of your life.

What seems like days pass, trudging along in the shoddy cart you are forced to ride in. You’d originally started out walking with them, just your hands bound by a rope but you’d stumbled and fallen so many times, the elves had traded for the small transport.

They hadn’t bothered much beyond the bindings on your wrists and as you daydream while the sun sets, you unconsciously work at the small rope.

It’s deep into the night when you can hear both of the guards snoring loudly that the bindings fall from your aching limbs and you rub them absentmindedly.

Wondering if you should even bother trying to escape, you shrug and think, what does it matter? Might as well try at least. The absolute worst that could happen is that they hear you, or they hunt you down.

From the way they were talking, it wasn’t likely you were going to meet with anything pleasant once they handed you off, so you creep slowly from the small vehicle and summon the tiny bit of grace you may have buried deep down.

The noises coming from the two males remain steady as you skulk through the taller brush.

You don’t stop concentrating on your movements until the sun is creeping up over the horizon and you’re sure that you’ve made it far enough to be clear.

Not waiting any longer, you take off at a run on your cloth bandaged feet, not even worrying about injuring yourself as you let your adrenaline drive you away from your captors.

With no idea of where you’re going, you just know that anything is better than whatever awaits you.

You have no idea how long you’ve been wandering, only that you can hear the faint trickle of running water nearby. Having only had the small drops of dew in the morning time, your heart soars at the sound.

It feels like days since you’ve gotten free from your transporters and now you are thirsty and hungry. Following the noise, you make your way to an embankment, sighing in relief as you take in the clear, crisp water below.

With a small smile, you slowly clamber down the side, being especially careful. The last thing you needed was to injure yourself while you were out here alone, without food or shelter.

“At least I’d have you,” you whisper to the small stream as you crouch beside it.

Humming happily, you cup your hands to collect the water and drink greedily. It’s cool and refreshing, bringing a much needed ray of hope into your current situation, as well as your parched lips.

You spend a little time hydrating, then scanning the area to see if there is any way to carry water with you. Finding none, you decide the best way is to follow the water source.

Glancing behind, you try to acclimate where you’ve come from and determine the direction to head in.

“As if you have a plan…” you murmur to yourself, seriously wondering what your ultimate goal is.

From your experience so far, coming across any fae was likely detrimental to your survival. The time you’d spent in that dank cell, subject to unspeakable things, told you all you needed to know about how the fae treated the human race. You had heard some other humans come through speaking of different courts having contradicting ideas of how your race was treated, but you’d only ever come across the kind that despised you.

Your thoughts drift to the one who scared you the most.

The one who came in the deep night.

The one who slipped you herbs and forced you to drink vile concoctions.

The disgusting creature who promised to make you his, repeatedly describing the numerous tortures that awaited you.

You’d eventually stopped reacting to his goading, as it seemed to give him pleasure to watch you tremble in fear.

“It’s ok now, you’re alright. Look, the sunset is beautiful.” you hum, making your way to a small burrow you spot as you walk along the stream. “It’ll all be fine. Even if you die out here, it has a wonderful view…” you murmur, drifting off as the orange glow fades to red, then dusk settles in as your eyes close.

“Go retrieve the human those idiots lost, shade. She escaped during transport around a week ago. Idiots took their time finally coming to report her disappearance but I know you’ll be able to find her. Meet them near the gate for her scent. Under no condition is she to be killed, bring her back as she is.” the captain commands, dismissing the creature known only as nightshade.

The fae’s crimson eyes only register the command, then he is turning on his heel to carry out his superior’s orders without question. He ignores angry muttering behind him as he makes his way outside.

Nightshade, or just shade, was what the fae had dubbed him.

It was no secret that he was born and raised without a name.

Such was the fate of one such as him, cursed at birth as a half breed abomination; a moniker befitting one that is as deadly as he is.

The fact that they used the human term for the poisonous plant was not lost on him, but it mattered little.

Irritation at being sent on such a seemingly silly task to retrieve a run away human, he just frowns beneath the black mask as he spots his targets pacing outside the gate.

“How long are we-SHITE AND FAIRYDUST! Why you-” the taller fae stops immediately as he takes in shade’s form as it solidifies, an undercurrent of fear in the elves’ normally apathetic gaze. “Are you here for the human wretch?”

Shade merely nods once and the two fae step back, gesturing to the wagon that had been transporting you.

“Should just let her die out there, with the beasts. No way she’s getting’ far.” the shorter one says.

The taller snorts and nods, “Don’t even know why she bothered.” They both fall silent as shade turns his eyes on them and they look away quietly.

“I’ll bring her back.” The deep rumble of his voice is barely loud enough to be heard but the two fae shiver at the sound, shrinking back.

Nodding once, he turns and fades to wisps of smoke, hovering over the cart long enough to get a scent of the essence left behind before dissipating.

“Don’t envy her the end she has coming from THAT one’,” the short elf whispers after a moment, finally able to talk once more.

“Shite.” is the only response he gets as they head back towards Ciaradh court.

You awaken with a shiver and a cry, the heavy morning dew clinging to your exposed flesh.

The dirty white gown they’d given you before you’d been unceremoniously dragged from the cell you called home was caked at the hem with mud and who knows what from the first stretch of your flight.

You’d been running through puddles and burying yourself in leaves and whatever else you could find to hide in at every sudden noise that first day. Yet you didn’t want to wash your clothing in the only water source you’d found, so you decide to leave it for now.

Stretching and shaking off the horrible dreams, you make your way back over to the stream to drink deeply, then make your way downstream once more.

The sound of the water seems to be getting louder as the stream slowly turns into a river, the current picking up.

Eventually you stop, trying to decide which side of the water you want to be on, as crossing looks as if it might be impossible later on.

Finally deciding on the right bank to climb up, you scan the area around you. There seem to be more trees and the birdcalls are louder as you travel.

You’re not sure whether to be surprised or not, having come across no living being since you’d escaped the road you’d been traveling along with those two fae.

To be fair, once you’d crossed into the world of the fae through the faerie ring however long ago, you hadn’t had much time outside of confinement. So there was no way to tell what was ‘normal’ on this side.

Deciding that the stream nearby would give you a water source, and heading towards the more tree lined area might provide some vegetation to eat, you make your way onwards. You’re fairly sure you haven’t traveled very far since you have strips of cloth for foot protection and it has been rough on you.

Figuring that the current of the river is decent enough to wash at least your wounds on your lower body in, you make your way to the side of the flowing current.

Unwrapping the cloth around your filthy feet, you dip your toes hesitantly, then plunge your legs up to your knees, sighing blissfully.

Numerous scratches and cuts, as well as a few punctures from sharp rocks are all calmed by the cool water. You close your eyes and tip your head back, basking in the beautiful sunlight, the warmth shining down on you.

“Where are you even going?” you ask yourself softly, breathing in deeply.

Once you soothe your wounds, you rip some new cloth off of the rag you are wearing, rewrapping your feet with the much cleaner fabric. At least it would provide some protection against the random rocks and such.

The rest of the day's journey takes you into the copse of trees, keeping an eye out for any of the faery circles you’d gone through in your own world.

Chances were low that you’d come across one, but at least it gave you something to work towards.

As you come upon a small opening, you walk to the edge to look out over the land beyond.

Looking around, you decide this is as good a place as any to rest and possibly spend a little time while you figure out what to do next. There was a small waterfall you could see a little ways down, and a small area to possibly bathe.

There were also some berries that looked promising as a food source, and given that it was between trying your luck at those or starving….well…

You collect a handful for your meager dinner, then bunch some leaves together under a smaller tree, hoping if the berries do kill you, it won’t be painful. The thoughts are short lived as you give in to your exhaustion, passing out before the sun sets below the trees looking over you.

Awakening hours later, the dark surrounding you feels oppressive. The constant dreams haunting you seem to follow you from your sleep as you take in the silent evening.

Rubbing your stomach, you don’t notice any signs of pain, which is a good thing for the berries. But your thoughts are cut off as you realize just how silent it is.

Dead silent, no birds, no noises of creatures moving in the dark like you’ve come to expect.

Just…silent as a grave. A shiver of pure terror washes over you as you try to process if it’s still a dream or-

That’s when you notice the being, crouched down a few feet away, hooded with a black mask.

You can’t really even see much else, but you can feel him. The noise that threatens to escape your throat seems to be stuck as he stands and slowly walks to hover over you.

As he approaches, the light of the moon illuminates his eyes, dark and intense. A chill runs through you at the sight of his form standing over you, your body trembling in fear.

This is it, this is my end, you think, a tiny part of you relieved that it’s finally come.

You had a feeling something would come for you eventually.

As the figure studies you, you can only wait for the peace of death.

Despite your instinctive physical fear, your mind is oddly tranquil as you try to make out his features in the darkness.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you do your best to meet your last moments with a smile.

“Please…will you make it quick?” your quivering voice squeaks out, wincing at the sound in the deep quiet of the night.

The figure tilts his head at you, almost curious.

“Quick?” he crouches down in front of you, mere inches away as his masked face looks you over.

Swallowing, fear almost has you paralyzed at the nearness of the fae man, a sixth sense telling you he could crush you with one hand.

“Please…I would like to die quickly.” you repeat, drawing your knees underneath you as you sit up to ready yourself.

You grit your teeth to keep them from rattling together at the way you’re trembling, refusing to close your eyes to your final living companion.

“Die?” he asks, and you watch him as you wait, finally noticing that his dark eyes are a deep crimson in the light of the moon.

So pretty, you think distractedly. Heaving a small sigh, you focus on their beauty, a tiny smile creeping over your face as you appreciate the only part of him you can see.

“Are you not afraid, mortal?” he asks you, and you let his deep timbre wash over you, relishing in the richness of his tone.

“Of course….. I am very afraid. I’m terrified.” you counter and he just blinks at you, reaching a gloved hand out to hover near your face.

Snatching it back, he squints at you.

“Why are you so eager to die?” he questions and it’s your turn to blink at him.

“I…I’m not eager to die…” you whisper and he shakes his head.

“Confusing.” he states and you just stare at him.

“Aren’t you here to kill me?” you ask him, wondering how you’ve found yourself here, debating your life or death with a terrifying masked fae man.

“I am not.” he responds simply, causing you to sigh sadly.

“Which means…” you say softly, glancing around the clearing you’d decided to make a temporary residence, finding yourself already back in the cells you’d been locked away in for so long.

You turn your eyes back to him, his gaze still on you.

“You’re here to take me back.” you state, not a question.

His silence tells you what you need to know, and your throat closes as your eyes fill with tears.

“Give me a moment, please.” you say, trying to collect yourself.

His eyes go through an array of expressions as you fan your face, trying to calm down. The trembling from his nearness wasn’t helping, but you weren’t going to ask him to back off. Something in you told you that it was unlikely he’d listen anyhow.

“Are you going to take me back to those horrible men? Men…fae…I don’t even know what to call them…my captors?” you ask.

He merely nods, watching you curiously as you shiver and hug yourself.

“I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it then.” you say, and give him a nod.

“Are you going to…woosh me back or…?” You flap your hands, not knowing the words you’re looking for, fear of what awaits you overpowering his presence momentarily.

His confused eyes have you sighing, waving your hands around erratically.

“You know like, um…fly me back or …magic things…?” you ask, shrugging. “I have only been confined since I came into the fae world…I’m really not sure how things work here.”

His searching eyes just blink at you, then he sighs, sitting down to cross his legs in front of you.

“I will not ‘magic’ you back, we will travel by foot. I do not wish to touch you.” he says and you just sigh, looking up at the light of the moon above you.

“Ah…I forget that we humans here are despised, of course you wouldn’t want to. May I…have a bit of time before we go?” you ask him, and he just nods once.

“As you will, mortal. Rest, then. I do not need you to be a hindrance.” His form dissipates into a cloud of darkness, drawing out a shocked gasp from you.

“So cool...” you whisper, even as your body trembles in his presence.

Your attempts to sleep once more aren’t met with any luck, so you find yourself getting up, looking around the clearing. You cannot see your ‘escort’ but you can sense that he’s around, watching.

“I am just going to the little waterfall nearby…I’m aware that… running would be pointless…” you throw out, and you’re met with only silence.

Taking that as a sign that it’s fine, you make your way down to the little waterfall, your heart feeling a semblance of relief for a moment as you realize you may not get to be free ever again.

“I’ll just treasure this while I can…” you whisper to yourself, shedding the horrible gown and walking into the cool water.

The sigh of relief that escapes your lips is so loud, you cover your mouth, then giggle. It’s not as if you’re going to scare anything nearby, and the thought gives you a sense of freedom for a moment.

Humming as you dip down under the water, you emerge with a happy laugh, swimming around for a bit, then floating on your back as you watch the stars above.

Suddenly you are filled with a strong sense of being watched, heavier than before.

Turning your head, you let out a scream, bobbing under the surface for a moment before you pop back up, looking over to see the dark fae man near the water's edge. Your heart seems to restart as you process his presence, watching you curiously.

Turning to swim towards him a bit, you let your breathing even out before giving him a small smile.

“I wanted to bathe before we left…” you tell him, feeling the need to break the eerie silence.

He tilts his head, blinking slowly at you before his deep tone washes over you in a question.

“Why do you laugh?”

“Excuse me?” you ask, flustered, his intense stare causing you to tremble once more.

He pauses, his gaze even as he watches you.

“You are laughing, yet there is no one else around. Why?” he asks again and you sigh, floating a bit as you think of how to answer him.

“I was simply enjoying the feeling of the water….it’s been quite some time since I was allowed to bathe…or see the night sky like this…” you trail off, as you stare up at the stars.

Turning to look at him once more, you just contemplate.

“Do fae not laugh?” you ask him and just blinks, then shakes his head.

“Some fae laugh.” he responds and you get the feeling that he is not one of them.

Frowning, you swim a little closer to where he is crouched.

“Have you never laughed?” you ask him and he almost winces at the question.

“I dare not laugh, nor would I have a reason to.” he says, his beautiful silky voice washing over you and you just shake your head.

The thought of his laughter with that low velvety tone…..you shiver at the mere idea of it.

