#i have been trying to fix it for DAYS now

[pathologicalreid]

christmas (baby please come home) | s.r.

in which Spencer isn't home to put his kids to bed on Christmas Eve, but they wake up to a surprise on Christmas morning

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: spencer's first post prison christmas, frankensteined the plot of "surface tension", the same family as "here with me", crying, christmas word count: 3.19k a/n: merry christmas!! this is kinda like my gift to you, mostly since it's been sitting in my brain for forever!!!!!!! i love u all! also happy first day of hanukkah if you celebrate <33

“But Daddy’s not home,” your daughter whimpered as she shuffled under her covers, she looked up at you with wide, curious eyes.

You carefully smoothed out the top of her floral comforter, “I know, baby,” you whispered, reaching up to pinch her cheek affectionately. You’d let them stay up late to watch the Santa tracker, but eventually, Finn fell asleep on you, and Livvy’s yawns were enough to convince you that it was bedtime. “You still have to go to sleep. Santa will come whether Daddy’s home or not, and we’ll just do the gifts from Mommy and Daddy when he gets back.”

At three years old, Olivia was beginning to understand Spencer being gone the same way Eleanor did; she knew his absence was entirely out of her control, and that didn’t sit well with your middle child. You knew you had gotten incredibly lucky when Spencer had been home for Finn’s birthday and Livvy’s had fallen during his sabbatical, but you also knew that you were due for a missed holiday, you just wished it could’ve been Thanksgiving or New Year’s.

You kissed her forehead before leaving, making sure to leave the door open a crack so the monsters wouldn’t get her before you went to Nell’s room. “Hey, honey,” you whispered, closing your eldest’s door behind you before going to sit on the edge of her bed. She had her own Christmas tree set up in the corner of the room, the artificial purple tree providing the glow that her nightlight normally would. “Are you ready for bed?”

Nell was lying on top of her covers, staring at her still ceiling fan as she ignored your question. While Livvy was just starting to understand what it meant when Spencer was gone, Nell understood it best, and she had for years now. She’d understood when Spencer was in prison, and she understood that he was missing Christmas now.

Slowly, you laid down next to your daughter, propping your head up on the bed and smoothing her hair back. “It’s still Christmas,” you tried to reassure her, but part of you knew that it was a thankless effort, there was nothing you could tell her that would fix her father’s absence. “We can call Dad in the morning while we open presents,” you offered, hoping she’d appreciate you coming halfway. “If he’s not busy, maybe we can video chat, and you can show him everything Santa brought you.”

“It’s not the same,” she told you, furrowing her brows and turning away from you on the bed.

Sighing, you pressed a kiss to the back of her head, “I know, Nellie. I know it’s not fair that he doesn’t get to be here for Christmas, but Daddy will come back.” There was a sense of urgency in your voice; you were afraid that if your five-year-old lost the joy in Christmas, you’d somehow failed her as a mother. “He’ll be home for your birthday, I promise,” you whispered.

“You can’t promise,” she reminded you, knowing that you and Spencer were generally very specific about your promises, leaning toward the ‘I promise I’ll try’ variety.

You hummed in response, “I’d pinky promise you that. Dad will be home for your birthday.” You held up your pinky finger, waiting for her to roll over and reciprocate.

Eleanor rolled over, holding up her pinky finger while brown eyes watched you apprehensively, “Okay,” she breathed, hooking your fingers together and kissing them.

As soon as Spencer told you about the bureau’s contingency to him returning to the BAU, you’d done the math. Eleanor’s sixth birthday would fall near the beginning of his next sabbatical, so you didn’t hesitate to make this promise. “It’s time for bed, my girl,” you whispered, smiling at her softly as she pulled the sleeves of her Christmas pajamas over her hands. “Santa can’t come if you’re not asleep,” you reminded her, sitting up on the bed and getting up, tucking her purple comforter under her chin before you made your final stop of the night.

You’d brought Finn to his room before getting the girls settled, but now that you knew they were alright, you came back to his room. The white noise machine was going, and he was fast asleep in his crib. His pacifier, which you were trying to wean him off of, had fallen from his mouth and onto the sheets, so you set it to the side. To you, the second Christmas was always more exciting than the first, now that he was fourteen months old, he had the dexterity to help open presents.

Ruffling his hair, you kissed him goodnight, just like you’d done with the girls, and you left his room, closing the door so that no one would disturb the light-sleeping baby.

There was a late night ahead of you, but first, you settled yourself onto the couch in the living room and pulled out your phone. Upon opening your messages with Spencer, you couldn’t help but be disappointed to find that there was nothing unread. You thought about sending him a text telling him that you all miss him but eventually decided against it. You didn’t want to make him feel guilty. At least, no more guilty than he likely already did.

You turned on the TV, quietly playing a Christmas movie as you began the festivities. All of the gifts had been expertly hidden in the master bedroom, split between being shoved under your bed and in your closet, but a new playhouse for the girls had been dropped off earlier. It was too big for your room, so your parents had stored it in their basement in the interim.

That would be a struggle to bring in from the garage, so you decided to start small, pulling all of the kids’ stockings from their hooks and laying them out on the floor before going upstairs to get the stuffers.

With the movie playing, you filled the stockings with treats and little toys. A few times you imagined your phone buzzing, but each time there was nothing on the screen. The loneliness started to set in as you rehung the stockings, making sure the kids’ names faced forward above the fireplace.

This wasn’t your first Christmas alone, Spencer had been in Idaho for Olivia’s first Christmas, but neither of the girls remembered it.

They’d remember this one, you thought to yourself, walking back up the stairs to grab a load of boxes. Thankfully, they were already wrapped, but you did have to avoid getting ribbon in your mouth as you carried the armful of gifts down the stairs.

Masterfully, you adjusted them beneath the tree, trying to visualize where they’d all end up in the end as you heard something distantly, but you brushed it off as someone leaving your neighbor’s holiday party. You stood up, wiping your hands on your pajamas as you evaluated your handiwork, shrugging before you turned around for the next load, “Oh,” you breathed, watching the handle on the door from the garage turn.

The door opened slowly, revealing your husband on the other side, his black peacoat draped over his arm and purple scarf looped around his neck. He hooked his car keys on the key hook before he noticed you, brown eyes finding your pajama-clad figure. His lopsided smile was all-knowing as always, he knew he had surprised you. In fact, it had been his goal.

You remained exactly where you were, watching him from the den as he put his shoes away and hung up his outerwear. It was almost as if you’d convinced yourself he was a mirage, and any sudden movements would cause his visage to dissipate. “Hey,” Spencer said, cocking his head at you as if he were confused why you hadn’t come any closer to him. He peeked around you to look at the tree, “Did the kids get to bed okay?”

Instead of answering him, your body naturally responded to what seemed like the miraculous appearance of your husband by producing tears. At first, they just welled along your lash line, but as they started to fall, you buried your face in your hands.

Spencer was there, not only in the house but also taking the initiative to approach you, he wrapped his arms around your torso, taking your tearful form under his care, “Is everything alright?” He asked, slowly dragging his hand up and down your spine, humming as you reciprocated his embrace and pressed your face into his shirt, drying your eyes and taking in the moment.

“Everything is wonderful,” you responded, your voice muffled by his shirt. He smelled like stale dark roast and the jet, but you were too relieved by his arrival to truly mind.

Tightening his grip briefly, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “Right, well. You’re crying, so I had to make sure,” he murmured, swaying gently to the music coming from the film.

You loosed a breath of relief, “I can’t believe you’re here. The kids were miserable at bedtime, Nell wouldn’t even talk to me until I told her you’ll be home for her birthday,” you informed him, keeping your arms wrapped firmly around him while you tipped your head back to see him.

Spencer nodded in understanding, reaching up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “We made the arrest at eight and wrapped up around nine. Somehow, Emily convinced the pilot to leave in the middle of the night, and we were on the jet by ten. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve spent holidays in worse places, but I’d rather be here with you than in Milwaukee.”

“I will kiss Emily Prentiss on the mouth,” you told him candidly.

He raised his brows curiously, “Mhm, and what about me?”

Grinning, you pushed up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, an amalgamation of a welcome home and a Merry Christmas kiss, but you pulled away before you could get carried away. “Merry Christmas, Spencer Reid, we have work to do,” you told him, taking on a mock seriousness as you nodded your head toward the Christmas tree, which only had a fraction of your kids’ gifts beneath it.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Spencer reciprocated, pressing one more kiss to your lips, “Let’s get started.”

Spinning out of his grip, you found you had much more pep in your step with his arrival, beaming as the two of you went through the house as quietly as possible, gathering the gifts for the kids without rousing any suspicion. Even grabbing the playhouse from the garage didn’t seem like as much of a task with him around.

You adjusted the stockings as it neared two in the morning, Spencer returned from upstairs with the last few gifts, having changed his clothes into pajamas that neatly matched yours—a family set that was a gift from your Penelope. “They look great,” Spencer assured you, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he stood back, admiring your handiwork.

Walking backward until your back was against your chest, you tilted your head to the side, appraising the mountain of gifts beneath the tree, “Do you think we went overboard this year?” Between the gifts from Santa and the gifts from the two of you, the heap was rather intimidating.

“No,” Spencer answered, “bigger kids, bigger gifts.” He put his arms around your waist, resting his chin on top of your head, “besides, they’re good kids.”

You hummed in response, leaning into him ever so slightly. Part of you felt like Spencer was still experiencing guilt surrounding the three months he spent away from you and the kids while he was in prison. No amount of time at home or therapy would ever absolve him of that guilt, but it never hurt to try, “Hey,” you whispered up to him, “I got you something.”

He frowned down at you, “I thought we said no gifts this year?”

Scoffing, you walked over to the home office, “We say that every year and neither of us ever stick to it, so go get whatever it is you got for me.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but even so, he made his way upstairs to where you knew a gift was hiding in his bedside table. Upon his return, he faltered at the large box you’d placed on the coffee table and held up the small box in his hands; you beamed at him as he eyed the behemoth of a present.

He handed you the smaller box, instinctively, you admired the wrapping before starting to open it, recognizing the jewelry box before you had even discarded your wrapping paper. “Oh, Spence,” you said, looking at the necklace in the box, a dainty chain with five small gemstones on it. His birthstone and yours, followed by Nell’s amethyst, Livvy’s sapphire, and Finn’s tourmaline all strung next to each other, “it’s perfect,” you told him, lightly touching the gems with your fingertips. You’d mentioned wishing you had an everyday necklace a few weeks ago while getting ready, and he must’ve been listening more attentively than you’d thought.

Finally, you had him open his gift, and he was entirely speechless as he opened the cardboard flaps. His mouth gaped as he lifted one of the books in his hand, the title and edition identical to one that had been previously ruined in your house. “Fuck,” he cursed, looking from you to the books and back again.

You shrugged, “It’s not all of them, but a pretty good amount of them. Some of those editions are proving difficult to recover, but I’ve—” You’re cut off, startled by Spencer pressing his lips to yours. “I’m still looking for some,” you said breathlessly once he pulled away.

Spencer seemed unsure of what to do with himself; you’d managed to find replacements for three-fourths of the books that had previously been burned by an accidental fire set earlier this year. The only time your marriage had ever been on the rocks was when Diana lived with you, but even then, you’d been planning this surprise. “You are…” Spencer started, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, “This is incredible,” he told you, shaking his head in disbelief, setting the book down in the box and nearly tackling you in a hug.

Laughing, you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound, “I love you,” you murmured to him, his body now next to yours on the couch.

“I love you too,” he said, looking at you with glassy eyes. “Wow,” he said, sniffling, “I need to get you something else. A necklace isn’t enough,” he told you, likely already thinking of options for addendums.

You shook your head, “Trust me when I tell you that your being here is worth all of the rare books in the world to me,” you reassured him, running your fingers through his hair. Humming, you adjusted your head on the pillow, “Are you gonna fall asleep like this?”

He nodded, “If you keep playing with my hair like that. How long do you think we have until they wake up?” He asked, keeping his eyes closed while you peeked over him to check the time.

Last year, Finn had woken up the whole house on Christmas Day at four in the morning, and seeing as it was nearing three, you wondered if it was worth sleeping at all. You continued combing through Spencer’s hair, “Do you want to go upstairs?”

“This is a really great couch,” he mumbled, already falling asleep on the couch, leading you to grab the blanket that was thrown over the back and haphazardly drape it over the two of you.

Unfortunately, it felt like you’d gotten no sleep at all when you heard the first stirring upstairs, “Mommy,” Olivia called out, which would likely wake up Finn and Nell.

You got up from the couch, waking up Spencer in the process. Your poor husband, who was probably already running on little sleep, got up and folded the blanket you had been using, returning it to its home while you went upstairs to get the kids.

Livvy’s eyes went wide when she saw you come from downstairs, “Did Santa come?” She asked you, nearly bouncing with excitement.

As you expected, the door to Eleanor’s room swung open, revealing your sleep-deprived five-year-old in her rumpled pajamas, “Yes, Santa brought gifts for everyone,” you answered, ruffling her hair before going into Finn’s room, hoping to wake him gently before the voices did a less delicate job. “Hi buddy,” you whispered, looking back to see the girls gathered at the door, completely unaware that their dad was waiting for them downstairs. “Merry Christmas,” you said softly, his scrunched face not processing what you were saying, but happy to see you, nonetheless.

You picked him up from the crib and herded the girls to the stairs, letting them lead the way down while you carried the baby. Right behind them, you watched the realization dawn on their faces as soon as they caught sight of Spencer, “Daddy!” Nell shouted, leading her little sister as they ran to him.

Laughing lightly, you let a squirming Finn down, running to Spencer in the same way the girls just had. From a distance, you watched as all three of your kids entirely bypassed the gifts under the tree and on the mantle and went straight to what was more important—their father was home for Christmas.

Spencer crouched down to get Finn, and at the same time, Livvy jumped in excitement, leaving Spencer falling backward and sitting on the ground while the kids formed a less-than-graceful dog pile on the floor. You took that as your cue to join in on the festivities, kneeling on the floor next to the familial pile, uncontrollable giggles emanated from everyone involved.

You wrangled the two littles in your arms, giving each of them dozens of kisses and receiving more laughter in return as Eleanor settled down. Your eldest took her moment of alone time and laid her head on Spencer’s chest, the grin on her face overtook the rest of her face, “Best Christmas ever,” she whispered before rolling off of him, Spencer instinctively lifting his hand so she doesn’t hit her head on the leg of the coffee table.

Nellie sat up giving you a toothy grin, sticking her tongue through where she was missing a front tooth. Everyone took notice of Olivia pointing at the tree, her mouth shaped like an “o” in awe, “Can we open that one?” She asked, pointing to the largest present in the stack—which, of course, had her name on it.

“Stockings first,” Spencer said, leading to a pout from your middle child, but it was quickly wiped away when he kissed the crown of her head. Your husband got up first, taking Finn from where he was tucked into your side, and set him on his hip, “Okay, who wants their stocking?”

Everyone’s hand went up—including yours.

[beloveds-embrace]

Dukedom au but instead of the men noticing reader post marriage, they already notice her pre marriage like maybe before they went to war and meet each other. She use to be so radiant especially on her debut to society. She dances John and Simon and they were entranced since then. Maybe she likes sneaking out bro mingle with the commons and met Johnny and Kyle that way. Then war happened and many other things by the time they were back they’re not exactly expecting their dream girl to be unmarried, she’s so beautiful why would she be unmarried, besides they have each other now.

Imagine their surprise when they found out not only is she unmarried but rather unpopular in society for one or two petty reasons too.

ANONNNNN I LOVE YOUR MIND

It wasn’t until after his return from the military- when he finally came home with Simon by his side, Kyle and Johnny already settled into their places in his household- that John actually heard the full extent of the rumors surrounding you.

You were barren, they said. Damaged. A woman past her prime who had rejected too many suitors out of pride and was now paying the price. Not docile enough to be a good wife, too much of a spitfire. Hysterical, the last time you had snapped at a man who had gotten a little too close to you. A stain on your family’s lineage, who were trying desperately to marry you off.

Kyle had been the first to bring it up, muttering about what he’d overheard at the bakery one morning while helping Johnny’s parents prepare for the day. Johnny, normally so cheerful, had been uncharacteristically quiet about the whole thing- quiet in that dangerous, simmering way that meant he was ready to fight anyone who so much as looked at you wrong.

And Simon?

Simon had just looked at John.

“Fix it.” he’d said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

But it wasn’t simple.

Not when the love John felt for you had been complicated from the start. Not when Kyle and Johnny and Simon already occupied so much of his heart, and the idea of forcing you to share that space- even with men who adored you already- felt like asking too much.

So he waited, and waited.

He waited until he saw you again, looking so perfectly soft and sweet and untouched by the harshness of the world around you, even despite all the hate-filled rumors aimed your way, it nearly broke him. He waited until Kyle started dropping more and more excuses to see you, until Johnny began dragging you into their outings, until even Simon- gruff, stoic Simon- began pausing to ask how you were doing when he saw you in passing.

He waited until he couldn’t not ask.

And when he finally did- when he knelt before you and offered you everything he had, everything he was, everything they were because he would keep anything a secret from you- you didn’t answer right away.

“John…” You were at a loss for words, eyes shifting to a fro. You could hear your parents practically yelling at you to just accept, no matter what, within your mind.

Your cheeks turned warmer than a furnace, and you lowered your head, gritting your teeth. “Surely you all know that- that I’m not… exactly the best candidate for you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Your eyes widened, mouth falling open, and he wanted to kiss that expression off your face. Replace it with something happier, brighter.

“It doesn’t matter.” John repeated, voice soft and so painfully fond. “They can say all they want. It’s you who I care about- we care about. Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters, except for your happiness and what you want. So I ask again… will you be my Duchess?”

You bit your lips, ignoring the tiny little voice of your nanny scolding you for your terrible nervous habit. You wanted to accept. You ached to accept.

“Promise me, John,” you breathed out. And he listened, more than anyone else ever has. “Promise me. I won’t ever be a simple accessory on your arm, or a forgotten relic in your home. I won’t be brushed aside, while everyone around me is loved. Please, John. If you can promise me that, then I accept.”

And for John?

It didn’t even take him a second before agreed; already, he could imagine the relief that the others would have, as well.

He could also imagine you, blooming in their home.

[lxvemaze]

THE ART OF LOVE

chapter 016.

series masterlist

<<previous chapter | epilogue

SERIES SYNOPSIS. when chris texted an artist he found on instagram with the hopes of them designing an album cover for him, he never expected to fall head over heels in love with them.

PAIRING. bangchan x reader

WC. 4k

CHAPTER TAGS. written

CHAPTER WARNINGS. written from bangchan's pov, one out of pocket jisung comment (but not really), sad sad sad, but then happy happy happy, i'm delusional so i gave art girl my favorite coffee order

A/N. THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER I'M LITERALLY GOING TO CRYYYYYYYYY THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR SUPPORTING THIS SERIES IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME. I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE THIS CHAPTER AND KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THE EPILOGUE 🫶(also, i'm sorry if this is lowkey ass, i had to rewrite it bc my laptop hates me)

Cold was the only word on Chris’ mind as he woke from his nap in the green room. The group was doing an early-morning promotion, and Chris had gotten far less sleep the previous night than he would have liked. But how could he have gotten any sleep in this city? How could he have gotten any sleep knowing that he’s in the same city as her?

Every day of the past year, Chris had been doing nothing more than simply going through the motions. Every moment felt like it was draped in a haze, his life that was once clear and bright now felt blurred and dull. Chris’ whole being was constantly consumed by the guilt of knowing that she was out there, thinking about him.

He’d never intended for it to go as far as it did. When he first messaged her, he’d just recently been broken up with, and was trying to work through those emotions through the creation of a new album. The cover of the album was supposed to be symbolic, a visual representation of him letting his former lover go. How could he have expected to fall in love with the person he paid to depict it?

Even after his company had told him that they didn’t approve the artist, that she was a liability, that she could damage his career, he still held on. He didn’t tell her until it was too late. And that selfish action was enough to ruin not just himself, but also his younger brothers who’d grown to care for her like family, His best friend Hyunjin who loved her the same as Chris. But the worst part of it was that he knew it had ruined her the most.

Chris tried to tell himself that his feelings for her were just a fluke, that he was just lonely or desperate or something. That he’d get over her eventually. But how could that be true when a whole year later, she was still the only thing on his mind?

Chris went throughout his day as mindlessly as he usually did, wordlessly letting the stylists fix him up, bringing life back into his face that had slightly sunken and paled over the past twelve months. He gave polite smiles to the staff, answered interview questions as intelligently as his dazed brain could, and tried his best to be a good leader to his brothers- an area he felt he’d been trying to improve in lately.

After she left, Chris’ relationship with his entire group had been strained. His actions had tainted the smart, strong, caring older brother image that they’d had of him in their minds, and he was doing all he could to restore it. Oddly enough, his relationship with Hyunjin had improved greatly after the events of the previous year. They had a certain understanding of each other's actions that the others simply couldn’t see.

The younger members had slowly come back around to Chris- Jeongin slowest of all. Jeongin arguably had the closest relationship with The Artist, and Chris’ selfishness had hurt him so badly, Chris wasn’t sure that their relationship would recover.

And yet, slowly but surely, Jeongin came back around to him. In fact, Jeongin had been on Chris’ tail all morning long. Over the twelve hours that the group was on set, Jeongin had been by Chris’ side for roughly eleven of those hours. The two were planning on going to some cafe that Jeongin had recommended after the long day of promotions. If Chris were to tell the truth, he’d say that he was much too tired to go anywhere after promotions. He wanted a nap. SO badly. But fixing his strained relationship with Jeongin took precedence over his already suffering sleep schedule.

“You ready to go?” Jeongin peeked his head into the green room as Chris slowly rose from his seat, groaning and stretching his aching limbs. “Good thing we’re going to a cafe. You look like you could use some coffee.” Jeongin giggled as Chris followed him out of the small room and into the hallway. Chris nodded along, rubbing his eyes and letting the younger man lead him towards the front door, silently thanking him with a nod as Jeongin handed him a mask, immediately placing it over his face before they exited the building.

Chris stared out the window from the backseat of one of the staff members' cars, absently wondering if she was sitting in one of the dozens of cars they sped past. Chris didn’t know what he’d do if he saw her. Maybe he’d turn and run the other direction, maybe he’d immediately call his management to tell them that he’s quitting to run away with her. Or maybe he’d just stand there like an idiot.

The events of the past year had sparked a lot of conversation between the staff and members of the group, especially with their contract renewal coming up in just a few weeks. No one wanted another “Artist situation” as the staff were calling it. Chris didn’t know what they were thinking. Whether it be changing their contract to allow dating, or putting them on an even stricter ban, he didn’t much care. He genuinely didn’t know if he’d be able to find it in him to love anyone else for a long time.

On the other side of the car, Jeongin was practically vibrating with excitement as he stared at his phone, scrolling through the DMs he’d sent to his favorite person. He quietly giggled to himself as he opened his navigator app and saw that they were a mere ten minutes from reuniting with the person that had consumed their every waking moment of the past year.

“What are you laughing at?”

Jeongin reflexively shoved his phone in his pocket, folding his hands on his lap before looking up at his older brother in what he hoped was a very non-suspicious way. “...Nothing. Jisung texted me something.”

“Of course.” Chris chuckled, leaning his head against the window again. “What did he say this time?”

“Uh…” Jeongin took his phone out of his pocket, pretending to scroll through his texts for a moment while he attempted to think of something that could have come from Jisung’s foul mouth. “Something about…sucking dick?”

Jeongin saw Chris nod from the corner of his eye, sighing internally that he hadn’t seemed to pick up on what was happening yet.

The truth was, Chris had noticed Jeongin acting weird- Hyunjin too, for that matter. He figured it was just the time of year. It was just after the one-year anniversary of her leaving, and everyone had been dealing with it in their own way.

Minutes later, the staff member in the driver's seat pulled to the sidewalk and informed the two that they had arrived. They thanked the driver and stepped out of the car, looking around and taking in the sight of all the boujee boutiques, cafes, and bakeries on the downtown street.

“Is this it?” Chris pointed just down the street to one of the cuter shops of the street; a quaint little cafe/bookstore combo with numerous plants in the window and comfy looking seats inside. Jeongin nodded with a lopsided grin plastered on his face. The two started towards the cafe before Jeongin stopped in his tracks, smacking his forehead with his palm and exclaiming,

“Ohh wait a second!”

Chris turned to his younger friend, quirking an eyebrow at him as Jeongin looked down the street behind him. “What?”

“I forgot that I need to grab…a thing…from a store. You go ahead and order, I’ll be right back! Get me a peppermint frappuccino!” Jeongin called to Chris as he ran back down the street the way they came, leaving Chris absolutely dumbfounded at his friend's sudden exit.

Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking in the direction Jeongin ran, and back over his shoulder to the cafe, mentally debating on whether to chase after his mischievous friend or to just go into the cafe and order an americano before he fainted in the middle of the sidewalk.

After little mental debate, he decided on the latter. The inside of the cafe was just as charming as the outside, comfortable mismatched heavily-cushioned seats surrounded several dark brown tables. Tall bookshelves adorned every wall, with paintings made by local artists filling any gaps left by the shelves.

There was a fairly long line stemming from the coffee bar in the back of the shop, Chris noticed as he stopped behind a girl with unnaturally colored hair that the menu didn’t have Jeongin’s requested order. He figured he’d just order a hot chocolate with a peppermint espresso shot.

The line was moving slowly, even though people sat down to claim a table after they ordered, it felt like the line wasn’t progressing at all. Chris glanced around the shop again and at all the different patrons scattered around. It seemed to be a hot spot for the local hipsters. As Chris’ gaze danced over all the different people in line, his eyes were quickly drawn to the keychain on the bag of the girl in front of him. 

When Hyunjin had taken her to the art museum back in Seoul, she’d gotten one that looked exactly like it. She said it was her favorite thing that she’d bought during her whole trip. Chris hadn’t realized the line had moved on without him until the person behind him tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to move forward.

Before he knew it, it was the girl with the colored hair’s turn to order. Apparently, she needed a moment as she stood in silence for a moment, looking up at the menu behind the counter, much to the chagrin of the barista at the register.

“Could I please get a lavender oat milk latte?”

It felt like Chris had been decked in the face with a bag of cinder blocks as she spoke. 

Any and all thoughts had immediately abandoned his mind as the barista rang her up and she thanked the worker in the sweet tone that Chris knew all too well.

Chris’s heart ached at the sweet smile on her face as she turned around. However, the smile quickly faded as she saw the man that had been standing behind her. The two stood in equally stunned silence as they took each other in. Chris’ eyes trailed down The Artist’s frame, quickly taking in the fact that she was paler and thinner than he’d remembered. The Artist noticed the same about him.

“Excuse me, you two are holding up the line.” The barista spoke from behind the counter, her annoyed tone prompting The Artist to turn around and flash her an apologetic smile, and gently place her hand on Chris’ bicep, leading him out of the line.

Chris’ eyes didn’t leave her face as she was looking seemingly anywhere but him. She cleared her throat nervously, Chris’ eyes burning into her face.

“Do you wanna sit down?”

Chris nodded before she silently led him to the table for two by the front window, placing her bag over the back of one of the seats and sitting down, folding her hands on top of the table.

Chris sat across from her, and the two sat in silence.

Chris could hear her shaky uneven breaths, and noticed her folded hands shaking on the table. It took everything in his to not reach over and hold them in his own.

“I saw the painting.”

Her eyes glanced up to meet his as he spoke, but she looked away as quickly as their eyes met. “I was hoping you had.”

Another bout of silence.

“So…” Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair before mirroring her position and folding his hands on the table, his fingers mere centimeters from hers. “What are you doing here?”

“Well…I was supposed to meet a potential client.” She was a lot quieter than Chris remembered.

“That could’ve been dangerous.”

“Yeah, well…I haven’t been out much lately. Figured this would be a good opportunity.”

More silence followed her statement, the pit of guilt in Chris’ stomach clawing at him from the inside. Her reasoning for being here, her visibly sunken appearance, her hair…

“You changed your hair.” She looked up at him again, her eyes remaining on his this time as she reached up instinctively to touch the colored locks, a small smile gracing her face.

“Oh yeah…Just trying something out, I guess.”

“I like it.”

The smile quickly dropped from her face at Chris’ words, her eyes looking down at her lap once more. Chris sighed and leaned back in his seat. What the hell should he say? ‘I’m sorry’? ‘I still love you’? ‘Let’s run away together’? Although he sincerely felt every one of those statements, none of them could express how he felt. None of those would make up for the pain and sadness that he’d inflicted on her, himself, and those closest to him. He was stuck. This has to be hell.

“So, is your company not as fucked up anymore, or are you breaking the rules just by sitting here right now?”

