You’re the first thing he truly allows himself the pleasure of touching. Even now he conflicted as his raised hand falters. He knows what he is shouldn't be touching who you are. He lifts his hands again and gives your arm a gentle graze. A whisper of a touch. A silent test of whether or not you’ll crumble beneath his touch. He’s ruined everything his fingertips have ever held. He's infectious. His people a plague. He sees it now. Your skin is soft and supple, his ragged and rough. His face has scars while yours has moles; his skin has gashes where yours had scabs. He traces your features and works his way down. The slope of your nose, the taper of your shoulders, the rise and fall of calm breathing. He stops at your knee. There’s a small patch darker than the rest of your skin-a sign of healing. You tell him it’s from the time you ran on the playground in elementary. He didn’t know that there was innocence in pain. He imagines your wild laugh as you bolt through the blacktop and the innocence of the once bloodied bruise. He tells you how he lost his arm. He doesn’t touch you with his metallic arm. He believes it an extension of violence unto you. You’re soft, fragile, and he’s holding you afraid you’ll break. He’s afraid to be Conquest- a purpose born of torment. He was bred in bloodshed, and you are loved in light.
I wanna put that whole headcanon where anon requested a scenario of YN cheating on Conquest in my mouth and chew, GUD SHET!
How about a part 2 of that scenario? Where his s/o tries to make things right with Conquest, and make efforts for forgiveness? (if they have a kid together, ofc, the reader would be dead as you said if a kid wasn’t in the picture).
You carry it with you everywhere you go, dragging your steps and weighing your shoulders down. Yet despite that, you continue on. You have to.
For yourself. For your son. For… for Conquest.
Regret lays heavy on your heart, weighing down on your stomach. Regret makes you feel sick, nausea bubbling up and up but with nowhere to go.
In the aftermath of what you did, all you can do is think. All you can do is regret.
Despite the tension and oppressive air between you and Conquest, Orion remains a happy baby. He coos and babbles, crawls wobbly across the floor, and nuzzles whoever is holding him at the time with a gummy little grin, love and complete and utter trust in his little eyes. He had no idea something between his parents was wrong, the both of you agreeing to play nice when he's around…
But when it's just you and Conquest…
The nights are the worst. His cock stretching you open and bullying its way in. None of his usual tenderness is anywhere to be found, gaze hard and frosty as he glares down at you, focusing on enjoying himself and trying to breed you again.
You miss who he used to be with you. You miss who he allowed himself to be around you.
But you'd ruined it, selfishly and stupidly, you'd ruined it.
You're not even sure why you'd done it. The afterwards had been full of regret– and not just because he'd caught you. Maybe… maybe it had been postpartum depression that had made you do it. Your brain had felt so cloudy ever since you'd given birth, emotions lagging and numbness settling in.
Maybe.
Maybe maybe maybe.
It could've been something else, of course. Maybe you were just a shitty person and that was it. But the regret you felt, the pain you felt on Conquest’s behalf… you wouldn't feel that if you didn't still love him, didn't still care for him.
… yeah, you still love him. Even after everything, you can't just– turn off your emotions. That's not a thing.
You love him, and you want to fix things, to make him love you again.
So one night as he sits on the edge of the bed, you slowly crawl towards him.
“Con…”
“What.”
His tone makes you flinch, but you don't pull away. Gently, you reach for him, caressing his back. He goes tense, eyes widening where you couldn't see.
“What are you doing?” He bites out, trying to shrug you off, running his hands over his face and head.
“I just…” You pressed against him. You couldn't withhold a shudder; it had been so long since you'd felt any touch except during the breeding sessions or when you held Orion. “I miss you. I'm sorry.”
“You're sorry?” He asks, words growled out as he turns to face you. His expression is thunderous, single eye glaring at you.
“You're sorry? Hah, that's funny, y/n! Really! Because what you did– that's not something you say sorry for.”
You swallow, holding his gaze and not looking away. You nod along, rubbing your arms. “I-I know. I do. I just– I mean it. I'm beyond sorry. I don't know why I did it, I love–”
“Don't you dare!” He snarled, making you flinch back. “Don't! If you loved me, you wouldn't have let anyone else touch you, wouldn't have wanted anyone else!”
His fists tighten, gripping the mattress. “And believe me, if it weren't for that little boy in the next room I would've smashed your head in just the same!”
His words wash over you, drowning you in more regret, more self hatred. But you take it, because it's what you deserve.
You look at him, Conquest, your husband, and you try to think up anything that would begin to make things fair.
“… hit me.” You whisper, preparing yourself for it.
He stopped.
“… what?”
“Hit me.” You repeat, breathing slowly, evenly. “You're angry. Hurt. And you don't know how to deal with it. I know you don't, that's okay.
“So hit me.”
Conquest just stares at you, unsettling and unblinking; the silence is thick.
Slowly, he raises his hand, winding up for a slap you surely deserve.
The moment drags on forever before, finally, his hand falls.