“Well that’s sad.” you tell him, going back to your humming.

“Sad?” he asks and you look at him curiously.

Between the hood and the mask covering the lower half of his face, the dark clothing and the gloves….well he looks completely like some assassin or dark creature from the fictional novels you used to read. But he was sitting here, watching you bathe, asking you about laughter.

Your heart cries out empathetically without even understanding why. Instead of feeling the need to cower and run in fear you are…drawn to him. His gaze, his voice, his presence is giving you the urge to know him, understand him.

How confusing things were here.

“What is your name?” you ask him, and the wince from before is nothing compared to the dark pain that swirls in his eyes now. Even in the low light of the moon, you can sense it, the agony in that reaction.

“I have no name.” he finally responds quietly and your heart clenches.

“No name? Do fae not name-?”

“They call me shade. I am just a shade.” he cuts you off, standing abruptly.

“Shade? How…on the nose.” you mumble and swim over to the edge, hoisting yourself out of the water.

His eyes are on you once more as you slip into your dress, uncaring of his gaze.

Your fae captors had long since stripped you of your modesty, and this particular fae was one of the first you’d met that wasn’t oozing hatred or lust for you. His uncaring demeanor was a wonderful relief compared to the others you’d met.

How odd to trust him on a feeling.

“I found myself unable to sleep so…we can go.” you announce, turning once more to take in the beauty of your bathing area, the sound of the small waterfall, the stars and moon reflected in the dark waters.

At his look, you just shrug, gesturing to yourself as you rewrap your feet. “I have nothing. This is everything, just me.” you tell him, thinking he may think you have to retrieve things.

It’s met with silence and you just stand, taking him in as you give him a small smile.

“I’m ready.”

The journey is slow, as he just meets your clumsy pace with silence, not once rushing you.

The first day passes quickly, you having slowed to avoid any injuries. And well….you were in no rush to return to the hell of your captors.

All attempts at speaking to the dark being escorting you are met with mostly mundane answers, his disinterest obvious, but you could sense an underlying sense of curiosity to him.

Or maybe it was just your imagination, hopeful in this bleak existence of yours.

He mostly observes you as he quietly directs you, allowing you to stop to use the bushes occasionally, to pick berries to eat, or to drink from the waters of the river.

He even watches as you get excited over a field of flowers you’d not seen on your way, exclaiming over the myriad of colors you’ve never seen in nature before.

Unlike the other fae, your occasional stumbles did not earn you a curse or jests, he merely just waits as you recover to continue on.

That night, as you lay staring at the open night sky, your body finally allows you some broken sleep.

Your shadowy escort can only observe from the trees as your body thrashes in the small hollow you’ve carved out for yourself as the nightmare plagues your rest.

Awakening with a small cry, you can only sigh at the reality of your situation, resignedly readying yourself for another day of travel.

As the day passes you fill the silence with random thoughts spoken aloud, rambling at him about whatever comes to mind, never expecting much of a response.

Occasionally he would start to respond to questions, but never more than a sentence here or there. Still, you could sense that your endless prattling wasn’t unwelcome to him, and you could sense his gaze on you if you started to go quiet.

As another night draws in the darkness around you, you find yourself yawning as you walk along, playing with some of the pretty flowers you’d found on the ground, unwilling to pluck any of the living ones.

“I believe you should rest now,” his voice startles you, causing you to jump and clutch your chest.

“I think that’s the most you’ve spoken today, you scared me.” you exclaim, and he just nods as if used to it.

“It is my nature, to cause others to fear me.” he simply says and you tilt your head at him.

“Why? Even other fae fear you?” you ask him, recovering as you look around for a clearing to rest in.

“I am aberrant to even my kind.” he says simply as if it’s a normal thing.

“Why?” you ask, stopping to turn and look up at him abruptly.

It was the first time he’d seemed willing to talk about himself and you weren’t letting the opportunity pass by.

His shocked eyes blink at you, mere inches from him as you hold your flowers.

“Why?” he echoes and you shrug, turning to head towards a little bunch of trees with some leaves and a nice little log to sit on.

“You ask many questions.”

“Yes, you…well…I mean, when I got here, I was running from some pretty horrible things…I thought coming here would be a clean start, that life here would be better for me. I don’t really know much about this…world…realm?” You gasp as you see some berries and run to pick them, feeling his presence follow.

“I had barely crossed when I was captured, then I was put in a cell and ... .well it was unpleasant, to say the least. I’ve been treated as little more than cattle…tainted cattle at that. The fae I encountered were terrifying, even as they looked like they should be a prince in a fairy tale from my world.” you continue, more to talk for talking’s sake than thinking he cared at all. “I don’t put much stock in the way others appear at first glance, especially now.”

Thinking for a moment about the dark cell, the horrible tortures, the comments, promises of worse…you shake your head, coming back to the present. “I don’t even have anything but this tattered dress they gave me…” you whisper, looking down.

Taking a deep breath, you work a smile back onto your lips.

“I can honestly tell you that you’ve been the kindest creature I’ve met since I came here…and it’s been a long time. Even though initially I was fearful of you..I mean you kinda showed up suddenly and the mask doesn’t help.” you turn to see he’s only a few feet from you, watching you carefully.

You pop a berry into your mouth, then hold your hand out to offer him one. “Even so…thank you for that…I…. I know I am going back to something horrible… Thank you for this time and allowing me to be free for a bit.” you smile at him softly and his eyes go wide, almost in shock at your words.

Shock, confusion, a little bit of… warmth?

Perhaps it was your imagination.

He simply holds out his hand and you scold yourself at your thoughtlessness.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I forgot about not wanting to touch me…” you tilt your hand to let a few berries fall into his palm and smile up at him.

“You…you’re confusing me.” he says and you shake your head at him.

“How so?” you ask, making your way to slip down into the crackle of leaves, sighing in relief after the long day of walking on nothing but scraps of fabric.

He sits down in front of you, studying you intently as you unwrap your feet to rub them, dabbing at the blood from the small cuts.

He just watches, seeming to contemplate something in the long silence until his rich voice breaks it once more.

“Would you…should I….” he starts, but pauses, shaking his head as he looks away, seeming to battle himself before he turns back.

His crimson eyes are intense, but you feel as if he’s finally looking at you instead of merely studying you as if you were some curiosity.

“My mother was a banshee,” he begins, and you gasp without thinking as you realize he is opening up to you.

“Does that make you afraid?” he asks at your reaction, but you just wave your hands frantically, shaking your head.

“No, no not at all! I am…shocked yet pleased that you are telling me about yourself, please ….go on. I … would like to know more about you..” you say and he seems taken aback, but it’s hard to tell with only his eyes.

Finally after a long moment, he nods and you let out the breath you were holding, eager to hear more.

His tone is low, an underlying hint of sorrow as he continues. “They say she wanted a child so much that a dokkaebi decided to grant her wish. But, instead of just bringing her a child, the goblin seduced her, and they say she fell deeply in love with him.”

He stares off seeming lost in his thoughts as he takes a moment.

You wait patiently, enthralled with his voice as his eyes meet yours once again.

“Once he had gotten her with child, he disappeared, and no fae has seen him since. Such is the way of our kind.” He shrugs, shaking his head.

“He had granted her wish, and she should be happy, grateful for the gift. Instead, she was so heartbroken from the loss of her lover, that she cursed the child for being conceived. When she finally birthed the child, they say the cries of the creature granted her final wish, to extinguish the pain from her profound loss.”

His pause is longer this time, a deep sense of despair settling over you, knowing what his next words will be before he even speaks them.

“I am that creature…that child.”

“When the humans found me, I was taken in for a time. But at my cries, if I went hungry or was upset, the many humans who cared for me would die. Finally, realizing I was not a mortal, they offered me to the fae, cursing my very existence for all the death I’d caused. My mother’s people took me in, knowing what I was, yet I am not considered one of them. I am an outcast, I was given no name as a punishment for my existence. I am merely a shade, my presence a curse. My banshee mother “gifted” me with this voice…the mere sound of it causing those around me to tremble as I am only able to bring death and devastation.”

Your throat is tight as he speaks, your fist clenched in the material over your chest as it aches for him, for the small child subjected to such a life, merely for being born.

“They gagged me before I was able to control my voice, and then taught me to never use my power unless it was of use to them. I speak now, but my voice holds a fatal danger within it. This mask is a reminder that I am aberrant, a monster…. a creature that should never have been. My only use is to carry out my orders, and obey.”

His dark eyes bore into you expectantly, but you can only manage your breathing through the tears that threaten to overwhelm you.

“When others see me, they cower and whisper in fear. They scurry from me, as I could kill them with a word, or even just a sound. They fear me for I am a threat, but also a blemish on my kind. So it has been for my entire life.”

He seems so stoic, so resigned that it hurts to even breathe.

As he finally stops speaking, you tear a piece of fabric from your dress to wipe at your eyes and he refocuses on you, his eyes conveying confusion.

“Are your feet so injured that you weep?” he asks, his brows drawing together.

Shaking your head, you stifle a sob, shaking as you try to hold back the flood of heartache his story had caused within you.

“How…how could….they…?” you finally give in and burst into tears, drawing your knees up and sobbing into your arms.

“I…do not know…how to ..what is wrong?” He asks, confused as he attempts to reach for you, then draws back.

“What’s wrong!? Everything about how they treat you is wrong! How horrible! How could they? A poor little innocent baby, what awful ... .you haven’t even done anything wrong!” you wail, and he looks at you in shock.

“Did you not hear what I said? What I am? I am-"

Frustration fills you, anger welling up.

"I did hear, I heard everything you said and they are terrible!” You look up into his eyes, confusion and panic causing him to fidget, the normally stoic male now unable to figure out what to do with his hands.

“Aren’t you angry? Hurt?” you ask him, reaching out to grasp his hands without thinking.

He lets out a startled grunt as he reels back at your touch, but instead of letting go, you hold onto him, and he ends up pulling you into him.

“DON’T!” he cries out in panic, but you shake your head, throwing your arms around his neck to hug him.

“What are you doing!?” his voice booms and you tremble as you freeze, but manage to whine through your gritted teeth.

The feeling of paralysis leaves you as he puts his hands on your waist but you only clutch him tighter.

“I’m hugging you, so just deal with it!” you yell back at him, your voice not coming anywhere near the power of his but you didn’t care right now.

“Are you..yelling at me?” he asks, astounded at the very thought, but he doesn’t force you away.

“You’ve never been hugged, have you?” you ask him in a whisper, his body tense against yours.

His gloved hands shake as he holds you, afraid to move in case he hurts you. “I .. have not.”

You just sob against his shoulder, grasping him tightly.

“Well…..now you have…so…just let me, okay?”

You feel him relax slightly as he sighs, his hands gently settling on your back, allowing you to calm gradually down into sniffles.

It was a surreal feeling, sitting in a fae’s lap as you embrace him, the very creature about to turn you over for more torture, possibly even death.

But the amount of torture you’ve endured seems so pale in comparison to what he’d been through since his birth.

It made you angry, outraged at the kind of beings who could hurt a small infant, raising him to believe he meant nothing.

“It’s not right.” you whisper, drawing back to look into his eyes, which were filled with shock, confusion…fear.

“I do not decide what is right and wro-” he says, but you glare at him, stopping his words.

Slowly pushing back the hood over his head, you can feel him begin to shake again as you raise your hands to his mask. Long dark strands of hair fall forward, soft and shimmering in the midday sun.

“Do not-” he growls out, grasping your wrist gently.

“Why not? Will it hurt me?” you ask, and he just shakes his head.

“Just-” he stops as you draw back, not wanting to push him.

“My only wish is to see you fully, but I will not force you for my own selfish wants.” You tell him softly, brushing your thumb over his exposed temple, admiring his dark crimson eyes, his beautiful sable hair.

“Why are you..I could kill you from a simple touch, with only a word..why…? I don’t understand…Aren’t you afraid?” he rasps out, his chest rising and falling erratically.

“Do you want to hurt me…to kill me?” you ask him in a whisper and his eyes darken, black and red swirling together, his arms tightening around you.

“No-never….” He whispers, shaking his head, studying your face as you search his eyes.

“My touch can wither your delicate flesh, my voice can halt your breathing eternally. You risk your very life to…hug me?” he asks, incredulous.

Your heart aches at his question, a being having never known love or care, more afraid of himself as he’s been taught nothing else, given nothing else.

“I trust you.” you whisper to him, stunning even yourself at the admission.

You barely knew him, yet…something deep within you was stirring, perhaps because you were so close to your demise…having been devoid of feeling connected to another for so long, locked away.

Whatever the reasoning, you could sense your heart stirring for this mysterious, tragic man holding you in his lap.

At your words, he stiffens, blinking rapidly as his eyes darken.

“Why?” His voice is even deeper, his words washing over you like a calm, cool breeze.

Just the one word has you catching your breath, and without hesitation or thought, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

Your lips linger for a long moment as he trembles beneath you, a mixture of a gasp and a soft sigh barely heard through his mask as you pull away.

His eyes are full of intense emotion, and you can’t help but smile tenderly at his confusion.

“I…have no reason. It’s just how I feel.” You tell him quietly, allowing yourself to bask in the peace of this moment with him.

His hands splay out over your back, slipping up your spine and you can feel the tremor as he touches you.

“See…you’re not hurting me…” you tell him as you continue to brush his hair back, tracing the line of his eyebrow with the tip of your finger.

At your touch, he closes his eyes, as if memorizing the feeling.

You watch his throat work, but then suddenly his eyes are open, the pain within them slicing through your heart.

“You should stop.” He rasps out, but you merely shake your head, refusing. He lets out a strangled noise as he glares up at you.

“Don’t you know when you’re in danger?” he asks as he attempts to remove you from being wrapped around him.

“No.” you say simply, knowing he could toss you across the clearing easily, but unwilling to leave your spot without force.

“Why are you so stubborn?” he asks, and you just laugh softly, his eyes softening at the sound.

“It’s just my nature, I suppose. But…if you dislike my touch, I will stop. I apologize for upsetting you.”