Her words caused an unprompted laugh to escape Chris’ mouth. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face, taking a steadying breath before looking back at the woman across from him. She was still so pretty.

“No, I probably shouldn’t be here right now. Jeongin and I were just going to get a cup of coffee and-” Jeongin. Of course he did. “That little fucker” Chris sighed, looking out the window for any sign of the scheming young man.

The Artist across from him stared in confusion, “Jeongin? Where is he?”

“He…went to grab something before coming here. I don’t know. We’re here for a schedule and probably forgot something at home.”

“Chris…are we just not going to talk about-”

“Let’s just leave.”

“...What?” She stared at him completely dumbfounded by his words, his eyes staring intently into hers, completely unwavering.

“Let’s go.” He repeated softly, reaching his hands over to grab her own. “I can’t do this anymore. You have no idea how badly I missed you. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think of before I fall asleep. I have spent every minute of every day regretting the fact that I didn’t fight for you. The regret of putting my career and my company before you has been eating me alive. I thought I could get over it, but I can’t. Seeing you again made me realize that. So let’s just leave.”

“Chris, you can’t do that to the kids.”

“We’ll take them with us. All of us can just live together in a secluded cabin somewhere.”

“You know we can’t do that. I know you know we can’t.”

Chris sighed and ran his thumbs over her knuckles, her bright pink nail polish peeking through the gaps of his hand. “I know. I just can’t say goodbye again.”

“Chris, I love you. I could never stop loving you. I just don’t know what to do.” Chris’ hands left at the Artist’s words. His eyes hadn’t left hers since he started speaking, and he’d noticed the tears starting to well in the corners.

“I’m supposed to be renewing my contract soon. I’ll tell them…I’ll convince them to let this happen. I don’t give a fuck about the company anymore. I can live without them. I can just start over. But I can’t live without you and start over with someone else.”

“God, Chris, I want nothing more than to be with you. But the last thing I ever wanted was for me to hold you back in any way.” She took a deep breath, wiping the tears away from her eyes. She opened her mouth to continue, but the two were startled out of their seats by a loud pounding on the window next to them. They turned to see the source of the noise, and saw Jeongin pressed against the window, waving excitedly. As soon as he was sure the two saw him, he immediately ran into the shop and made a beeline for The Artist, giving her a tight hug that nearly knocked her out of her seat.

“I missed you so much.” The boy cried as she stood up to return his hug properly, neither of them caring about the other patrons of the cafe side-eyeing them.

“I knew it was you.” Her voice cracked as her arms tightened around him, not minding the feeling of his shoulders shaking with his sobs, or the warm tears on her shoulder as he pressed his face into her neck.

Chris watched with a sad smile on his face as he watched the two embrace. Eventually, Jeongin pulled away from The Artist and turned to Chris, stretching his arm out, prompting Chris to wrap his arms around the two people who meant the most to him. His whole world.

ONE YEAR LATER…

“We’ll make it work.” Chris sighed as he pressed his lips into The Artist’s hair. “We can’t lose you.”

“Chan! Where’s my suitcase?” Jeongin called out from the living room, the sound of him stomping around the room was clear even where Chris stood in the kitchen.

“Minho put all the suitcases in the foyer.” Chris replied as he rushed to finish packing the bag of snacks from home for their long journey.

“Chan! Do you have an extra tote bag?” Felix asked as he passed through the kitchen.

“I think in the laundry room.”

“I don’t know where that is! Why the hell did you have to move into this giant house?”

“Because, they’re leaving room for growth. Chan and Art Babe go at it like, 24/7. They’re gonna end up with twelve kids by the time they’re forty. Surprised they haven't made an announcement yet. Laundry room is all the way down the hall and to the left, by the way.” Jisung mused as he strolled in, taking an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Shut up, Jisung!” Hyunjin yelled from the top of the staircase.

“I’m home!” A voice called from the foyer, prompting Chris’ head to pop up like a meerkat. Felix and Jisung rolled their eyes affectionately at their older brothers’ demeanor before Felix went to find the laundry room.

“Speak of the devil.” Jisung grinned, taking a large bite of apple as she entered the room, placing the grocery bags that adorned her arms on the counter, rolling her eyes at her friend.

“I don’t wanna know.” She sighed and she walked around the counter, placing a kiss to Chris’ cheek before washing her hands. “You guys heading to the airport soon?”

“Yeah, in about ten minutes, as long as everyone can find their stuff in time.” He ran his hand across her lower back as he passed her on his way to the pantry.

“Alright, I’m gonna go wait in the foyer just in case you two decide to start banging on the counter.” Jisung pulled a faux-disgusted face at the two, tossing his finished apple in the garbage and promptly making his exit.

“He loves us, really.” The Artist sighed as she dried her hands. Chris hummed in agreement and he shoved the last few items in the bag and zipped it up. “Oh!” She exclaimed, rushing to the fridge, taking out eight small tupperware and sorting them out on the counter. “I made meals for you all to eat on the plane. I know it’s not a long flight, but I know the kids all hate that airline’s food, so I figured they’d appreciate it.”

Chris smiled softly as his lover as she spoke enthusiastically about the individual meals that she’d prepared for their friends, the diamond on her left hand shimmering in the light. They’d been living together for six months now, and had been cherishing every second of it. Chris was thankful for every second that he got to spend with her. Just ten months ago, he had fought his company tooth and nail for his and his members rights to their own privacy. With the majority of their staff backing them and the fact that they’d all agreed to not renew their contracts if the company didn’t agree, there was nothing left for them to do.

After they’d successfully gotten their conditions written into their contract, Chris and his Artist were finally free to love each other as they always had. She moved into an apartment in Seoul a few months later, and not long after that, she and Chris bought their first house together. Just a week after that, Chris proposed. After a year of being apart, they realized that they didn’t want to waste a single second.

“Chan! The van’s here!” Changbin poked his head into the kitchen, giving a little wave to The Artist.

“Hey! Tell everyone to come in here and grab their dinner.” She addressed Changbin, who immediately nodded and gave her a little salute before turning and relaying the message to the others. She turned to her fiance, who was leaning on the counter, his eyes still on her. She leaned over the counter and gave him a soft kiss, bringing her hand up to run her hands through his curls that he’d been taking such great care of lately. “You’ll make sure they get their dinners into their carry-ons?”

“Of course.” He whispered against her lips, pressing a short kiss to them before pulling away and grabbing the tupperware marked with his name.

All at once, the seven other men in the house stormed into the kitchen like a stampede. One-by-one, they grabbed their dinners and hugged The Artist, bidding her goodbye and telling her they loved her before rushing out of the house and into the van that awaited them outside.

“I put the brushes I borrowed back into your art room, and I noticed you had some brushes soaking, so I put them on the mat to dry.” Hyunjin, who was the last to leave, informed The Artist and they embraced.

“I appreciate you. See you when you get back.” She patted his back and smiled sweetly at him as they pulled back. He returned the smile and turned to leave, giving her one last wave over his shoulder before exiting the home.

Chris waited before he heard the front door close before walking around the counter to his lover and pulling her in for a tight hug, his hands holding her close as his lips pressed into her hair, breathing in her scent before he had to leave. “I love you so much, my beautiful girl.”

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes, smiling at him, her gaze filled with nothing but adoration. She leaned in once more to give him another lingering kiss, making sure she wouldn’t forget the taste of his lips anytime soon. “I love you, too. My beautiful man.”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks.” His hands went down to her own, holding them gently, his thumb running over the beautiful rock on her finger.

“Go have fun. Keep an eye on those kids.”

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her cheek quickly, grabbing the tupperware back off the counter. “You know I will. I love you.”

“I love you. Now get out of my house.” She gave his back a light push and followed him to the front door as he giggled.

“Hey.” He turned around, his hand on the door handle. “It’s our house.”

She couldn’t resist pecking him once more as he opened the front door. “Our house.”

He gave her a look that could only be described as pure love before turning and rushing towards the van. She stood out on the front porch, seeing the boys in the van waving at her through the window as the van pulled away from the sidewalk and drove off.

Her heart didn’t ache as the van drove out of sight. Because she knew that they would come back. That she’d never have to truly be without them again. Because they were family. And no one could take that away.

TAGLIST.

@nightmarenyxx @seungmincenteric @brbwritingfanfic @hanniesdegree @queenofviolenceandnerds @jennibahng @steddie-steddie @boofheadeily @weird-bookworm @bookishcaptain @sincerely-sun @vxllxnsworld @staytinyluv @ruth-odyssey @ravengxbss @hanniemylovelyquokka @thedistractedwriter @lixies-favorite-cookie @chrizrizz @stilldontknowhoiam @jazziwritesthings @s0mflwr @lostidiot24 @seungzsmin @soaplickerrr @youreyeson1y @mbioooo0000 @seungminsapuppy @jeonginplsholdmyhand @missvanjii @dailyyhyvne @skzaholix @starzystay @my-neurodivergent-world @hyunjinswrld @momhwa1117 @divineinsanity @rakshithanotrao @thatgirlangelb @sona1800 @mehli-00 @sukss @justiceforvillains @starlostastronaut @stephanieeeyang @reallychaoticwoo @finnbbl @borahae-reads @hopelesromanticy @crownj1min

[poguelandiarafe]

broken promises 3 | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x female reader

warnings - angst, mature language, mentions of infidelity

summary - rafe finds you on the beach and begs for forgiveness but your pain is too raw to think about forgiving him. he's promising to do better for you and the baby but you reject his apologies, leaving him alone in the sand.

(sorry the last two chapters are so short, i'm trying to figure out which direction to take the series in. please please please (hey sabrina) message me or comment your thoughts and ideas!)

not a one-shot, read part one and part two here <3

masterlist

————

“leave me alone, rafe. i don’t want to talk to you.”

you're impressed with yourself, nearly expecting your arms to automatically open wide and accept him back just like that. but they don't, they stay firmly wrapped around yourself and as much as it pains you to realise, you don't want them around him anymore.

rafe runs a hand over his head, a frustrated sigh falling past his lips. he's been driving for hours and you won't even give him the time of day. taking cautious steps, he slowly approaches you until he's standing in front of you.

when you don't react, he kneels down in front of you and places a hesitant hand on your hip. his fingers barely graze your skin before you're quick to grab his hand and throw it off you. the feeling of his skin on yours is too much for you to handle. though your heart and body yearns to be wrapped up in his arms again, your mind is just about strong enough to not allow it to happen.

"let me explain, baby, please." he begs, his voice cracking.

"i said leave me alone," you sigh, yet you can feel your anger bubbling just beneath the surface, "there's nothing to explain."

you already know what he'll say - pathetic excuses and apologies about how much he messed up and that he regrets it. words you can't let yourself be fooled by.

rafe's shoulders sag as the words reach his ears. his hand slowly raises to grab your hip before he drops it back to his side in defeat. he's never felt so helpless before and he hates it. having you so close yet completely out of reach makes his heart ache in a way he never thought possible.

"you don't mean that, we can't end it like this," he whispers, voice thick with emotion as he looks up at you through wet lashes, "there must be something i can do. i'll do anything. i'll wait for you, i'll give you space. i'll do it for you and for our baby. i promise, y/n."

you refuse to look at him, instead keeping your eyes fixed on the ocean, willing yourself not to cry. his stare is burning into your skin and the faintest trace of forgiveness he's looking for from you is nowhere to be seen.

rafe stays kneeling in front of you, never taking his eyes off your face, searching for a crack in your amour. he's trying to maintain his composure, but his breathing is laboured and he's desperately blinking away the tears that blur his vision.

"no. i mean it, rafe. i need you to leave me alone." you say firmly, the words sharp, "i don't want you to wait. i won't stop you from being involved with the baby, but i don't want you to wait for me because i can't be with you anymore. i can't forgive you."

every part of you screams to walk away and never look back, to let him face the consequences of his actions alone. however, your feet remain rooted to the spot, as if a part of you is silently willing rafe to beg harder to fix this, even though you know it wouldn't change anything.

"you don't mean that," he says softly, "you still love me, i know you do. please, just tell me what to do to fix this."

"you shouldn't have to ask me how to fix this. and i do still love you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, "but i don't trust you, rafe. you've made your bed. now, lie in it."

for a split second, you think he's going to argue. his lips part to say something but the words never make it past them. so, before you can change your mind, you turn on your heel and quickly walk over to your car, each step feeling heavier than the last. you don't look back, even when you hear him choke out a broken plea. behind you, rafe stays kneeling in the sand, watching as you walk further and further out of his life.

once you reach the car, you let out a trembling breath and attempt to compose yourself. sliding into the driver's seat, the jagged edges of your keys dig into your palm and you squeeze them tighter, as if turning your emotional pain into physical pain will somehow help. for a moment, you just sit and stare, the weight of the day's events crashing down on you.

a few minutes pass before you start the car, and the last thing you see before driving off is rafe sitting in the sand with his head in his hands and knees pulled up to his chest. the thought of going back crosses your mind and you force yourself to look away, to focus on the road instead. you don't know where you're going, only that you can't go home.

taglist: @hellothere7 @faephoria @xcinnamonmalfoyx @samwinchesterisawhore @alyisdead @maybankslover @vdotcom @kundaquarius @lil-sparklqueen @flvredcas @esquivelbianca @pillowprincess4him @mariadu2 @suyqa @sexy123s-s @inmyowndefender @dreamygirli3 @aesthetic-lyss @gorgeouscgirl

[st4rpiece]

needing space after an argument pt. 2

SFW

characters: luffy, zoro, usopp, sanji x reader summary: they earn your forgiveness CW: groveling, making up, fluff, and over 600 words each

pt. 1 | pt. 2

────────────────────₊˚.༄

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy wasn’t himself. It was the first thing everyone noticed after you left the ship. His laughter, usually loud and contagious, was quieter, forced. Mealtimes felt emptier, and the energy on the Sunny had shifted. He tried to act like nothing was wrong, but even the crew could see the shadow of regret lingering in his eyes.  

But now, here he was, standing in front of you in the quiet port town where you’d taken refuge after leaving the crew. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a desperate determination.  

“I’m sorry,” he said for what must have been the tenth time. His voice was raw, almost breaking. “I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have told you to leave. I was stupid.”  

You stood with your arms crossed, your expression guarded. Seeing Luffy like this—so uncharacteristically vulnerable—caught you off guard, but the sting of his words still lingered, fresh and sharp.  

“Luffy, you can’t just say whatever you want when you’re mad and expect everything to go back to normal,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “You told me to leave. So I did.”  

“I didn’t mean it,” he repeated, stepping closer but stopping just short of touching you. “I was mad and didn’t think. I... I need you on the ship. Not just because I want you there, but because you’re part of the crew. You’re important to us all and i shouldn’t have made you feel otherwise.”  

You searched his face, his big, earnest eyes pleading with you. You could see the regret there, the weight of his mistake hanging heavy on his shoulders. For a moment, your resolve wavered, but you quickly shook your head.  

“I can’t just come back because you say you’re sorry, Luffy. What happens the next time we fight? Are you going to tell me to leave again?”  

“No!” he blurted out, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I swear. I’ll never say anything like that again.”  

You frowned, unsure what to make of his declaration. “Luffy, words aren’t enough.”  

He nodded, his straw hat shadowing his eyes for a moment before he looked up at you with renewed determination. “Then I’ll show you. Whatever it takes.”  

True to his word, Luffy didn’t give up. He didn’t force you to return to the ship, but he didn’t leave the island either. Every day, he showed up—whether it was to bring you a freshly caught fish for dinner, fix something around the small inn you were staying at, or simply sit outside and wait in silence. He didn’t push, didn’t demand, but his presence was constant.  

When the ship needed supplies, he was the first to volunteer, taking on tasks he’d usually leave to someone else. The crew later told you how he’d started taking more responsibility, trying to step up as a better leader.  

Even when you didn’t speak to him, he never faltered. Every action, every small gesture, was his way of showing you how much he regretted his words.  

One evening, you found Luffy sitting on the dock, staring out at the ocean with his straw hat resting in his lap. He looked smaller somehow, as though the weight of his regret had worn him down.  

When he noticed you approaching, he stood up immediately, his expression shifting from surprise to cautious hope.  

“Why do you keep doing this?” you asked, crossing your arms.  

“Because I was wrong,” he said without hesitation. “Because I hurt you, and I have to make it right. Even if you never come back, I’ll keep trying. I don’t care how long it takes.”  

His sincerity stopped you in your tracks. He wasn’t making excuses, wasn’t brushing over your feelings like they didn’t matter. He had made changes—small ones, but noticeable—and for the first time, you truly believed he understood the gravity of what he’d done.  

You sighed, letting the silence linger before speaking. “Luffy... I’ll come back.”  

His eyes lit up with hope, his lips parting as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.  

“But,” you continued, holding up a finger, ���this only works if things stay different. I’m not going back just to deal with the same problems again. I need to know you’re taking this seriously.”  

“I swear!” he said immediately, his voice brimming with determination. “I swear that things will be different. A good different. No more reckless fights for selfish reasons or saying things I don’t mean, I promise.”  

You studied him for a long moment, the sincerity and determination in his eyes unmistakable. Finally, you allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips. “Alright, Lu.”  

Relief washed over his face as he heard the familiar nickname, and for the first time in weeks, you saw his grin return, bright and full of life.  

"I missed you so much, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and certainty, as he wrapped his arms around you.

The comforting warmth of his embrace, felt like home—safe, secure, and exactly where you wanted to be.

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro wasn’t one to grovel. Stubborn and prideful as he was, apologies didn’t come easy for him. But as he sat alone on the Sunny’s deck, replaying his words from the fight, regret gnawed at him like a dull blade.  

The memory of your face—shocked, hurt, and then resigned—kept flashing in his mind. He hadn’t just lashed out; he’d cut deep. You were trying to help, and he’d thrown it back at you, calling you controlling and annoying when you didn’t deserve it.  

He groaned, pressing his palms against his face. He hated how small he felt for failing to show up to the dates you’d so carefully planned, how your suggestion—simple and kind—had poked at an insecurity he didn’t want to face. And now, because of his pride, he’d pushed you away.  

For days, you’d been distant, giving him space, but that only made the guilt worse. He needed to fix this.  

You were sitting on a quiet hillside overlooking the ocean when Zoro found you. The breeze tugged at your clothes, and you looked peaceful—too peaceful, considering how much turmoil you’d left him in.  

“Hey,” he called softly, his voice unusually hesitant.  

You glanced at him, surprised to see the normally stoic swordsman looking... sheepish. He stood awkwardly a few feet away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.  

“What is it, Zoro?” you asked, your tone calm but distant.  

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides before he took a step closer. “I wanted to apologize.”  

That caught your attention. Your brows lifted in mild surprise, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.  

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he said, his voice low and gruff, but steady. “You weren’t being controlling or annoying. You were just... trying to help.” He exhaled heavily as if forcing the words out of himself. “And I was an idiot.”  

You blinked, his sincerity throwing you off guard. “Zoro—”  

“Let me finish, please,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. There was something raw in his gaze—an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I’ve been thinking about it, and... I hate that I’m always late. I hate knowing you’re waiting for me while I’m stuck wandering around like an idiot who can’t follow a simple route. It’s embarrassing.”  

Your expression softened, but you stayed quiet, letting him speak.  

“When you suggested we go together, I know it wasn’t because you thought I was useless,” he continued, his voice tightening. “But that’s how it made me feel. Like I wasn’t good enough to get it right on my own. And instead of dealing with that, I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.”  

He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “But I don’t think you’re controlling or annoying. You’re the most patient and understanding person for putting up with me. So you deserve better and I want to be that.”  

The sincerity in his voice was almost overwhelming, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t just saying the words—he meant them.  

“I know I can’t just say sorry and expect everything to go back to normal,” he added, glancing away briefly before meeting your gaze again. “So, please baby just… give me a chance to make it right.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. Zoro wasn’t the type to take the initiative when it came to things like this, but the determination in his eyes was unmistakable.  

After a long pause, you let out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “One last chance.”  

He nodded, relief flashing across his face, but there was also a quiet resolve in his expression. This wasn’t just a promise—it was a vow.  

The next time you guys went on a date, Zoro was ready. He showed up early, finally getting the chance to wait on you. He led you to a quiet clearing overlooking the sea, a picnic already set up with food he’d personally asked Sanji to help him prepare.  

The effort was clear in every little detail, from the way he chose the spot (easily accessible, no chance to get lost) to the careful decorations and crafts you mentioned liking/wanting to try. Showing that despite his stoic nature, he was listening to you during previous dates. Even now as you spoke, he would chime in at just the right moments.  

It wasn’t perfect—he stumbled over a few of his words and complained when a seagull tried to swipe the food—but it was Zoro, trying in his own way. And that meant everything.  

By the time the date ended, you leaned back on the blanket, gazing up at the stars, feeling closer to him than ever before. When he reached for your hand, you let him, squeezing it gently.  

Zoro glanced down at your intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His gaze softened, and he took a deep breath before speaking. “I know you agreed to give me another chance, but I need to know if you’re still interested in giving me that chance.”

Your heart softened at the rare vulnerability in his voice. You turned to meet his eyes, and they were steady, full of quiet determination.  

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned into him as the waves crashed gently in the distance. For a man of few words, Zoro was surprisingly good at them.

“Well,” you began, tilting your head with a teasing glint in your eye, “that depends. Are you going to keep being so dramatic about it?” You bit back a laugh as you watched the tips of his ears turn red, his expression shifting into a familiar scowl.

“Tch, not being dramatic,” he grumbled, looking away, but the redness in his ears betrayed him.

You chuckled softly and squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “I was being serious about giving you that second chance,” you said warmly. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the tension in his jaw eased.

“But,” you continued, your tone more firm, “next time something like this happens, promise that you’ll communicate it properly. Okay? No more bottling things up.”

Zoro stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding once. “You have my word.” His voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of his promise.

“Good.” You smiled, squeezing his hand again as a soft breeze brushed past, carrying with it the sound of the waves.

God Usopp

The day had been quiet, almost too quiet, and the silence weighed heavy between you and Usopp. Since your argument, things haven’t been the same. You still spoke, but the words felt hollow, and the laughter you once shared now seemed distant and forced. He noticed it all—the way your smile never quite reached your eyes, the strain in your voice when you tried to act like nothing was wrong.  

And it tore him apart.  

Usopp sat on the deck after dinner, absentmindedly fiddling with a half-finished invention. His fingers moved on instinct, but his thoughts were stuck on your last conversation. He hated himself for the way he’d lashed out, for the way he’d let his insecurities push you away.  

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sea in shades of orange and pink, he made up his mind. He couldn’t let this fester any longer.  

When you stepped onto the deck for some air, Usopp hesitated, watching you from a distance. Finally, he stood, his hands clenching at his sides as he approached you.  

“Hey,” he called softly.  

You turned, surprised to see him. “Oh, hey.” Your voice was casual, but your guarded expression told him you were bracing for something.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious.  

You nodded, following him to a quieter spot on the ship where the others couldn’t overhear. The soft sound of the waves filled the silence as Usopp struggled to find the right words.  

“I’ve been... thinking,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “About what I said. About the fight.” He looked down, unable to meet your gaze. Your brows furrowed, but you stayed quiet, giving him the space to explain.

“I know you don’t see me as weak,” he continued, his voice growing tight. “But hearing you scream for him... it made me feel useless.” He exhaled sharply, his hand tightening around the railing. “And I hate feeling like that. I know I’m not like Luffy, Zoro, or Sanji. I’m not the guy who can punch through walls or take down ten enemies at once, but... I at least want to be someone you can count on. Someone you can feel protected with.”

He paused, his words faltering slightly. “But instead of talking to you about it, I projected my insecurities onto you, and made it seem like you were wrong for asking our friends for help. For that, I’m sorry.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and guilt pooled in your chest. “Baby...” you started, your voice soft. “I’m sorry, too. I never meant to make you feel that way.” You stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “But you are someone I can count on. Someone who’s saved my ass more times than I can count. Your strength may not look like theirs, but it’s just as important.”

He finally looked at you, his eyes wide, searching for any trace of doubt. “You... you really mean that?”

“Heck yeah, I do,” you said without hesitation. “I trust you, Usopp. I always have.”

A small, hesitant smile tugged at his lips, and he let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. “Thanks... I needed to hear that," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

After a moment, he straightened and rubbed the back of his head, suddenly looking sheepish. “Actually, uh, there’s something I’ve been working on. For you. I wanted to make something that could help you in a fight.”  

Your brows lifted in surprise. “Really? What is it?”  

Grinning now, Usopp reached into his bag and pulled out a small, compact gadget. “It’s not finished yet, but it’s kind of like a smoke bomb, but better. It creates a flash of light to blind enemies and a smoke screen to cover your escape. I thought... you know, it might come in handy.”  

You took the gadget from him, turning it over in your hands. “Usopp, this is amazing.”  

“Yeah, well,” he said, scratching his cheek, his grin turning bashful. “I wanted to make sure you had another thing to keep you safe. In case no one else is around.”  

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Usopp. I mean it.”  

He relaxed then, the tension between you finally melting away. “I’ll finish it soon,” he promised, his confidence returning. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll come up with even more stuff for you with full bragging rights.”  

"Thanks, now I can let everyone know just how my amazing boyfriend is," you laughed—genuinely this time—and Usopp’s chest swelled with pride. He knew he still had work to do, but for now, the weight of your fight had lifted, and the bond between you felt stronger than ever.  

Vinesmoke Sanji

Sanji stood alone on the deck, the moonlight casting a silver glow over his slumped figure. He leaned against the railing, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, though he hadn’t taken a drag in minutes. His mind replayed every moment of your relationship—the laughter, the stolen glances, the warmth of your touch. And then, inevitably, it would circle back to the breakup.  

He’d failed you. The person who mattered more to him than anyone else in the world. His actions—so thoughtless, so wrapped in habit—had made you feel second to strangers. The realization haunted him, clawing at his chest.  

Sanji thought of groveling, of falling to his knees and begging you to take him back, but he knew you too well. That would only push you further away. You were someone who needed actions, not words, and he knew his words had already failed you. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to give up. You were his person, his muse, his everything. How could he possibly accept a life without you in it?  

So he did the only thing he could. He began to show you through his actions.  

The change was immediate. The next time the ship docked at an island, Sanji didn’t so much as glance at the women who usually flocked to him. When they batted their lashes and called out for his attention, he brushed them off politely and kept his focus on his task. His compliments, once scattered freely to strangers, were now reserved only for you. Even when you ignored him, his words never wavered—soft, sincere, and meant only for you.  

In battle, Sanji was more relentless than ever. But his priority was always your safety, stepping in before danger could reach you, even if it meant taking a hit himself. When the crew sat down for meals, he made sure your favorite dishes were prepared just the way you liked them, his eyes flicking to your face to see if you’d noticed.  

And when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d linger nearby, silently watching you. There was a sadness in his gaze as he admired the person he’d once had the privilege of holding close. You saw him sometimes, hovering at a distance, and though you tried to ignore it, part of you couldn’t deny the pang in your chest. You still had feelings for him—of course you did. But you couldn’t settle for someone who had once made you doubt your place in their life.  

Weeks passed, and Sanji’s quiet devotion didn’t falter. Even now as he stood near the railing, waiting for you, his hands slightly trembling. He had spent all day preparing for this moment, and now the weight of his plan felt heavier than ever.  

When you finally stepped out onto the deck, he straightened immediately, smoothing his suit jacket with nervous fingers. "Hey," he called softly, his voice careful, like he was afraid of scaring you off.  

"Hey," you replied, your tone hesitant but curious. He’d been walking on eggshells around you for weeks, and now this—an invitation for "something special" without much detail. Against your better judgment, you’d said yes, curiosity getting the better of you.  

He smiled faintly, stepping toward you. "I, uh, thought we could spend the evening together. Just... talk."  

You raised a brow. "Talk?"  

He nodded, motioning for you to follow him. "Come on. I’ve got something to show you."  

Despite the uncertainty in your chest, you followed him across the deck, and your eyes widened when he led you to a corner of the ship bathed in soft, golden light from lanterns he had strung up. A blanket was spread out neatly on the deck, adorned with a small basket, plates of your favorite snacks, and a bottle of your favorite drink.  

"Sanji..." you murmured, taken aback.  

"I know it’s not much," he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "But I wanted to do something for you. Something simple. Something that doesn’t involve me screwing it up."  

You blinked, your hesitation softening slightly at his earnestness. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble."  

"I did," he countered, his voice firm but warm. "I needed to."  

He gestured for you to sit, and after a moment’s pause, you did, settling down on the blanket. Sanji sat across from you, his hands fidgeting in his lap.  

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the ship filling the space between you. Finally, Sanji took a deep breath and looked at you, his expression more serious than you’d seen in a long time.  