“I can't.” He whispers simply, defeated. “I can't. You deserve it and so much worse, and yet I can't.”
Swallowing, you just look at him, eyes beginning to glisten. Something in your chest aches because still, still there's a part of him that can't go all out.
There's still some part of him that can't fully hurt you.
So you just say, “I love you.”
His expression tightens, nostrils flaring.
“I love you, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.” Leaning in, you carefully wrap your arms around him. He doesn't return the hug, but he doesn't refuse it either. “You don't have to forgive what I did. Just let me try and fix things.”
And Conquest does.
Something in him aches too, for what he once had, for what once was, for what has been lost.
So he'll let you. Maybe you'll succeed. Maybe you… won't. But he'll let you try.
A cold wind rustles the trees, making his hair sway; it stings his eyes.
Staring down, his fingers flex at his sides as he clenches them into fists. Taking a deep breath, he kneels, head bowed, respectful; it's the least you deserve.
“Hello, darlin’.”
His voice cuts through the silence, filling the void around him with sound. It wasn't fair, though. Every moment of your life had been filled with so much colour, so much ambient noise. To have your grave be so quiet seemed like an injustice.
“I… I'm sorry I couldn't visit on our anniversary.” He sighs, shoulders slumping as he just… deflates. “There was an issue at the edge of the galaxy. Mark needed me and… I know you would've wanted that. Me helpin’ others. You were good like that.”
He swallows, an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He can barely speak around it.
“Still. You– you deserve better. It's our anniversary, after all! Hope you didn't think I'd forget.” He forces a laugh. It comes out wet and weak.
His hands shake in his lap.
“... I'd never forget it.” His voice trembles as he whispers. “Never. Not in a million years.”
He takes a few deep breaths, trying to stay calm before he truly broke down.
It never got easier, even after all these years. It just… hurt. So. Damn. Much.
“So–” his voice wobbles, “–happy anniversary, darlin’.” He whispers, finally letting the tears fall, feeling every bit his age as he stares at your tombstone, the weight of his wedding ring the only thing keeping him tethered right now.
For a while, it was quiet. He lets it be. He gazes at the inscription of your name, the photo of your smiling face, and the trinkets and half withered flowers left for you by those that knew you.
Gazing into those pale imitations of your eyes, he begins telling you about all that's happened since his last visit. He proudly tells you about how your eldest son, Orion, had recently had his third child, a boy.
“Another grandkid! Can you believe it, darlin’? We…” He huffs out a soft laugh; his moustache quivers on his upper lip. “We did good, huh?”
He rubs at his face, distracting himself, getting himself back under control. It never got easier– this, coming here, talking to you like you– like you could actually hear him.
He hopes you can though. Viltrumites didn't have religious beliefs like other species did, but he hoped, prayed, there was some sort of afterlife you were listening from.
Another breath, another shaky sigh.
“... Cassandra is finally getting married. Ain't that something? I can barely believe it myself.” Their Cassie had always been more focused on hobbies and work than personal relationships; Conquest would be a liar if he said it hadn't worried him when she was younger. He wanted the best for his kids, and them having everything he hadn't had prior to you was a part of that. “She's going to have a spring wedding, on the beach we always took her to… says it… makes her feel closer to you.
“She feels bad.” He tells you, eyes straying as he notices a caterpillar crawling onto him.
He lets it be.
“Silly things thinks she shouldn't have put it off so long, that if she'd just listened and focused on making relationships earlier, you would've been able to see our little girl walk down the aisle.” He lets out a huff, shaking his head. “For such a smart girl, she sure misses the obvious, huh? I told her straight how you'd have felt about it. That you would've wanted her to take her time and only take this step when she was ready for it.”
He extends a finger as he stops speaking for a moment, the caterpillar shuffling onto his finger. He lifts it to eye level, considering it.
Once, he would've squished it without reserve. Now, he considers it precious.
Looking back at your tombstone, he smiles sadly. You truly did weaken me. The old me would be sickened.
Gently, he lays the caterpillar down on the sun-warmed stone. Maybe, if it chooses to, it'll turn into a butterfly right here. You'd like that.
“... so I'll be walking her down the aisle come spring.” He concludes. A ray of sunlight pierces through the clouds, bright, and reflects off of some sea glass pooled in front of your grave. He spends a moment pulling some weeds out, smoothing out the pile.
“I know you'll be there. I can… feel it, as stupid as that sounds.” He says, laying a hand over his chest. “Mostly ‘cus I know you wouldn't miss it for the world if you were still–” alive “–around. Why would that change now that you're…”
And he can't get the words out. No matter how many years passed, he just couldn't say it out loud. It just made it all the more real. It just made him feel how alone he truly was.
Because while you'd given him multiple beautiful, intelligent children, Viltrumite children who'd live long past him, they weren't you. They could never be you. And it wasn't fair for him to look for you in them, even if they tried to fill that gap in his heart.
So, even as his family grew and expanded, even as he was surrounded by people, the spot at his side was still empty; the other side of the bed still cold.