Finally giving in, you slowly stand, removing yourself from his lap.

“I’m going to collect some more leaves…” you whisper, leaving the fae to himself for a moment, also needing to take some time for yourself.

You stop to look back at him, still looking down at his hands, his hood pushed back.

Feeling a pang of guilt for pushing him, you sigh before you continue on.

In the long months, possibly even years you’ve been here, you've been wasting away in a cell, poked and prodded at by beings who treated you horribly.

The few who had come along and shown any interest had ulterior motives, such as the tall elf who seemed to be in charge.

He’d fed you strange herbs that made you sick, promising they were to help you.

But in the end, he’d also wanted to use you, albeit in different ways than the ones who came before.

When they’d declared you barren, you’d thought it was a godsend but in reality, they had no more use for you.

As the guards who’d been transporting you had implied, you were marching right back to a certain death.

Death was the best thing that was waiting for you, you think sadly.

Yet here you were, going soft for this being they called shade, your heart opening even though you knew it would only end in tragedy for you.

“A little light in the darkness isn’t going to hurt…. It’s fine…it’s all fine..” you whisper to yourself.

The pain of his story still rages through you, the urgent need to show him care, comfort….love.

“How ironic to find such a thing, in the darkest days of my sad life.” you tell the wind, closing your eyes to the thought of his gentle touch upon you, no matter how brief.

Oddly, you feel as if you could sense his presence, and when you returned back to the little spot, you found yourself smiling at his dark form.

He was crouched near a small bush about ten feet from where you’d decided to make your little resting spot for the night.

You deposit your leaves as he stands to turn towards you, his hands cupped as he makes his way to you.

Settling yourself in the crunch of the foliage, he kneels next to you, his dark red eyes searching yours as he holds out his hands.

“What-?” you start then look down at what he is offering.

In his gloved palms, he was holding berries.

“For..me?” you ask timidly and he just nods.

“Th-thank you…” you smile at him, feeling heat creeping into your cheeks as his eyes never leave you.

You take them in your palm as if they are treasure, warmth spreading through you.

“Mm!” you exclaim as you chew on a few and he tilts his head at you in confusion.

“You act as if these aren’t the same berries you’ve been consuming this whole time.” he quips and you beam at him, munching happily.

“They taste better because you got them for me.” you tell him, your heart seeming to stutter as his eyes widen then blink quickly, and his breath catches audibly.

“I…get some rest…” he finally says, standing to turn and dissipate into that black shadowy cloud you’ve gotten used to now.

“Sweet dreams…if you sleep…” you whisper to him, grinning like a fool at the berries he’d given you as if it was the greatest gift you’ve ever received.

In your mind, his gesture means the world to you in this bleak existence you’ve found yourself in.

Shortly after your meal, you lay down in the softness of the leaves, gazing wistfully at the stars as you commit this feeling to memory.

Whatever fate has in store for you, be it death or worse, you’ve decided to save this day to a special place in your mind.

When the pain of reality becomes too much, you’ll withdraw back to this moment; this small bit of sunshine in your bleak existence.

In the trees above you, unseen, your dark fae watches over you as your eyes drift closed, a small smile playing over your lips as you drift into dreamless slumber.

The next day, you find he is watching you even more closely, actually answering your little questions a bit more openly than before. The sound of his voice makes you smile and more than once, he gives you strange, curious looks.

Neither of you speak of the prior days events, but there seems to be a simple companionship between you that wasn’t there before that makes you skip along, a little more carefree than you’ve felt in a long, long time.

You cannot see his full face but you’re convinced that at least once, you’ve made him conjure up some semblance of a smile.

Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“May I ask you something?”

The fae’s deep tone interrupts your thoughts, shocking you as you turn to look at him.

“Of course you can, anything you desire.” Smiling, you watch him as he takes his time to respond.

“How can you…smile?” he asks softly, his words barely audible.

You pause, turning to him as you think of how to answer.

“If this is too intrusive-” he starts but you just shake your head, titling it as you look off at the beautiful blue of the sky.

“I don’t mind…I’m just trying to think of how to put it into words.” You reassure him, watching as some small animals break from a brush to rush into another.

Your lips quirk at the sight and you turn your gaze back to his.

Your stomach does a little flip at his intense eyes, but you shake it off as you speak.

“I mentioned that I came across to escape from something horrible, from my world?” you finally say, your mind drifting to the day you’d run from your life.

“In my world, there is no magic, but there’s plenty of evil. Sometimes no matter how much you love or care for something, they can still hurt you. I ran away from something…someone who was hurting me.” You tell him, shrugging a shoulder as if to make light of it.

His eyes narrow, darkening and you continue before you can run from the question.

“When I crossed, I was captured. But in my mind, anything was better than what I left. I…was wrong. It was different, but just as bad as what I ran from. The fae who captured me placed me in a small dark cell and ... .I won’t go into details about the things that were done to me. I honestly don’t want to remember, let alone tell you.” your smile falters as you blink away tears, trying to recall where you were going.

You watch his head tilt downwards, his eyes hooding as he studies you, and you manage to swallow back the memories as you continue.

“I’m unsure how much you know about what they do…to humans like me.” you say and he just shakes his head.

“Well, it’s …..from what I heard from conversations I overheard and what was done to me…at least where I was. They are trying to ….breed us.” you whisper, looking down to wrap your arms around yourself.

You turn and slowly start walking as you recall to him some of your time imprisoned.

“After many …. attempts ... .I was declared ‘barren’, basically worthless.” You look over at him with a soft smile and he furrows his brow in confusion.

“The reason I was able to get myself free was because they were discarding me, as I have no use.” you tell him, shaking your head.

“I don’t even know why they sent you after me, I imagine I’m going to be ... .disposed of at my return.” you shrug, resigned.

“It sounds like I’m not answering your question, but I promise I am!” You tell him, trying to put some cheer into your voice.

You watch a vein in his neck pulse as he seems to swallow harshly, focused on you.

“You see, I spent so much time angry at myself, at everyone around me, making myself sick with all of the negative things. It really only made everything so much worse. One day, a small bird got into my little prison cell. A tiny little blue bird, and the sound of its song was like…the most beautiful, amazing thing I’d ever experienced in my life.”

You smile at the recollection, perking up. “The joy I felt from that simple little bird, the smile it put on my face made everything else ebb away. It didn’t change anything happening to me, but smiling…appreciating the smallest happiness…it made what was happening to me the smallest bit easier.”

You look down at the path you’re walking, smiling at the vivid green of the grass, the small puffs of white flowers drifting on the breeze.

“My whole life, I don’t think I spent much time smiling. But now…..now, I smile because otherwise, I’d drown in the misery of my negative thoughts. There’s so much negative, sometimes it’s too easy to be overwhelmed by it. I just decided to change my perspective and to appreciate the smallest gifts I am given.”

You hop and turn to him, reaching to grab his hand but at the last minute you remember yourself and stop.

His startled look makes you giggle as you tell him, “Like the berries! You picked them for me…you thought of my well being. Me…a silly human you are tasked with bringing back, you showed me kindness. You made me smile.” you admit, shrugging and his eyes widen, then soften as he shakes his head.

“I…do not think I’ve ever done so in my life.” he tells you and you just give him a big grin as you hop along beside him.

“You’ve made me smile many times so far. Your voice is soothing to me, beautiful like music. It makes me happy.” You say, and he stops abruptly, blinking rapidly.

“I cannot tell if you jest.” he glances over at you, wary as you beam at him.

“I would never jest about that, I truly mean it.” you say simply and he starts to walk with you once again, seeming lost in thought.

“Long after I’m gone, I hope you recall that you made at least one little creature smile in her last days.” You whisper and his head snaps over to you, seeming to process your words finally.

“You…are aware of your imminent demise yet you don’t even attempt to escape from me?” he puzzles and you laugh, a mixture of sadness and delight at the thought.

“You and I both know escaping from you isn’t possible. I may be a bit naive and extremely clumsy, but I am smart enough to know this.”

He only watches you, blinking as he nods finally.

“Yet you still could try, if you wanted to live.”

You stop at his words, turning to frown at him.

“I do want to live. I really do. But if I were to try to run, you would have to come after me, to recapture me. You’d have to use your powers….I can sense how strong you are, even as a human. I couldn’t do that to you.”

He flinches in shock, “To me?” he merely asks and you nod, closing the distance between you to look at him, to make sure he understands you.

“You’ve been used…treated like you’re only worth what only your powers can do for those who would exploit you. I would be forcing you to do the same, against your will. From what it sounds like, the fae who raised you to be a tool only treat you as an object. I….know all too well what that feels like, and I just…” your heart pounds from the memory of his story.

“I will not push you into having to do their bidding any more than you already have to. Despite being completely pointless- it’s not as if I can run and hide from you successfully…which means you would also have to do something that seems to cause you pain…or sadness.” he simply watches you, his eyes almost black as you speak.

“I prefer to speak with you, to hear your voice, to learn about you, to-” your throat clenches at the words that want to come forth and your breath hitches.

“I…accept the fate I’ve been given and want to make the time I have not memorable, not running from it. I’m always running from something; this time…I’ve decided to face things and enjoy beauty where I can find it. You’re my …companion at the end…I don’t wish to make you my enemy, nor do I want to abuse you like others do.”

You finally stop, giving another shrug as you put your hands behind your back, turning to continue your journey. “Sorry I didn’t have a short answer for you…” you purse your lips, wondering if you’ve annoyed him with your rambling.

There is a comforting silence following your long explanation, the soft sounds of nature around you soothing as you breathe in deeply.

You hear an odd creaking noise and turn to look at your companion oddly. You glance down at his leather clad hands where the sound emanates and frown, noticing him clenching his fists.

“Have I upset you? If I have-”

“No. Not you.” his deep growl sends a chill through your entire being at the rage you sense lurking.

“Oh…” is all you say, unconsciously walking a bit closer to him.

You notice his breathing is a bit rough under his mask and suddenly feel a wave of sadness for upsetting him, even if unintentional.

“I’m sorry for saying so much, I overshared a bit.”

His eyes meet yours and your heart stops as his eyebrows draw together, an expression of almost…sympathy in his eyes startling you.

“There is nothing to apologize for. You have nothing to be sorry about…” his emphasis has your breath catching in your throat and your heart swelling.

Was he…angry for you?

The thought has you dizzy with confusion and emotion.

“Thank you…for listening.” you breathe out, having to almost physically force your gaze from him, heat warming your cheeks.

“You’re…welcome.” He responds, and you continue on as the sun slowly dips beneath the treeline, before you make your resting place for yet another night.

Your pace was slow, but instead of rushing you, your fae companion was allowing you to set the speed. It was as if he was allowing you as much time as you needed before your end.

You couldn’t be more grateful, you think as your eyes close, sensing him nearby.

Your sleep is restless, drifting through memories of your time back in your cell. The sounds harsh breathing in your ear, whatever creature was holding you beneath them tearing your flesh as they-

You awake to your own sobbing, shaking violently as you struggle to breathe.

You’re curled onto your side, hot tears trailing from one eye to the other as you clutch the ragged material of your dress.

It takes you a few moments to register the figure of ‘shade’, not even two feet from you, his crimson eyes seemingly on fire in the dim orange light of the sunrise.

His hands were hovering near you, palms open, a look of concern on his brow.

He doesn’t speak a word as your breathing slowly returns to normal, his nearness almost calming, bringing you back to reality.

Sitting up, you finally unball your fist from your chest, your jaw aching from having been clenching it, probably all throughout your nightmare.

Rubbing your face, you take a deep breath as you wipe at your damp face.

“You were screaming.” His voice washes over you like a wave, instantly dispersing any lingering memory of your dream and you sigh in relief.

“Sorry I-”

His grunt stops you and you look at him in confusion.

“You say that word needlessly, far too often.” he says simply and you let out a small laugh, realizing he’s right.

“Habit, sor-” You put your hand over your mouth and let out a soft giggle.

The sides of his eyes crinkle a bit and you almost gasp as you realize he may be smiling.

Resisting the overwhelming urge to reach out and pull off his mask, you stand, brushing at the leaves clinging to your gown.

“I suppose we should-”

He turns before you can finish, pulling out a large leaf with berries on it.

“Eat first.” He says, standing as you finally take his offering, staring at him in awe.

“Thank you.” You whisper and he only nods as he walks a few feet away, seeming to look out at the path ahead.

It only takes you a few moments to consume the food, then you’re standing and joining him.

“Ready?” You ask and he just gazes at you for a moment before he gives you one nod, following as you set your slow, plodding pace for the day.

You are mostly silent, lost in thought as you travel, casting looks occasionally at your travel companion.

Almost every time, you catch his eyes on you and his gaze never fails to warm you, your stomach doing little flips.

As if subconsciously, you make almost double the amount of stops today as you normally have, knowing you must be getting close to wherever he’s taking you.

During a particularly quiet bit of time where you’ve stopped to admire the view from the side of a cliff face, you watch as birds fly free and sigh in envy.

There is water far below, and you can faintly hear the waves crash into the rocks lining the shoreline.

Smiling as you close your eyes, you tip your face to the sun, basking in the mildly salty scent of the ocean.

Upon opening, you can’t help but envy the winged creatures flying overhead.

“Oh to be a bird…” you whisper under your breath, taking a step forward without thinking.

There’s a sudden shift as the ground beneath your feet gives way, your small cry cut off as you plummet quickly towards the rocks below.

This is it, you conclude, your heart torn between sadness and elation as you fall to meet your death.

Yet, instead of the bone breaking impact of the terrain of the shore, a familiar black cloud surrounds you, then you’re being clutched tightly in a pair of strong arms.

Barely able to breathe, you just cling to him as he sets down onto the ground below, trembling as you try to recover your breath.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you glance up at him, grateful.

“I-I think so…” you stutter out, grasping onto him as he looks around where you’ve both landed.

“I’m sorry…I … “ you try to explain, but the concern in his eyes has you catching your breath.

“You…voluntarily touched me…” you realize out loud and he grunts in response, finally spotting a clear area to set you down.

As he does, you let your arms linger around his neck, looking up at him affectionately.