"My love," he began, "I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since... since we broke up. And I just... I need you to know how sorry I am."  

You looked away, unsure how to respond, but he continued.  

"I wasn’t the boyfriend you deserved," he admitted, his voice low. "I made you feel like you had to compete for my attention, and that’s unforgivable. You should’ve never felt like anything less than the most important person in my life. That’s on me."  

His gaze was unwavering as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but feel the sincerity in his words.  

"I still have feelings for you," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I never stopped. And I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, or even to trust me again right away. But I need you to know that I’ve changed. I’m changing. And I’ll do anything to prove it to you."  

You stared at him, his words hitting you harder than you expected. Sanji was always smooth with his words, but this was different. There was no charm, no performative flair—just raw honesty.  

"Sanji..." you started, your voice faltering. You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the edge of the blanket. "I... I still have feelings for you too. But..."  

"But you don’t trust me," he finished for you, his tone understanding rather than hurt.  

You nodded. "It’s not that I don’t want to. I just... I’m scared of getting hurt again."  

He reached across the blanket, his hand stopping just short of yours. "I understand," he said softly. "And I don’t blame you. I don’t want you to rush into anything you’re not ready for. If we have to take things slow, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll show you, not just with words but with actions, that you’re the only one in my heart."  

His hand lingered near yours, and after a moment, you tentatively placed your hand over his. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you looked up to meet his gaze.  

"Okay," you said quietly. "We can try. But slow, Sanji. No rushing, no grand gestures to win me over. Just... be honest with me."  

A smile broke across his face, softer and more genuine than any you’d seen in weeks. "Slow it is," he promised.  

For the first time in what felt like forever, the tension between you eased. You still had a long way to go, but as you sat there, sharing a quiet meal under the lantern light, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, things could work out.  

───────────────────₊˚.༄

One Piece Masterlist

hey…I was supposed to post this yesterday but I ended up working a double 😭.

[this is lightly edited]

anyways I saw a couple people asking about a tag list ngl i don’t know shit about that 😭😭 but hopefully this finds you !!

and for the op women/queer smau I will be posting that soon as well but I got a really cute idea from anon yesterday and I want to start on that first.

[thesevenwondersofawitch]

This this this

I grew up homeschooled in a family where my parents basically had us fend for ourselves, while also discouraging us from doing any sort of activity or maintain friendships, so the vast majority of my life was spent feeling cut off and inadequate compared to my peers

Shockingly, I ended up having severe depression, (as did my siblings) and developed extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms and habits as a young teenager, as well as other mental issues.

When I finally was able to start the process of getting help(which truly didn't start until the last few years, despite me being in therapy a decade) and started to do things outside of my usual habits, such as going to school and also getting a job(despite my parents trying to discourage me on my bad days), I was now an adult and felt like there was so much I missed out on, especially when looking at my friends experiences at the same ages.

It's so easy to dwell on those thoughts and revert back to old habits, and even harder to try and work through them(like pushing myself to get out of bed, or go to a function with friends). So many people I know who don't have depression just assume it's a little bit of laziness and sadness, and act like everything would be fixed if I just listened only to happy music and refused antidepressants because my generation is 'overmedicated'. And while we definitely are over medicated, without those medicines, so many people (myself included) wouldn't be here.

While my depression is better, and thankfully I've been pretty good with catching up on lost time academic wise, I still struggle with depression and the fallout from everything that has contributed to it. I hang out with friends but almost always end up feeling drained or depressed afterwards, even though I'm around people I care about and like, and I know they feel the same, there is always that voice in my head that one day they're going to change their minds and realize I'm not worth it or that maybe they don't actually like me.

Depression takes a huge toll on my body, I am always tired and overwhelmed, and when I am around friends and peers I feel like I'm an imposter just hoping no one catches on and questions the fact I try to mimic others behavior in hopes I blend in better (even if it's something I know to do, I suddenly feel awkward and panicked and act like I've never dealt with it before, thus watching others and trying to copy movements/actions, even if it's something I'm very knowledgeable about/good at)

I am drained because I feel I have to put on a front that everything is fine, and I feel bubbly and happy all the time, because otherwise people think I'm ungrateful/slighting them, or there out of pity(my sister is someone who thinks all of those reasons unless I'm all happy on the outside). Even though so many times, I was looking forward to doing something or spending time with someone, but for no reason I can think of, I get struck by depression when the time comes, but I still want to take part, because I worry I'll regret missing out, so I go and spend the time trying to act how people want me to, which is exhausting.

It's taken years to get used to these bad days, and I am working to let myself have a breather or just listening to what my body needs when it happens, (I've been better lately and I'm proud of that, but I still struggle occasionally). It's taken years to learn to stop comparing my life with what my younger cousin or old friend is doing/has done by my age, (or if they've done even more), slightly less to learn to ignore the timeframe society(and family) deems is 'normal', and since then, my quality of life has been better.

All this to say, depression has ruled my life and I deal with that everyday, and it is hard to ignore the sadness I feel for my young self and all she never got to do. But, I made it to 23 (something my 13yr old self never thought would happen), and even tho I didn't get to experience things on what is considered a 'normal' timeline for people my age, I have a whole lifetime of experiences to look forward to, and while my depression may be a part of those, it won't be for all of them.

You know what people don’t talk about often enough? Playing catch up in life after spending your teens or early 20s suicidally depressed. There’s so many more layers than just being able to say “I don’t want to die anymore.”

The difficulty in academia or a career after spending years thinking you wouldn’t be alive long enough for any of it to matter.

The exhaustion that comes from self awareness and self soothing, with the constant voice in your head saying “don’t go backwards.”

How lonely it is to watch the people your age starting families when you’re just barely learning what stable relationships are, and the sudden societal pressure of being “up against a clock” for these kinds of things.

The judgement from others if you change your image or interests this late in the game just because you finally figured out who you really are under the demons.

Be kind to those who are developing and blooming after years of not planning on being here long. We are living a life we absolutely didn’t think we’d have, and it’s hard enough without society reminding us there’s expectations of our age.

We didn’t get to be young; we were too busy fighting battles few know.

-

[hisfavegirl]

The Price Of Loyalty - King!Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary : Your marriage to Aegon should have calmed the feud between your two families, but everything changed when Aegon was crowned king and the news of your brother's death brought you a difficult choice.

Aegon Masterlist.

The weight of your choices pressed heavily on your shoulders, leaving you caught in an impossible web of loyalty and love. As the daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, you had grown up knowing the value of family, honor, and duty. Your mother had been named heir to the Iron Throne by your grandfather, King Viserys, and you had always believed that one day she would ascend to the throne, her birthright fulfilled.

But everything changed after your grandfather’s death.

Your husband, Aegon, had been crowned king in a swift and decisive move orchestrated by his supporters. The very man you had chosen to marry for love had now become the usurper to your mother’s claim. Though you had stood by his side during the coronation, the guilt in your heart had been overwhelming, each cheer from the crowd feeling like a dagger to your soul.

Now, as you sat beside Aegon in the Red Keep, his crown glinting in the candlelight, the weight of your decision felt suffocating. Your love for him had once felt unshakable, a bond strong enough to withstand the chaos of your divided family. But now? Now you weren’t sure if love could bridge the chasm that had formed between your duty to your mother and your devotion to your husband.

The guilt clawed at you relentlessly. I’ve betrayed her, you thought bitterly, your fingers curling into fists on your lap. My own mother. The woman who raised me, who trusted me, who believed in me. How could I stand by Aegon’s side and allow this to happen? How could I let him take what is hers?

Yet, when you looked at Aegon, you saw more than just a usurper. You saw the man who had held you in his arms on countless nights, who had whispered promises of love and devotion. He hadn’t asked to be king; the crown had been thrust upon him by those who sought to secure their power. You knew he was as much a pawn in this game as you were. And despite everything, you still loved him.

But love alone wasn’t enough to silence the voice in your heart that cried out for justice for your mother.

You were trapped in the middle of a war you never wanted to fight, a war between your two families, both of whom you loved deeply. And as much as you tried to justify your actions, to tell yourself that you were trying to prevent more bloodshed, the truth was undeniable: by staying with Aegon, you had chosen a side. And it wasn’t your mother’s.

Tears stung your eyes as you turned to look at Aegon, who was engrossed in a discussion with his council. He caught your gaze and gave you a small, tired smile, but it only deepened the ache in your chest. You returned the smile weakly, but your mind was far from at ease.

What will you do, Mother? Will you ever forgive me? And… can I forgive myself?

The heavy oak doors creaked open, drawing the attention of everyone in the council chamber. The sound cut through the quiet murmur of discussion, and all eyes turned toward the figure entering the room. Aemond stood there, drenched from head to toe, rainwater dripping from his armor and pooling at his feet. His long silver hair clung to his face, and his single eye burned with intensity.

Your heart sank the moment you saw him. There was something in his demeanor—an edge, a tension—that immediately unsettled you. He avoided your gaze entirely, his expression cold and unreadable, and instead fixed his eye on Aegon, your husband and the newly crowned king.

“I’ve secured Lord Borros Baratheon’s support,” Aemond declared, his voice low but steady. The words echoed in the chamber, and for a moment, the room was silent, processing the weight of what he had just said.

The council members exchanged glances, some murmuring approval, others nodding in acknowledgment. Aegon straightened in his seat, his expression betraying a mix of relief and satisfaction. “Good,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of authority. “We need Storm’s End on our side.”

But you couldn’t shake the unease that settled in your chest. Something about Aemond’s posture, his refusal to meet your eyes, made you feel like there was more to his story than he was letting on. Your gaze lingered on him, searching for any sign of what might be wrong, but he remained stoic, unflinching under the scrutiny of the room.

Aegon leaned forward slightly, his tone curious but cautious. “How did it go? Was it a straightforward agreement?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, and for the briefest moment, his mask slipped. “Lord Borros agreed to our cause,” he said curtly, his tone clipped, almost dismissive. “He will not side with Rhaenyra.”

Your stomach churned at the mention of your mother’s name. Every decision, every alliance, every movement in this war seemed to push you further and further from her. And now, with Storm’s End backing Aegon, the divide felt even greater.

But your unease only grew as you continued to watch Aemond. There was something he wasn’t saying, a heaviness in his demeanor that suggested more than just the weight of his mission. You wanted to speak, to ask him directly what had happened, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to remain calm, not with the tension between your family and your husband already pulling you apart.

Aegon, however, didn’t seem to notice the undercurrent in his brother’s tone. “Well done, Aemond,” he said, nodding in approval. “Your efforts will not go unnoticed.”

Aemond simply inclined his head, but his eye flickered briefly toward you, as if he could feel your stare. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. Something was wrong—terribly wrong—and you knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came to light.

Your voice broke the tense silence in the room, trembling but firm. “Aemond,” you asked, your gaze fixed on him, “is there something you’re not telling us?”

The question hung in the air like a sword poised to strike, and for a moment, the chamber fell deathly quiet. You saw it immediately—his body stiffened, his jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. Aemond’s refusal to meet your eyes only deepened the pit forming in your stomach.

Aegon turned to you, his brows furrowing. “Why would you ask that?” he questioned, his tone tinged with curiosity and caution. His words, however, barely registered with you. Your gaze never left Aemond, the unspoken weight in his posture filling you with dread.

The tension in the room grew unbearable as Aemond finally looked up, his eye filled with a mix of regret and defiance. His lips parted, and the words that came out made the world around you crumble.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he began, his voice hoarse. “It wasn’t supposed to end this way… but Luke is dead. Vhagar—she killed him. I… I couldn’t stop it.”

The words slammed into you like a physical blow. Your knees buckled, and if it weren’t for Aegon’s arm instinctively reaching out to steady you, you would have collapsed on the cold stone floor. Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as you struggled to process what he had just said.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice barely audible. “No, that can’t be true. Not Luke. Not my brother…”

Aemond’s face was pale, his expression a mix of guilt and torment. “I only meant to frighten him,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter with each word. “But Vhagar—she didn’t listen. She… she acted on her own.”

Your mind reeled as the pieces fell into place. Your little brother, Luke, had been sent to Storm’s End as a messenger, unarmed and trusting the ancient laws of guest right to protect him. And now he was gone—killed by your brother-in-law, your husband’s brother.

The council erupted into chaos, voices overlapping as accusations and questions flew across the room. But you could barely hear them. All you could focus on was the ache in your chest, the unbearable grief that came crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Your eyes burned with tears as you looked at Aemond, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “You killed him,” you choked out. “You killed my little brother, Aemond. How could you? How could you do this to him? To me?”

Aemond flinched at your words, his guilt evident, but he didn’t speak. He simply stood there, his eye downcast, as though bracing himself for the storm he had unleashed.

Beside you, Aegon’s face darkened, his grip on your arm tightening as he tried to steady both you and himself. “Aemond,” he said sharply, his voice laced with disbelief and anger. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

But Aemond didn’t respond. He simply stood there, his silence more damning than any words could have been.

You pulled away from Aegon’s grasp, tears streaming down your face as you looked between the two of them. Your heart was shattered, your world crumbling around you. And in that moment, the love and loyalty you had felt for your husband and his family felt like a cruel betrayal of your own blood.

Luke was gone. And nothing would ever be the same again.

You sank back into your chair, the strength draining from your body as if the weight of Aemond’s confession had crushed you. Around you, the room was a cacophony of raised voices. Alicent’s sharp tone cut through the air, her words laced with panic and anger.

“Aemond! Do you realize what you’ve done? This will spark war! There’s no undoing this!” she cried, her voice trembling with the gravity of the situation.

Otto’s voice joined hers, cold and calculated, though no less furious. “You’ve doomed us all! There’s no explaining this away. Rhaenyra will demand vengeance.”

But their words faded into the background, muffled by the roar of your own thoughts. Your body felt numb, as if the world had shifted around you and left you behind. Luke. Sweet, gentle Luke. Your little brother, who always tried so hard to prove himself, who had looked up to you with those innocent eyes.

No matter that your fathers were different—he was still your blood, your family. And now, he was gone. Taken in the most brutal way imaginable.

You shook your head slowly, your tears falling freely as your chest tightened with grief and rage. This isn’t real, you told yourself, clinging to denial even as the truth stared you in the face. This can’t be happening. Luke can’t be gone.

You forced your eyes to meet Aemond’s, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was just a boy,” you said, the words trembling with pain. “Aemond… he was just a boy. My brother.”

For a moment, Aemond’s hardened expression cracked, guilt flickering in his eye. But he didn’t speak. What could he say? What words could undo the horror of what he had done?

Your hands trembled in your lap as you tried to breathe, tried to find some semblance of control. But it was impossible. The council’s shouts, Alicent’s cries, Otto’s harsh reprimands—they all blurred together into a suffocating storm.

And in the eye of it all, you sat there, shattered and silent, the enormity of your loss weighing on you like a stone.

The room spun around you, the chaos and grief overwhelming your senses. Every sound—Alicent’s frantic cries, Otto’s cold reprimands, the murmur of the council—blurred together into a deafening roar in your mind. Your chest felt tight, your breaths shallow, as the weight of what you’d just heard bore down on you.

Luke was gone.

Your hands clutched the arms of your chair as you struggled to hold on, but your vision blurred, and the pounding in your head grew unbearable. Somewhere through the haze, you heard Aegon’s voice calling your name, laced with concern. “Love?”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The world tilted further, the edges of your vision going dark, until everything around you slipped away entirely.

Before your body could hit the cold stone floor, Aegon’s arms were there, catching you just in time. His voice grew more panicked as he cradled you against his chest, shaking you gently in an attempt to wake you. “Love?Wake up, please!”

The council chamber fell silent, the weight of the moment settling over everyone. Alicent rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch your face, her worry evident. “Call the maesters!” she commanded sharply, her voice cracking.

Aegon held you tightly, his heart pounding as he looked down at your pale face. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his tone soft and desperate, as if trying to will you back to consciousness. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

But deep down, he knew this was just the beginning of the storm.

Aegon’s arms tightened around you as he lifted you from the chair, cradling your limp body close to his chest. His jaw was clenched, his expression a mixture of fear and anger as he looked down at you. “Out of my way!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the council chamber.

The gathered lords quickly stepped aside, startled by the king’s sudden outburst. Alicent followed closely behind, her face pale and drawn with worry. “Move!” she barked at the lingering servants in the hallway as Aegon stormed past them, his pace quick and determined.

“Love,” Aegon muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. “Stay with me. Please.” His words were more for himself than for you, a desperate plea to keep himself calm as he carried you through the winding corridors of the Red Keep.

Reaching your shared chambers, Aegon kicked the doors open with force, not waiting for the guards to assist him. He laid you gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your face as he checked for any sign of movement. “Send for the maesters!” he roared, his voice carrying through the halls.

Alicent stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together, her worry etched into every line of her face. “She’s overwhelmed,” Alicent said softly, trying to reassure herself as much as her son. “She’s strong, Aegon. She’ll be all right.”

But Aegon didn’t look convinced. He brushed the damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes filled with guilt and fear. “She shouldn’t have to bear this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “None of this.”

As Alicent moved to his side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, Aegon stayed rooted by your side, refusing to leave you for even a moment. The room was tense, silent but for the hurried footsteps of the maester approaching, as everyone waited with bated breath for you to wake.

As the maester carefully checked your condition, his face softened, his hands gentle as he examined you. After a few moments of silence, he finally looked up, relief in his eyes. "Her grace is in shock, but both she and the child are unharmed. She just needs rest.”

The words hit Aegon like a bolt of lightning, his heart suddenly racing. “A child?” he asked, his voice tight with disbelief, as if hearing it again might change the reality of it.

Alicent, standing beside him, locked eyes with him for a brief moment, her expression unreadable. She, too, seemed to absorb the weight of what the maester had said.

Aegon’s gaze shifted back to you, his heart hammering in his chest. A fourth child? The realization slowly sank in, the news stirring a mix of emotions he wasn’t sure how to handle. He hadn’t even known, and you hadn’t yet told him. His mind swirled with thoughts of what this meant—what it meant for you, for him, for the future of your family.

Alicent, ever the observer, seemed to notice Aegon’s sudden shift. “She needs rest, Aegon,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “All of you do.”

Aegon nodded, though his mind was far away, processing the weight of everything happening all at once. The shock of Luke’s death, your collapse, the revelation of another child—his child—swirled together in an overwhelming cloud.

He brushed a hand gently over your forehead, his fingers trembling slightly. “You never told me,” he murmured, his voice strained with a mix of concern and something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name. “But we’ll get through this together. I swear it.”

Alicent, still standing at the edge of the room, watched the two of you in silence, her eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and apprehension. She, too, understood that this moment was more than just a physical shock for you—it was the beginning of a new, complicated chapter for all of you.

Aegon stayed by your side, not wanting to leave you even for a moment, but his mind was already working—thinking of the future, of what lay ahead for your family. The revelation that you were carrying another child was unexpected, but now it was another piece of the puzzle he would have to navigate, alongside everything else.

As the hours passed, Aegon remained at your side, unwavering. He refused to leave you, even as the sounds of the bustling castle—of the council, of the kingdom—echoed in the distance. The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders, but still, he stayed with you, his hand clasped around yours, never letting go.

He sat beside your bed, his eyes never straying far from your face, watching you with a mix of love and worry. His gaze was heavy with sadness, as though each second without you awake was a new weight upon his heart. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of his breathing and the occasional shift of his chair as he adjusted himself to remain close to you.

“Please wake up,” Aegon whispered, his voice soft and broken, as though speaking to you too loudly would shatter the fragile silence between you. His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, a comforting gesture, even though his own heart felt torn in two. “I need you to be all right. We need you.”

He didn’t care about the council waiting for him, or the duties of a king that pressed on him. The majesty of the throne, the whispers of war—none of that mattered. Not when you were here, lying motionless before him. His heart ached to think of you in pain, of the turmoil inside you from the loss of Luke, and now the unexpected discovery of your pregnancy.

The news of the child, the fourth you were carrying, had brought both a strange sense of hope and a looming shadow. The uncertainty of what this meant, especially with the chaos around you, was almost too much to bear.

But he had to hold on. He had to stay strong for you. He couldn’t lose you—he couldn’t lose this child. You were his world, and even if the entire kingdom collapsed around them, he would not let go of this fleeting moment of peace with you.

He kissed your hand gently, his lips brushing against your skin, and whispered once more, his voice barely audible. “Please come back to me.”

Aegon’s refusal to leave your side was absolute, even in the face of Alicent’s urgent suggestion. Her voice, usually steady and authoritative, trembled with concern as she turned to him. “Aegon, the council is waiting. You must be there. The kingdom—your kingdom—needs you.”

But Aegon, his brow furrowed and his expression soft with worry, shook his head, his eyes not leaving you. “I can’t, Mother,” he said firmly, his voice strained. “I can’t leave her, not like this.”

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering between her son and you. She understood his devotion to you, but the pressure of the throne loomed large, and the weight of his responsibilities was undeniable. “Aegon, you are king now. The kingdom does not stop for anyone. You must go.”

His eyes flashed with a quiet intensity. “No. I won’t leave her side. You go. You’re the one who should be there. Lead the council, Mother.” His words were a command, but there was a softness in his tone—an undeniable plea that his family could understand. His loyalty to you, his need to be there in case you woke, was more important than any political discussion or royal decree.

Alicent stood in silence for a moment, her eyes flickering between the two of you. Her face softened, understanding the depths of her son’s emotions, even if she didn’t agree with his decision. She sighed, the burden of the crown heavy on her shoulders as she gave a small nod. “I will return shortly,” she said, her voice resigned. “But you must be strong for your people, Aegon.”

He nodded, but his focus never wavered. He turned his attention back to you, his hand still holding yours, his gaze filled with nothing but concern. The room around him, the weight of his title, the kingdom that needed him—all of that faded into the background.

In this moment, it was just you and him. And he wouldn’t leave until you were awake.

Your eyes fluttered open, the light in the room momentarily blinding as you tried to focus. The blurred shape of Aegon sitting beside you became clearer, his face pale but filled with relief. He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the world had been lifted.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. His hand, still holding yours, tightened its grip slightly as he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “Thank the gods. I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if to banish the thought.

“You’re going to be fine,” he assured you, his tone soft but firm. “You and… and the babe.”

At the mention of a baby, your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face. “B-babe?” you murmured, your voice hoarse and barely audible. Your free hand instinctively moved to your abdomen, your eyes searching his for answers.

“Yes,” Aegon said, his lips curling into a hesitant smile. “The maester confirmed it. You’re carrying our fourth child.” His tone was filled with awe, though it was tinged with a hint of worry as well.

The news left you stunned. You hadn’t known. In the chaos of recent days, you hadn’t even considered the possibility. Your heart raced as the realization sank in—another child, another life growing inside you, amidst all the turmoil surrounding your family.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Aegon leaned closer, his hand now cupping your face gently. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “You’re both safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they only brought a mix of emotions swirling inside you—joy, fear, and uncertainty, all colliding as you tried to process everything. You looked into his eyes, searching for the strength you needed, even as the storm outside these walls continued to rage.

You lay in bed beside Aegon, his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost as if he feared you might slip away. His embrace was firm yet tender, his hand possessively resting on your back while his fingers gently stroked your hair. You leaned against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a small source of comfort amidst the chaos in your mind.

Luke’s death lingered in your thoughts, the pain sharp and unrelenting. The image of your little brother, gone too soon, was something you couldn’t shake. It didn’t feel real, and yet the weight of it pressed down on you, leaving you feeling hollow. The grief was overwhelming, and now, with the shocking revelation of your pregnancy, your emotions swirled in a chaotic storm.

Aegon’s hand moved slowly through your hair, his touch soothing yet possessive, as though he wanted to shield you from the pain of the world outside. “I’m here,” he whispered softly, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks as you buried your face against his chest. His words were meant to comfort, but they only reminded you of the fragile reality you were living in. The man holding you was your husband, your love, but also the one who had taken your mother’s birthright and whose brother had caused the death of your own.

“I… I don’t know what to feel, Aegon,” you admitted, your voice cracking as the tears continued to fall. “Luke is gone. He’s really gone. And now this—this child. I didn’t even know. How am I supposed to face all of this?”

Aegon’s arms tightened around you protectively, his lips pressing against the top of your head. “You don’t have to face it alone,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his own heart. “I’ll be here, no matter what. For you, for the baby. I swear it.”

His words were sincere, but they couldn’t erase the ache in your heart or the doubts clouding your mind. You wanted to believe him, to find solace in his presence, but the weight of everything that had happened was too much to bear. You simply stayed there, letting his warmth envelop you, holding onto the only thing that felt solid in a world that seemed to be crumbling around you.

The morning light filtered softly through the windows as you stood in front of the mirror, preparing yourself to join Aegon at the council meeting. Despite the heaviness in your heart, you knew your place as his wife, by his side, was expected of you. You adjusted your gown with trembling hands, the memory of the previous day still fresh and raw in your mind.

As you were fastening the last clasp, the door to your chambers opened, and Alicent entered. Her expression was calm but firm, her eyes filled with both concern and authority. She approached you quickly, placing a gentle hand on your arm.

“You shouldn’t push yourself, my dear,” she said softly, her tone carrying a hint of motherly care. “You need rest. The events of yesterday have already taken a toll on you, and now, with the child…”

“I’m fine, Mother,” you replied, though your voice lacked conviction. You avoided her gaze, focusing instead on smoothing the fabric of your dress. “I need to be there with Aegon. He shouldn’t face this alone.”

Alicent sighed, her grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Aegon is already at the council. They called for him early this morning. He didn’t want to wake you—he said you needed the rest.” Her expression softened, and she stepped closer. “He’s worried about you. We all are. You must take care of yourself, for your sake and the baby’s.”

Hearing that Aegon had left without saying goodbye made your chest tighten. You understood his reasons, but it didn’t lessen the sting of his absence. Still, you tried to compose yourself, turning back to Alicent with a faint, weary smile.

“I need to show my strength,” you insisted, though your voice wavered. “If I don’t stand beside him, what message does that send?”

Alicent shook her head gently, her expression firm but understanding. “Your strength is not in attending a meeting today. It’s in preserving yourself and your child. Let Aegon handle the council—he knows where your heart is. Rest, my dear. That’s an order from your mother, not the queen dowager.”

Her words left little room for argument, and though part of you wanted to resist, you found yourself nodding slowly. The weight of everything—the grief, the pregnancy, the tension between the two sides of your family—was too much to carry all at once. Perhaps Alicent was right. Perhaps rest was what you needed most.

“I’ll stay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alicent smiled warmly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Good. I’ll have the maester check on you later, and I’ll make sure Aegon comes to see you as soon as the meeting is done.”

With that, she guided you gently back toward the bed, her presence steady and reassuring, even as the world outside seemed to spiral further into chaos.

As Alicent’s footsteps faded away, you found yourself alone in the quiet of your chambers. The weight of her words lingered, but so did the unresolved turmoil in your heart. You turned your gaze toward the papers scattered on your desk, your thoughts drifting to your mother.

Rhaenyra.

Her name brought a pang of longing and guilt. The mother who had raised you, who had fought so hard for her family’s place in the realm, now betrayed by her own daughter—or so it must seem to her. The thought twisted painfully inside you, and you couldn’t bear it any longer.

Slowly, you sat down at your desk, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment toward you. The quill felt heavy in your hand as you dipped it into the ink, but determination settled in your heart. You couldn’t remain silent any longer.

The words came slowly at first, but as your emotions poured out, the ink flowed more freely.

Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, though I fear the news it carries will bring no comfort.

It pains me to write to you after so much has happened between our family. I know my decision to remain by Aegon’s side must feel like a betrayal, and I will not deny the conflict in my heart. I am torn between the love I hold for you, the loyalty I owe as your daughter, and the vows I made to my husband.

Mother, I never wished for this division. I never wanted to see our family torn apart. I thought… I hoped that my union with Aegon might bring peace, might heal the rift between us. But I see now that I was naive.

The news I must share now is unbearable: Luke… he is gone. Aemond’s actions have taken him from us. He claims it was not intentional, but the result is the same. My little brother, your son, is dead. And I… I can hardly breathe under the weight of it.

I write to you not only in grief but also in hope. Hope that you will understand the impossible position I find myself in. Hope that, despite everything, you can forgive me for the choices I have made. And hope that one day, when this storm has passed, we may find our way back to one another.

I also must tell you this—I am with child again. I did not know until yesterday, and the news has shaken me deeply. This child, born into a world divided by blood and war, is both a source of joy and fear for me.

Mother, please know that I love you. I always have, and I always will.

With all my heart,

Your daughter

You set the quill down, your hands trembling as you folded the parchment. Sealing it with wax, you hesitated for a moment before summoning a servant.

“Take this to Dragonstone,” you instructed quietly. “Deliver it to my mother.”

The servant nodded and left swiftly, leaving you alone once more. You let out a shaky breath, unsure of how your mother would receive your words—but at least now she would know your heart.

The faint sound of footsteps approaching your chambers reached your ears again. This time, as the door opened, a line of servants entered carrying trays laden with food. The aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and warm honeyed wine filled the room.

“My queen, His Grace ordered this for you,” one of the servants said, bowing respectfully.

A small smile graced your lips at the thoughtfulness of Aegon. “Thank you,” you said softly, motioning for them to set the trays on the table near your bed.

As the servants arranged the food and quietly exited, you sat down and began eating. Though your appetite had been dulled by the events of the previous day, you knew you needed to keep your strength up, especially now. The warmth of the food comforted you slightly, a reminder of Aegon’s care even in his absence.

Just as you set your cup down, the sound of laughter echoed faintly through the corridor. You froze for a moment, recognizing the familiar voices of your children—Jaehaerys, Jaehara, and Maelor.

Their carefree giggles and playful banter filled the space outside your chambers, growing louder as they neared. Despite the weight in your heart, you couldn’t help but smile. Their joy was a balm to your sorrow, a reminder of the innocence and love that still existed within your family.

The door creaked open, and the three of them peeked inside, their silver hair glinting in the morning light. Jaehaerys, the eldest, was the first to speak. “Mother! Are you feeling better?”

Jaehara quickly followed, her soft voice filled with concern. “Father told us to let you rest, but we wanted to see you.”

Before you could answer, little Maelor ran straight to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “We missed you,” he mumbled into your skirts.

Your heart swelled as you reached down to pull him into your lap, brushing his hair gently. “I missed you too,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “All of you.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehara joined Maelor by your side, each holding one of your hands. For a moment, the heaviness lifted, replaced by the warmth of their presence. You couldn’t protect Luke, but you would do everything in your power to protect them and the life growing within you.

“Are you staying with us today, Mother?” Jaehara asked hopefully.

“Yes,” you said firmly, kissing the top of her head. “I’m staying right here.”

Their smiles and laughter brought a glimmer of hope to your heart, reminding you that even in the darkest times, there was still light to hold on to.

As you held Maelor in your lap, you looked at your children, your heart full of mixed emotions. The silence lingered for a moment as they exchanged surprised glances, unsure if they had heard you correctly.

“You’re going to have another sibling?” Jaehaerys asked cautiously, his eyes wide with curiosity.

You nodded slowly, your voice soft but filled with a sense of reassurance. “Yes, I’m going to have another baby.”

There was a pause, the weight of your words hanging in the air, before Jaehaerys and Jaehara exchanged a quick glance. Then, without warning, they both burst into wide smiles, their faces lighting up with joy.

“Another sibling? Really?” Jaehara exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

“Yes! We’re going to be a bigger family!” Jaehaerys added, excitement in his voice.

The next moment, the three of them erupted into happy laughter and cheers, their enthusiasm filling the room. “We’re going to have a little brother or sister!” Maelor shouted, his arms thrown in the air as he wiggled happily in your lap.

Their joy was infectious, and despite the heaviness in your heart, you couldn’t help but smile. The sounds of their laughter—genuine, innocent joy—warmed you, reminding you of the love that still surrounded you, even in the midst of turmoil.

Jaehaerys leaned closer, his eyes shining with excitement. “Will it be a brother or a sister, Mother?”

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “I don’t know yet. But either way, we’ll love them just the same.”

Jaehara nodded eagerly, her eyes full of excitement. “I hope it’s a little sister!”

Maelor, not wanting to be left out, bounced in your lap. “I want a little brother! We can play together!”

Their innocence and happiness brought a small tear to your eye, and you hugged Maelor closer to you. “I love you all so much,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

“We love you too, Mother!” they all chorused in unison, their smiles as bright as ever.

For a brief moment, the world outside your room seemed far away, and you allowed yourself to bask in the warmth of your children’s love. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew that with them by your side—and the new life growing inside you—you would find a way through.

The sound of your children’s laughter filled the room, each of them fully immersed in their play. Maelor was making his dragon toy soar through the air with dramatic flair, while Jaehaerys swung his wooden sword in a mock battle, his face set with fierce determination. Jaehara sat beside you, her beloved doll clutched tightly in her arms, smiling as she watched her brothers.

You watched them with a sense of warmth, the pure joy on their faces melting the heaviness in your chest. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago, everything had seemed so uncertain, and now—at least in this room—peace reigned.

Suddenly, your gaze shifted toward the door, where you saw Aegon standing. He looked weary, as though the weight of the day had settled heavily on his shoulders. His face was drawn, but when he heard the sound of his children’s voices calling his name, his tired expression softened into a smile.

“Father!” Jaehaerys shouted, running toward him with his wooden sword still raised. “I’m practicing to be a knight!”

Aegon knelt down as Jaehaerys reached him, his smile broadening. “A knight, huh?” he chuckled, taking the sword from his son’s hands and inspecting it. “You’ll make a fine one someday.”

Jaehara, her eyes twinkling, ran to him next, holding out her doll. “Look, Father, she’s ready for a party!” she giggled, her voice filled with excitement.

Aegon took the doll gently and placed it on his shoulder, playing along. “A very beautiful party,” he said with a smile, before looking over at Maelor, who had come running up to him.

“Maelor, what have you been up to?” Aegon asked, crouching down to his son’s level.

Maelor held up his dragon toy proudly. “It’s flying to battle, just like you!” he declared.

Aegon laughed, his hand resting on Maelor’s head. “A dragon to fight for me, huh? I think that’s exactly what I need.”

You watched the interaction, your heart swelling with a bittersweet sense of love and longing. Aegon, despite the burdens he carried as king, still found time to be present for his children, to be the father they needed.

Seeing him like this—his tiredness forgotten in the warmth of their joy—reminded you of the strength he held. No matter the troubles that weighed on your family, this moment, these small moments of peace and happiness, were worth fighting for.

Aegon glanced over at you, his smile softening as his eyes met yours. Without saying a word, he walked toward you, the children trailing behind.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, sitting down beside you on the bed. His gaze lingered on you, tender and concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “Just… trying to make sense of everything.”

Aegon nodded, his expression serious for a moment before his children distracted him once again.

“Father, will you play with us?” Jaehaerys asked, his wooden sword raised high, eager for another round of pretend battle.

Aegon chuckled, his earlier exhaustion melting away at the sight of his children’s faces. “Of course,” he said, getting up to join them. “Let’s see if we can defeat the dragons together.”

You smiled softly, your heart full, watching your family in that simple, precious moment. Even in the midst of uncertainty, love had a way of grounding you. And as long as you had them—your children, your husband—you would face whatever came next together.

As the evening settled in, you gently guided your children toward their rooms, their playful energy finally starting to fade after hours of fun. The laughter and joy that had filled your chambers still echoed in your heart, but it was time for rest.

Jaehaerys, Jaehara, and Maelor walked beside you, their steps slowing as the exhaustion from the day caught up with them. You could tell that they were ready to fall asleep, their small bodies heavy with the weight of the day’s excitement.

You reached Jaehaerys’ bed first, and he climbed into bed with a yawn. “Goodnight, Mother,” he said sleepily, his eyes already half-closed.

You kissed his forehead gently, smoothing his hair back. “Goodnight, my brave knight,” you whispered. “Sleep well.”

Jaehara followed next, snuggling under her covers. “I hope my doll has sweet dreams,” she murmured, clutching the little toy you had given her.

You leaned over and kissed her forehead as well, her peaceful face making your heart swell. “Goodnight, my sweet princess,” you whispered softly, tucking the blanket around her. “May your dreams be full of joy.”

Lastly, Maelor, always the most energetic, climbed into his bed with a bright smile. “I’ll dream about dragons and knights!” he announced enthusiastically.

You leaned down and kissed the top of his head, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “Goodnight, my little dragon,” you said, your voice warm and full of love. “Dream of wonderful adventures.”

With the last kiss given and the children tucked safely in their beds, you stood for a moment, taking in the sight of them all sleeping soundly. The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of their breathing, and a deep sense of peace filled your heart.

As you made your way toward the door, you cast one final glance at each of them, a quiet promise in your heart to protect them and give them the love and security they deserved, no matter the turmoil surrounding your family.

You slowly closed the door behind you and made your way back to Aegon, your steps quieter now, your heart filled with a quiet strength.

The dimly lit corridor was eerily silent as you walked back toward your chambers. The soft sound of your footsteps echoed faintly against the stone walls, but there was something else—a feeling you couldn’t shake. It was as if unseen eyes were watching your every move.

You stopped abruptly, your heart racing as you turned to look behind you. The long hallway stretched empty, shrouded in shadows. There was no one there, just the cold stillness of the Red Keep. Yet, the sense of being watched didn’t fade.

A shiver ran down your spine, and unease settled heavily in your chest. You quickened your pace, your hand instinctively resting on the small bump of your stomach, as though to shield the life within you.

But just as your chambers came into view, a hand shot out from the darkness, gripping your arm tightly. You gasped, barely able to react before you were yanked back, the world around you plunging into blackness.

For a moment, there was only silence, darkness, and the cold press of fear.

Your vision blurred as you blinked repeatedly, trying to clear your thoughts. The memory of the hand pulling you into the darkness replayed in your mind, leaving a lingering chill. Slowly, your surroundings began to come into focus, and you recognized the room you were in—a room you hadn’t seen in years.

It was your old chamber in Dragonstone. The familiar scent of salt and ash filled the air, the stone walls weathered yet comforting in their simplicity. This was where you had grown up, where you had once felt safe.

Before you could process how you had come to be here, the door creaked open. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze fell upon the two figures standing there.

Your father, Daemon, was the first to step forward, his sharp eyes scanning you with concern and a flicker of anger. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a gesture as natural to him as breathing. Beside him stood your mother, Rhaenyra, her face a mixture of relief and worry. Her gaze softened as she took a step closer, her voice breaking the tense silence.

“My sweet girl,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re safe now.”

Your heart raced as you struggled to comprehend what was happening. “Mother? Father? How…?” you stammered, your voice barely audible.

Daemon’s lips pressed into a thin line as he spoke, his tone cold yet protective. “You were taken from under their noses. And now, you’re home.”

The realization of where you were and what they meant washed over you like a tidal wave. Home. But what did this mean for Aegon? For your children? And the precarious balance you had tried so desperately to maintain?

Your hands trembled as you looked between your parents, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “What have you done?” you whispered, fear and confusion gripping your heart.

In the early hours of the morning, Aegon awoke to find your side of the bed empty. At first, he assumed you were with the children or tending to something trivial, but as the minutes passed and you did not return, a strange unease settled over him.

He called out for you, your name echoing in the quiet chambers, but there was no response. Throwing on his robe, he strode into the corridors, his steps quick and purposeful. He headed first to the children’s chambers, thinking you might still be there.

When he entered, he found Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor sleeping soundly in their beds. His chest tightened as he quietly checked each room, hoping you might be there, but there was no sign of you.

“Where is she?” he muttered under his breath, his unease growing with every passing moment.

He summoned the guards and servants, demanding answers. “Find her,” he barked, his voice sharp with desperation. “Search every corner of the Red Keep.”

They scattered quickly, their torches flickering as they began the search. Aegon himself roamed the halls, his mind racing with fear and anger. You had been by his side just last night, safe and sound. How could you simply vanish?

By the time the sun began to rise, there was still no sign of you. Aegon returned to your chambers, pacing back and forth as his thoughts consumed him. His frustration boiled over, and he slammed a fist against the table.

“She wouldn’t leave,” he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself. “Not without the children. Not without a word.”

His mind flashed to the political tensions, the threats looming over the realm. Had someone taken you? Had his enemies dared to harm you or use you against him?

Determined and frantic, he ordered a full investigation. He would not rest until you were found. His love for you and his growing fear fueled his resolve, and he silently vowed to bring you back, no matter what it took.

Your gaze darted between your mother and father, the weight of their presence suffocating. You took a deep breath, steadying your voice as you spoke. “You shouldn’t have brought me here. This will only make things worse.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his piercing eyes blazing with anger. He stepped forward, his tone sharp and accusing. “Worse? Worse is watching my daughter betray her own blood! Worse is seeing the daughter I raised, the dragon I cherished, stand with the Greens and that usurper instead of her own kin!”

His words hit you like a dagger, but you stood your ground. “I did not betray you!” you shot back, your voice trembling but firm. “Do you truly think so little of me? That I would abandon you, abandon Mother, abandon my brothers? I have been there trying to stop a war, trying to make peace!”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her expression softer but no less pained. “Peace?” she repeated, her voice laden with disbelief. “While the Greens plot against us, while they take what is rightfully mine? Tell me, daughter, how does peace look when it is built on the ashes of betrayal?”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you refused to back down. “I stayed because I believed that my presence could temper Aegon’s actions, could prevent him from making decisions that would lead to bloodshed! I stayed because I thought I could be a bridge between us, not a wedge driven deeper into the divide!”

Daemon scoffed, his expression hardening. “And what did that achieve? Lucerys is dead. Your little brother was slaughtered, and you expect me to believe you were making things better?”

The mention of Luke’s name broke something inside you, and tears welled in your eyes. “Do you think I don’t grieve him?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Do you think I don’t feel the weight of his death every moment? I didn’t know… I didn’t know what Aemond would do."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly, but Daemon’s anger only burned brighter. “You chose them,” he hissed, stepping closer. “You chose the Greens over your mother, over your brothers. And now, you’re here, and you will stay. There is no going back to him. To them.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you felt the ground beneath you shift. Torn between the family you were born into and the family you had built, you realized the chasm between the two had grown too wide, and you were caught in the middle, with no escape in sight.

You reached out and grasped your father’s hand, your grip trembling but firm. “Father, please,” you pleaded, your voice raw with desperation. “I can’t stay here. I can’t leave my children behind. They need me. Aegon needs me. And… I’m carrying another child.”

For a moment, you saw a flicker of hesitation in Daemon’s eyes, a brief crack in the unyielding mask of anger. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He pulled his hand away, his expression hardening further.

“It changes nothing,” he said coldly. “You think that carrying his child excuses the choices you’ve made? That it absolves you of standing with the usurper while he sits on your mother’s throne?”

“Father,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I didn’t choose to abandon this family. I didn’t choose for any of this to happen. But my children are innocent in all of this, and I cannot—will not—leave them.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “You speak of innocence, yet you stand by the man who let Lucerys die, who let Aemond walk free after slaughtering your brother.”

Your heart twisted in anguish. “I didn’t know,” you said, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know what Aemond would do. If I had known…”

“But you stayed,” Daemon interrupted, his voice rising. “You stayed after they crowned him. After they declared war on this family. You stayed, and now you dare to plead for mercy?”

Rhaenyra placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, her gaze locked on you. There was a trace of sorrow in her eyes, but also a determination that mirrored her husband’s. “You are my daughter,” she said softly, “and I love you. But your place is here, with your family. Not with the man who sits on my throne.”

Your legs felt weak, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t stay,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If you keep me here, it will only cause more pain—for everyone.”

But Daemon stepped forward, his voice final. “You are not leaving, not now, not ever. Whatever bond you think ties you to him is nothing compared to your duty to your true family. You will stay, and that is the end of it.”

The weight of his words crushed you, and you realized that no amount of pleading or reasoning would sway him. You were trapped, torn between two worlds, and there was no escape.

You sank to the cold stone floor as the sound of the lock clicking echoed through the room, sealing your fate. The tears came silently, hot and unrelenting, as you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in your own embrace. Your trembling hands moved to your stomach, gently cradling the life growing within you.

You stroked your belly softly, your whispers barely audible in the quiet room. “I’m so sorry,” you murmured, the weight of your anguish pressing down on you. “I promised to protect all of you… I promised.”

Your thoughts drifted to Aegon, imagining him back in the Red Keep, searching for you, his frustration and worry mounting with every passing moment. You could see his face so clearly—his exhaustion, his fear for you, and the quiet tenderness he always reserved for you in private.

Would he know where you had gone? Would he realize you’d been taken?

Your tears fell harder as you thought of your children. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor—how would they understand your sudden absence? You could almost hear Maelor’s small, confused voice asking for you, or Jaehaera clutching her doll and waiting for your goodnight kiss.

“I can’t stay here,” you whispered to yourself, your resolve hardening even as despair threatened to consume you. You couldn’t let this separation last. For your children, for your unborn baby, and for Aegon, you had to find a way back to them.

But as the cold reality of the locked door set in, you realized that escaping Dragonstone would not be easy. Trapped and isolated, all you could do for now was wait, hope, and pray that Aegon would come for you—or that you could find the strength to fight your way back to the family you had built.

In the Council Chambers, Aegon’s voice echoed through the halls as he unleashed his fury upon Ser Criston. His anger was wild and unrestrained, the sharp edge of his words cutting through the air. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” he roared, his face flushed with rage and grief. “How could you let this happen? How could she disappear under your watch?”

Ser Criston stood silent, his head bowed in shame, unable to meet the king’s tear-filled gaze. Alicent stepped forward, her voice calm but firm, trying to soothe her son. “Aegon, we will find her. I promise you—”

“No!” Aegon snapped, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. “You don’t understand! She’s pregnant, Mother! She’s carrying my child, and I don’t even know if she’s safe!” His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, the weight of his fear and guilt pressing down on him.

Alicent’s face softened at his confession, her own worry deepening. “We will search every corner of the realm if we must,” she said gently. “But you must compose yourself. She needs you strong now more than ever.”

But Aegon shook his head, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. “What if she’s hurt? What if they…” He couldn’t finish the thought, the words catching in his throat. He covered his face with his hands, his body trembling with quiet sobs.

His mind raced with dark possibilities—what could have happened to you, where you could be, and why you had vanished. The thought of you being in danger, especially while carrying their fourth child, tore him apart.

“I should have been there,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. “I should have protected her.”

Ser Criston stepped forward cautiously, his tone filled with regret. “Your Grace, I will assemble every knight, every scout. We will search until we find her.”

Aegon turned to him, his tear-streaked face filled with desperation. “Then do it. Find her. Bring her back to me. I don’t care what it takes.”

As the room fell silent, Alicent placed a comforting hand on her son’s shoulder, but he barely acknowledged her. His thoughts were consumed by you—his queen, his love, and the mother of his children. Wherever you were, Aegon vowed to find you and bring you home, no matter the cost.

Aemond stepped forward, his voice calm yet heavy with tension. “What if she was taken by the Blacks?” he said, his words cutting through the room like a blade. The suggestion hung in the air, freezing everyone in place.

Aegon’s head snapped toward Aemond, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as fury reignited within him. “What did you say?” he hissed, his voice dangerously low.

Aemond met his brother’s glare, unflinching but clearly cautious. “Think about it. Who else would dare to take her from the Red Keep? Who else has a reason to strike at you so personally? If the Blacks have her…”

Aegon surged forward, grabbing Aemond by the collar, his face mere inches from his brother’s. “If they’ve taken her,” he growled, his voice trembling with rage, “if my wife—my children’s mother—is in their hands because of this war you’ve started, I swear, Aemond, I will burn Dragonstone to the ground myself.”

Alicent quickly stepped between her sons, her hands raised in a placating gesture. “Aegon, stop this! Fighting amongst ourselves will not bring her back!”

But Aegon’s grip didn’t loosen. His mind raced with the possibility that you were with Rhaenyra and Daemon, and the thought filled him with both fear and rage. “She’s pregnant, Aemond! Do you understand what they could do to her? What they could do to my child?”

Aemond clenched his jaw, his gaze steady. “If they have her, it’s because they see her as one of them, Aegon. Not as your wife, but as their daughter. She’s still Rhaenyra’s blood, and you know Daemon will stop at nothing to bring her back to their side.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and Alicent’s voice broke through the standoff. “Enough! We need to think rationally. If she is with the Blacks, then we must act carefully. Any rash action could endanger her further.”

Aegon finally released Aemond, shoving him back with a frustrated snarl. His chest heaved with the weight of his emotions as he turned away, pacing the room. “We need to confirm it. Send spies, ravens—whatever it takes. I need to know where she is.”

Aemond nodded solemnly. “I’ll go myself if I must. I’ll bring her back.”

Aegon shot him a dark look, his voice cold. “You’ve done enough already, brother.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Aegon clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He wouldn’t rest until he had you back, no matter what it took or who stood in his way.

As the tension in the room thickened, Otto Hightower stepped forward, his expression calculated yet calm. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice steady, “allow me to go to Dragonstone. I will speak with Rhaenyra and Daemon myself. There may still be a way to resolve this without further bloodshed.”

Aegon turned to his grandfather, his jaw tight. “You think they’ll just let her go because you ask politely? They hate us, Otto. They hate me. They’ll use her against us.”

Otto clasped his hands behind his back, his tone unwavering. “That is precisely why I must go. They may despise you, but they still see me as a voice of reason. They know I represent the council, not just you. If she is indeed with them, I may be able to negotiate her return without further provocation.”

Alicent stepped closer, her face filled with worry. “Father, are you certain this is wise? Daemon’s temper is… volatile. And Rhaenyra—”

“They are both clever enough to know that harming her would only destroy any chance of reconciliation,” Otto interrupted firmly. “Their quarrel is with the crown, not with her. If they’ve taken her, it’s because they see her as their own, as their blood. I will remind them of that bond and the risks of escalating this conflict.”

Aegon��s fists clenched at his sides. He hated the idea of relying on Otto to solve this, but he also knew the old man was right—Daemon and Rhaenyra wouldn’t be swayed by threats or force, not without endangering you.

“And if they refuse?” Aegon asked coldly, his voice laced with barely restrained anger.

Otto’s eyes hardened. “Then I will remind them of the cost of such defiance. But I will not return without an answer.”

Aegon’s gaze flickered between his mother and grandfather, his mind torn. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Go. But make no mistake—if they harm her, there will be no negotiations, no compromises. I will unleash the full might of the crown on them.”

Otto bowed his head slightly. “Understood, Your Grace. I will leave at first light.”

As Otto turned to make preparations, Aegon’s jaw tightened, his heart heavy with dread. He hated feeling powerless, but for now, all he could do was wait and hope that Otto’s words would be enough to bring you back safely.

You remained motionless, your eyes fixed on the vast expanse of the sea outside your window. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the rocks did little to calm the turmoil inside you. Your thoughts were tangled, your heart torn between duty, family, and the painful reality of your situation. The open door behind you didn’t make you shift, as your mind wandered to everything that had brought you here.

Then, you heard a voice—Jace’s voice—calling your name, breaking the heavy silence. You turned, and there he stood, a figure of strength and resolve, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His presence felt like a reminder of the family you once stood with, the ones you now feared you were betraying.

“Jace…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked at him, unsure of how to feel. His expression was serious, but there was a softness in his eyes, a mixture of concern and determination.

He stepped forward slowly, his gaze never leaving you. “I had to see you. Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low, as if afraid that the answer might be something he didn’t want to hear.

You took a breath, feeling the weight of your own emotions pressing down on you. “I don’t know anymore, Jace. Everything is… broken. Aegon is king now, and I feel like I’m losing everything.”

Jace remained silent for a moment, his posture softening as he approached you. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice filled with an understanding that made your chest tighten. “I never wanted things to turn out this way. I never wanted to see you in pain.”

The words felt like a balm on a wound, though it didn’t heal the hurt inside you. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You never wanted it… but here we are.”

His gaze hardened, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. “I will do whatever it takes to make this right. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You turned away from him then, looking back out at the sea, unable to face him completely. The pain, the confusion, the betrayal—all of it washed over you again. “But I do carry it alone, Jace. Aegon is my husband, my family, but so is Rhaenyra, so is Daemon, and yet I stand between them. I can’t be in two places at once.”

Jace stepped closer, his voice quiet but insistent. “You don’t have to choose. You don’t have to carry this alone. We are your family, too.”

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and for a moment, you felt the burden of everything you were holding inside threaten to crush you. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jace placed a hand on your shoulder, steady and firm. “Then let us help you. Let me help you.”

You looked into Jace’s eyes, the weight of your emotions pressing on your chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel hope. Your hand reached out, taking his in a tight grip.

“Jace… please,” you pleaded, your voice soft but desperate. “Let me go. My children need me. Aegon may be king, but they are still my flesh and blood, and I cannot stay here, torn between two worlds. I don’t want to abandon them.”

Jace stood still, his face unreadable as he listened to your words. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, but there was no answer—just silence. The weight of what you were asking hung heavily between you.

You squeezed his hand, trying to convey the depth of your plea. “I can’t lose them, Jace. I can’t lose my family… all of them. But I need to be with them. I need to protect them. Please, understand.”

He looked down at your hands, still entwined, before meeting your eyes again. His lips parted as though to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. For a long moment, he simply stood there, his expression conflicted—torn between the loyalty to his family and the undeniable bond he shared with you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. His voice was low, weighed down by a sadness you could hear, but also a hint of acceptance.

“You’re asking a lot, but… I understand,” he said quietly. “I can’t stop you. You are their mother, after all.”

You felt a surge of gratitude wash over you, mixed with the overwhelming weight of the decision you were making. “Thank you, Jace,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to betray anyone, but I can’t abandon my children. I won’t.”

Jace nodded, a pained look on his face. “I can’t promise that it will be easy. But if this is what you need to do, I won’t stand in your way.”

You gave his hand one final squeeze before letting go, turning toward the door. “I’ll leave tonight,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Before anyone notices. I’ll make sure no one comes after me.”

Jace stepped back slightly, his eyes lingering on you. “I just… want you to be safe. And for you to know that you always have a place here with us, no matter what happens.”

A lump formed in your throat as you looked back at him, the love and loyalty in his words a bittersweet comfort. “I know, Jace. I know.”

The walls of Dragonstone felt more suffocating with each passing day. It had been nearly four days since you were brought back here after your failed escape attempt. The longing for your children and Aegon was overwhelming, the ache in your chest constant. You missed their laughter, the warmth of Aegon’s presence, the way your children’s smiles could brighten even the darkest of days. The silence in your room felt like a prison, and it was all too much to bear.

Daemon had made it clear that you were not to leave the room again. His anger after your escape attempt had been fierce, and now, you felt like a captive in your own family’s stronghold. The walls that once offered you comfort now felt like they were closing in on you. No one was allowed to see you, not even Jace, who had once been your ally, your hope in the midst of this turmoil. The only thing you could hear now were the distant sounds of the sea crashing against the cliffs and the heavy footsteps of the guards stationed outside your door.

As the days dragged on, you found yourself torn between your love for your family and the crushing guilt that had taken root in your heart. You knew you had made a choice that had torn your life apart, but it was too late to turn back now. The weight of it all felt unbearable. You were stuck in a place where you were neither truly wanted nor allowed to leave.

The flickering candlelight in the corner of the room cast long shadows on the stone walls, reminding you of the isolation that had become your reality. You sat by the window, gazing out at the vast ocean below. You wondered what Aegon was doing, how he was managing without you, and if he missed you as much as you missed him.

You had to see your children again. You had to feel Aegon’s presence, to be with them. But with each failed attempt, your hope seemed to fade a little more. Would you ever escape this place, or was this to be your fate?

Your heart raced as you caught sight of the ship approaching, the green Targaryen flag fluttering in the wind. It was a symbol of your husband, Aegon, and the faintest flicker of hope ignited within you. For the first time in days, you felt the urge to break free from the suffocating walls of Dragonstone, to return to the family you missed so dearly.

You quickly made your way to the door, heart pounding in your chest. The sounds of the sea crashing against the cliffs seemed to echo in your mind as you glanced around, making sure no one was watching. Your eyes scanned the hallway, looking for a passing servant or anyone who might help you. You couldn’t stay here any longer, not when you knew Aegon was so close.

When you spotted a servant walking down the hall, you rushed to catch their attention, your voice low but urgent. “Please, help me,” you whispered, hoping they wouldn’t refuse. “I need to get to the ship. Please.”

The servant hesitated for a moment, looking around nervously as if unsure whether to help you or not. The consequences of disobeying Daemon’s orders were severe, and everyone in Dragonstone knew the danger of crossing him. But after a tense pause, the servant looked into your eyes and seemed to understand your desperation.

“Quickly, princess,” they whispered, motioning for you to follow them. “This way.”

With a final glance over your shoulder, you followed the servant through the winding halls, your steps quick but careful. Every corner you turned, every shadow you passed, made your heart race faster. The thought of being caught again was terrifying, but the sight of the ship gave you the strength to press on.

The servant led you to a secluded stairwell that would take you closer to the docks, away from Daemon’s watchful eyes. You tried to remain as quiet as possible, your breath shallow and rapid with anticipation. Once you reached the bottom, the salty sea air hit you, and you could see the ship anchored in the bay, its green flag a beacon of hope.

You were so close now, so close to freedom, but would you be able to make it before anyone noticed?