“Thank you.” you say softly, and he just watches you closely for a long moment, searching your eyes.

Finally, he is the one to break the silence.

“Why do you look at me so intently?” he asks, his intense gaze never breaking from yours.

“I….I was wondering once more what you hide beneath the mask.” you tell him simply and he scoffs at you, removing your arms from around him, stepping back.

“Nothing worth seeing.” he tosses out, surveying the area around you.

“I’d like to have my own opinion on that.” you state, walking over to him to take his gloved hand.

He stiffens at your touch, but does not pull away.

“You confuse me.” he says, not for the first time.

“I confuse myself sometimes, so it’s okay.” you say, smiling tenderly up at him.

As he turns his eyes on you again, your heart trips over itself as you feel the overwhelming need to see him, see his face, to remove the mask keeping you from seeing him.

All of him.

You have nothing to lose, something inside of you states.

Giving in to the pulsing demand of your inner voice, you start moving before you even realize you are doing so.

Reaching up, you push back his hood, but he steps away in alarm, putting distance between you both, his long dark hair shining in the sunset.

“May I…” you extend your hand towards him, but his eyes register panic as your fingers brush his mask.

“No.” he says brusquely, turning away from you.

“Please…I…don’t know why but I -”

His voice is soft but heavy with emotion as he shakes his head, his long strands falling softly around his face.

“There is nothing you gain from seeing what lies beneath.”

“There is nothing I lose, either..” You whisper to him softly, reaching for him once more.

This time he remains still, allowing you to approach.

You watch the rise and fall of his chest as you brush back the softness of his hair, his eyelashes fluttering at your touch.

“You do not need to lay eyes on the pathetic creature that this hides. The monster that I am.”

“You’re not a pathetic creature nor are you a monster, not to me.” you say, grasping his hand.

“Not to me. You’re more than that.”

His ragged breathing is the only sound between you as you wait, his eyes searching yours.

“You have treated me kindly, you’ve saved my life-” His eyes look pained at your words as he shakes his head.

“I am only doing my duty, obeying my orders.” he bites out, but you see something deeper in the depths of his gaze.

“You know I am going back to almost certain death.” you whisper and you can see him wince, his hand trembling slightly in yours.

“I am not asking for you to free me. I accept my fate…I have nowhere to run.”

“Let me lay eyes on what you want to hide…let me see all of you. Take it as a dying woman’s wish.” his eyes flutter at your words, keeping them closed for a moment before he looks at you intensely.

“You speak of your death so easily, as if it doesn’t matter.” he responds softly.

You only smile up at him as the darkness closes in around you, the light of the moon illuminating his eyes.

“Death is inevitable, and you’ve given me this precious time with you before I meet my end. I’ll cherish every moment, every single second with you. In the time I have left…I want to see all of you.”

You beam up at him, giving him time to take in your words.

His eyes seem to filter through an array of emotions as you look at one another.

Pain, fear, agony…

Longing.

As you watch those beautiful eyes, they seem to settle as he lets out an almost resigned sigh.

“Why is it that to me, you shine brighter than the moon?” he asks suddenly, reaching out to cup your face.

Your breath hitches at his touch and you lean into the caress.

“How do you do this, light up everything around you?” he asks, and you just smile at him sadly, your hand cupping his as he brushes his thumb over the tear rolling down your cheek.

“I’m only bright because you’re so used to the dark.” You respond, but he shakes his head.

“You’re much more than a light in the darkness. You belong in an open field of beautiful flowers under the sun, not lighting up this oppressive night.”

You know he’s not only referring to the shadows surrounding you, his words causing your heart to tremble, yearning even more for him.

You can only press yourself into him, brushing back the long strands of dark hair as he swallows at your nearness.

You can feel your very soul quiver as he wraps a strong arm around you, holding you close.

“I much prefer the beauty of the things I can bring the light to.” you whisper softly.

He closes his eyes and you let your hand slip behind his head, trailing your finger along the strap holding his mask in place.

“Monsters lurk in the darkness.” he whispers in a low tone, his hand gently stopping you as he opens his eyes, the pained red bleeding into the black of his irises, almost begging you not to go any further.

Your heart pangs at the undercurrent of distress in their depths, but you know inherently that there’s nothing for him to fear, that you only need to prove it to him.

“I’m more afraid of the monsters that walk amongst the flowers than I ever will be of the creatures in the dark.”

You unhook the strap and let it fall, noting the sheer agony within his eyes.

He closes them tightly as the mask falls, revealing one of the most breathtakingly perfect faces you’ve ever seen.

Blinking back fresh tears at his need to hide himself, you can only bask in the sight of him; his beautiful lips quiver slightly at your sharp intake of breath.

“Perhaps the beings in the dark aren’t monsters at all,” you whisper softly, “Just lonely creatures too afraid to show themselves to the light.”

The tears clouding your vision finally begin to fall as you gaze in complete awe at his features, his body shuddering as your words seem to stun him.

You watch his adams apple bob as he swallows, choking back a sob at his unwillingness to look at you.

“You're stunning.” you whisper as you find your voice, letting your fingers trace his jawline, the tips of your fingers skimming along his lips.

“You should not hide yourself from others….from me. Your voice is beautiful, as is this face you mask.”

Your breath catches as he leans into your touch, cupping his cheek gently as you admire him.

“You should proudly stand above all those who would look down on you and proclaim your right as a living being, deserving of love and kindness.”

His eyes gradually open as you speak, warily studying your face for any signs of deception, confusion playing across his sculptured features.

His lips part as you bask in the brilliance of his beauty, the moon illuminating a single sparkling tear in the corner of his eye.

Trembling as you take in the sight of him, you are flooded by emotions long forgotten overwhelming your very soul.

“Yeosang.” you whisper, the name coming from deep within you.

“What-? What...does that mean?” He asks softly, his voice barely audible, his brows draw together in uncertainty.

Your fingers trace the graceful line of his nose, whispering across his flawless cheek; letting your fingertips brush the dark lashes as his eyes flutter at your touch.

“Yeosang…I cannot give you much in this world but…I can give you a name. In my world, “Yeosang” means ‘sound from a high point’ in one of the languages where I am from.”

Your hand drops down, running a palm along his throat, eyes flicking up to watch a tear trace a line down his cheek.

Your heart aches at the myriad of emotions in his eyes, and you long to have him understand what it is you see, visually and with your heart.

How deeply he moves you; what he has come to mean to you in such a short time together.

What you yearn for him to believe; that he is worth something.

“Use your voice for yourself. To me, you stand above them all, so I want you to see yourself as I do.”

You lean in to place a soft kiss to his brow, and his arms tighten around you as his breath hitches at your words.

“You’re no monster…you’re a radiant, magnificent being trapped and abused by those who fear you. You are only hiding yourself in the shadows.”

He lets out a choked gasp as you press another soft kiss to his cheek,

“Yeosang…it also means ‘everything’.” You tell him.

His eyes are hooded as they play over your features, head down as he looks at you through those dark lashes.

He pauses before he whispers, “Everything?”

Tilting his face up to yours, urging him to look deep within your eyes. A swell of emotion washes over you, and you give in to the words that seem to come from the very depth of your soul.

“Yes, Yeosang. Because you are everything….my everything.”

His lips part as your fingers entwine into his ebony tresses, guiding his mouth to yours.

He lets out a small whimper as your lips meet, pulling you flush against him.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you part for him, urging him to take whatever it is he wants.

Slowly, gently he cups your cheek, brushing his gloved thumb over your skin, tilting your head as he deepens the kiss.

On a small gasp, he draws back, a look of concern washing over his exposed features, his lips drawing down in a frown.

“Am I hurting you?” he questions, fear evident in his eyes.

You lean forward to press your lips to his once more, settling your forehead against his as you shake your head.

“Not at all. Your touch is everything I’ve ever wanted…needed…” you sigh, and his eyelashes flutter as you take his hand to place it on your chest, your heart thundering in the stillness.

“Listen…” you whisper, your eyes steady on his.

“For you.”

His breath hitches as you place your hand on his chest, sighing softly as you feel the increasing rhythm with every passing moment.

It seems as though your heart syncs to the tempo of his, yearning to merge, to fuse with his very soul.

Your eyes lock with his, the silence surrounding you seeming to fill with ever growing symphony of emotion overwhelming you for this man.

The words leave your lips, without thought, just pure and simple.

Right.

“I love you.”

Though said on the softest of whispers, his reaction is as if a thunderclap has broken him from his reverie, his eyes sharpening as he searches your face.

Swallowing heavily, you breathe out, “I…barely know you, and maybe I’m insane...but it’s as if I was destined to always make my way to you.”

Your words are barely audible, your cheeks burning at the confession.

His sudden movement catches you off guard, fear threatening to claw it’s way up your throat, worried he will push you away; that you’ve made a mistake in voicing your feelings.

Instead, his eyes remain locked onto your as he yanks at his gloved hands, shedding the leather quickly before he reaches for you once more.

You shudder as he tentatively traces his fingertips along your cheek, brushing away the fresh tears. “I fear that words can do no justice to how you move me…they can only pale at the vibrant way that you’ve set me ablaze. The words that spiral through my mind can never explain the profound strength of how I’ve come to cherish you.”

Your heart aches at his admission, closing your eyes to the flood of emotions that wash over you, the stream of tears flowing freely as he holds you.

Your mouths meet once more as he pulls you to him, seeming to pour every ounce of himself into the kiss he breathes into you.

Your hand covers his as he cups your cheek, marveling at how gentle he is, how delicately he touches you.

“Yeosang…” you murmur against his lips and his breath catches, his tongue rolling against yours as he lets out a soft moan.

“Say it again.” He demands and you smile against his mouth, letting your hand reach up to comb through his long silken strands.

“Yeosang. My Yeosang.” The emotions coiling in your chest, your stomach seem to coalesce into an urge so strong, so powerful that you can’t deny them.

“Make me yours, Yeosang,” you gasp out, as if the words are speaking from your very soul.

Your trembling is noticeable in your voice and he lets out a shaky moan as you press yourself against him. His arousal is unmistakable as he slips his hands down your back and you gasp at the way your body responds to him.

His eyes flare open, a deep scarlet filled with lust and concern as he shakes his head at you.

“I will not do such a thing after what you’ve been through. Not after-” his words are hushed with a touch from your fingers, even as his hands find purchase on your hips.

Brushing your thumb along his lower lip, you blink slowly at him, smiling gently.

“There is nothing here besides you and I, just the two of us. You need not concern yourself about harming me in such a way.. I am making the choice. I am choosing you.”

His eyes soften at your words, and he lets out a soft sigh, parting his lips to take your thumb into his mouth.

“I…want you more than I have words to describe….. yet…” his eyes shift and you furrow your brow at his hesitance.

“I will not force you into anything-” you tell him, suddenly worried that you’re the one crossing the line here.

“No-I want you. I truly, truly want you…” his hands tighten on your hips as he lets out a shaky breath, hips pressing forward as if to prove his point.

You swallow heavily at his words, heat rising up your neck as well as pooling between your legs.

“But?” you ask him, trying not to do anything to push your own needs, holding as still as you can, to not influence his decision.

“I-” his eyes are still averted, his throat working.

“I have never…been wanted…been with-”

His eyes dart back to yours and you can’t help a small curl of your lips at his admission, at the rosy tint to his beautiful cheeks.

“Is that your only concern?” You ask him softly and he blinks slowly, nodding as you run your hand over his shoulders.

“Yeosang…” you whisper, rocking your hips gently against him, gasping at his reaction to you.

His head tilts back, fingers digging into your hips, then your ass as he slips them down to pull you harder into him.

You lean down to press a kiss to the hollow of his neck, letting your tongue tease at his pulse as you roll your hips against him.

His deep, throaty moan just heightens your need for him and you dig your nails into his shoulders.

“If that is the only reason you hold back, then let me assure you. I want you, Yeosang. I will show you everything, if you want to make me yours, for I intend to make you mine if you’ll let me.”

His entire body shudders against you and his soft growl has your eyes rolling back.

“Let me show you how I love you. Let me show you what it means to be loved.” you whisper, kissing up his neck, nibbling at his earlobe.

“Please-” he whimpers and you press your cheek to his, eyes shuttering. He hands halt their exploration, holding you in place as he draws back to study your eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He asks softly and you nod without hesitation.

“Then hold tight to me.” he whispers suddenly and your arms tighten around him without question.

“Don’t be afraid…” his voice seems to come from everywhere as you’re surrounded by a black mist, suspended within.

Closing your eyes, you feel a sense of euphoria as weightlessness takes over, a low melodic hum seeming to come from all around.

Before long you’re released from the mist and you open your eyes to watch him solidify in front of you as he reaches out to steady you.

“What-?” you begin but your words are cut off at the intake of breath when you realize where he’s brought you.

The sound of the small waterfall you’d bathed in days ago draws your eye, the canopy of trees above letting in the brilliant light of the moon.

“I…wanted to bring you somewhere you seemed to enjoy…where you laughed…” he whispers and you turn to look at Yeosang full unmasked, standing before you.

Your heart feels as if it’s going to leap right out of your chest, and tears flood your eyes as you process where you are.

That he thought to bring you here.

His intense eyes study you, seeming almost nervous as he watches your reaction.

Closing the distance quickly, you reach out to cup his face in your hands, unable to contain your bright smile.

“Are you happy?” He asks softly, his fingers tentatively brushing away an errant tear that slips from your eye.

“Nothing could make me happier than being here with you, right at this very moment.” You respond, and his lips part as he watches you laugh in delight.

“Then I…am ….happy as well.” He says, his brows drawing together at the seemingly foreign emotion.

You can only blink away tears as he reclaims your mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His lips are soft and gentle as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, splaying his hand over your lower back.

Your tongue eagerly seeks his out, your fingers reaching up to comb through his soft, silky black hair. The low hum seeming to emanate from his chest spurs you on, pressing yourself ever closer to him.

The ache of desire for him shocks and captivates you, an almost forgotten feeling and it causes you to tremble uncontrollably.