As you watched from the shadows, your heart sank a little when you didn’t see Aegon among those disembarking the ship. Otto Hightower stood tall, flanked by Ser Criston Cole and a handful of soldiers. Their movements were deliberate, their faces stern as they made their way up the stone steps leading to the castle.

Despite the pang of disappointment, your determination didn’t waver. You stayed hidden, waiting for them to ascend the stairs and disappear into Dragonstone’s looming halls. Once the coast was clear, you quietly slipped onto the ship, keeping your hood drawn tightly over your face. The familiar scent of saltwater and worn wood greeted you as you found a secluded corner to hide, heart pounding in anticipation.

Time passed agonizingly slow. The faint sound of voices and boots echoed in the distance as Otto and his men conducted their business in the castle. You stayed perfectly still, gripping the edge of your cloak as you rehearsed what you would say, how you would plead for your return. Every moment that passed felt like an eternity until finally, you heard footsteps descending the stairs.

The men returned, their conversation low but urgent. As they approached the ship, you stepped out from the shadows, pulling back your hood to reveal your face. Otto froze in his tracks, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, he seemed to be at a loss for words. Then, relief softened his features, though it was quickly replaced by a mix of concern and calculation.

“Your Grace,” Otto said, his voice quieter than usual. He glanced at Ser Criston, who appeared equally stunned but ready to act if needed. “What are you doing here? How did you—”

“I need to leave,” you interrupted, your voice firm but laced with desperation. “I need to return to my children and my husband. Please, take me back to the Red Keep.”

Otto studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he gave a slight nod. “Very well,” he said, though there was a weight to his words. “But we must act quickly. If anyone discovers this, it could spark something far worse.”

He gestured for you to follow him, and you stepped onto the ship’s deck, your heart soaring with the realization that you were one step closer to reuniting with your family. As the crew prepared to set sail, you couldn’t help but glance back at the castle one last time, wondering if your escape would truly go unnoticed—or if the storm had only just begun.

As Dragonstone faded into the distance, the waves rocking the ship beneath you, you kept your gaze fixed on the disappearing silhouette of the castle. The dark stone towers, shrouded in mist, stood as a reminder of the chains you’d just broken free from. You placed a gentle hand on your growing belly, whispering softly to yourself, “It will be fine. We will be fine.”

But your heart was heavy with the knowledge that this escape would not go unnoticed, and the repercussions could be dire.

Back in Dragonstone, Daemon strode through the halls, his boots echoing like thunder. His face was a storm of anger and disbelief as he pushed open the door to your chamber, expecting to find you seated by the window or lying on the bed. Instead, the room was empty.

“Where is she?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His sharp eyes darted around the chamber, landing on the untouched food tray by the table. His fists clenched as the realization hit him. “She’s gone.”

He stormed into the hallway, his voice booming as he barked orders at the nearest guards. “Find her! Search every corner of this castle! Now!”

When no sign of you was found, rage consumed him. He slammed his hand against the nearest wall, the sound reverberating through the stone halls. “She escaped,” he spat, the words laced with venom. Turning to one of the trembling guards, he hissed, “Check the shores. If she’s on a ship… gods help the fools who took her.”

Daemon’s mind raced, his anger tempered only by the icy fear that you had fled straight into the arms of the greens. For all his fury, there was an undeniable pang of pain in his chest. You were his daughter, his blood. And now you were gone.

He stalked off toward the council chambers to inform Rhaenyra, his jaw set in determination. If the greens had taken you, war was no longer on the horizon—it had already begun.

Daemon’s boots struck the stone floor with force as he stormed into the council chamber, the heavy doors slamming against the walls. Rhaenyra looked up from the head of the table, her face a mixture of surprise and irritation at the interruption.

“She’s gone,” Daemon declared, his voice a sharp blade cutting through the room’s murmured discussions.

Rhaenyra’s brows knitted together, her tone laced with both confusion and anger. “What do you mean, gone?”

Daemon took a step closer, his violet eyes blazing with fury. “She escaped. Our daughter is no longer here.”

Gasps rippled through the room as lords and knights exchanged anxious glances. Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her hands bracing the table as she leaned forward. “How could this happen? She’s been under guard!”

Daemon sneered, his frustration evident. “Otto Hightower’s visit was no coincidence. While we were distracted by his hollow words and false negotiations, she slipped away—no doubt with their help. They’ve taken her back to the greens, to her husband, and her children.”

The weight of his accusation hung heavily in the room. Rhaenyra’s expression darkened, her voice steady but cold. “If she is in the hands of Aegon, they will use her against us. This cannot stand.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists. “I will not let her stay in their clutches. She is my daughter, our daughter. She belongs here, with her family—not with him.” His voice grew colder, and his tone more resolute. “I swear on the blood of the dragon, I will bring her back. No matter who I have to cut down to do it.”

Rhaenyra stared at him, a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Daemon, we cannot afford rash decisions. If you go charging into the lion’s den, you risk not only her safety but the lives of countless others.”

Daemon shook his head, his voice unwavering. “There is no time for caution. She is my blood, and I will not let her stay in their hands for a moment longer than necessary.”

The council fell silent as the gravity of his determination filled the room. For Daemon, this was no longer a matter of politics or alliances—it was a father’s wrath, unyielding and unstoppable.

The journey to King’s Landing had been long and arduous, each passing day weighed down by the turmoil in your heart. Your thoughts were consumed by your children, their laughter, and their innocence. And then there was Aegon—your husband, who you knew must have been consumed by worry for you.

When the Red Keep finally came into view, standing tall and formidable against the horizon, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Relief flooded your chest. You were home.

As the ship docked and you stepped onto the stone pier, Otto turned to the guards and gave a firm order. “Take her directly to the king. He’s been waiting long enough.”

The guards nodded and flanked you on either side, guiding you toward the castle. Each step felt heavier as you approached the towering gates of the Red Keep, but the thought of seeing Aegon and your children kept you moving forward.

As you entered the familiar halls, memories of happier times flooded your mind—moments spent with Aegon, your children’s laughter echoing in the corridors. It felt like years had passed since you’d last walked these halls, though it had only been weeks.

The guards stopped in front of the doors to the royal chambers. One of them announced your arrival before pushing the doors open.

Inside, Aegon stood by the window, his posture tense as he stared out over the city. When he turned and saw you, his eyes widened in disbelief, and for a moment, it seemed as though time had stopped.

“Love,” he breathed, his voice heavy with emotion.

You took a tentative step forward, your heart aching at the sight of him. “Aegon…”

In an instant, he was across the room, pulling you into his arms. His embrace was firm and desperate, as if he feared you might vanish again. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You’re safe.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, feeling the warmth and strength of his hold. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I tried to come back sooner.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his gaze searching yours. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

As his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, the weight of the past weeks began to lift. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to hope.

Aegon knelt before you, his hands gently resting on your waist as he pressed a kiss to your growing belly. His touch was tender, filled with reverence and relief. You ran your fingers through his hair, the softness of the gesture mirroring the smile on your lips. “I missed you so much,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

His gaze lifted to meet yours, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I missed you more,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Before you could respond, the sound of the door opening drew your attention. You turned to see Alicent standing there, her expression one of joy and relief. Behind her, your children peeked around her skirts, their faces lighting up the moment they saw you.

“Mother!” Jaehaerys called out, his voice filled with excitement as he rushed forward, followed closely by Jaehaera and little Maelor.

You opened your arms wide, kneeling slightly to welcome them into a warm embrace. “My loves,” you murmured, tears streaming down your face as their small arms wrapped tightly around you.

Alicent stepped into the room, her expression softening as she watched the reunion. “I brought them the moment I heard you’d returned,” she said gently, her voice filled with warmth.

Aegon rose to his feet, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder as he looked at his mother. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with gratitude.

Jaehaerys looked up at you with wide eyes, his hands clutching your gown. “Are you staying this time, Mother? You won’t leave again?”

You placed a hand on his cheek, your heart breaking at the worry in his voice. “I’m staying, my sweet boy. I promise.”

Jaehaera held onto your arm, her soft voice barely above a whisper. “We missed you so much, Mother.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, pressing a kiss to her silver hair before looking down at Maelor, who clung to your leg. “And you, my little dragon. Did you miss me?”

Maelor nodded vigorously, his bright eyes shining with tears. “I did! I did!”

Aegon knelt beside you, gathering all three children in his arms. “Our family is whole again,” he said softly, his voice filled with determination. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

You leaned into him, your heart full as you looked at your children and the man you loved. For the first time in weeks, you felt at peace.

The peaceful atmosphere in the room shattered as a deafening roar echoed through the air. The sound was unmistakable—the mighty cry of Caraxes, your father’s dragon. Your heart dropped, and a chill ran down your spine as you instinctively froze, your body tensing with fear.

Aegon’s protective embrace tightened around you as he immediately recognized your unease. “What is it?” he asked, his voice urgent.

Your eyes darted to the window, the color draining from your face. “It’s Caraxes,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It's Daemon… he’s here.”

Aegon’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he rose to his feet. “He’s come to take you back,” he said with a mix of anger and determination. He turned to Alicent, who was already ushering the children toward the door.

“Take them to safety,” Aegon commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Now!”

Alicent nodded quickly, guiding the children out of the room despite their protests. “Mother! Father! What’s happening?” Jaehaerys cried, his voice filled with panic.

You knelt and hugged them tightly one last time. “It’s going to be okay,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough to comfort them. “Stay with your grandmother. I’ll come to you soon.”

As Alicent and the children disappeared down the hall, Aegon turned back to you, his expression fierce. “I won’t let him take you,” he vowed. “Not again.”

You shook your head, your hand resting on his arm. “Aegon, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “This is my father. If he’s here, it’s not just to take me back. He’s ready for war.”

Before Aegon could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the distinct clang of weapons. The door burst open, and Daemon stood there, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. His presence was commanding, his face a mask of cold fury.

“You’re coming with me,” Daemon said, his voice low but deadly. His eyes briefly flickered to Aegon, filled with disdain, before returning to you.

Aegon stepped between you and your father, his hand on Blackfyre at his side. “She’s not going anywhere,” he growled. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a menacing smirk. “If that’s what it takes,” he said, drawing his sword.

You stepped forward, placing yourself between the two men, your arms outstretched. “Stop this!” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “Please, stop! You’re going to destroy everything!”

Daemon’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at you, but his resolve remained firm. “You don’t belong here,” he said, his voice gentler now. “You’re my daughter, and you’re coming home where you’re safe.”

“This is my home!” you shouted back, your voice breaking. “My children, my husband—they’re my family too. I won’t leave them!”

Daemon’s grip on Dark Sister faltered for a moment, conflicted by your words, but his anger quickly resurfaced. “You’ve been blinded by love for the wrong side,” he spat.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you felt torn apart, caught between the two men you loved most. “Father, please,” you begged. “I’m begging you, don’t make me choose.”

Aegon’s hand slipped into yours, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to choose,” he said softly, his voice steady and unwavering. “You’re staying with me.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, and the room seemed to freeze as everyone braced for what would happen next.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[chlix]

baby, it's cold outside (no seriously it's crazy out there)

bf! chan x gn! reader: your car breaks down in a snowstorm and you have to walk home. chan is there to comfort you and warm you back up

pairing: chan x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: 4.1k

warnings/tags: snowstorms, car trouble, sickness, a long series of unfortunate events that leave the reader miserable for most of the fic

a/n: this is a request from @caticorn61 who wanted chan being apologetic for not answering his phone after reader's car broke down. this is perhaps more than what u asked for 😅 but i hope you enjoy it anyway!

You are on a historic run of bad days.

You've never considered yourself to be particularly unlucky, but this past week has had you rethinking that orientation. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. On Monday your alarm didn't go off, making you late for work. Even worse, there was a meeting you'd forgotten about, so you had to slide awkwardly into the back of the room and pretend you didn't feel everyone's annoyed gazes. Tuesday was grocery shopping day, but you found out they discontinued your favorite brand of chips, and raised the price of an alternative, so you were forced to go home chip-less. Then, when you tried to take the groceries out of the car, one of the bags split open and sent your eggs, cheese, and blueberries crashing to the ground, buried in slush and snow. A total waste.��Wednesday you woke up to find your heating had shut off in the night, and you were now shaking fit to break apart. Although maintenance promptly fixed your radiator, you developed an itch in your throat that only grew throughout the day and had developed into a full-blown cough by the next morning.

Which is where you are now on a subzero Thursday morning, ill and irritated and crawling your way towards the end of the week.

Your boyfriend, Chan, talks to you on the phone in soothing tones.

"I'm sorry your week has been so rough, baby," he says, and you can hear the dripping sympathy through the phone. "I know how it feels when little things pile up like that."

"I just don't know if I can take it anymore," you tell him. "It's like I've been cursed. I'm afraid if I walk outside a piano will fall on me and crush me."

You're half-joking when you say that, but Chan can hear that the other half is vaguely on hysterical.

"I don't think anyone is moving pianos in this weather," he says very reasonably. "Just stay away from luxury apartments if you're worried."

You set your bag down and put your face in your hands, taking slow, deep breaths. Your phone is on speaker, and you can hear Chan hum, trying to comfort you even though he's in his own dorm across the city.

"It'll all be okay, Y/n. And I'll see you this weekend, yeah? I'll come over Friday night and you'll have me all to yourself. Just stay strong."

You exhale, long and loud. "You promise?"

"I promise. Be strong for me, babygirl."

You blink the dampness out of your eyes and straighten up. "Okay. I can do that."

"And drink some tea. Your voice sounds kind of rough."

"Don't get me started again, please."

By the time you hang up, you don't feel understood, but you do feel seen. You fill up a thermos with tea, put on your coat, and mentally prepare yourself to leave the apartment.

It's only two more days, you remind yourself. The weekend will fix me. It'll break this curse that's been placed upon me. You force yourself to have a positive outlook. You will not have another bad day. You will be strong.

All day, you force yourself to react to every potentially meltdown-inducing incident with grace and poise. You realize you forgot your lunch and have to eat cheap candy from the vending machine for lunch? That's totally fine. Your boss adds another item to your to list, forcing you to stay later to finish everything and close up? You really don't mind. Your best friend texts you that she's been stalking her ex on Instagram again and you won't believe it but he already has a new girlfriend, y/n, can you fucking believe it, we've only been broken up for like two weeks and he's buying her fucking jewelry, and you respond what an asshole. he has a new gf and he didn't block his ex? while your eye twitches.

By the time you finish all your tasks and close up, your face hurts from holding a smile you don't feel. You're the last one out, so you make sure the building is locked and make your way across the empty parking lot to your car. The forecast predicted snow tonight, and already the ground is littered with white. The flakes are fat and sticky- they're already building up on the undisturbed portions of pavement. You have to quickly brush off your windows and mirrors before you can get into your car, slamming the door behind you.

You made it. You survived. It was a godawful Thursday but you conquered it.

"One more day," you whisper to yourself. "Just one more day."

You lock the door and put the key in the ignition. The dashboard lights up and the engine turns.....and turns....and turns.....

A rock forms in your stomach.

"No," you say. "No no no no no." You twist the key again, but the engine whirs and whirs and whirs...and does not turn over. Your car does not start.

It's not news to you that your car is a piece of shit. You and Chan discuss this almost every night- what to do about this fuckass car. You've been resistant to letting him help you pay for a new one, partially because that's a lot of money and partly because you're sentimentally attached to the old rustbucket. You inherited it from a family member as a birthday gift, and so despite it being less than reliable you're hesitant to seek solutions. It's your first car, after all. It's a part of you now.

In this moment, however, you want to throw all that sentimentally down the drain along with the keys to this absolutely useless fucking rustbucket of a vehicle.

Not to worry, you tell yourself. I'll just call Chan to come get me. We can deal with my car in the morning.

You take out your phone and call him. The call rings out.

You stare at your phone, confused. It's not like him to ignore your calls, especially not at this hour. It's pitch black with winter but it's still arguably early in the night. Chan is likely to still be awake, but it's unlikely he's doing any kind of official task. And it's so late that he would know to answer; you would never call him for something frivolous at this time of night. You call again.

No answer.

Your patience is running thin now. You consider calling your best friend, but she's out of town visiting family. Your other friend, Seohyeon, doesn't have a car, and her boyfriend's car is currently being repaired. The bus you sometimes take is about a fifteen minute walk down the street, but it'll have stopped running this far out by now, so you'd have to walk to a further bus stop and then go to the transportation terminal and connect, which would take over an hour. You could walk to the subway, you think, but you lost your subway card weeks ago and never got around to replacing it, and honestly it just seems like a whole ordeal you can't bring yourself to stomach right now. Chills go down your spine, and you can't tell if it's from the cold or from the increasing precarity of your situation.

You try the engine again. No dice.

You call Chan again. Voicemail again.

You lean your head on the steering wheel and take long, deep breaths. Outside your window, the wind is picking up, making the snow fall at a diagonal instead of straight down. It would be terrible to walk in, especially because the direction you need to go to get home would cause the snow to blow right in your face. Your throat is killing you, but your thermos of tea is long since empty. Maybe you should just go back into the work building and hunker down for the night. Maybe you should sit in the car and turn into an icicle. Your head is a foggy mess, thoughts twisting all around. You're getting hysterical again. You can feel yourself cracking to pieces.

Think, y/n. Who else can you call?

You're all out of people you know personally, but you could call an Uber. It's pricey and arguably unsafe, and you normally wouldn't, but these are extenuating circumstances. It solves the problem of being stranded, and again, you can deal with your car at a later point. And at least when Chan finally calls you back, you'll be safe at home, so he won't have to feel guilty about missing your calls three times.

You lean back in your seat and open the Uber app. Thankfully you still have it installed, and it still has all your info in it from the last time you called someone to take you home. Just as you're about to finish the transaction, your phone freezes. The screen flashes, then goes dark. You press the power button once, then again, frantically.

Your phone is dead.

Immediately, you scramble for your console, searching for a power cable to connect the phone to the car battery. Your cable is gone. You remember, horrified, that you took the cable out of your car because the one in your living room at home had started fraying. You meant to replace it but you never did. You're normally pretty good at leaving the house in the morning with it mostly charged.

But it's nighttime now, and your battery is dead. You have no charging cables, which means you can't call an Uber. You can't call anybody. And you can't even go to the subway now because your debit card is on your phone, so you can't refill your subway card.

A terrible despair fills you.

You have to walk home in a snowstorm.

As soon as the thought materializes, tears start to well in your eyes. This is too much for you to take, would be too much for you even if you'd had a perfectly good day today. This isn't fait. How can this be happening to you? Why is the universe punishing you like this? And when is it going to stop? Again you wish you could just sit in your car and turn into an icicle, let someone else defrost you in the morning. You think having a piano fall on your head would be better than this.

Eventually you manage to get yourself to calm down. Sitting in this car freezing isn't gonna do you any good. It'll only get colder by the hour. You need to walk to the far bus stop and catch another bus before they actually stop running, and you really are stranded instead of just doomed to walk forty minutes in a blizzard.

As if there's a difference, you think bitterly as you put your useless phone into your bag and bundle everything up. You put your gloves back on, and your hat. You step out of your car, slamming the door behind you, and zip up your jacket. Of course, you hadn't thought to wear a scarf today, so your face will just have to freeze. After only 30 seconds you feel your lips cracking.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay okay okay okay."

You set off in the direction of the bus.

-/-

The journey is long and cold. It's not so much the temperature as the fact that you never have the chance to get used to it because it just keeps getting holder as the night wears on. It takes a ridiculously long time to walk to the bus stop, because you're fighting headwind every step of the way. You want to close your eyes against the snow, but if you do that you'll veer off course or fall into the road or trip on an ice slick and die, so you brave the stinging and push forward. Then you wait at the bus stop so long that your already sore feet start to scream with pain. Your phone is dead, so there's no way for you to track the bus, but you conclude you must have just missed the previous one as it takes a full thirty minutes for it to come again. By the time the bus pulls up in front of you, your feet are almost buried, and when you take your seat, every part of you squelches and slides as the snow melts, drenching your clothes.

The bus is at least warm, and so is the transport center, but the second bus drops you off another twenty-five minute walk from your apartment and you're forced to walk- you guessed it!- uphill. Your calves are screaming from the exertion, and from cold, and from keeping your balance as you trudge through the piling snow. You have a death grip on your keys- if they were to fall out somewhere between work and home you would simply lie down on the ground and let the snow bury you. It would be more than you could take. But your keys stay in your tightly clenched fists, and soon your apartment building becomes visible through the dark and haze. You want to cry tears of relief but your tear ducts are frozen shut.

By the time you traipse up the steps of your apartment, you feel more popsicle than person. You are so cold. Your hands shake so much it takes you a few tries to get the keys from your pocket and stick them in the lock. You step inside, sagging as the heat blasts you in the face. All you want to do is collapse into bed and curl under your blankets where the world can't see you, to get a little bit of sleep before your torture begins anew tomorrow. The thought of going to work on Friday strikes a physical pain in you. You've barely survived today, and yet tomorrow looms terrible just out of reach.

You go to turn on the lights only to realize that the lights are already on. Your heart skips a beat. Did someone break into your apartment? Should you turn around and flee? But you don't have a car, and you certainly aren't walking back to the bus stop. You have nowhere to go.

A figure turns the corner and you flinch back, hands half-raised in some pathetic attempt to defend yourself-

It's Chan. He turns the corner and it's your boyfriend, standing on your tile floor in sweats and a big sweater, eyes bright and twinkling with how excited he is to see you.

"Hey, sweetheart," Chan says. "You're finally back. I saw you called earlier and got worried something was wrong."

You burst into tears. You're crying before you even know it, violent sobs that shake you and make water droplets roll off your soaked hair. Salt burns your frozen tear ducts, and snow is slipping down your collar, but all these small discomforts are overshadowed by the pure and all-consuming relief that your boyfriend is here in the flesh, asking after you and taking care of you, and you can finally stop fighting to keep it together. You can rest.

Chan makes a sound of alarm and rushes forward to grab you as you start to list.

"Baby? Hey, hey, what's wrong? Christ, you look terrible. Are you sick?" He tries to put his hand against your forehead but pulls it away just as fast. "You're cold as ice, y/n."

"I w-walked home," you try to explain. Your tongue is thick in your mouth, and it's hard to get enough air to speak through your sobs. "Car broke down, phone died, b-bus was late."

"Fuck, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry. That sounds terrible."

His validation of your misery just makes you cry harder. Chan pulls you into a fierce hug and you bury your face in his shoulder and absolutely lose it. All the stress of the last week crashes down on you at once, your misery overwhelming you. You grab at his clothes with gloved hands, and there's about four layers of clothes between you, and it's not enough, you want to be closer. But at the same time you can't make yourself pull away from Chan's embrace. He whispers soothing words in your ear, rocks you back and forth, presses closed mouth kisses to any part of you he can reach. He doesn't shush you, or try to calm you down. He just lets you have the emotional release he knows you sorely need.

When your cries start to slow, he gives you one final squeeze to catch your attention, and whispers, "We need to get you out of these clothes, hmm? Does that sound okay?"

You swallow the last of your sobs and nod morosely.

"Okay then. Let's take your jacket off. It's soaking wet by now."

You step back from Chan, still holding on to his arm as you stumble and sway. You're so tired. Standing up for even a second longer is too big of an ask.

"Just lean on me. It's okay, I won't let you fall."

Together, you unfasten and take off your heavy winter coat, letting it fall to the floor with the slush you dragged in. Chan is the one who crouches down to untie your shoes, and you lean on him for support as you remove one foot, then the other.

"Good job," he praises, pressing a kiss to your snow-soaked hair. "Let's get you warmed up now."

He leads you to the bathroom and starts the water running in the tub. You listlessly undress, leaning on the counter for support when you need it. While the tub is filling, Chan tries to leave, but you catch him by the shoulder on his way past you, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay?"

"Of course I'll stay," he says. "I just want to get you a change of clothes."

You hesitantly let go of him, and he flashes you a reassuring smile before he slips out. You sit down on the toilet and wait patiently for his return, watching the water fill the tub slowly and feeling your thoughts move sluggishly in your brain.

The sound of the water stopping jolts you back to the present. Chan is back, in a regular t-shirt this time, leaning over the bathtub to make sure the water is the right temperature. Deeming it good enough, he turns back to you and stretches out a hand to you.

As soon as you sit down in the warm water, you feel about ten times better. The warmth unties some of the tension that coils your muscles, and it quells the shivering that had started up as you were sitting on the toilet waiting to be told what to do. Chan urges you to slide down so you're almost submerged, making sure almost all your body is enveloped in warmth, and starts dumping warm water over your head, soaking your hair and washing out the remnants of grime and slush. He's quiet as he does it, humming a low tune, and you close your eyes and let him do as he wants. When he's done, he taps your shoulder, and you sit up, mourning the loss of warmth as your back and chest are exposed to the bathroom air.

"Do you mind?" he asks. You shake his head, uncaring of what he's referring to. You'd let him do anything to you in this state. It turns out "anything" means washing your back, so you again sit still and let him do as he pleases. The pressure of his hands and the sound of his voice, still humming, gradually soothe your mind and body. You stop shivering and tune back into your surroundings.

He's subtly watching your face, so he sees when you come back to yourself and drops his neutral expression. "Back with me?"

You nod. The floaty feelings from being cold and hysterical are gone, but that just means the exhaustion of your day is hitting you full force. You hold out your hand for the washcloth so you can clean the rest of yourself, and he hands it over, but doesn't move to leave, which you appreciate. Now that you're calmer, you think you might be a little more embarrassed asking him to stay.

"I know you said this morning you were cursed, but I didn't think you meant literally," he tries to joke.

You let out a long breath. "I didn't think I meant literally either."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You shrug as you rub the washcloth along your legs, wincing when you remove your still-freezing toes from the water. "What can I say? It was a shit day at work with a shit ending."

"You said your car broke down."

You squeeze your eyes shut. You are not in the mood for this argument. "It just wouldn't start. I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Y/n..." He doesn't say anything more. He knows as well as you do that you'll get nowhere. It's enough to set you off though, now that your exhaustion is making you irritatble.

"It wouldn't have mattered either way if you'd picked up the phone when I called you," you snap. It's unfair and you know it, but before you can begin to feel remorse, Chan's face turns to one of guilt.

"I know, I'm sorry. I still had it silenced from work and didn't realize. When I saw that you called me I tried to call back but the calls didn't go through."

"My phone died. That's why I didn't call an Uber."

Chan shakes his head. "I would call this comical if it wasn't so clearly stressing you out."

"You can still call it comical. Just not within earshot."

"Surely you think better of me than that."

"I do," you say, completely serious. "Sorry. I'm not mad you didn't answer. It's just been a shitty day."

Chan squeezes your shoulder in understanding. "It's alright. I get it."

"I'm really grateful you're here," you say, and you're getting choked up again, emotions all out of whack. "I've never been so happy to see anyone."

"You called three times. Since I couldn't get a hold of you, I hoped you'd still come home and we could talk here."

"You're too good to me."

"I'm exactly as good as you deserve." He leans down to kiss you, long and loving and warm, and the last of the chill in your bones slides away.

-/-

The next morning, Chan calls you in sick before you even wake up. He has to leave for the morning, but comes back around noon with ingredients to make you soup and tea, and rouses you for lunch with all the care and gentleness in the world.  He curls next to you in bed despite your protests that you'll get him sick, but then, it's not like you protest that hard. You're still feverish and needy, and maybe it's not the most ridiculous thing in the world to want to lie in your boyfriend's arms as you recover from what you're pretty sure is mild hypothermia mixed with the flu.

"We were gonna hang out this weekend," you say morosely. "Now I'm trapped in this bed and you're stuck taking care of me."

"Taking care of you is my favorite form of hanging out," he informs you, cleaning away the mug and bowl to bring back to the kitchen. "And hanging up the phone on your boss is my favorite passtime."

"You did not hang up on them," you gasp, hand over your mouth.

Chan shrugs, unbothered. "They seemed a little too annoyed about my request to not tow your car out of the parking lot. I made it very clear that it better be there when you get back on Monday or else."

"So selfless. You could've let them tow it and finally been victorious."

He turns from the kitchen and sits back down on the bed. "You like that car. I'm not going to keep insisting you get rid of it when it means so much to you. Even if I do blame it for the events of yesterday." You glare and he puts his hands up defensively. "If it's not my fault or your fault then I have to blame the car. Sorry not sorry."

"Blame the cursed spirit following me around," you say, sinking miserably into the blankets. "It possessed the engine of my car just to torment me."

"Even more reason to get rid of it."

You're feverish and tired, but the conversation makes you smile nonetheless. "Ask me again when my fever breaks if you still think I should keep it. Maybe it'll burn away the sentimental attachment."

"Don't get my hopes up."

You close your eyes as Chan kisses your forehead, and you slide easily into pleasant dreams.

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Call of Christmas

Aka the holiday season with 141

COD characters x F reader (One shots!) + smut

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Captain John Price smut

You hurriedly raced through chores, much like being put on a continuous autopilot. Throw the tabs of detergent into the laundry while making sure to separate the light and dark clothes. Put the leftover dishes from the sink inside the dishwasher, vacuum up the collecting fuzz that started to gather on the carpet, and so on.

However, the most important task was yet to be done. Pushed to the edge of your to-due list and collect dust.

Wrapping the presents.

Dear lord. Where would you even start, not only was gift wrapping the most tedious task on earth but most of the time it had a 98% chance of going wrong.

How could such a jolly and festive activity as simply wrapping a gift turn into the worst part of the holiday season? In your case, surprisingly easily.

It was a guessing game on your part, to figure out which wrapping paper to adorn a present in (different wrapping paper for different people of course). Cut the perfect measurements for said gift, and wrap it in some way that would look presentable.

Almost every time you would screw up the last two steps, the cutting and wrapping. You would either cut way too much paper or not enough to cover the gift. And when you finally did get an acceptable length the paper would fold every which way and the tape wouldn't hold it down.

Now, why not go with the simple fix of putting it inside of a gift bag? The short answer was that it was the lazy man's way out.

And this year you were determined to make it work. Your husband John always teased you about your passion for the holidays, but what could you say? You were a driven woman.

So you found yourself near the end of the day sitting inside the living room of your house. A diverse spread of gifts scattered around you beside poles of wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and rulers.

The soft thrum of Christmas music playing in the background for motivation. You were especially proud of the gifts you had gotten this year. One for each of your friends, close family, and John. Having a good gift for him was something to behold on its own. Gift shopping for the man was like pulling out teeth.

“Why would I want anything? I pretty much have everything I need…”

“I’m okay love, don't bother with me…”

“I don't want anything, maybe some socks or something…”

John's words echoed in your ear, but you weren't giving up that easily. This year, you landed on a nice silver watch with a leather band. The one he wore was…distressed to say the least.

So, this seemed like a great choice. You smiled down at the small box that held his new watch. John would love anything you got him, even if it was a scrap of metal he would give you his teddy bear smile and shower you with praise.

But this year you were particularly proud of your choice.

And with the newfound motivation you started on wrapping. You did your best to cut accurate ratios of paper to present, fold it as crisply as you could, and tape it down so it stuck. Somehow, by the grace of God, you found yourself getting into a sort of rhythm.

You looked at work after an hour in, in awe of the fact that it wasn't that bad. Actually, it was nearly perfect! These looked like real gifts, like the ones you'd see in those Christmas catalogs sitting under an 11-foot-tall tree.

You smiled, only one gift left to go. Lo and behold it was John’s gift. The small blue box that hid his watch, looked so menial. You sighed and stretched, easy peasy.

Or so you thought.

That little blue box might as well have been possessed by a Christmas-hating demon.

You huffed, silently cursing at yourself as you accidentally ripped the wrapping paper while you were trying to tape it down. This had been your fifth attempt at wrapping his gift, and every time something had gone wrong.

You stared down at it in disbelief, nearly in tears of frustration. There the box sat, laughing at your feeble attempts at wrapping it.

Just as you were about to go for attempt number six, you heard the chime of the front door opening. It was John.

Like a flash, you pushed the box under the couch until it was out of sight. It was a surprise after all. Just as you turned back around John appeared in all his glory. Slack jeans with his cotton t-shirt and his ruggedly handsome face. His eyebrows raised at the scene before him.

“Love, I think you're supposed to wrap the gifts, not get into a fight with them.” He said, bemused.

You felt your already hot cheeks redden, looking at the mess of wrapping paper around you. It did kind of look like a war scene with the addition of glitter and ribbon. Letting out an exasperated sigh you looked back up at him. “Would you believe me if I told you they started it?”

John's lips curved up into a soft smile that raised his mutton chops. And you couldn't help your heart from swooning at the way his mustache smiled with him. He chuckled and stepped into the room, crouching in front of you to slide a hand across your cheek. Pulling you in for a warm, chaste kiss. Your frustration slightly ebbed away, yet the lingering annoyance remained. John seemed to notice it and gave you a funny look as he pulled away.

“What's wrong?” He said knowing.

Curse him, he knew you too well. You knew giving him a bad lie wouldn't do much so you sighed. “It’s the gifts, I was doing so well wrapping everything but I got to yours and it didn't seem to want to cooperate with me. And well, you can see how it played out.” You breathed, nodding to the mess around you.

John raised an eyebrow, “why not just give it to me as is?” He asked, confused. To which you rolled your eyes as his practicality, typical.

“That’s not the point. Making presents look nice is a labor of love, it shows I care to make it look presentable.” You defended your point, making him shake his head and smile warmly. A fondness in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Baby, you know I know that you care about me. I don't need wrapping paper to prove that.” He said, his other hand guiding yours to his mouth to press his lips over your ring.

You pursed your lips in a tight line, trying not to let him melt your resolve into a sappy puddle. “Yeah, but it's still a nice gesture.” You grumbled, eyes darting away from his gaze.

You heard the familiar thrum of his laugh echo in your ears. You turned your eyes back to look at him as he pressed a kiss to your temple, “Thank you for trying love. You know I’d like anything you’d give me. But having you is all I need.” You couldn't help the smile that crept up on your cheeks.

For being such an intimidating person and having the reputation he did, he could really be a sap sometimes. Not that you'd have it any other way. His loving nature was a gift in itself.

You hummed and leaned in to kiss him again, his lips meeting yours in a soft embrace. Slowly you pulled him in, hands snaking around his neck to cup the back of his head. He tasted of tobacco and whiskey, not the bitter kind, but the warm fragrant kind. Almost like a spicy cocktail, one that burned at first sip but settled in your stomach.

It was almost second nature when you kissed him. Like your body craved the feeling of being fitted against his larger form. And when his tongue slid over your bottom lip, practically begging for entrance, you had no choice but to oblige.

The soft hum of Christmas jazz still lulled in the background, dulling your senses like sweet syrup. John’s tongue delved into your mouth, the slow rhythmic motion of his lips turning the thoughts in your head to static. His large hands slowly traveled down to your waist, his thumb pressing against the bone of your hip. Without warning his hands suddenly airlifted you up and onto the couch. You gave a small squeak of surprise, breaking the kiss.

“John wha-” You were cut off by another steaming kiss.

After a minute he pulled away, hot breath fanning against your lips. “You were working so hard, figured I'd give you a thank you.” His sly smile told you everything you needed to know. And if they didn’t, the way his hands slid down to grope on your ass did.

Your cheeks burned, and another type of heat bellowed in your stomach. Sending small sparks across your spine. “It's just wrapping a gift, and I didn't even finish yours.” You said sheepishly.

John rolled his eyes, his head dipping down to trail kisses over your neck. “What was it you said before? That it’s about the gesture or principle of it all?” He murmured, large hands kneading your behind. His words made your lips turn up into a smile. To be honest…you could use a break, and this opportunity was one you’d never turn down.

A small giggle escaped you, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “I guess I’ll take that ‘thank you’ then.”

Turning his head back up, he gave you a wolfish grin. The large hands that previously held your behind slid up to hook the hem of your top. With one fluid movement, he coaxed your arms above your head and slipped your blouse off. Then with just as much sneakiness, he undid the clasp of your bra. Tossing the offending garment somewhere else in the room.

Without a moment to lose, his mouth was on your breasts. You shuddered at his warm wet tongue and the way it danced around your nipple. The scruff of his facial hair tickles Your chest.

Your hands threaded into his hair, pulling and guiding him where you wanted. With every small tug or grasp he groaned, enthralled by the way you led him. From where you were sitting, John knelt at the edge of the couch between your spread legs. Hands gripping at your hips as he suckled at your peaks. “So beautiful baby-” He rasped, “-fucking love this gorgeous body.”

Your lips pushed into a tight line, exhaling through your nose. John’s hands migrated down to grab onto your pants, tugging them down slowly. You helped him slip them off until the only thing covering you was your cotton panties. An embarrassingly obvious wet patch now soaking through its fabric.

John’s thumb gently grazed over your clothed center. Earning a soft moan on your part, the pad of his finger sending a jolt of heat through you. His navy eyes flickered up to you as his thumb slowly circled your covered clit. “Tell me what you want sweetness.” He murmured.

You had trouble processing his words for a moment. “I want your fingers, John.” You breathed, looking down at the man on his knees for you.

The corner of his lip turned up, “Yes mam.” Slowly he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your glistening core. You saw his adams apple bob as he stared at you, like he wanted to devour you alive.

With his middle and ring finger, he dragged them through your lips. Coating the skin in a layer of slick, the lewd sound of it makes your ears turn red. “Look at this wet pussy, so needy.” John gruffed. With no warning, he gently pushed his middle inside you. Your walls constricted around him like a hungry snake.

Your lips fell open in an ‘oh shape, whimpering at the burning goodness of his finger. “Fuckfuckfuck-” You panted, the muscles in your legs flexing as you tensed.

With ease, he pushed his ring finger into you as well. Falling into a slow rhythm of pumping his fingers in and out of you coupled with his thumb brushing over your clit. Your brain felt foggy, like how a bathroom mirror fogs up when you take a hot shower. John watched you like a hawk, studying your every movement to see if you were enjoying it.

“John, need your cock now.” You panted breathlessly, impatient for your husband. He gave you an amused look, keeping his fingers at a steady pace.

“You sure?” He asked, bemused. “-I can wait sweetheart.” But you shook your head, desperate for the stretch of his dick.

You blinked and gave him a look, “I'm not asking.” You replied. Making him chuckle, his fingers sliding out of you and leaving an empty feeling in their wake. He stood up, tugging off his shirt and unzipping his trousers. All the while, you watched like it was your favorite TV show. Your eyes drank in his muscles, he was built for fighting, that was for sure.

His pants shrugged down as he pulled his briefs away with it. His large bulbous cock sprang free, the sight almost making you drool. John smiled at you as he wrapped a calloused hand around it, stroking. “Makin’ me feel special when you look at me like that.” He said, giving his dick a few more pumps of his hand.

He nodded at you, “Go ahead and lay back, I want to look at your face when I make you cum.” He said, the words ringing in your ears. You tried not the let the giddy smile show on your face as you nodded and fell back against the cushions. Hastily, he climbed up on the couch, caging you in with his body. Hands planted on either side of your head.

He gave you a knowing smile before using one hand to guide his cock against your slit. Slowly dragging it up and down, making your breath hitch. Fireworks already going off inside your brain.

He leaned back a tad, using his other free hand to stroke your thigh, patting it lightly. “Come on, raise these for me love, want them on my shoulders.” You did as you were told, hiking your legs up on his shoulders. His head was encased by the meat of your thighs and the tip of his cock pushed against your aching hole.

With John’s guidance, he slowly pushed into you. The entrance of his thick cock fills up every crevice in your walls, making you moan. He was right there with you, “bloody hell-” he grit out. His voice was strained and thick like syrup.

“Tell me-” He panted, “-Tell me I can move. Please.” He breathed, voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed, your body burned and ached, yet it felt so good at the same time. And you craved more of it. So much more.

You nodded, “Yes, please.” Per your request, John slowly started to move his hips. His hands are placed on either side of your head and your thighs are locked around his head. The further he pushed into you the more you felt like being folded in half.

Slowly, his cock dragged in and out of your walls only to plunge back in. You moaned and threw your head back into the cushions, a shivering running through you. Every time his thick tip pressed against the spongy bundle of nerves deep inside you, your walls tightened as if to hold him in.

“Fuck, that's it- so tight and wet, like this pussy was made for me.” John groaned, steadily increasing the speed and force of his thrusts. Every time he pushed himself back in you felt like seeing stars. The delicious pleasure of feeling his girthy dick drag against your walls and stuff you full was something you could never get used to. Every time it felt a new shade of amazing.

Soon, his thrusts had gone from slow and drawn out to fast-paced slaps of skin against skin. Your hands dragged against his back, leaving trails of red lines in their wake.

A familiar coil began to burn in your stomach, tightening by the minute. Your head was swimming as you let him mold you to the shape of his cock. “John- can’t hold it, I'm gonna cum soon.” You sputtered.

His response was to only increase the force of his thrusts. Snaking a hand down to your clit and rubbing his thumb in circles around the sensitive bud. You jolted, clamping down around him which in turn caused him to twitch and pulse. “S’okay love I know, I'm right there with you. Let me make you cum, cum on my cock.” He moaned.

The white-hot pleasure turned to burning magma as he played with your clit. Waves of euphoria crashing down on you like a violent tide. Your pussy spasmed and your body went taunt like a bow. John fucked you through it until his orgasm took hold of him. His cock twitched and his hips stuttered, flooding your walls with thick ropes of cum. After a few more forceful thrusts he let up, holding you still as you both came down from the high.

A few seconds later he slid out of you, carefully lowering your legs off his shoulders. “Merry Christmas love.” He breathed with a wolfish smile, a hint of humor in his voice. You hummed, blinking your eyes open just as he pressed a warm kiss to your temple.

A soft chuckle escaped you, still caught in the afterglow. Your hands gently carded through his slightly tousled hair, “Merry Christmas John.”

He smiled, raising his head to look around. Unsurprisingly the room was still a mess of wrapping paper and ribbon. “Guess it falls on me to clean this up eh?” He said knowingly.

You smiled back, “Yep.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Simon Ghost Riley Hurt-comfort

For most, Christmas time was a season of giving. It meant spending time with the ones you loved and putting the cheer back into the more depressing months of winter. It also meant engaging in bonding activities like ice skating or decorating the tree for Christmas, maybe even baking cookies.

For others, including Simon Riley, Christmas was a bitter reminder of what they lacked. It wasn't a cookie-cutter checklist for everyone, but the brunt of it was a lack of Christmas cheer, connection, or lack of loved ones to spend the holidays with. And for Simon, it was all three.

Out of every holiday, Christmas was a loathsome one. It felt as if everyone in the world was brimming with happiness while he was cast out into the dark. Like dangling a shiny new toy in a dog's face knowing that said toy would never be given to it.

So what did he do? What he does best. He closed himself off from the world. During the holiday season, Simon often felt more Ghost than he felt like Simon. After all, it was easier to disassociate and pretend he was Ghost again than to face the bitter memories that Simon went through.

But this year was different, why? Because this year he was spending Christmas with you.

It took a lot of convincing on your end, but he eventually settled for spending the week through Christmas at your flat. Which for him, was a big step. He had stayed over multiple times and vice versa, but considering he never spent Christmas with anyone was saying a lot.

It wasn't even until a year ago that Simon told you the whole story of why he disliked Christmas. By that time both of you had mutually understood that your relationship had shifted from casual dating to a more long-term and serious one.

So now you were determined to make this Christmas a good experience for him. Which turned out to be no easy task. But for your boyfriend, there wasn't anything you weren't willing to do.

It started with small festive activities like taking him to a park to see the Christmas lights. Or letting him pick out the shirt that he had been eyeing as an early gift. Your personal favorite had been getting him to help set up and decorate the small Christmas tree you kept in the living room.

Slowly but surely, he was beginning to assimilate with the Christmas spirit. You had even managed to get him to sit down and watch Home Alone!

Things were finally starting to look up…until now. Christmas Eve.

It was as if all the progress you had made vanished in an instant. Almost like he turned into a Ghost. He had barely said a word to you, didn't want to go out, wasn't eating, and was avoiding you. Simon was hauled up in your room and had been there for most of the day. The only time he had gone out was to smoke from your doorstep. Despite your comments about not liking his smoking or coming inside and eating he brushed it off with a grunt.

He had effectively barricaded himself in his mind. And you were sick of it, sick of the secrets, the going non-verbal with little to no explanation, and sick of the fact that he didn't trust you enough to tell you what was going on in his head.

Enough was enough, so you walked up to your bedroom door and knocked a few times. As expected there was no answer, so you pushed it open. Greeting you was Simon, sitting on the edge of your bed, looking down at his skull mask. You had only seen it a few times, not wanting to invade his privacy. Simon was a large proponent of keeping his work and personal life separate.

And why wouldn't he? His work was violent, it was the worst of what humanity had to offer. And you were none of those things. He mentioned to you once that his mask allowed him to be someone else, so that way when he did come back from deployments Simon wasn't the one with blood on his hands.

In other words, to your understanding, the mask was a mentality. A place holder that could do things that the Simon you knew couldn't.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, carefully making your way over. You climbed up on the bed behind him, till you were knelt facing his large back. Gently you slid your hands around his waist, pressing the side of your face to his spine in a soft hug. You swallowed, an underlying nervousness boiling deep inside you.

“Please talk to me, I can't know how to help if you don't tell me.” You whispered into him, a soft plead.

He didn't respond for a good minute, and a part of you feared that he was just going to brush you off like before. Eventually, he did respond, except it wasn't the response you wanted. “I think I should go back to my place in Manchester. Just for a few days.”

You frowned, this wasn't what you wanted. Not at all. You had been making such good progress too, you didn't understand how it could all reverse in a second. “Simon that's not fair, you at least need to tell me why. You've been silent all day and now you want to leave? You promised you'd stay until Christmas was over.”

Simon turned a bit to look at you, shrugging your hands off of him. The warm look he always had when he looked at you now long gone. “I know what I said. But I told you that I don't spend the holidays with anyone, you knew that.”

Your hands bawled on your thighs, “But- just yesterday you were fine. I don't understand what changed.” You said eyebrows knitting together.

His eyes narrowed, “Then have you considered maybe I just don't want to be around you?” He said, his tone harsh and unforgiving. A knife to your heart. You stared at him in silence, shocked that he would say something like that so brazenly.

Your lips pursed into a thin line, trying to regain your composure. “If you don't want to be around me then tell me, don't ignore me for half the day like a child.” The hands that held his skull mask tightened, bunching up the fabric in his grip.

“Alright, I'm sorry. Happy now?” Simon couldn't have been less sincere even if he tried. Yet another stab to your chest.

You shook your head no, “Of course I'm not happy. You're not telling me anything, I’m trying to listen and understand you but you're just shutting me out. It's like you barely trust me at all.” You said sternly.

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. You watched how his face scrunched in irritation, the bags under his eyes sticking out like a sore thumb. “I do trust you, but…I’m just not ready.” He said irritably.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Not ready? Not ready for what?”

“For you, for this-” Simon snapped, gesturing to the air around him. “-fucking caring about somebody. Because every time I have it’s ended up like shite, I don't even know if I can. Or if I ever will.” He said, his voice brimming with a flurry of emotions. Ones you couldn't decipher, but you were still hung up on the meaning of his words. You knelt there, a cold wave washing over you that felt like ice.

He went on, “You shouldn't even want what I am [Name]. I know you think you do but you don't.”

You shook your head, a lump developing in your throat. “Yes, I do-” You tried weakly, your limbs starting to numb up and grow cold.

Simon stood up, turning his back to you. Walking over to the large overnight bag he had packed, kneeling, and started to take clothes that were scattered near it and shove them inside. You felt your stomach drop, clambering off the bed to stop him. Grabbing onto his suitcase and ripping it away to keep it behind your back.

“Simon tell me what’s going on.” You demanded, your voice suddenly raw.

Simon's eyes were wide, the brown pools of warmth replaced by a dark abyss. Looking up at you with surprise and anger. He stood up, towering over you with his massive frame. Almost like an intimidation tactic. He looked scary.

Slowly he outstretched an open palm, deadly silent. “I'm not going to ask you again, give me my things.”

You shook your head, taking a few steps back until you were pressed against your closet door. Blinking away tears into the back of your head, “No. Tell me what’s going on.” Your hands holding his suitcase with an iron grip behind your back.

His eyebrows furrowed, jaw working in frustration. The veins in his neck tensed for a moment. Almost without thinking his outstretched hand seized forward to grasp your arm, yanking you away from the wall with an alarming force. The suitcase dropped on the floor as he tore you away and you stumbled forward.

You made a noise, one akin to the sound a small animal would make before it was eaten. His grip on your arm was hard by any means, but the minute you made eye contact with him again he broke off. His hand released you like he had been burned by a hot iron, terror written across his face.

He looked more horrified than you did, looking between you and his hand like it was somebody else’s. The silence between you was so loud it rang in your ears.

You felt something wet trail down your cheeks. When did you start crying? You didn't know. You looked back at your boyfriend, he had looked so big before but now he only looked scared. You raised your hands as if you were approaching a wild animal. “Simon-” You breathed, “-It’s okay. I'm okay, you didn't hurt me.”

He didn't say anything, basically frozen in time. You walked up to him, praying he didn't walk back. Thankfully, he didn't. Gently, you cupped his face, forcing him to look down at you. “Please.” You pleaded, “-Tell me whats going on. That's all I ask, if you still want to go after, you can.” You breathed hoarsely.

You watched his face, how it was so full of uncertainty and fear. His bottom lip quivered lightly, “I’m so sorry.” He said, “-I didn't mean…I wasn't thinking.”

You gently rubbed a thumb over his cheek, trying to soothe him to the best of your ability. “I know you didn't mean to, you're not your dad Simon. I'm not worried about that, what I am worried about is you just getting up and leaving because you decided that I don't matter to you anymore.” You said, trying to remain firm to the best of your ability. Even when your voice was quivering and you felt like sobbing.

Simon shook his head, “What? Of course, you matter to me.” He breathed, shaky hands still at his side.

“Well, that's not what it looks like from my perspective. You just said you wanted to leave, you said you didn't think you could ever fully care about me.” You said, looking up at him.

His eyes scanned your face, “I know I'm sorry- I'm… fuck love, I'm scared. I'm scared of caring about you as much as I do, whenever I do it just…” He swallowed, “My mom, and Tommy…they're gone and I can't get them back, and if you leave I have nothing. Because you took everything,” He breathed.

“-You already have me, every part of me that I wanted you to see and every part of me that I don't. And that scares the shite out of me, and I try to keep pushing and pushing but you keep coming back to me.” You felt his hands on your face, large calloused palms warm against your cheeks. “Because that's just how you are, you're good. And I thought by creating more distance you'd see that.”

You opened your mouth but he cut you off, “-And this week you worked so hard, just for me. To give me a good experience,” Simon laughed bitterly. “And here I am, barely keeping my shite together.”

You frowned, “Simon.” You cut him off, your voice stern. He stopped, looking at you. “You don't tell me what I can and can't do, nobody does but me. So if you think you have any chance of convincing me to leave you're mad. I want this, I want you. No matter what baggage you come with.”

There was a moment of silence, filled with a thick tension that you could cut with a knife before he pulled you in. Pressing your face against his chest, cradling your head against him. Holding you tight as if you'd disappear if he let go. Your hands wrapped around his back, digging into the cotton of his shirt and inhaling his scent. One of cigarette smoke and pine. His face pressed into the top of your head.

It was intimate, emotions running high, and the force of his embrace. For a while, you stayed that way, grounded by the large arms that held you to his chest. “I’m so sorry, I should've told you from the beginning.” He whispered into the top of your head, his voice that of genuine remorse.

You knew that this wasn't the end all be all of his problems. Just because he addressed things did not mean everything was magically solved. But it was a big step in the right direction. You maneuvered your head up to look at him, chin pressed against his chest.

“I told you that I wanted to make this a good Christmas, for both of us.” You said, “-If you'll let me, I think we can still make the most of it.”

Simon stared at you, his lips settling in a relieved smile. “Yeah.” He breathed, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Kyle Gaz Garrick Fluff

Your room was a complete mess. Clothes were thrown about like a tornado had taken your closet and dispensed its content for everyone to see. But the state of your room was the last thing you could focus on. Because you had thirty minutes until your neighbor two doors down would pick you up for a date.

You felt your cheeks just redden at the thought. A date! Especially with your very hot and very out-of-your-league neighbor Kyle.

You groaned, tossing yet another shirt on your bed. Nothing seemed to fit as it should've, what was one even supposed to wear on a date? It was December so obviously crop tops and shorts were off-limits. You nervously chewed on your nails, cursing at yourself immediately after for forgetting they were painted.

As you slipped on something acceptable (a nice pair of jeans and a coat), you made a beeline for your bathroom. You looked in the mirror, taking a few minutes to look over your makeup for the umpteenth time. Then moving over to fix your hair, tweaking it here and there, and maybe smoothing out the few strays.

You didn't even understand how you got into this predicament, it was all a blur. Kyle had just gotten back from deployment, a normal occurrence, and being the good neighbor you were, you brought him food. (Who wants to cook after they just get home from a long trip anyway?) And being the gentleman he was, he invited you inside. However, due to your inability to act normally around hot men, you panicked and refused.

Swearing up and down that he was probably exhausted and didn't need you to disturb his peace and quiet. You cringed just imaging how red your face must've been.

Instead of taking the hint like a normal person, he doubled down.

“Oh, okay then, why don't you let me take you out sometime as a thank you?”

After that, you were too stunned to say anything so you just shut up and nodded your head. And now you're here, standing in front of the mirror fretting over your appearance like a teenage girl.

You had zero idea where he was taking you. Which, in theory, was cute. But you were so anxiety-ridden that you couldn't find the time to look into it. And just as you were clumsily slipping on your shoes you heard the dreaded knock on your front door. You whirled through your apartment, opening the door with a little (a lot) too much force.

Standing there like a male supermodel was Kyle. Clad in worn-out jeans that he somehow pulled off, a flannel, and a jacket. He smiled, his perfect teeth adding to his handsome charm. “Hey,” He said, looking at you up and down. “-You look great as always.”

You wanted to die, just looking at him was like staring at a beacon of light. But for the sake of your social skills, you forced yourself to respond. “Thanks-” You breathed, trying to smile as normally as you could. “-Uhm you look great too.”

Kyle smiled, the dimples in his cheeks growing more prominent. “Thanks, I appreciate it, love.” He said, looking behind you and then back to you. “-I’m ready when you are, but take your time. We’re not in a rush.” He said casually, hands in his jean pockets.

You nodded, “Oh right- let me just grab my purse.” You breathed, doing a 360 to run back to your kitchen counter and swipe your bag from off the surface. Quickly making a run back towards him, stepping outside “Ready!” You said, trying to work up as much confidence as you could. To which Kyle chuckled, reaching behind you to close the door.

After the initial stress of stepping out the door, Kyle led you out of the complex. To which the subtle awkwardness faded into a comfortable conversation. It was easier with him than with most, it had always been. You'd always had an underlying crush on him but you never actually thought it'd go anywhere. You were more comfortable just looking and making friendly small talk than actively perusing.

After a few minutes of conversation and walking about the town he stopped a few feet away from a large tent. Christmas lights strone about and small lines of people waiting to get inside. And it instantly clicked what he was taking you to do.

“Ice skating?” You asked.

Kyle gave you a boyish grin back, “Yep.” He said confidently, “-thought it matched the Christmas spirit.”

You laughed, to be honest, you hadn't stepped onto an ice rink in a while. You'd never been terrible at it but you weren't exactly a pro either. He gently nudged you with his shoulder, “Scared?” He asked you.

Shaking your head, you smiled back. “You wish Garrick. I think I can hold my own on an ice rink.” You bantered.

Kyle’s shoulders hiccuped as he chuckled, “Alright then. Let’s get in line.” He said leading you over to one of the lines of people. It wasn't a terribly long wait, maybe twenty or fifteen minutes before you made it to the front. And of course, he insisted on paying for your skates even though he had been the one to buy the tickets.

You continued to talk as the both of you laced up your skates. But when it came time to actually get on the ice you found yourself apprehensive. Kyle had already gotten on with ease and was now waiting for you at the small gate entrance.

“Need any help there?” He asked, amused. To which you shook your head, determined to prove to him that you could do it on your own.

“All good.” You breathed, holding onto the gate as you stepped on the ice. “-just uhm, getting my footing.” For some reason, under his gaze, you felt your whole body begin to malfunction. Like you were getting performance anxiety.

You sheepishly let go of the gate, standing statue still. And Kyle simply stood there, an amused smile played across his lips. Arms crossed in front of his broad chest. You swallowed, taking a shaky step forward. And because your life seemed to be one large cosmic joke, you felt your skate slide out and you fell forward.

You tried to put your arms out to catch yourself, shutting your eyes tight with a small squeak before you felt something take hold of you. You blinked as you realized that your face didn't collide with the hard surface of ice but with something else.

Kyle’s arms had caught you just in time, your face pressed up against his warm chest. Large arms encircling your waist, you heard him whistle. A red blush crosses your cheeks from embarrassment. “Careful there, thought you said you could hold your own?”

You were mortified, you had practically thrown yourself at him! (not intentionally of course, but still)

He helped you stand back straight as well as fix your coat. You swore you could almost feel steam coming out from your ears. “I’m sorry, that was an accident I swear.” You babbled. He didn't seem to mind, however, simply holding his hands up and giving you a soft look.