Your entire body thrums with anticipation as his hands begin exploring the length of your back, his fingers tracing your spine as he rubs his thumbs up your sides. You bask in the sensation of being in his arms, at every single wanted touch he gifts you.

“Tell me…once more..” He whispers between kisses, his hands slowly bunching the threadbare gown you’ve washed far too many times.

“Tell me you want this…that you want…me…” he continues as you wrap a leg around his thigh, tilting your head back as his lips trail down your jaw.

“Yes…yes I want you, I want all of you…”

Your words seem to unlock whatever he was holding back and suddenly you’re beneath him, his arms on either side of you as he gazes down at you with those deep crimson eyes.

The blades of grass are soft, tickling your skin as you part your legs, as his hands slip beneath the hem of the fragile down, his fingertips tracing up your naked thigh.

A soft moan bubbles out of your throat at his touch, the longing ache for him causing you to tug at his shirt. “All of you-” you gasp out, yanking, pulling at his clothing, at the straps keeping him from you.

A frantic moment is spent as he helps you, removing his belts, then his shirt. His long hair surrounds his face as he looks down at you before he lunges to capture your lips with his once more.

The rush of the waterfall seems like nothing compared to the rage of need between the two of you, as he gently yet firmly presses against you; as you desperately urge him on.

“More-please- '' you gasp, and his fingers comply, pulling the material of your dress up over your hips, his hand splaying over the flesh of your stomach.

“Anything you want-anything-” He whispers, his teeth nipping your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before he trails kisses down your jaw.

“I need to feel you-” you murmur, your hands skimming down his back to yank angrily at his pants, and he quickly sheds them. You get a quick glimpse of his naked muscled form above you before he returns his mouth to your throat, sucking and licking the sensitive flesh as he pushes your flimsy gown higher up.

With a grunt, he pulls it up over your head, then tosses it to the side. His dark eyes scan your bare chest hungrily before he returns to exploring your mouth with his.

As his body settles against you, the welcome weight of him pressing into you, you let out a loud moan. His hips jerk as his rigid length rubs along your damp slit, a strangled cry escaping his throat as he presses his face into your neck.

Running your hand along his spine, you place soft kisses on the crown of his head, holding him as he shudders in your arms.

“So much…” he whispers, humming softly as you feel moisture against the skin of your neck.

“Take your time…I’m right here…” you reassure him gently, trailing your fingers through his hair.

The melody of the night surrounds you as he breathes into you, the moonlight illuminating your naked entwined bodies as he slowly raises his head, lips parted as he gazes down upon you.

“As am I, precious.” His voice echoes through your mind, his rich warm eyes engulfing you as he rocks his hips forward.

His words shake you to your core. Your back arches as the underside of his cock slips through your folds, your longing moan melding with his low gasp. As his arms slips beneath you, you wrap a leg around his hip, meeting his movements with your own.

Your eyelids flutter as he rocks his hips, his tip rubbing along your clit as he watches every reaction, eyes glued to your face.

“Soft…” he hums, voice deep and low as his cock pulses against you, “So warm and soft…” he looks down between you as he wets himself with your moisture.

“Your scent is making me dizzy…” he whispers, his hand delving between you to gather the pooling liquid seeping from you, from his touch, his words.

Crying out as his fingertips explore your cunt, he shudders as his eyes lock back onto your face. “This…?” He breathes out, his thumb flicking back over your clit, gasping along with you as you moan at his touch.

“Yes! Oh…god…” you whimper as he draws his hips back, the head of his cock pressing firmly against your eager entrance. You can feel his body tense as he feels your walls give slightly, halting with just the tip against you.

“You…asked me to..make you mine…” he shudders, eyes slowly closing, then opening to stare deeply into yours. “Do you truly wish to be mine?”

His question moves you; on the very verge of claiming you, he has enough concern for you to check once more.

To worry, to care.

You’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

“I long for nothing more…I want…no…” you whisper, your voice shaking as you reach up to cup his cheek “I need you more than I need breath.”

He licks his lips and seems to glow with radiance at your confession, the silvery light of the moon illuminating his glorious face.

“As you wish.” He hums softly as he pushes forward, causing you to cry out in bliss as he finally joins with you.

The sensation of him stretching you rips a moan from your throat, your pleasure only heightened by his gorgeous features contorting in pure ecstasy as he fills you slowly.

You watch him struggle to keep his eyes open, to watch your every reaction as he buries himself within you. Shuddering, his lashes flutter as your walls grip him tightly.

You lift your hips, rocking them gently beneath him as you bask in his every expression.

How his nose scrunches; how his lips part as his hips begin to move in time with yours.

“Mine…” his voice catches on the word, trailing off into a deep moan.

“Yours.” Your response seems to free him from any lingering hesitance as he brings his fingers up to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste the moisture on them.

“FUCK-” His crimson eyes flash open as he thrusts forward, crashing his mouth against yours, letting you taste yourself on his eager tongue.

Wordlessly, he begins to set a steady pace as you wrap yourself around him, encouraging him with every touch, every breath.

His low moans grow louder as he draws yours out, the sound of your bodies meeting melding with the sound of the environment around you.

The rush of the waterfall, the hum of the chirping insects serving as an ode to your union, your cries intertwining with his to create a melody that is playing out between the two of you.

“Yeosang-!” you sing to him, his deep throaty cries lost in the flesh of your throat as he licks, then nips the skin.

“I-I love you-” he growls almost too low to hear but your soul resonates as if he screamed them to the heavens.

Your cries reach a crescendo as his sharp teeth nick your skin, the steadily building coil in your womb exploding at the heated sting of your skin being pierced.

Tightening your arms around him as he marks you, wave after wave of rapture shaking your body, he continues to pound into you.

“M-mine-” he stutters, licking the fresh mark, soothing it with kisses.

His words are cut short as you guide him into a roll, his eyes widening as his back is now on the plush grass beneath you.

“As you’re mine-” you gasp, still trembling from the powerful climax. His hands settle on your hips as you grip his shoulders, settling your thighs on either side of his.

Your eyes hold his as you rock your hips, reveling in how they roll back as your wet heat trickles between you, as your cunt grips him firmly as if to never let go.

“I love you-” you moan as you lift yourself, drawing out his deep moans as you slide back down.

“You’re my everything, Yeosang…” you murmur, arms wrapping around his neck as he sits up to claim your words with his mouth.

“Always.” He whispers as his hands slide down your back to cup your ass, lifting you, guiding you faster, harder down onto him.

Throwing your head back, your eyes flutter open to gaze at the brilliant moon, memorizing this sacred moment; joined with him, his melodic voice filling the empty reaches of your soul as his body fills yours completely.

His lips capture your nipple as your movements become desperate, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. The searing sensation as he sucks harshly at the sensitive nub has you crying out loudly, tears pricking your eyes.

“More-louder-for me-” He rasps out, and your eyes dart down to see his eyes locked on you above him.

Clenching ever tighter around him, you give in to him and release your voice into the night sky, crying out wordlessly as you ride him.

His own frantic cries mix with yours as your fingers wrap into the strands of his hair, pressing your forehead to his as you feel him begin to tremble violently underneath you.

“Come for me-” you beg him harshly, your breath hitching as you shake in his arms.

“With me-” you urge as his eyes hold yours, his moans becoming low whines; his crimson eyes darkening as he finally chokes out your name.

You’re both lost in each other’s gazes as his arms wrap around you; pulling you down onto him with inhuman strength as he loses himself in you, to you.

The explosion of his voice spirals you into your own orgasm as he bursts, the torrent of his climax mixing with yours in a raging flood.

His cries are frenzied as he empties himself deep inside of you, his cock throbbing as he clutches you tightly against him.

Your head spins at the power behind your joining, the sensation of floating, suspended beyond space and time.

Only this moment matters, this singular piece of your life, in his arms.

Together.

Connected.

Time seems to fall back into place as the noises around you slowly return, a low hum resonating through your body from Yeosang’s as he holds you against him.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, you allow yourself to speak.

“I love you.”

The warmth of his gaze says everything as his lips claim yours.

His hands and mouth speak louder than any words as you give in to him once more, again and again through the long, blissful night.

“I will not return you.”

Yeosang stands staring off into the distance as you rise, the morning sun appearing to form a halo around the beautiful fae man.

His words cause your heart to stutter, halting your movements as you go to pull your worn gown over your head.

“-w-what?” you say softly, as hope begins to bloom in your chest.

Facing away from you, his shoulders tense, he merely shakes his head, turning to gaze at you. His eyes are full of love, concern, weariness as gives you a gentle smile.

“I refuse to surrender you to -” he can’t seem to bring himself to say it, turning away from you to look off into the forest.

The bright sounds of birds echo through the clearing, the peaceful ambiance of the morning accentuated with the musical cascade of the waterfall.

You walk up behind him, tracing your fingers down his arm before entwining your fingers with his. He looks down at your hand in his, his profile a glorious sight now that he's abandoned his mask.

He turns to look at you, pain in his eyes mixed with a longing you understand all too well. You both know all too well that with hope, with dreams come obstacles.

Obstacles that threaten the very happiness you've both just discovered within one another, and your chest tightens with terror at what may threaten it.

Yet right now, your only with is to stay with him, for him to stay with you.

Forever.

“What...what about those you told me of? Will-will they come for you?” You ask him softly as he pulls you into his embrace, as his beautiful crimson eyes softening at your concern.

“That matters little, compared to what awaits you if we return.” He hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His deflection doesn't go unnoticed, though.

A frown tugs at your lips, a sudden pang of fear causing you to clutch him tightly.

“Will they hunt you down?” You ask breathlessly, hoping he will deny it, yet knowing the truth already.

He inhales slowly, looking away once more as he lets out a long sigh. “That is not something you need to worry about, precious. I will not let any harm come to you, not as long as I draw breath.”

“What about the harm that can come to you?” You shiver at the very thought, how he could be hurt...killed.... because of you.

His gaze rests on your worried features, those crimson eyes hardening in resolve, studying yours as he cups your face in his hands.

“Whatever harm may befall me, nothing will keep me from protecting you with my very life. I swear it upon my very soul.” His lips brush yours as his gaze darts down to the mark on your neck.

“We belong to one another, and nothing in this realm or the next will keep us apart. I won't lose you, nor will you lose me. This I promise you.”

“Where is he?!” the captain’s voice reverberates through the keep. “I sent him out to bring her back ages ago! How dare such a wretched creature not obey his master with haste?”

All within earshot cower from the rage oozing from the giant fae, and those within the room tremble at his wrath.

“How hard is it to find a simple human? A small, fragile female doesn't stand a chance. He should have been back within days. How long has it been?” He turns to a small boggart in the corner.

“Three weeks, my liege.” the creature's voice rasps out, eyes darting around in fear.

“Three weeks?” The captain’s hands clench tightly as his jaw tics. “Never before has he failed to complete his tasks immediately. Shade knows his place among us, he wouldn't fail to fulfill a mission."

"He knows the punishment that awaits a simple delay... there is only one answer." His momentary silence seems to cause more terror than his previous outburst.

The dry laugh that escapes the large fae is laden with venom, sharp enough to cut.

"It seems that our obedient hound is trying to break his leash."

The air is tense as the lesser fae wait on their captain's orders.

“It’s time to show him who he answers to. I’ve long been too lenient with that vile monster.”

He turns to rake his eyes over the fae gathered in the large room, black eyes oozing rage as he gives his command.

“Bring me that rabid mutt’s head. It’s time for the hunter to become the hunted.”

#cultofdionysusnet #ksmutsociety #Thrill of the Hunt #Yeosang smut #Yeosang au #Kang Yeosang smut #Kang Yeosang au #Ateez smut #Ateez au #Fantasy fan fic

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beesmygod · 7 months ago

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this is only vaguely related to artist having dignity, but the other day someone got blown up on twitter for being like “indie devs save your money and don’t get voice acting in your game, you don’t need it for immersion and a lot of these up and comer vas are garbage anyway”. and the replies were full of up and comers going um anyway and self-promoting.

but like… they are bad? am i crazy? so many new vas from the internet can’t actually act in any meaningful capacity and just impersonate characters they like. everyone’s doing the same three Anime Voices. it feels ridiculous to get indignant when someone points out that people like that aren’t worth hiring.

LMFAO NO!!!! YOURE RIGHT AND THAT DEV IS RIGHT!!!! STOP FUCKING SPENDING MONEY ON VOICE ACTING!!!!! THE ACTORS ARE SO BAD AT IT 99.9% OF THE TIME!!!! STOP!!!!!!!! SPEND IT ELSEWHERE

VOICE ACTORS WHEN YOU STOP DOING FISHER-PRICE "THE COW GOES MOO :)" VOICES FOR EVERYTHING YOU CAN COME BACK

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moookar · 1 year ago

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wildly brandishing the “do not recommend channel” button fending off clickbait thumbnails

#Youtube #moo’s words #oh? A youtuber i really like starts posting vague titles? unsubscribe

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

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Comet Donati [Chapter 9: Why Don’t We Go There]

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

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (+18), beef cattle, drugs, alcohol, smoking, Walmart, vegan baking, David Archuleta, mental health struggles, pregnancy, pigs, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, Jace acting vaguely human, angst, Southern Baptists, Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

Word count: 8.6k.

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

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The last day of summer, the first day in Kansas City: emerald seas of soybeans, cornstalks taller than you are, massive tractors rolling laggardly on the shoulder of the road, red-tailed hawks perched on utility poles, cloudless cerulean skies, sunlight that beats down like soft rain. There is a long, rambling dirt driveway that leads from Route 210 to your parents’ farm. When you climb out of the Escalade, you cannot hear traffic or voices or some playlist of bygone pop hits or ice cubes jangling in misty glasses or the roar of jet engines. You can hear only the sounds of the Midwestern earth: wind in the leaves, cicadas humming, the distant mooing of black angus cattle. For a moment, Comet Donati just stands there breathing in the unhurried, golden air like the atmosphere of a new planet, their lungs acclimating, their eyes wide and peering around. Where have we landed? Any signs of intelligent life?