“Hey, it's okay love, I know. Happens to the best of us.” He reassured. Once again you tried to brush off the pet name so as not to implode. Kyle held his arm out to you, “-Why don't you hang on to me for the first couple of laps yeah? Just to be safe.”

You looked between him and his outstretched arm. “I-uh yeah. Sure, sounds good.” You said, taking hold of his arm for more support. He flashed you a smile before slowly skating forward. You tried your best to keep up, and with his support you did.

The two of you did loops around the skating rink, people-watching, talking, and laughing. The thing was, your arm still held his, even after the first couple of loops, he made no effort to detach from you. And neither did you, but that was neither here nor there. You actually learned a lot about him, about his family, his interests, and even a little about his work. Which in his words was “Nothing that you should ever have to hear about.”

You managed to open up to him as well, sharing more of your life with him. Eventually, your time at the rink ran out. But the conversations between you and Kyle still kept up. By the time you were walking back to your complex with him, his hand had managed to sneak its way into yours. Some part of you was still in disbelief that it was even happening, however.

You swallowed, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as he walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you. “Thanks, by the way. It was really nice of you to take me out like this. But you really didn't need to, it was just a meal. A thank you would've sufficed.” You commented.

Kyle glanced back at you, raising and eyebrow. “You think I asked you out just cause you cooked me dinner?” He said, making you stop.

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “…yes? What other reason would there be?” You asked, utterly lost.

At that, Kyle fully turned to face you. Staring at you for a few seconds, his face trying to deduce if you were joking or not. When he realized you weren't kidding, his face broke into a smile. “[Name], I've been trying to ask you out for weeks.”

You blinked, his words only confusing you more. “What? No, I would've picked up on it.” You said.

He chuckled and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes actually, multiple times,” Kyle said. Looking at you with an expectant gaze.

You tried to dive back into all of your memories with him, searching for a time that would've counted as him asking you out. But, you came out empty-handed. “Give me an example then.” You said, brow furrowed.

Kyle raised his eyebrows, “What about the other day when I invited you inside to eat dinner with me after you brought me food?”

“Well, that doesn't really count. That's just something people say to be polite. How was I supposed to know?” You challenged.

He continued, “…Or about that time I told you I had an extra ticket to a football game if you wanted to go?”

You felt your cheeks get a bit rosy. That one did sound a bit more like asking you out when you thought about it. “I- I was under the impression that you were just giving me a ticket. I didn't realize you meant together,” You flushed.

Kyle kept going. “And that time I caught you coming back from a bad date and I said I could show you a better one?”

Okay yeah, you were seeing it now. You bit down on your cheek, trying to stop yourself from melting into a puddle. “I thought you were just being nice.” You said lamely. You saw his mouth open to respond, but you held your hands in front of his face. “Okay, but yes, I get it! I realize now that there might have been some signs.”

You heard him chuckle, he gently lowered your hands. You sighed, feeling your cheeks burn red from embarrassment. How could you be so clueless!? “I'm sorry for not noticing that you were trying to ask me out.” You murmured, trying your best to avoid his eyes.

You then felt his warm hand slide over your jaw, cupping the side of your face to raise it. Your eyes met his, mirth swimming inside his dark brown irises. “It's okay love, you're worth the wait.”

You felt your face burn, realizing the significance of what was happening. His eyes darting between your lips, the way he held your face, the utter cheesiness of it all. And God you were eating it up like your own personal rom-com. But to your dismay, nothing was happening! Like you two were frozen in time. Kyle had been the one to ask you out, to make the first moves, so maybe it was only fair you did this small thing.

Throwing your timidness out the window, you leaned forward. Shutting your eyes and locking lips with him. It only took a moment for Kyle to press back against you, tilting his head and sliding his hand over your cheek to cup the back of your head. It was pure bliss.

You stayed like that for as long as you could, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his lips. Yet all good things end as you still need oxygen, so you did eventually have to pull away.

Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, face flushed. He looked a little better, but it was cute the way he looked post-kiss. Kyle’s lip turned into a boyish grin, “Does this mean I get another date?”

You couldn't help but laugh, “I guess so.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Jhonny Soap McTavish Smut

Curse your boss for putting you on the late-night Christmas shift. What kind of fucker does that? A greedy one, you supposed. It wasn't like you didn't have plans, not with family, no, but with friends.

But no. He just had to schedule you for Christmas night.

Bartending for a group of sad, lonely, old men wasn't what you had in mind when you thought of Christmas. And even though you tried to get out of it, (bribing every co-worker and staff member you could and asking them if they would cover your shift) you still ended up behind the counter.

You grimaced, dish rag in hand as you cleaned the sticky countertop. It was pretty dead, but not enough that you were free for time. A few regulars sitting at the bar, and others were scattered about the place. Some talking or watching the different channels projected on the TV. Overall, it was a quiet evening. Though some part of you felt a little bad for wanting everyone to leave, after all, some people here didn't have families or friends to go home to.

You heard the doorbell chime as somebody walked inside. You didn't bother looking up, more concerned about the patch of mystery substance that wasn't going away. You furrowed a brow, working your muscles to press into the surface and scrub.

Heavy boots creaked across the wood, getting closer with each moment. Yet you still hadn't made any progress on the counter. With a heavy sigh, you rolled your eyes and looked up. A frown that could scare off any customer played across your lips.

“Jesus, Bonnie, Christmas shift that bad aye? Y’look like you're about to kill me right where I stand.”

You halted. Standing before you was Johnny McTavish, or Soap, as his other friends christened him. (don't ask, you didn't know why either) He was a part of the semi-regular military group that came in a few times a month. There was a large base a few miles away, so it wasn't abnormal to get your fair share of soldiers now and again. However, what was abnormal was the fact that he was here alone.

Normally, Johnny came in with three other guys. Gaz, another more gruff man who they referred to as ‘Cap,’ and a big scary-looking bloke who always wore a balaclava.

You stared at him for a good few seconds.“I uh, sorry you caught me off guard there.” You breathed. “-And no, it’s not bad in here, just prefer not to be working on Christmas night.”

Johnny hummed, walking up the the counter and pulling out a stool right in front of you. His large arms settled against the wood, “Too bad. Bossman put you on the shift, did he?” He asked, apparently very amused by your grim attitude.

You rolled your eyes, throwing the rag under the counter. “Yeah, I even tried to bribe everyone to cover my shift but nobody would take it.”

He smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Well then maybe this was fate.” He joked, “-Anyway, since it is Christmas, would you mind pouring me a glass? Y’know, as a present?” He said, grinning at you.

You felt your heart stutter a little.

Oh yeah, the other thing about Johnny was that you may or may not have the biggest crush known to man on him. It wasn't even your fault, he charmed his stupid way into your heart. With his ridiculous mohawk, (which wasn't even really a mohawk) pretty blue eyes, and his huge biceps. Very annoying. Not even to mention his rough voice with that thick Scottish accent.

To say you had the hots for him was a giant understatement.

You breathed out a laugh, “Alright, coming up.” You turned around to grab the bottle of vodka, fixing together a Cape Codder. Then sliding the glass over to him. He gave you a funny look, concussion written across his face.

“This isn't my usual.” He pointed out, still taking the drink nonetheless.

You flashed him a smile, winking. “Merry Christmas doll face.” You said sarcastically. To which he simply took a sip. You eyed him as he did, “Where are the rest of the guys?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Johnny cleared his throat, setting the glass down and leaning forward. “Gaz and Price are back at base, everyone had drinks earlier and they wouldn't make it. Ghost’s not the biggest fan of Christmas so he didn't want to go out either.” He said casually.

You nodded, “If you had drinks earlier than why are you back here?” You asked.

Soap smiled, his jaw working in a way that made you swallow. “Never said I did, the others drank, but I held off until now. Thought I'd be better if I got shit-faced here where you could see it.”

You laughed, leaning against the back counter. Your arms crossed over your chest. “And you were just betting on me working tonight?”

Jhonny shrugged, taking another sip. “I had an inkling.”

You breathed out another small chuckle, walking back over to grab the towel you'd thrown before. “Y’know, I'm only giving you a free drink because it’s Christmas. Can't pull that trick on anybody else, so be grateful you got me.”

He nodded, licking his lips. His eyes followed you as you walked around. “Trust me Bonnie I am, not every day I get you all to myself.”

Your train of thought stuttered a bit, Jhonny was a flirt, yes. But for some reason, it felt different. His tone had changed, and the way his eyes were tracking your every move felt more real. You glanced back at him as you scrubbed the countertop. “Who says that all my attention is on you?” You quipped with a smile.

Jhonny grinned, shaking the ice in his glass. “You know what I mean.” He set in drink back down on the table. “But for the record, I don't see you givin’ any attention to the other blokes here.”

You shot him a look, trying to hold in your laugh. “Unfortunately, half of the people here are either probably married or well above the appropriate age bracket.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Too bad, here I was thinking I’m getting special treatment. Better think of a way to get on your good side, I suppose.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, intrigued at the sentiment. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?” You asked.

“Depends.” He said, staring at you with way more intensity than you were prepared for. “-What do ya’ want Bonnie?”

You stared back, at a loss for words. There were many things you wanted, or more specifically, things you wanted him to do to you. Your throat suddenly went dry, your train of thought ruined by a barrage of filthy images flashing in your mind. It wasn't until another minute went by that you remembered you were supposed to be responding to his question.

You cleared your throat, “I uh- a solid cash tip would be nice. Or maybe you could cover my shift.” You joked, trying to play the silence off.

“S’not what it looks like to me.” He stated, throwing his head back as he downed the last of his drink.

You halted again, caught off guard. Furrowing your brow in confusion, “Excuse me?” You asked.

He put the drink back down on the table, leaning forward on his arms. His signature impish smile on his stupidly pretty lips. “That's not what it looks like to me.” He repeated, enunciating each word. “Nobody looks at somebody like you just did to me, then makes a joke about covering a shift.”

You felt your heart speed up, so he had noticed your stare? You forced a frown, keeping a skeptical face. Placing a hand on your hip, “I wasn't looking at you like anything.”

“Oh yes, you most definitely were Bonnie.” Fuck that stupid nickname he always called you. It only weakened your resolve.

You rolled your eyes, “And how exactly was I looking at you?” You said, frowning at him.

Johnny’s smile twitched up a little, something akin to hunger flashing in his eyes. “Like you wanted to shag me.” He spoke casually. “-Can’t say I'm not guilty of’tha either though. The drinks here aren't the only reason I'm always stoppin’ by.”

If your face wasn't red before, it definitely was now. You looked around as if somebody was listening in on the conversation. You looked back at him, wide-eyed and flushed. “I-what? I wasn't-” You cut yourself off from stumbling over another word. “You…want to fuck me?” You said slowly, skepticism leaking through your tone.

Without a beat, he nodded. “Yes.”

You stood statue still, absolutely floored by his lack of filter. For a few moments, you didn't know what to say. What could you say? ‘Yeah, I do too now let's have sex right now.’ Yeah right.

…

Well maybe.

You looked around again, there was barely anyone in the bar. They probably wouldn't notice if you disappeared for twenty minutes, right?

You looked back at Johnny, “Meet me behind that door one minute after I go inside.” Without another word, you turned on your heel and marched your ass into the back room behind the drink display. The heavy door shutting with a thump behind you.

You blinked, holy shit. You had just told Johnny to meet you in the back room. What the hell were you doing?!

Just before you started panicking, the door swung open and Johnny marched straight in. “What the hell? I thought I told you a minute later.” You whisper shouted at him.

He chuckled, “Sorry, but I don't think waltzing in here a minute after you would make what we're about to do any less obvious. It was a nice thought, though.” He said, almost patronizingly.

Suddenly, his strides had backed you against one of the back walls that were lined with cardboard boxes. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, “You're such a-” You cut yourself off, sighing heavily. “For the record, I'm only doing this because I'm pissed off about working and I need something to fill the time.” a lie.

Johnny’s large hands slid against your waist, holding you there. “Sure, Bonnie, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Just as you opened your mouth to argue back his head dipped down to capture your lips. You let out a surprised noise but quickly adapted, your hands snaking around his head and pulling him closer. He groaned into you, pushing his hips against yours as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

The kiss was needy, desperate even. Like he wanted to consume you whole. Every moment seemed to heat the tension between you as he slowly ground himself into you, letting you feel the hardening tent between his legs.

He gently nipped at your lip, causing you to gasp. His large hands made quick work of your top by sliding it over your head. As soon as he saw you in your bra, he groaned, “Fuck, this is what I've been thinkin’ bout’ for the past few months.” Without another word, he reached behind you to unclasp your bra. Groping and pawing at your chest like a cat.

You tried your best to keep your sighs and moans down. “You've been thinking about me?” You breathed.

“Every day Bonnie.” He said, kissing a trail up your neck. Red hickeys blossoming in his wake that would undoubtedly remain for the next few hours. But you couldn't find it in you to care, at least not in this moment.

Without warning his kisses began to drop until he slid down between your legs. Kneeling before you like he was ready to worship the ground you stood on. You looked down at him, surprise in your gaze. However, he paid you no mind as he undid your pants. Pulling them down your legs until they pooled at your ankles.

You swallowed, “Johnny you don't have to-”

“I want to.” He cut you off. His breath fanning against the material of your panties, blue eyes staring up at you with haze. His hands gently pulled down the elastic of your underwear until you stood bared to him. “-Fuck, you gorgeous thing.” He breathed, in awe of you.

His mouth was on you at a moment's notice. His hot tongue licking circles around your clit. Your hands immediately went to grab at his hair. Curling around the short locks of brown hair, your other hand slapped over your mouth. Muffling the puffs of air and moans falling from your lips.

It was almost like he was enjoying it more than you were because the way he ate you out was akin to a starving man desperate for water. Johnny moaned into you as he sucked and licked at you, hands holding your hips, keeping you in place.

You panted, absolutely lost for words as he delved into you. You'd never had any man desperate to taste you, so this took the cake. And the way his stubble scratched into your skin made you dizzy. This man had ruined you for anybody else in a few short minutes with his tongue alone.

“Jeez, Johnny- you're gonna make me cum if you keep going like that.” You panted out through your moans.

He detached for a second, looking at you. His cheeks flushed red, his eyes glazed over, and his mouth slick with your juices. “Good,” He panted. “Means I'm doing my job right.”

Before you could say any more he went right back at it, flicking his tongue over your clit. Your hands squeezed his hair tighter, pushing him further. Johnny moaned, letting you guide his face for your pleasure. One of his hands slid away from your thigh to your pussy, pressing a finger into your hole.

You let another moan slip, not being able to hide it as his thick digit pushed into your walls. It was too much, the pressure of his finger curling inside you as his tongue worked against your clit.

“Holy shit- m’gonna cum. M’gonna cum.” You panted, voice going up an octave as your body tightened. A burning heat sending shocks through your spine.

Johnny groaned in response, working his finger faster inside you. You threw your head back with a silent cry, legs shaking as you came. Heat burning down your body and lighting fireworks inside your stomach.

After a few more seconds, he slid his finger out of you, leaning back on his knees. His breath was almost as heavy as yours. Your mind was still hazy but somehow you found it in you to look down at him, gently carding a hand through his hair. “Fuck, McTavish, you surprised me.”

He grinned back at you, practically pussy drunk. “Yeah? Does that mean I get another free drink?” He asked, amused.

You smiled, helping him to his feet. “I’ll do you one better.” You murmured, feeling the fog of your orgasm slowly fade a little.

He raised an eyebrow, his mouth opening in question as you switched your position. Now in front of him and sliding down to your knees, eye to eye with his bulge. Your hands palmed over him, making his head tilt back with a soft groan. “Fuck- [Name], eating you out like that already did a number on me.” He panted, “M’not gonna last long if you do anything to me.”

You smiled, gently unzipping his pants and pulling apart the fabric. Jeez, he was practically tearing a hole straight through his boxers. “I can live with that.” You said teasingly, sliding down his briefs to let his dick spring free.

Your eyes drank him in, pleasantly surprised to find out, yes, he was big. You gently took hold of him, his cock sticky and beading with milky precum. His head fell back against the wall. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?” He half laughed, half moaned.

You hummed in acknowledgment, licking a stripe up his cock. Then swirl your tongue over the reddish tip, lapping up the fluid like syrup. His dick twitched, making you smile. Slowly, you took the head of him into your mouth, inching your way down.

Johnny cursed, his hand reaching down to grab your hair. Holding you as you slid down his dick, your throat wrapped around him. “Bonnie, I told you I wasn't gonna last long.” He moaned, his breath heavy and hard.

You moaned in response, bobbing your head up and down his cock. Letting the tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes locked on his face scrunched up in pleasure as you sucked him off.

Soon, he was practically whimpering at nothing. His hands held your hair with a vice grip as you bobbed up and down on his dick. “Fuckfuckfuck- that's it, keep going. You're so gorgeous, just taking my cock like that.”

You moaned, feeling his cock twitch again in your mouth. With another curse, he came down your throat, painting your mouth a milky white.

Slowly, you detached from his softening dick. Swallowing the fluid, it was salty, kind of earthy too. Not bad though, thank goodness. Johnny stared at you, looking wrecked. You probably didn't fair that much better.

“Was that better than a free drink?” You chuckled, wobbly standing up.

Johnny laughed, nodding. “Way better than a free drink.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again.

“…so, you free after your shift?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Merry Christmas or Happy holidays!

Or if it is the day after Christmas then happy late Christmas. Anyway, just a collection of a few one-shots for the festive season :)

This isn't my usual content, it’s normally more long-form stories but I hope it was okay!

Not too much to say other than thank you for reading and all your support, I love each and every one of you.

And don't forget to like or repost, maybe even leave a comment if you so choose. Toodles!

( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

[shallow-between-stars]

When I grew up I spent a lot of time at my maternal grandparent's home in Victoria.

It was an old, brown two-storey that's since been demolished and subdivided because that is the way of things. After Pop died there wasn't much call for a house with that much space in a gentrifying suburb and it made more sense to knock the whole thing down than try and sell land with a two storey with a separate toilet, a garden, a detatched garage and another garden after that all on it.

Hey, something something property prices.

(Something something buying land in the 1950s and selling it in 2023.)

But next door to my grandfather lived a pair of 'brothers' and their 'live-in best friend.' By the time I came into this world only one of the three was still alive - Al. He was from Germany, I think his name was Alphonse? But to everyone he was just Al. His 'brother' was Hans, I don't know what their 'friend's' name was. I remember that Al's eyes used to go dark and distant if I ever asked him about Germany, and that I learnt to stop asking.

He used to say that he and his 'brother' and their 'friend' were Australian, in a German accent so thick I could only half-understand him, and as a child I did not understand the way I do now.

The thing is, up until the day Al died, he was one of my grandfather's best mates. Pop was around there nearly every day sharing the newspaper, sharing the spoils of the gardens, chatting and fixing electronics and generally just being great friends with this guy.

This had been going on for years. My mum tells stories of Al treating her and her siblings with the same love and kindness that he treated my brother and I with. He was a gorgeous, generous, dapper man with a thick accent and the ability to slip his neighbour's grandkids their bodyweight in chocolate when their parents weren't looking.

And apparently his 'brother' and their 'live-in best friend' were much the same.

Al never told Pop that his 'best friend' and his 'brother' were not his best friend and his brother. Mum clocked it, I have a feeling most of her generation did. I never did until a long time later, but Al was the last to leave us and even he left before I was old enough to realise that the photo on his dining room table that I flipped up once of the three of them with their heads pressed together and bliss on their faces meant what it meant. I never understood the kind way in which he took my hands away and pressed the photo back down.

I don't know if he kept it face down or if it was only down like that when people were visiting. I like to think that in his privacy he would flip the photo up, but I also understand as an adult that hearts sometimes do not heal from grief.

I don't know if Pop was letting him keep a polite fiction. I do know that Pop stopped talking to Cousin Louis when Cousin Louis brought his first 'close friend' home and Pop caught them kissing in the back garden. (He didn't disown Louis, with 27 of us grandkids running around, the only one of us who was left something was my brother and that was for the sole reason that my brother was the Favourite. Everything else was given to the eight children. So none of us grandkids were really in a place to be disowned.)

I do know when I was fifteen and reading terrible yaoi manga on the couch, Pop picked up the next volume I had next to me, flipped to an unfortunate page and told me, brandishing the picture of two anime men kissing, that he wouldn't allow this filth in his house.

I do know that every single family member (including Nanna) who knew that the three men living next door were not brothers and a friend never, ever mentioned that to Pop.

And I wonder sometimes how this story would have played out differently if Al had decided he wasn't going to keep the lie.

I do know that it would not have been kind.

We, in many ways, are moving slowly into a kinder world.

But we cannot forget that the world we come from didn't use to be the way it is now.

Every now and then some discourse pops up around a queer ship consisting of a pair of fictional characters who are not blood related, but refer to themselves as "brothers" or "sisters," or are in some way, according to the fandom, "sibling-coded."

Every time I see that discourse, all I can think about are the very real queer men I once knew, who, before their deaths, lived their lives posing as "stepbrothers." The only way to avoid suspicion for being two older unmarried men living together in a rural conservative area was to pretend they were from the same family, even though the truth was that they were lovers.

They were never out in life. Their relationship was a strict secret to nearly everyone. They never knew that I knew, and sometimes it fucks me up inside that they never got to come out to me. It fucks me up that they had to hide behind a fake "brotherly" relationship for their own safety. It fucks me up to look at a gravestone that reads "beloved brother" and know what it really means, and what it could have said if they'd lived under different circumstances.

In another world, they could have been husbands, but they never had the opportunity. The world will remember them as brothers, because, even in death, that is what was safest.

The freedom to declare queer love openly is something that not everyone has. And I think more people could stand to remember that.

[kurooangel]

❝ HAVING FUN? ❞

ᯓsynopsis: walking in while you're touching yourself.

ᯓwarnings: smut. f!reader. fingering. pet names (pretty girl, baby). sakusa and suna call reader slut. english isn't my first language, sorry if there's any mistake!! masterlist.

ᯓfeaturing: miya atsumu ⊹ ࣪ ˖ kuroo tetsuro ⊹ ࣪ ˖ sakusa kiyomi ⊹ ࣪ ˖ suna rintaro !

★ miya atsumu .ᐟ

he leans against the door frame as he watches you. you're arching your back, your walls hugging your digits. they're too small to please you as your boyfriend does, but you're so needy since atsumu has been out for a week because an out of country tournament and you have missed him so, so much. but when you hear a chuckle, you freeze. you turn around to see him with a grin on his stupidly handsome face. "need some help, pretty girl?"

★ kuroo tetsuro .ᐟ

you wake up alone on your bed and feeling overheated. your nipples are hard and you have a thin layer of sweat all over your body, and you curse the damn japanese volleyball association for keeping your man too busy. your hand go down your body and you start playing with your clit, just as tetsuro does. it's not as good as when he does it, but it's enough to make you moan. when you're about to sink your fingers in your core, the bedroom door opens. shit, today is his free day, you remember. "you just had to go to the kitchen if you needed me, baby. now tell me how much you want it and I may help you"

★ sakusa kiyoomi .ᐟ

you're laying on your bed using your dildo while omi is — or at least you think so — at practice. your back arches off the mattress as you sink it further in your dripping cunt and you grab the sheets beneath you with your free hand. you speed up the dildo and your grip on it and on the covers tightens, a loud moan leaves your mouth, eyes shut as you imagine that is sakusa's dick making you feel good, even if he is quite bigger. "s-sshit, omi!" you whine, and you gulp when you hear a very familiar voice answering with a husky tone. "yes?" your eyes are wide opened and you pull out the dildo. you try to speak, but he does before you can say a word, his stern tone leaving no room for a reply. "you're just a needy slut, raise that pretty ass f'me and let me show you what a real dick is"

★ suna rintaro .ᐟ

his green eyes are fixed on your body, you're on four on your king sized bed as your fingers bury deep inside your gummy walls. he can't help but feel jealous of it, that's his pussy you're touching, he should be the one feeling how you clench around him, not your stupid fingers. so you gasp when a hard spank lands on your ass. his fingers tangle in your hair and he pulls you up, your back flush against his chest and you can feel his breath against your ear. "I don't know why you keep acting like you can cum when you know perfectly fine that you need my cock for that"

[ducktoo]

Who…are you?

LE SSERAFIM’s Chaewon x Reader

Note: dw…it gets weird at the end lol. It's a long ride as well so get comfortable.

And this will be my final fic of 2024! Thank you everyone for liking my stuff and happy holidays! Will be back for more in mid January!

(this is too lethal-)

The sound of the door slamming shut reverberates through the apartment, rattling the picture frames on the walls. You stare at it for a long moment, your jaw tight and your hands clenching into fists at your sides. Another fight. Another evening ruined.

The quiet that follows is suffocating, a stark contrast to the venomous words Chaewon had thrown at you just minutes ago. You drag yourself to the kitchen, barely registering the cold plates of food still waiting on the counter. The dinner you had spent hours making feels like a cruel joke now. You don’t have the appetite to eat it, let alone the energy to put it away.

This is how it’s been lately. Chaewon’s words, once playful and teasing, have turned into weapons. The sharp remarks and biting sarcasm that used to make you laugh now cut you to the core. She gets angry over the smallest things, and somehow, you always end up being the target.

It wasn’t always this way—or at least, it didn’t feel like it.

You think back to a week ago, when Chaewon had been in one of her moods. You had been trying to fix the kitchen faucet, fumbling with the wrench and getting water sprayed in your face. Chaewon had walked in, leaning casually against the doorframe with that signature smirk on her face.

“Wow,” she had said, crossing her arms. “Didn’t know I was dating a plumber-in-training. Or are you auditioning for a clown role with that water trick?”

You’d forced a laugh, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Very funny, Chae. Want to help?”

She had scoffed, walking over and peering down at the mess you’d made. “Help? Why would I do that when watching you flounder is so much more entertaining?”

You had shot her a look, and she had just grinned, flicking water at you before sauntering off.

Then there was the time she’d decided to pick on your cooking.

You’d spent hours trying to make her favourite spicy rice cakes from scratch, wanting to surprise her after a long day. She had walked into the kitchen, sniffing the air dramatically.

“What’s that smell?” she had asked, wrinkling her nose. “Did something die in here?”

You’d frowned, gesturing to the pot. “It’s tteokbokki. I thought you’d like it.”

She’d leaned over the pot, taking a cautious sniff before pulling back like it had personally offended her. “Are you sure? Because it looks like a science experiment gone wrong.”

You’d tried to laugh it off, but the sting of her words had lingered long after she’d gone back to scrolling on her phone.

The teasing wasn’t just verbal, either. Chaewon had a knack for finding your weak spots and exploiting them with surgical precision. Like the time you’d tripped over the rug in the living room and spilled coffee all over your work papers.

“Nice one, Y/N,” she had said from the couch, barely looking up. “Maybe next time, try walking like a normal human instead of whatever that was.”

“I could use some help cleaning this up,” you’d said, your voice strained as you crouched to pick up the soggy papers.

She had glanced at you over the rim of her coffee mug, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Or you could just not trip next time. Problem solved.”

Despite all of it, you stayed. You told yourself it was just her personality—that she didn’t mean to hurt you. You convinced yourself that the moments of warmth, rare as they were, made up for the constant jabs. Like when she’d fallen asleep on your shoulder during a movie, her hand unconsciously clutching yours. Or the one time she’d hugged you after you’d had a particularly bad day, whispering, “I’m here,” so softly it almost didn’t feel real.

But those moments were becoming fewer and farther between, buried under the weight of her sharp words and cold demeanour.

The hours tick by as you sit at the dining table, staring at nothing. You don’t even hear the buzz of your phone at first. When it vibrates again, more insistent this time, you snap out of your daze and pick it up. The caller ID shows Kazuha’s name.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks, still hoarse from the argument.

“Y/N,” Kazuha’s voice is urgent, tinged with panic. “You need to come to the hospital. It’s Chaewon.”

Your heart stops. “What happened?”

“She got into an accident. Just… get here as fast as you can.”

-

The hospital is a blur of sterile white walls and harsh fluorescent lights. The antiseptic smell fills your nostrils as you rush through the corridors, searching for the right room. Your chest feels tight, your breaths shallow. Kazuha meets you outside, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly.

“She’s stable,” Kazuha says quickly, trying to reassure you. “But she hit her head pretty hard. The doctors are saying she might have some memory loss.”

“Memory…loss?” The words barely register as you push past her and into the room.

Chaewon lies on the bed, her face pale and peaceful in a way that feels wrong. A bandage is wrapped around her head, a stark white contrast against her dark hair. You approach her slowly, your steps hesitant.