There are footsteps and then the squealing creak of the screen door as your dad throws it open. Along with your parents pour out five Australian cattle dogs. They bark uproariously, herding the new arrivals like errant calves. Aemond laughs and crouches down in the dust of the driveway to pet them. Rhaena screams and clings to Luke.

“Belmont! Bel, you git down!” your dad scolds, pulling her away from Rhaena by the collar: pink, so everyone knows she’s a girl. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart, she don’t bite none.”

“Unless you’re a cow, of course,” your mom adds, tittering merrily. She starts handing out glasses of sweet tea, already dripping with condensation. Outside it’s 80 degrees even.

Your dad whistles as he studies Aemond’s scar, his sightless left eye like a pool of blue fog. “That must’ve hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Jeff!” your mom objects mildly; she abhors swearing.

Aemond considers your dad: a man who doesn’t flinch away from him, who doesn’t bury truths under the cover of night. “It did.”

“My uncle came back from ‘Nam with something like that. Was never right again.” He taps his own skull. “You must be tough as nails to be carrying on like you are, son. What happened to you was a damn shame.”

“Jefferson, please!” your mom says.

“The man’s been to New Jersey, Carol! I think he’s heard worse words than bitch and damn!”

“Her name’s Belmont?” Rhaena says, frowning nervously at her canine tormentor: rust-orange, brown-eyed, tail wagging eagerly at the prospect of making new friends.

“You betcha.” Then your dad informs Aemond: “That’s Lone Jack you got there.” He points to the remaining dogs. “And the others are Carthage, Kirksville, and Island Number Ten. We call her Tenny.”

“They’re all named after Civil War battles,” you tell Comet.

“Civil War battles in Missouri,” your dad says. He turns to his guests. “Were you aware that over 100,000 Missourians served in the Union Army? Ulysses S. Grant’s first military assignment was in Missouri. He met his wife Julia here.”

“Daddy, they’re English. They don’t know what the Union Army is.”

“Were they for or against staying colonies?” Aegon asks, and Criston covers his face and groans.

Your dad spots the motorcycle Aemond rode here from the airport, weaving between the Escalades until Criston stuck his head out a window to yell at him. “Lord almighty, is that a Gold Star?! Made by the Birmingham Small Arms Company?”

“Yes sir,” Aemond says, smiling down at a delighted Lone Jack and scratching his long pointy ears.

“An ingenious piece of machinery! ‘55?”

“1960.”

“Remarkable.” Your dad admires it. He’s wearing red flannel, Wrangler jeans, the UChicago hat that you bought for him your freshman year of college.

“We’ve been told you don’t eat meat,” your mom says to Aemond, with a gentle, sympathetic tone like she’s conscious of some bad luck that’s recently befallen him: a grim diagnosis, a storm that carried away his house. “So I’ve got some chicken soaking in buttermilk to fry up for supper.”

Aemond chuckles uncertainly.

“No, she’s serious,” you tell him. And then: “Mama, we went over this on the phone. He’s vegan. That means no animal products at all. No meat, no poultry, no fish, no dairy, no eggs, nothing that came from an animal.”

“Well I’ll be, what the heck does he eat?!” your dad says. “Carrots? Acorns? Sticks and leaves? He can graze out in the pasture if he likes.”

“We’ll find you something,” you promise Aemond.

Your dad surveys Aegon (white cargo shorts, neon pink tank top, sparkly matching Crocs) and then Jace (black skinny jeans and a violet sequined blazer with nothing underneath except a mosaic of tattoos). “I suppose you two will be wanting to share a room. Well, it ain’t my place to pass judgement, I reckon. But I don’t want to overhear nothing that couldn’t be done in church.”

Jace is confused. “Huh…?”

“No, Daddy, they’re not gay.”

“What, me?!” Aegon exclaims. “Gay?! For Jace?!”

Jace says: “Sir, if I ever start looking at Aegon that way, I give you enthusiastic permission to take me out back and shoot me dead like a horse with a bum leg.”

Your dad guffaws, a deep gruff rumble like an earthquake. “I don’t think I could oblige you, buddy.”

Your mom gestures to the front door. “Y’all go on in and make yourselves at home. We got a few extra bedrooms and a nice big den if anyone’s willing to sleep on a couch. But be warned: you’ll probably end up having a dog or two snuggled up with you.”

“We are guests here!” Criston shouts at the band as they begin dragging their luggage inside, suitcase wheels bumping up the creaking wooden steps of the wraparound porch. “You will not humiliate me! You will not break things! You will not cause any problems whatsoever or you can stay at the Hilton with the security guys and I’ll have them handcuff you to a bed!”

“He will,” Aegon warns the others. “I’ve seen him do it before. To…um…somebody.” He disappears into the five-bedroom farmhouse: mint green paint, white accents, two rambling stories plus an attic and a cellar.

Criston waves to the security detail as the Escalades turn around in the driveway—stirring up dust like a parched cough of earth—and then head back towards Route 210, towards the light pollution and acclaimed barbeque joints of Kansas City. Now Aemond is standing by the barbed wire fence of the pasture and looking longingly at the black angus cattle grazing on tall swaths of windswept, green-gold switchgrass. Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville are all bounding around him hoping to elicit praise and scratches. Tenny has taken a liking to Baela and follows her and Jace into the house. Belmont, still held captive by your dad, whines and struggles.

“Aemond, you can’t pet the cows,” you say. “They’re beef cattle. They spend most of their lives out in fields, they don’t get handled very often, they’re not used to people. They can be aggressive.”

He is disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“You can pet the pigs though,” your dad says.

“Pigs?” Cregan perks up. “There are pigs?”

“Sure are. Well, they’re pigs now…come Thanksgiving, they’ll be hams! Hahaha. They’re right ‘round the back of the house. You’ll show ‘em, chickadee?”

You reply: “Yeah, Daddy. I’ll show them.”

As the rest of the band claims sleeping spots and unpacks their suitcases inside, you lead Cregan and Aemond—and Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville, all blue speckled with random splatters of white markings like stray dabs of paint—to the pigs. They have a large, muddy enclosure surrounded by a wooden fence that stops at your waist; pigs, fortunately, cannot really jump. They immediately come trotting over to their visitors, tails swishing and snouts twitching, spewing a chorus of guttural oinks. Aemond leans down to pet them, beaming, then takes a Ziploc bag of raw cauliflower out of his jeans pocket and starts dropping pieces into the pigs’ gluttonous, slobbering, gaping mouths.

“Wow,” Cregan says. He’s grinning broadly, something that’s rare for him. He slips out his phone and starts taking pictures. “Iris is going to love this.”

On the second floor of the farmhouse, a window slides open. “Aemond!” Aegon calls. “I need help! It’s an emergency!”

“What’s your problem?” Aemond snaps.

“Tell Jace I need the bigger bedroom!”

“Please go away.”

“Aemond! Do not betray your favorite brother!”

“Hey!” comes Daeron’s muffled objection from inside.

“Aemond! Threaten to break Jace’s face again!”

Aemond exhales in a loud sigh and then makes for the house.

Still taking pig photos, Cregan glances over at your belly: ten weeks. Not enough to be properly showing, but enough that you can feel a difference, an extra inch here and there, a heaviness that settles in you like stones plinked in a jar. Your parents don’t know. Nobody knows but Aegon. “So,” Cregan says. “Have you told Aemond yet?”

Your attention jolts to him, a lightning strike, a surge of adrenaline. “What?”

“I remember what it looks like when someone’s trying to hide the fact that they’re pregnant.” He smirks. “And I remember that night at Club Camelot.”

People are going to start figuring it out eventually. Aemond is going to figure it out. “Do you think he’ll take it well?” you ask hopefully.

“No,” Cregan says.

In your chest, a sinking like dead weight: “Oh.”

“But he’ll probably come around to the idea eventually.”

After he’s said something unforgiveable. After he buries another knife in me, spilling blood and scraping marrow. You stare down into the pigpen, observing them root around for remnants of cauliflower and blink their awfully intelligent eyes, too clever for the fate they’ve been assigned.

Cregan lights a cigarette and puffs on it, taking advantage of a rare moment out of Criston’s line of sight. “When I first found out about Iris, I did not behave in a way that I would consider to be honorable. But fortunately, nature gives everyone time to adjust to these things. I had my head right by the time she was born. If I had to guess, I’d say it will be similar for Aemond. Then again…” He takes a deep, meditative drag. “I’d like to think I was never as fucked up as he is now.”

You study Cregan. “So you’ve been watching me. I’ve been watching you too. You haven’t been partying as hard. A few vodka shots, a secret cigarette on occasion. But no more disappearing with Aegon to do lines in the bathroom or arranging drop-offs with drug dealers.”

He shrugs. “Someone has to be the adult. Someone has to help Criston look out for the others. It used to be Aemond, but not anymore. He’s different now. One day he’ll figure out where he’s supposed to be and he’ll stop touring with Comet altogether. So I’m going to do it. There are people who need me.”

“Comet is your family,” you say. “Just as much as your mother and siblings and Iris. They love you. They belong to you, and you belong to them. And that will never change.”

He smiles; his greyish eyes are teasing but kind. “Good luck, Stargirl. You need it.”

“Thanks, Cregan.” And together, you leave the pigs and join the rest of the band inside.

Your parents’ farmhouse, the same one you grew up in—a different world, a different you—is painted in shades of gold: late-afternoon sunlight, chicken thighs and drumsticks browning in canola oil, mashed potatoes wet with cream and butter, corn cut from the cob, an enormous pan of baked macaroni and cheese, homemade rolls, a butterscotch pie cooling on the windowsill. You find a vegan alternative for Aemond in the pantry: a box of Barilla spaghetti, a jar of Ragu marinara sauce. Criston insists on cooking it so everyone else can enjoy their supper. Cregan asks your parents about tips for raising pigs; Rhaena asks about the history of the farm; Aegon eats butterscotch pie until he has to roll out of his chair and lie sprawled on the hardwood floor for a while, Australian cattle dogs licking at his pink palms and cheeks. And when Aemond finally receives his spaghetti and marinara sauce, you think: That’s the same thing he was eating in Rome. And you remember the razored sting of the comet tattoo, the nightscape motorcycle ride, the incomplete truth about Aegon, the realization of what you felt for his scarred, perfect, brilliant, haunted younger brother.

“I didn’t know the weather would be so nice here,” Baela says as she scoops herself a third helping of macaroni and cheese. Tenny lies by her feet under the table, her muzzle resting on her paws.

Your dad nods, but his words hold a warning. “It can turn quick.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“He could be a stay-at-home dad,” Aegon suggests. It’s the next day and you’re up in a hundred-year-old white oak tree, killing time until the Escalades arrive to shuttle Comet to soundcheck and their first of two shows at Arrowhead Stadium in downtown Kansas City. You’re sitting on a colossal, sturdy branch only four or five feet off the ground, your feet dangling; Aegon is a few limbs above you, alternating between swinging like a monkey and lying on his stomach so he can peer down at you with those large, oceanic eyes.

“No. If he chooses to, sure. But not because he has no other options. A baby is not something to paper over a quarter-life crisis with.”

Aegon thinks, then is struck with inspiration. “He could work for your dad on the farm!”

“The beef cattle farm?” you say. “You want the traumatized vegan to spend the rest of his life as a cog in the blood-drenched machine of American industrial agriculture? Besides, I’m sure he hates Missouri.”

“I don’t know, I mean I thought I hated Missouri too. But lowkey it kind of slaps.” Aegon closes his eyes and smiles as the warm, sunlit breeze breathes through him, tousling his hair. It’s long again, it’s almost down to his shoulders. He smells like sunscreen and Axe body spray and the homemade waffles your mother made for brunch, soggy with dollops of butter and a river of amber-colored maple syrup. Something’s missing. It takes you a moment to realize it’s the scent of beer. Your parents don’t approve of drinking, the house is bone dry. Aegon hasn’t complained about that yet, a miracle, Moses turning the Nile to blood. Maybe Missouri is good for him after all. “How’s Starbaby?”

“Good, I think. I’m not nauseous anymore. Now I’m just super hungry and horny.”

“Oh my God, you can’t say stuff like that around me, now I’m having immoral thoughts.” He squeezes his eyes shut, frowns mournfully. Goodbye forever, pornstar pussy. “When are you going to tell Aemond?”

“Soon,” you say noncommittally, like a coward. Not a coward: someone who’s been hurt before. Not just hurt: slaughtered, buried, exhumed, robbed for the jewels on the bones of her fingers. You’re finally whole again. You’re in no hurry to imperil your resurrection. “Cregan knows.”

“Rhaena knows too.”

“What?!”

“She asked me in Dallas, but she waited until I was sloppy drunk first. Smart girl. I tried to deny it, but honestly she already had it figured out.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “If you wait much longer you’re going to lose control of this thing. It’ll get to Aemond before you can. And I think it will be worse if he finds out from somebody else.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll tell him, Aegon, I promise. Before Comet flies out of Kansas City.” They’ll be leaving you here, though no one except Aegon and Criston know that yet. Their private jet will take them to New Orleans, and then Miami, and then all the way to South America: Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Now someone is trekking across the field behind your parents’ house and towards the centenarian white oak tree. It’s Jace. He’s wearing a rather understated outfit today: a lavender polo, denim shorts, boat shoes. His dark curls whip and tangle in the wind.

“Ugh,” Aegon says once Jace close enough to hear. “Why don’t you go try to pet a rage-filled, 2,000-pound mound of unprocessed cheeseburgers?”

“I’m here for my complimentary therapy session.”

Aegon stares at you. You stare back. The only sounds are made by the earth and the sky and the animals, air in the leaves, the low mooing of cattle. You both wait for Jace to rescind his request. He does not. At last, you relent. “Okay. Fine. Aegon?”

“You want me to leave you alone with this inked-up ogre?”

“Confidentiality is important. I’ve always given it to you, Jace deserves the same.”

“Does he really?” Aegon flings back; but he obediently climbs down from the tree and walks to the farmhouse. Your parents have no booze, no internet, a landline telephone, and a single tv with basic cable. Everyone else is in there playing Uno, doing animal-themed puzzles, and baking apple cider cookies in honor of the first day of autumn. You’d think Comet would be losing their minds after adapting to months of nonstop, breakneck excitement, but they seem to be enjoying themselves. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You don’t miss the jet, you don’t miss the bars or the five-star hotels, you don’t even miss your apartment in the city that is still being sublet by some grad student with a Flemish Giant rabbit. You wonder if you ever wanted to leave the farm at all, or if you only wanted to leave the way you felt about yourself the last time you called this place home.

Jace grins and hauls himself up onto the tree branch to sit beside you. “Want to see my new tattoo?”

“Comet has definitely already been to Kansas City.”

Still, he’s acquired one, left wrist, black ink: a single star the size of a quarter. “For you, Stargirl. So I don’t forget about you. So I don’t lose you in the sea of gorgeous women I have marooned myself in.”

“It looks like a pentagram,” you say. “That’s appropriate, since you’re basically Satan.”

He’s not offended. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to talk about?”

“I already know.”

“Do you really?”

“You’re happy, but you feel bad about it. You wanted to be the leader of Comet, but you wish it could have happened a different way.”

Jace opens his hands and offers you a crooked, wry smile. “I might jibe at Aemond, but I don’t hate him. Why else would I let him knock out four of my teeth without expecting any penance in return?”

“No, you certainly don’t hate Aemond.”

“And what happened to him…it sucks. I mean, obviously, it was life-ruining for him. Not ruining, I shouldn’t say that. I’m sure he’ll get a new life someday. But it wrecked him in ways I’ll never be able to understand.”

“You’ll have to let him go when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Jace says, unusually somber, gazing out across the field of white wild indigo, prairie dropseed, blue star, yarrow.

“And if Baela gets into ballet school, you’ll have to let her go too.”

Now Jace turns to you, startled. “I can’t. I’d miss her.”

“Yes, but you aren’t right for her. Sometimes we have to give people the freedom to realize they want something more than us. It’s the greatest act of love we can do for them.”

He laughs, a disdainful little snort. “That’s what everyone says. If you love someone, let them go. But then nobody ever really does it. They cling and they manipulate and they beg. Nobody helps the people they love leave them. Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret.”

Please don’t let that be true. Please don’t let Aemond regret meeting me, touching me, maybe even loving me. “Why do you think that is, Jace?”

And he says, like it’s obvious, like you should already know it: “Because letting go is too fucking painful.” He hops off the branch and drops into the tall grass below. Then he extends a hand to help you down. “Come on. I bet those apple cider cookies are ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You see glimmering dresses, incandescent string lights, neon signs, the winding reptilian sheen of the Missouri River in the distance, faint dots of stars muted by the city’s synthetic luminance. You taste your faux Bramble: ice, cranberry juice, a sliver of lemon on the rim, sweet and tart and cold. The speakers are thumping out Prayin’ For Daylight by Rascal Flatts. Aegon is in neon yellow. You almost wore the same, but the flowing yellow gown you bought in Reykjavik suffered an unfortunate Australian-cattle-dog-related incident before Comet left your parents’ farmhouse for the concert. You opted for the short sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars instead…and hurried out the door before your parents could catch a glimpse of your comet tattoo.

“No way!” Baela cries as she checks her phone. “Look, look!” Liam Payne has just posted a selfie on Instagram. Cuddled up next to him on a beach in Ibiza is Shelby, tan and with her long blond waves flying everywhere. The comments are a smorgasbord: Cutest couple EVER! Aww, did you and Aemond break up again :( Enjoy your vacay, girlie! Guess love really can’t conquer all. You are stunning, Shelby! I’m still hoping you guys get back together. You deserve better! What is Aemond even doing these days?? Is this why Comet took A Girl Named After A Car off their tour setlist :(((

“Damn, poor Liam,” Daeron says. “Should we warn him?”

Aegon replies: “Bruh, this is so tragic. That dude has enough demons already.”

“Good luck, Liam,” Luke says, toasting his Mai Tai against Aemond’s fully-alcoholic Bramble. “Thoughts and prayers.”

“Maybe he’s dumb enough to sign up to be her boy band baby daddy,” Aemond quips. You and Aegon exchange an uneasy glance. Then Aegon gets an incoming FaceTime call. It’s Taylor Swift. He beams—he lights up, he glows—and rushes away to find a quiet spot where he can talk to her. Criston chases after him, extra vigilant since Aegon’s overdose in Las Vegas.

You gulp down the rest of your not-cocktail cocktail. The bartender calls over: “Another cranberry juice, ma’am?”

“Cranberry juice?!” Daeron says. “That sounds…healthy?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Baela asks you. It would be a rude question if you didn’t know each other so well. Though not quite as well as she thinks. Cregan and Rhaena peer awkwardly down into their glasses, eyebrows raised.

“Because. Um.” You hesitate. Aemond looks over at you curiously. “I’m an alcoholic.”

Baela blinks. “You’re what?”

“Um. I was developing an alcohol problem so to be safe I stopped drinking altogether.”

“How mature of you!” Rhaena chirps, then drags Baela towards the dancefloor. Luke and Jace go with them. Daeron and Cregan depart to charm some potential paramours: a flock of Kansas City University students for Daeron, a bachelorette party of flattered, giggly soccer moms for Cregan. You procure another cranberry juice from the bar and then return to Aemond. You are alone together, a strange combination of adjectives: solitary, secretive, appreciated, known. You migrate towards the edge of the roof and sip your matching drinks, wearing your matching black clothes, wind in your hair and the sounds of late night traffic on the streets below.

“So this is the place,” Aemond says, playful, wistful. “Where you and Aegon…met.”

“It feels so different now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look out over the city, breathing in humid night air and a verdant, ancient wildness. “You know how when you’re a kid, you’ll go somewhere and it feels endless and magical, and then you go back five or ten or fifteen years later and you’re disappointed? Like, that’s it? Is this even the same place?”

He swigs his Bramble. Ice clinks; the glass is frosty in his hand. “I know what you mean. But it hasn’t been that long. A little over a year.”

“I guess I’ve changed.” More grounded. Less restless. Less aimless. More pregnant.

“I hope Comet hasn’t traumatized you.”

You laugh, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only two people at this rooftop bar, in this city, on this planet: one river blue eye, one pool of sightless otherworldly mist. He hasn’t worn sunglasses since Shelby’s deportation from the band’s retinue. “Not yet.”

He is mischievous. “There’s still time.”

Not much of it. Aemond’s iPhone rings, Mr. Brightside. He checks it. “Is that Shelby offering you ten thousand blowjobs if you take her back?”

Aemond smiles. “No. It’s Helaena.” He answers and puts it on speakerphone. “Hi, LaeLae. Can I call you tomorrow? I’m at a very loud, very crowded rooftop bar.”

“With her?” Helaena asks, delighted.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay. Call tomorrow. I wanted to tell you about the praying mantis I found in the garden. Check the weather. Goodbye!” She hangs up before Aemond can.

“Weather…?” he muses, then shakes his head and slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans. He returns his attention to you. “Ten thousand blowjobs, huh? I think I’d rather have another ten minutes in a bar bathroom.”

You are so game. It’s humiliating how game you are. Dear Starbaby, today I had slutty bar bathroom sex with your slutty dad, the same place I hooked up with your super slutty uncle. “Really?”

“No,” Aemond says sheepishly. But the corners of his lips are curled up in fond nostalgia. “That’s not my usual style.”

“What is your style?”

He drains his Bramble and turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You want few things more. “Yeah.”

You leave your empty glasses on a tray by the edge of the roof. Aemond lets Criston know that you’re taking one of the Escalades back to the farm. Aegon pauses his conversation with Taylor Swift just long enough to wink at you. No need for condoms, he mouths with a grin. And then he shouts, as the opening notes of Starboy blare from the speakers: “Stargirl, it’s our song!”

The Escalade makes one pitstop: the Walmart just off Route 210, the same one you always shopped at growing up. Aemond piles the requisite ingredients for vegan chocolate chip cookies in the screechy-wheeled cart, flour, baking soda, salt, white sugar, brown sugar, dark chocolate chips, rice milk (Aemond swears it tastes like Rice Krispies), vanilla extract, coconut oil. You wander down the aisles together talking, joking, finding excuses to touch each other, hands on wrists and collarbones and waists.

As you scan the items at one of the self-checkout kiosks, two guys buying frozen pizzas and White Claws peek over at you and start snickering. You grab snippets of their conversation like fireflies from the air: critiques of your body, critiques of your soul. You ignore them. This happens sometimes when you’re home. Someone from high school will recognize you, someone will remember.

Aemond is staring at them. Not staring; glaring, seething, mentally splitting flesh and dislodging teeth.

“Aemond, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m not upset. Just ignore them.” He walks away from you. “Aemond, don’t!”

He grabs the closest man’s shoulder and spins him around. “You got a problem?”

Both men gawk up at him, mouths hanging stupidly open and eyes inane like fish. The one he’s clenching sputters: “I’m sorry, are you…are you…are you Aemond Targaryen?!”

“I’m the guy who’s about to go to prison for second degree murder if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

He puts both hands in the air. “Hey man, I am actively shutting the fuck up. You have a nice evening.”

Aemond releases the man with a shove that sends him staggering back into a rack of tabloids. He returns to you, puts the bags in the cart, starts pushing it out to the parking lot.

The man turns to his friend. He is starstruck, elated. It might be the best day of his life. “Bruh, I just got assaulted by Aemond Targaryen…!”

The Escalade glides through the dark to your parents’ farm and drops you and Aemond off in the dirt driveway before zooming back towards the city. Aemond insists on carrying the shopping bags…but he doesn’t go inside. He stands near where his Gold Star is parked and gazes up at the night sky: moon, stars, the hazy white shadow of the Milky Way, all unmarred by the arrogant, buzzing radiance of electricity.

“Aemond?”

“You can see everything out here,” he says. “Maybe Kansas isn’t so bad.”

“Missouri.”

“Missouri,” Aemond agrees. “But you’re still the best thing about it.”

You smile. “I don’t know the names of any of those constellations.”

He points to show you. “Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Perseus. Draco. Hercules.”

“Heroes,” you say.

“And animals.” He ascends the steps of the front porch. They creak beneath him, weight that will soon be gone, to New Orleans and Miami and South America and God knows where else.

Your parents are watching the 11:00 news in the den. The weatherman is issuing tentative warnings for tomorrow. Summer is gone, storms are coming in. They politely ask what you and Aemond are up to and then try not to look repulsed when you mention vegan cookies. You’re actually pretty excited; you love cookie dough, and because it will have no raw eggs in it, you can eat as much as you like without endangering Starbaby.

On the kitchen counter is the same CD player that your mom has owned since 2008. You press play on whatever she has currently spinning around in there. MercyMe? TobyMac? Danny Gokey? What you hear instead is Crush by David Archuleta.

“That’s a throwback,” Aemond notes.

“My parents love David Archuleta. He’s Christian, he’s cute, he’s gracious, he doesn’t swear. I remember them incessantly calling in to vote for him when he was on American Idol. They put in a prayer request at church to help him win the competition. I guess God used his executive veto power.”

“Do they know he’s…?” Aemond draws an invisible rainbow in the air with his fingers.

“No, they don’t use Google.”

“We won’t tell them. He needs the record sales.”

You and Aemond mix the cookie dough and then portion it out on a baking sheet. He slides the sheet into the oven, sets the timer, and then notices the reserve of dough you’ve left in the bowl. You dip your pinky finger in and then lick it slowly, savoringly: sweetness, chocolate, fats obtained without the sacrifice of a soul.

“Looks good,” Aemond says, a little hoarsely.

You swipe your index finger around the curve of the bowl and then offer it to Aemond. He holds your hand still and licks your finger clean, his tongue dragging over your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms, heat stirring up everywhere. You’re transfixed by him; you can’t stop watching. Then he closes the gap between you and cups your face in his palms and kisses you, not in some glittering city or on a stage or for an Instagram post but in the kitchen of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, the home of nobodies. His lips are sweet, swift, seeking more. He only pulls away when the noise of heavy footsteps approaches the kitchen.

“Smells great in here, chickadee! Even if they are vegan cookies.” Your dad says the word vegan like someone else might say the name of a tourist destination halfway across the globe. He can’t quite get the pronunciation right. His eyes snag on the bare skin between your shoulder blades. “Lord almighty, what is that on your back?!”

Your comet tattoo, that’s what. “Uh, Daddy—”

“It was my idea,” Aemond says quickly, seamlessly. “They’re my lyrics. Lyrics I wrote before the accident, I mean. And I was feeling just…purposeless, and useless, and really doubting myself. She wanted to show me that my work still mattered. So when the band was in Rome, Jace got a tattoo and I suggested she get one too. It’s entirely my fault.”

“Huh,” your dad replies uncertainly. “Is that right? Well, I suppose there’s not much to be done about it now.” He chuckles and moves your hair so it’s covering your tattoo. “Let’s not mention it to your mother. She’s already got high blood pressure. Say, can I try one of them cookies when they’re ready?”

Criston and the rest of the band arrive back at the farmhouse just as the cookies are coming out of the oven. Miraculously, no one is drunk enough that your parents are aware of it. Everyone samples the vegan chocolate chip cookies and agrees that they are nearly as delicious as the cruelty-enhanced version. You and Aemond watch each other from across the kitchen that’s now crowded with people, hearing them but also not, wanting more and knowing you can’t have it, here in this place with little privacy and very few remaining secrets.

Comet scrambles to get ready for bed, racing to claim bathrooms and banging on doors to peer pressure people into finishing their showers faster. Back in your bedroom, clean and alone and wearing an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants, you rearrange your pillows over and over again and try not to think about the band leaving in two days. Strangely, you don’t really want to go with them; you don’t want to board the jet, you don’t want to sightsee, you don’t want to be surrounded by people ingesting poison in all its forms. But the thought of being away from the band—from Aegon, from Aemond—is impossible, unbelievable, horrifying. You’re humming something as you crawl into bed. You don’t even realize what song it is until you’re under the covers and sinking into sleep: The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.

You’re only asleep for ten or fifteen minutes. When you wake your eyes are watery and you can’t remember your dream—you almost never can—but you know that Aemond was there. Now he’s here in your room as well. He’s gently stroking your cheeks, your forehead, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he’s murmuring, only a silhouette in the darkness. But you would recognize him anywhere. “You had a nightmare. You were crying, I heard you.”

“Were you lurking outside my door or what?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he asks: “What were you dreaming about?”

“You.”

And when you reach for him, he meets you without hesitation, his hands in your hair and his lips on yours, blankets thrown aside, his weight between your thighs, your fingertips ghosting against his face, reading his past and future like braille. He bites your lower lip, nips at the curve of your jaw, kisses a path down your throat like the contrail of an airplane. You yank off his t-shirt. He lifts away yours. He’s touching you everywhere, fingers beneath your pajama pants, smothering his moans against your neck so no one else will hear.

He whispers breathlessly: “I don’t want to rush this time.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me.” Forever, I hope. And then: “Can I turn on the light? I want to see you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. And then he reaches out to click the lamp on. The nightstand is cluttered with your souvenirs: refrigerator magnets, snow globes, figurines, cosmetics, snacks, crochet celestial objects, the frisbee from New Jersey, your plushie sika deer nestled together with the hammerhead shark from the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay. In the weak golden lamplight, you study Aemond like a painting, a marble statue, a comet you’ll only see once in a lifetime.

You say, softly like a prayer if you believed in such things: “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t stop. He wants to see you too. Your clothes are gone, every scrap of fabric and concealment; if he is cognizant of any minuscule changes in your body, he is not suspicious of them. Now he is bare for you as well, now he is pushing your thighs apart so he can marvel at you, taste you, drench his mouth and chin in your wetness, bring you to the edge of a cliff with no bottom, no rocks to rupture against. Now he is inside you, tremendously big but also careful, listening to you, watching every line of your face, slowly, so exquisitely slowly, his tongue darting between your lips and his palm against your cheek. And you remember how Aegon felt—always so simple and yet transient, soothing and welcome but never necessary—and Aemond could not be further from that. Nothing about what you have with him is simple. It is profound and intense and singular, and the thought of it not lasting forever is agony.

Afterwards, he retrieves his vintage metal lighter—small, square, Targaryen etched into one side—and a shimmery gold pack of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes out of the pocket of his pajama pants that are crumpled on the floor. He lies on his back and takes deep, drowsy drags, smoke like opaque morning mist in the air, one arm draped across you as you rest your head on his chest, lungs and heart and bones and blood.

Secondhand smoke isn’t good for the baby. You get up out of bed and sneak across the treacherously creaky hardwood floor. “Let me open a window.”

“So your parents won’t know?”

“Yeah.” You push the window open and then turn to him. “You should stop smoking. It’s really bad for you.”

Aemond smiles faintly. “Why would I care about that?”

“It’s bad for the people who love you too.”

He looks at you for what feels like a very long time. “Come back,” he says at last.

You do: to Aemond, to his warmth and lust and tenderness, to the space he occupies that will soon be empty like the vast expanses between comets, between stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I would like to say something.” You rise from your seat at your parents’ long dining room table, perfect for hosting judgmental-church-people gatherings and family reunions. Lunch for Comet Donati is steak and baked potatoes, lovingly prepared by your mom just before she and your dad left in their Ford F-150. It’s Sunday, and your parents will be at church socializing with their friends until late afternoon. Aemond is suffering through another meal of boxed spaghetti and Ragu marinara sauce. He doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite; not for food, anyway. You take turns glancing at each other and then looking away, smiling, flushing. Now he is intrigued by your announcement. His brow knits into thoughtful little grooves. The Australian cattle dogs scuttle around under the table for scraps. The television is on in the den. A tornado watch has been issued for the greater Kansas City area; no big deal, they get alerts like this once or twice a week here sometimes. It rarely amounts to carnage. Outside the sky is a tumultuous grey but not especially sinister at the moment: no greenish hue, no cloud rotation.

“You agree that Aegon hooking up with Taylor Swift would be disastrous for everyone involved,” Jace jokes.

“No, I know what it is,” Aegon says. He pokes at his baked potato with his fork, melancholy.

“I want to thank you for giving me this amazing opportunity,” you tell Comet. You have perhaps not dressed for an occasion of this significance: flip flops, a tie-dye One Direction hoodie, an old pair of shorts you found in your bedroom dresser. You like the way Aemond watches you when you wear them. “And I’ve experienced so many things, and learned so much from all of you, and I sincerely hope that we’re going to be in each other’s lives forever. But for right now…for this tour…Kansas City is my last stop with Comet.”

“What?!” Baela cries.

“No!” Rhaena gasps, her dark doe-like eyes glistening.

People are asking you why, people are asking you to reconsider. Aemond only stares, a sharp hostile look, menacing like storm clouds.

“I really, really appreciate everyone’s concern. But it’s been over three months, and this was never intended to be a permanent arrangement. Right, Aegon?”

“Right,” he reluctantly agrees.

“And it’s time for me to figure out what the rest of my life is going to look like, because I can’t just follow Comet around the world forever.”

Cregan nods to Criston. “Did you know about this?”

“I did, yeah,” Criston confesses. “We finished up the paperwork last week.”

“But we’re going to miss you,” Baela says. She sounds shockingly close to tears. Jace tries to soothe her and she shrugs his hand away.

“I know,” you concede. “And I’m going to miss you too. But we’ll still talk all the time, and I’m always willing to help you guys with anything, and maybe in the future I can visit—”

Aemond stands, his chair squealing against the hardwood floor, and flees from the dining room.

“That went well,” Jace says.

Aegon points towards the doorway Aemond left through and asks you: “Do you want me to…?”

“No, I’ll do it,” you say, and go after Aemond. He’s outside by the pigpen, his hair and t-shirt whipping wildly in the strengthening gusts of late-September air. Sparse raindrops fall from the sky. The pigs are agitated, pacing, oinking, scampering in and out of the shed they have for shelter. Aemond is smoking, embers glowing on the end of his cigarette; you purposefully stand upwind from him.

His voice is stunned and dazed and beneath that dangerously angry. “You’re leaving the tour.”

“Yes.”

“When we get on that jet tomorrow, you’re not going with us.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you told Aegon and Criston but you didn’t tell me.”

“I had to tell Criston. And Aegon…” What can I say? What is the truth? “Aegon is easier to talk to about things like this.”

“So you feel like you can’t talk to me?” Aemond demands.

“Well, yeah, because sometimes you’re kind and patient and the single most incredible man I’ve ever met, and then something rattles your demons awake and you’re this…this…this vengeful, mistrustful, irrationally insecure person, and I can’t do anything right because you’ve already decided what my intentions are.”

“I want you to stay with Comet,” he says suddenly.

“I can’t, Aemond.”

“In Tokyo you asked me what I want, so now I’m telling you. I want you to stay.”

“Why, so you can sometimes love me and sometimes hate me, and refuse to build a new life for yourself, and relive what happened at the Budokan over and over and over again because that’s the background noise of everything you do now? Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “So we can figure things out.”

“I’m figured out, Aemond! You’re the one who isn’t and I can’t help you anymore, you have to do it for yourself, you have to want it!”

“You’ve never wanted to stay with me. You’re a liar, you’re a user. I’m glad Comet could fill that gap in your resume.” He takes a forceful drag and exhales smoke that the wind snatches away. “All you do is keep things from me.”

Venomous, violent disappointment blooms dark and scarlet in your veins. “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You watch him, mourn him, commit him to memory for when you can’t see him anymore, every thread of him, miraculous and doomed. Saint Jude, you think, a man your parents as good Southern Baptists do not pray to. You tell Aemond: “You’re a lost cause.”

“And you’re a nobody.”

You turn away from him like ripping a page in two. You don’t want anyone to see the tears welling up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks, marking you as someone who was weak enough to believe you could save him. You know that’s not the way it works, you know people have to be willing to accept the truths you help them uncover like prehistoric bones. Still, you believed in him. Why? Why?

Because I wanted to. Because I love him.

Your flip flops pound against the soil of the driveway, raindrops leaving spots like freckles, dust flying everywhere. You swipe at the tears that blur your vision. When you are far enough away that nobody can see you from the farmhouse, you rest your trembling hands on your belly. The life in progress there is half-built of Aemond, you carry pieces of him around with you like coins jangling in you pocket. You can’t forget him. You can’t forgive him. It shouldn’t be possible to be so close to somebody and yet so far away.

There’s no one out on Route 210. Your flip flops cross from a dirt road to black pavement. You lose track of how long you’ve been walking. Five minutes, ten minutes, it doesn’t matter. What are minutes when your mind is years away?

How will I keep Aegon in my life without tabloids finding out about the baby? What will I tell my child when they ask who their father is?

A vicious wind, so strong it snaps branches from trees and almost knocks you over. And then you hear it, that sound that every inhabitant of the Lower Midwest knows: a deep rumbling like a train. You peer up into a sky that is dark and murderous and glowing a strange sickly green. And above your head, spiraling with increasing speed: a funnel cloud, an emergent tornado.

~~~~~~~~~~

Criston is herding everyone towards the cellar, bellowing, waving frantically: Aegon, Luke, Rhaena, Jace, Baela, Cregan, Daeron, five yelping Australian cattle dogs. Through the window, they can see the tornado approaching the farmhouse, a column of shadowy atmospheric fury, unpredictable and unstoppable, here and then gone, the meteorological version of a comet.

Aemond slams the door as he sprints inside from the field behind the house. He breaths heavily, his chest heaving as his clear right eye studies the band’s panicked faces. “Where is she?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘where is she’?!” Aegon pitches back. “She was with you! She’s with you, right?!”

Aemond looks at Aegon, looks through the glass at the tornado, grabs the keys to his 1960 Gold Star off the dining room table.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re running, but you can’t see; there’s dust and debris everywhere, there are pieces of trees and fences careening through the air, when you breath you choke on airborne earth. The wind keeps pushing you off the road and then you have to fight your way back. You have to find your parents’ driveway. You have to get to the house. The sun is gone, and the roaring like a freight train is louder, louder, louder. And now there is another sound too, a different sort of growling, mechanical and familiar. Punching through the haze like a bullet, Aemond and his Gold Star screech to a stop beside you.

“Get on!” he screams over the storm, then helps drag you onto the seat behind him. You link your arms around his waist and then you’re flying together, just like Rome, just like before Reykjavik or Paris or Singapore or Tokyo or East Rutherford or Las Vegas or any of the other cities happened, back when you believed you could cure him like a witch with a spell, back when you wanted him in a way that was unburdened by truths you wish you didn’t know.

The Gold Star rockets by trees, utility poles, fence posts seconds before they are ripped from the ground by 200 miles per hour winds. Aemond steers roughly onto the dirt road of your parents’ driveway. You cling to him, breathing him in: smoke, cologne, memories, nightmares, dreams. In the rearview mirror is a maelstrom of dark, churning grey peppered with wreckage.

Something collides with the motorcycle, a fence post, a tree limb, you don’t know, it doesn’t matter. The Gold Star is knocked off the driveway like a bloodied tooth from a jaw. You sail off of it as it begins to roll; you hit the ground hard on your back, loose a pitiful wounded howl, try to start crawling towards the farmhouse.

“No, stay down, stay down!” Aemond is saying over the roar of the tornado. He covers you, he shields you, he pins you to the ground, he puts his hands over your eyes. The last thing you see is the Gold Star lying on its side a few yards away, its wheels still rotating. It’s over 400 pounds, too heavy for Aemond to lift even if you helped him, even if that couldn’t hurt the baby.

The baby?? Your own hands go to your belly. You try to ascertain if the heat throbbing in your back has traveled anywhere else, reached with blood-red, needle-sharp talons to your child, to your future.

The wind is letting up; is that your imagination? No, the tornado is receding, the debris fall to the earth, the deafening runaway train made of rogue air evaporates. Cautiously, Aemond rises from you. When you look at him, the right side of his face is riddled with shallow, bleeding gashes; but his eye is mercifully unharmed.

“Aemond,” you say, pained, reaching for him, trying to clean the blood from his face with your sleeves, a hoodie with some boy band on it, men you don’t know and don’t care to meet, fantasies that pale in comparison to the reality that stains you like rust.

“I’m fine, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so…”

They come stampeding down the driveway: Criston, the rest of Comet, the barking Australian cattle dogs.

“Oh my God, they’re alive!” Jace exclaims, and soon everyone is there, surrounding you and Aemond like a circle, a ring, an orbit, something that goes around and around and might fade but never ends.

You aren’t worried about the baby. There’s no cramping, no pain except the throbbing in the curve of your back, blood loosed and then trapped, indigo bruises tattooed under your skin like ink. You press your palms to the earth and brace yourself so you can stand. No one is helping you get up; why is no one helping you? Why are they only staring, gasping, covering their mouths with shaking hands?

“You’re bleeding,” Aemond says, a panicked voice through fog. Slowly, like trying to run in a dream, you look down. There are thin rivulets of scarlet snaking their way down your thighs, calves, shins, ankles, painless ruinous tributaries, constellations unraveling until the patterns cease to exist, no myths, no monsters, no men, just senseless pinpricks of distant light you’ll never know the names of.

“No,” you whisper, like you can stop it from happening if you refuse to believe it, like it’s a mistake you can talk yourself out of. You gaze up at Aegon. Knowledge flies between you, something shared like an heirloom or an oath.

“Call an ambulance,” Aegon says to Cregan. “Tell them that she’s…” His eyes dart to Aemond and then back to you. “Tell them to hurry.”

Aemond is holding you, he is touching your face, he is asking: “Are you cut, do you need stitches—?”

“I’m alright, it’s nothing, it’s—”

“What are you talking about?! It’s not nothing, you’re bleeding, why are you bleeding?”

“Aemond, it’s nothing—”

“Tell me what to do, tell me how to help you!”

“It’s just…” And a sob breaks from your throat, and your words are brittle and splintering, and you can’t lie to him anymore. You’re out of time in so many ways. “It’s just the baby.”

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