“Chae?” you whisper, sitting down beside her. Her lashes flutter, and she stirs slightly before her eyes open. Relief floods through you as you lean closer.

“You’re awake,” you say, your voice trembling. “Thank god. You’re okay.”

Her eyes blink slowly, focusing on you. For a moment, it feels like everything will be fine. But then her brow furrows, and she tilts her head slightly.

“Who… are you?” she asks, her voice soft but filled with confusion.

You blink, frozen in place. Her words echo in your mind: Who… are you?

Kazuha places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Y/N, let’s step outside for a moment. The doctor wants to talk to you.”

Your gaze lingers on Chaewon’s confused expression, and you force a shaky smile. “I’ll be right back,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

She nods faintly, though you can tell she’s unsure why you’re even here. Her eyes flicker to Kazuha for a brief moment before she leans back against the pillows, exhaustion taking over.

Once you’re out in the hallway, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The doctor approaches, a clipboard in hand and a calm but professional demeanour.

“You must be Y/N,” he says. “I’m Dr. Park. I’ve been handling Ms. Kim's case.”

"Ah yea, evening Doc." You nod, gripping the hem of your shirt nervously. “What’s… what’s wrong with her? Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s stable,” he reassures you, glancing at his notes. “But as you might have guessed, the head trauma has caused some memory loss. From our initial tests, it appears she’s unable to recall the past two years.”

“T-two years?” You repeat, your voice trembling. You glance through the small window into her room, watching as Chaewon lies there, her face serene and unaware.

Dr. Park nods. “This type of retrograde amnesia isn’t uncommon in cases like hers. The memories she’s lost may come back over time, or they might not. For now, it’s best not to push her to remember. Stress could make her condition worse.”

“Does she know… does she know anything about me?” you ask hesitantly.

The doctor hesitates. “She remembers people and events prior to the memory gap clearly. But anyone she’s met in the last two years, including you… I’m afraid you’ll be a stranger to her.”

His words hit you harder than you expect, but you nod, trying to keep your expression neutral. “So, what should I do? How do I… help her?”

“Take things slow,” he advises. “Reintroduce yourself as someone here to support her. Let her regain her sense of normalcy first. The rest will come with time, if it’s meant to.”

You thank him quietly, your mind racing. A strange mix of relief and uncertainty bubbles within you. She doesn’t remember the fights, the sharp words, the constant tension—but she also doesn’t remember the good moments, the times when you thought there was still hope.

A part of you feels like this is a reset button, a rare chance to start over. But another part can’t shake the hollow ache of being erased from her life so completely.

You take a steadying breath before walking back into the room. Chaewon’s eyes flit to you as you enter, her expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you say softly, pulling a chair closer to her bedside.

She tilts her head, studying you carefully. “You… You’re Kazuha’s friend, right?”

You glance at Kazuha, who gives you a subtle nod of encouragement from the doorway. Turning back to Chaewon, you force a small smile. “Yeah. I’m just… here to help however I can.”

Chaewon seems to accept this, though the skepticism in her eyes remains. “Thanks, I guess,” she mutters, her voice laced with tiredness.

As she closes her eyes to rest, you lean back in the chair, letting out a slow breath. A small part of you feels lighter than you have in months. No arguments, no cutting remarks—just quiet. Peaceful, even.

But as you watch her, the weight of her blank stare still lingers in your chest. The person you love doesn’t know who you are. And yet, you can’t help but think: maybe this is a chance to show her a version of yourself she could love all over again.

For now, you let the hope settle, hidden behind the mask of quiet sadness you wear for her sake.

-

The week passes in a blur. Chaewon’s recovery is faster than anyone expected. Physically, she’s almost back to normal, but the gap in her memory remains. You watch her adjust to this new reality, navigating her day-to-day life with a mix of determination and frustration.

True to the doctor’s advice, you’ve been patient, reintroducing yourself as a supportive figure in her life without overwhelming her. She accepts your presence without question—polite, a little guarded, but far removed from the sharp-tongued firecracker you’ve known for so long.

Her management team decided it would be best for Chaewon to ease back into her idol activities gradually. You accompany her, not as her partner, but as someone who can help with her day-to-day needs. Kazuha and Sakura are visibly relieved to have you there, knowing how well you understand Chaewon’s habits.

On set, Chaewon is a model of professionalism. She’s diligent, respectful, and surprisingly soft-spoken. When she doesn’t understand something—a choreography move, a filming cue—she asks politely instead of figuring it out on her own like she used to.

“It’s weird,” she admits to you one evening, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt. “I don’t remember the last two years, but I still know all the lyrics and choreography. It’s like muscle memory, I guess.”

You smile faintly from where you’re sitting across the room. “That’s a good thing, right? At least it’s one less thing to stress about.”

She nods, her brows furrowing. “I guess. But it feels like I’m walking into someone else’s life. Like, who was I? Was I…” She pauses, searching for the right words. “Was I any good at it?”

You hesitate, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. She was more than good—she was extraordinary. But her fiery ambition often bled into her personal life, creating the tension that had defined your relationship. Now, all you see is a softer, more vulnerable Chaewon.

“You were great,” you say finally. “Still are.”

Her lips twitch into a small smile, and for once, there’s no sharp remark to follow it.

You’re there in the background, watching as she joined with her members, laughs softly at their jokes, and engages with fans with genuine warmth. It’s such a far cry from the Chaewon who used to tease you mercilessly or snap when she was stressed.

-

At first, it’s disorienting.

One afternoon, as you help her organize a stack of photo cards at a fan sign event, she flashes you a small, almost shy smile.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, her tone devoid of the usual edge you once expected.

You nearly drop the cards. “No problem,” you manage, your voice awkward.

She doesn’t seem to notice, already turning back to greet the next fan with her signature smile.

Another day at their practice room, you accompany her under the pretence of helping her settle back in. The truth is, you just want to see this new side of her in action.

Chaewon seems… different. Lighter. She laughs with her members more, her usual sharp edge replaced by something softer. You watch from the corner of the practice room as she playfully ruffles Eunchae’s hair, earning a squeal of protest from the younger girl.

“Unnie, stop!” Eunchae whines, swatting Chaewon’s hand away.

Chaewon grins, her eyes crinkling in that familiar way that always made your heart skip a beat. “What? I’m just making sure our maknae looks her best.”

The rest of the group chuckles, and you find yourself smiling too. It’s a scene you’d rarely witnessed before, where Chaewon seems completely at ease with herself and those around her.

During their lunch break, Kazuha sits beside you, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been staring at her a lot.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Have I…?”

Kazuha smirks. “Yeah. You look like you’re seeing a whole new Chaewon.”

You glance at Chaewon, who’s currently chatting animatedly with Sakura and Yunjin. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly.

Kazuha’s expression softens. “It’s good, right? This version of her?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s… it’s really good.”

-

By the end of the week, you’re starting to notice the cracks in your own resolve.

You don’t miss the fights—not the arguments or the hurtful words or the way she could turn a perfectly fine evening into a battlefield. What you do miss is the spark.

Chaewon’s teasing, for all its rough edges, had always carried a certain energy. There was a wit to her remarks, a confidence that made everything she said hit just the right spot between infuriating and endearing. You used to catch her smirking at you when she thought you weren’t looking, as if she enjoyed seeing how far she could push your buttons.

Now, she’s… gentle. Easy to be around. And yet, you find yourself yearning for the banter, the fire that kept you on your toes.

It’s a strange contradiction. You enjoy this new version of her, free from the biting remarks and the heavy tension that used to hang between you. But in quiet moments, when she’s busy scrolling through her phone or practicing her vocals, you find yourself wondering if she’d ever smirk at you again.

One evening, after a particularly long day of rehearsals, you’re both sitting in her apartment. Chaewon is sprawled out on the couch, her hair still damp from a quick shower. You’re at the kitchen counter, making tea.

“Y/N,” she calls out suddenly, her voice soft but clear.

You glance over. “Yeah?”

“Why do you always help me?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

You pause, gripping the handle of the kettle. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, sitting up. “You don’t owe me anything. But you’re always here, even when I forget things or need help with stupid stuff. It’s… nice, but I don’t get it.”

Her words catch you off guard. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“I just… care,” you say finally, avoiding her gaze. “I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. When you glance at her, she’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite place—curiosity mixed with something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Thanks,” she says again, quieter this time.

You nod, busying yourself with the tea to hide the lump forming in your throat.

Later that night, as you lie awake on the couch, you can’t help but reflect on how far things have come—and how much has changed.

This new Chaewon is someone you could fall for all over again. She’s kinder, gentler, more open in ways you never expected. But there’s a part of you that aches for the old Chaewon too—the one who used to challenge you, frustrate you, and make you laugh in ways no one else could.

It’s a bittersweet thought, knowing you may never get her back the way she was. But as you close your eyes, you remind yourself that this is a new beginning, a chance to love her for who she is now, not who she used to be.

And as you began to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace will last.

-

The days slip by in a strange rhythm, where you’re never quite sure who you’ll see when you look at Chaewon.

At times, it’s like she’s still the same—sweet, easy-going, even a little shy around you. But other times, the fire you remember from before flares up unexpectedly, like a switch flipping.

You’ve gotten used to the gentle, more compliant Chaewon, the one who asks you for help with every little thing. But when her old personality slips through—when she’s sharp, playful, and downright teasing—it’s like the rug gets pulled out from under you.

One morning, you’re getting ready to leave the apartment. Chaewon is sitting on the couch, fiddling with her phone. You make your way toward the door, your keys in hand.

“Hey,” she says, her voice low and almost playful.

You stop and turn, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Her eyes glint mischievously as she leans back on the couch, crossing her arms. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re all flustered.”

Your stomach does a nervous flip. “What are you talking about?” You laugh awkwardly, glancing away.

She smirks, the old Chaewon you’ve missed suddenly making an appearance. “The way you get all nervous around me when I say things like that. It’s cute. I think I might start teasing you more.”

Your heart races, half amused and half unsettled. “Chae…” You try to act annoyed, but your tone betrays you. “You don’t even remember me. What do you mean by that?”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with something you can’t quite read. “Maybe I don’t remember all the details, but I remember you. The guy who’s always around, always hovering, always trying to help. How could I forget you?”

Your breath catches, a flutter of hope igniting in your chest. But before you can respond, she bursts out laughing. “Just kidding, Y/N. But seriously, don’t you get it? You’re like an open book. So easy to tease.”

It feels like an old routine—one you know well. You grin despite yourself, but the warmth in your chest quickly fades into the familiar uncertainty. Was this just a moment of her old self slipping through, or was it something more?

She gets up, not waiting for an answer, her usual carefree confidence taking over once again. “You should get going. I don’t want you to be late.”

And just like that, the teasing fades, and she’s back to the softer version of herself. You stand there, still feeling the aftershock of the teasing and the warmth from that brief return to the Chaewon you used to know.

-

Later that week, you’re both at a recording studio for LE SSERAFIM’s comeback preparations.

Chaewon is focused on the choreography, her movements deliberate but careful. You’re sitting in the corner of the room, watching her with a quiet sense of pride, when she suddenly stumbles over a step, losing her balance for a moment.

You instinctively stand up, ready to rush over, but she waves you off with a dismissive hand. “I’m fine,” she mutters, brushing her hair out of her face. “Don’t act like you’re my manager or something.”

Your jaw tightens, the familiar spark of annoyance bubbling up inside you. “Chae, I’m just trying to help.”

She glances up at you, her expression sharp, almost a little… cruel. “Stop acting like I need you to. I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own.”

You freeze. This is the Chaewon you remember—the one who never asked for help, the one who got irritated when anyone tried to make things easier for her.

For a moment, you forget that she doesn’t remember everything, and your heart sinks. You had hoped this version of her was gone, that the softer, gentler Chaewon would be the one to stay. But here she is, slipping back into her old self, the one who pushed you away when you tried to get close.

“Okay,” you say quietly, masking the hurt in your voice. “I’ll stay out of your way then.”

You sit back down, your hands resting in your lap as the silence stretches between you. Chaewon doesn’t say anything more, but there’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there before.

-

Over the next few days, these shifts continue. Sometimes, she’s the easy-going Chaewon you’ve gotten used to—polite, soft-spoken, even a little shy in her interactions with you. Other times, she snaps, teasing you with a bite in her words that leaves you reeling, or she’ll shut down, acting distant and cold.

You can’t predict when the old Chaewon will emerge, and it’s disorienting. It’s like she’s two people, and you’re not sure which one you’re going to face each day.

But then, one evening, she surprises you again.

You’re sitting on the couch together, both too tired to say much after a long day of practice. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy.

Chaewon’s smile widens, but it’s different this time—not as teasing or sharp. It’s softer, almost tender, like she’s rediscovering something she once knew. She leans back against the couch, her gaze drifting to the ceiling, her thoughts seemingly miles away.

“I think I’m starting to remember more,” she says, her voice almost inaudible.

You freeze, a flutter of hope stirring in your chest. “Remember more?”

She looks at you, a faint smile still tugging at her lips. “Yeah. The old me. The one who used to—” Her words trail off, as if she’s still piecing things together in her mind. “Maybe I was a little too much sometimes… difficult. But I think I’m figuring out who I really am now.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. There’s something almost melancholic in the way she speaks, a quiet acknowledgment of her past, yet also a sense of self-awareness in the present.

You stay silent, watching her closely. There’s no sharp retort, no teasing grin to follow. For a moment, you just exist in this space, caught between who Chaewon was and who she’s becoming.

For a while, neither of you speaks. But you know—no matter which version of her you get, the part of her that’s still here, right now, is still the Chaewon you care about. Maybe it’s not the same, and maybe it never will be, but that doesn’t make it any less real. And for now, that’s enough.

-

It starts innocently enough—a rare free day where you and Chaewon decide to hang out in your apartment. She’s lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone, while you’re in the kitchen attempting to make lunch. Everything is blissfully normal until you hear her gasp dramatically.

“YAAAA!” she shouts, the intensity of her voice startling you so much that you nearly drop the spatula.

“What? What happened?” you ask, rushing into the living room, half-expecting to see something catastrophic.

Chaewon’s eyes narrow as she points accusingly at you with her phone. “How could you?”

You blink, utterly confused. “How could I… what?”

Her face twists in mock devastation as she waves her phone like it’s evidence in a court case. “I was looking through old photos, and you were smiling way too much in the pictures we took during my memory loss phase.”

You stare at her, waiting for the punchline, but she looks genuinely offended. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” she says, sitting up and glaring at you, “that you clearly liked her more than me. Admit it!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “Chae, you are her. It’s literally still you.”

“But it’s not me!” she insists, crossing her arms and pouting. “That version of me was sweet and soft and totally not me. You liked her better because she wasn’t mean to you, didn’t she?”

“I—what?” you stammer, completely thrown off. “No! I mean, she was nice, sure, but I didn’t like her better! It’s the same person, Chae!”

“Liar!” she exclaims, standing up and stomping over to you. “You probably enjoyed having her dote on you, didn’t you? Bet you didn’t even miss the real me at all!”

You take a cautious step back, holding your hands up defensively. “I did miss you! And I didn’t cheat on you with... you! That doesn’t even make sense!”

Chaewon huffs, her jealousy reaching peak absurdity. “Oh, it makes perfect sense. I leave for a few weeks mentally, and you’re out here having the time of your life with some soft, clingy version of me. Unbelievable!”

She pokes your chest, her expression a mix of irritation and… something else. “Admit it! You liked how she was all shy and asked for help, didn’t you? Bet you enjoyed being the big, helpful boyfriend for once instead of dealing with me!”

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. The whole situation is so ridiculous you can’t take it seriously anymore.

“Chaewon, do you hear yourself right now? You’re jealous of yourself.”

Her cheeks flush, and she smacks your arm. “Don’t laugh! This is serious! I’m trying to have a heartfelt moment here.”

“Heartfelt?” you repeat between laughs. “You’re accusing me of emotionally cheating on you with another version of you. That’s not heartfelt—that’s a sitcom plot!”

Chaewon’s pout deepens, but there’s a hint of a smile threatening to break through her faux anger. “Well… maybe I’m a little jealous, okay? You didn’t seem to miss me as much as I thought you would.”

You sigh, shaking your head in exasperation. “Chaewon, I missed you every single day. The real you.”

Her glare falters, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she crosses her arms and looks away, pouting. “You’re just saying that to get out of trouble.”

You take a cautious step closer, tilting your head to catch her eye. “Trouble for what? Loving my girlfriend, no matter which version of her I get?”

She glances at you, her pout softening slightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she mutters under her breath.

Just as you’re about to breathe a sigh of relief, she surprises you by grabbing your shirt and pulling you down to her level. Her lips crash against yours in a kiss so sudden and intense that your brain short-circuits.

When she finally pulls away, she’s still glaring, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “That’s so you don’t forget who you really belong to.”

Before you can respond, she kisses you again, her hands tangling in your hair as if staking her claim. “Chae—”

“Shut up,” she murmurs against your lips. “I’m still mad.”

You can’t help but laugh, your hands settling on her waist. “You don’t seem that mad to me.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she warns, but there’s no real heat in her voice.

By the time she lets you go, you’re both out of breath, and the tension has melted away entirely. She steps back, her arms still crossed, but there’s a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“So,” you say, trying to catch your breath, “are we good now? Or should I prepare for another interrogation about cheating on you with… you?”

She rolls her eyes but leans into your chest, her head resting against you. “We’re good. But if I ever catch you looking at ‘soft Chaewon’ like that again, we’re going to have words.”

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her. “Noted. But for the record, I love you—sharp edges and all.”

She looks up at you, her smile softening. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, no matter which version of me shows up.”

Maybe you’ve been accused of cheating, maybe it’s all completely ridiculous, but in that moment, you can’t help but love her even more—especially when she’s acting like her old, impossible self.

You could probably get used to this Chaewon too.

[theocddiaries]

Sonic: We’re lost. Stone: No, we're not… We’re just a little off course, but nothing a map can’t fix. Doctor, could you hand me the map, please? Robotnik: …Why me? Stone: Because you brought it. Robotnik: No, I didn't. Shadow: Didn’t we agree you’d grab it? Robotnik: Yes, and I did grab it while waiting for you back at home. Nobody said anything about bringing it. Sonic: How can someone be smart and stupid at the same time? Robotnik: I hate to agree with this guy, Stone, but forgetting the map is something else. Stone: …Okay. It’s fine, no problem. We still have the compass. Everyone: … … … Stone: Ivo. Please. Tell me you didn’t forget the compass too. Robotnik: I didn’t forget the compass. Stone [sighs with a smile]: Oh, thank goodness. Where is it? Robotnik: I think I saw it on the coffee table before we left. Sonic [to Stone]: Regretting your day in the nature with no electronics yet? Stone: Ivo, you just said you didn't forget the compass. Robotnik: Well, you told me to tell you I didn’t forget it! Shadow: For the love of… Robotnik: Jeez, either I suddenly don’t understand English, or your IQ is dropping by the second. Shadow: What’s dropping is our body temperature. The sun’s going down, and we’re going to freeze thanks to you. Stone [takes in a deep breath]: Okay, okay, everyone calm down… Look, we’ll build a fire, it's okay. [starts gathering supplies]: Kids, watch closely. This is an ancient technique, you’re about to see a man create fire with his own two hands! [Half an hour later, Stone is still trying to start a fire with a stick. Shadow and Sonic are wrapped in a shared blanket, while Robotnik sits with a blanket draped over his shoulders, leaning against a tree.] Sonic: I can see my breath. Stone: Kid, this is hard, okay? Wanna try it yourself?! Sonic: I actually do! Stone: Well, too bad, I want to do it! Robotnik: Stop giving Stone a hard time. At least he has ideas and is trying. Stone: Thank you, Iv--What the hell is that…? Robotnik [lighting a cigarette with a lighter]: Yes, I know I promised I’d quit smoking, but when you told me we were spending the day in the wilderness with your little freak and the blue thing, I figured I’d better bring this. Just in case. Got a chill just thinking about it, you know? Sonic: A chill??? The only chill here is the one we’re feeling because of you! Shadow: Why didn’t you say you had a lighter?! Sonic: And how are you more of a nuisance now that you’re reformed than when you were a self-proclaimed villain?! Robotnik: Stone, the kids are disrespecting me in front of the wildlife. Shadow: Yes, in front of Yogi Bear... Stone: Ivo… [about to snap]: You’ve been watching me shred my hands for half an hour, and it didn’t occur to you to mention you had a lighter!? Robotnik: What would I know, Stone. You just seemed so excited doing your little ancestral thing or whatever the hell that was-- Stone [snatches the lighter angrily] Robotnik: Everything I do is wrong in your eyes, isn’t it? Sometimes I think you getting mad at me is your new hobby.

[4linos]

after the storm

han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis/request: when jisung lashes out in frustration, the hurt you feel cuts deep. the following morning, he’s full of regret and apologies, but the damage is done. will the two of you be able to find a way to heal together, or has this moment created a rift too large to fix?

wc: 1695

That day had been a storm, a silent, simmering chaos that erupted unexpectedly. It had begun with something small, something you both should have been able to discuss easily: a miscommunication about plans. You had asked Jisung to pick up groceries after work, an easy task that you had agreed upon the night before. But when you called him later to check in, he said he hadn't gone.

The reason?

"I just didn't have the energy, okay?"

It wasn’t the reason that stung; it was the tone. The dismissiveness. The way his voice had hardened, like you were the last person he wanted to talk to. You could hear it in his voice the fatigue, sure but there was something else, too. Something more dismissive, more impatient.

You tried to keep your calm. You asked him why he hadn’t mentioned this earlier, and that’s when it escalated. Jisung snapped at you.

“Why do you always have to make everything a bigger deal? I told you I was tired, and you just can’t let it go, can you?” His voice was sharp now, piercing through the calmness you’d tried to maintain. “You think I don’t have things to do? That I don’t have my own problems? Stop acting like everything’s always about you!”

The words hit you like a slap. It was not just what he said, but how he said it. The unexpected cold. The anger. It wasn't Jisung as you knew him. It wasn't the loving, caring lover who constantly looked to console you when things were tough. You had never seen this side of him before, it was raw, cruel, and unlike the person you loved. You tried to react, defend yourself, and explain that it wasn't about being selfish, but about knowing one another. But Jisung would not hear it. His irritation had gotten out of hand, and before you knew it, you were both screaming at one other, the argument growing into a conflict of hurt feelings. In the end, it was one of those exhausting arguments that left you feeling drained, defeated, like something inside had been broken.

Jisung disappeared off to the bedroom, and you had cuddled up on the couch, letting your tears fall. You were upset. You were hurt. You were mostly confused, though. You weren't expecting this venom, this hardness. You didn't expect him to lash out like that, to treat you as if you were the problem when you were just trying to keep things together.

And now it was the morning after. The house was strangely quiet. You awoke with the impression that yesterday's weight was still bearing down on you. The argument had not been settled, and there was a noticeable gap between you and Jisung, an emotional coldness that neither of you had been able to overcome just yet.

You stumbled into the kitchen, your body still feeling heavy with the aftermath of the fight. The coffee machine hummed in the background, filling the silence with the comforting sound of routine. You tried to go through the motions, hoping that the normalcy of it would ease the tightness in your chest. But the hurt from the night before was still there, lingering in every corner of your mind.

You needed space. You needed time to think.

The coffee began to brew, and as you stood there waiting, your thoughts wandered back to the argument. The way Jisung had raised his voice. The hurt in his eyes when you didn’t immediately understand his frustration. The words he had thrown at you, accusing you of being self-centered, of not caring about how he felt. You knew deep down that he hadn’t meant to hurt you. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Before you could even try to clear your mind, you heard footsteps behind you, and your heart sank.

“Hey, babe,” Jisung’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, like he was afraid to approach you after everything that had happened. He was there, standing right behind you, but there was a distance in his tone. The same distance that had grown between the two of you since yesterday.

You didn’t turn to face him. You couldn’t. Your body still felt heavy with the weight of the argument, and you didn’t know how to process the emotions that were swirling inside you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you focused on the sound of the coffee machine, the clinking of the cup, anything to avoid the rawness of the situation.

Then, without warning, you felt Jisung wrap his arms around you. He was trying to be delicate, to ease the distance between you, but his touch felt strange now. His warmth should have been reassuring, but it merely emphasized the coldness between you. You froze, your body becoming rigid at the contact. He did not seem to notice. Maybe deep down, he did. Maybe that's why he hesitated for a time, his arms tightening around you in an almost desperate cry for forgiveness, connection, and a chance to feel him as he felt you. But you couldn't move. You couldn't respond.

So you turned away from him. You swept past him as if he were not there. You didn't try to hurt him, but it was easier to stay away and protect yourself. The raw vulnerability of being hurt by someone you care about made everything feel overwhelming. You wandered to the living room and sunk onto the couch without saying anything. You didn't want to confront this. You didn't know how to handle it. The argument from yesterday was still vivid in your mind, and despite hearing guilt in his footsteps as he followed you, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

He stood there for a moment, hesitant, before calmly sitting next to you. He took the coffee cup from your hands, his fingers brushing across yours, and then lied down with his head on your lap. It seemed as if he was trying to get closer, to close the emotional gap, but it felt too soon. Too raw. You stared straight ahead, the TV on in the background, but you weren't watching it. The silence between you was suffocating. Your fingers were curled in your lap, but Jisung's presence in your space was undeniable, even if you didn't acknowledge it. His body was close to yours, his chest rising and falling with quiet breaths, but there was no comfort in it.

And then, in the softest voice, Jisung spoke. “I’m sorry… for yesterday. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I didn’t mean what I said. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been so stressed, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

The words hung in the air. You wanted to say something. You wanted to reassure him, but you couldn’t quite shake the sting of what had been said. You didn’t know how to respond to his apology because, even though you knew he was sorry, it didn’t change how his words had made you feel. It didn’t change the hurt that was still fresh in your heart.

Jisung waited, his eyes closed, his hand resting on your knee, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin as if he was asking for your forgiveness without saying a word. The guilt radiated from him, and it made your chest tighten even more. He was sorry. You knew he was. But could you forgive him this easily?

You were silent at first. Instead, you let the tips of your fingers slide through his messy hair. The move was natural, something you would do any other day when the two of you were at ease. However, it felt like a truce, a period of peaceful connection in the midst of everything that just happened. Jisung let out a gentle sigh, his body softening under your touch, as if he had finally relieved some of the tension that had been building up. He nuzzled onto your lap, instinctively seeking the comfort he knew you could give him.

You gently scratched his head, without looking at him, but using your fingers in calm, controlled movements. It wasn't that you didn't care; instead, everything felt so raw. You needed time. You needed him to understand that the apology was only the first step. That rebuilding trust needed more than just words. Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. "I was hurt, Jisung. What you said really stung. You can't just snap at me like that, no matter what's going through your mind. I don't deserve that. I understand you didn't mean it, but it still hurt."

You could feel him flinch slightly beneath your touch, his hand tightening around your leg, but he did not say anything. He did not try to interrupt. He just listened, which was all you needed right now. "But," you said softly, "I accept your apologies. I do. As long as you promise me this will not happen again. We can't keep doing it, Jisung. I can't keep feeling this way every time we fight. We need to figure out a better way to communicate. We need to respect each other, even when times are difficult."

Jisung nodded slowly, his forehead pressing lightly against your leg, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breath, the two of you suspended in this quiet, fragile moment of vulnerability. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let your fingers continue to massage his scalp, letting the weight of his apology settle between you.

“I promise,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll do better. I’ll make sure this never happens again. I love you too much to hurt you like that.”

And, for the first time since yesterday, you were able to relax and breathe a bit easier, knowing that, while the road to recovery would take time, you were both willing to try. You didn't know how things would turn out in the future, but for the time being, you allowed yourself to believe that everything would be okay.

//

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

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[werevampiwolf]

Yeah. At 19, I was finally diagnosed with autism and as unable to live independently without years of occupational therapy and my mother said "fuck that" and threw me out of the house two days later. She'd fought the doctors my entire life to stopbe from being diagnosed, because then that would mean there was something "wrong" with me.

I was homeless for over a year. I'm no longer homeless, mostly due to getting very very lucky with circumstances outside my control (like the fact that I was young enough and had been homeless long enough while continuing to take classes at the local community college to qualify for a government grant for Unaccompanied Homeless Youth, which allowed me to get an apartment. And i was only able to take classes because I was poor enough that the classes were free, and because i had a broken laptop and it never got stolen AND i already knew how to fix computers so I was about to Franken-Computer it into it being and staying at least slightly usable AND the fact that the nearest Starbucks was understanding and didn't throw me out or call the cops when I spent hours in there to do coursework), so my mother takes this as a win. Obviously, the doctor must have been wrong because when I was forced to sink or swim, I've stayed alive (very literally in this case).

I would argue that even now, going on a decade later, I'm not so much "living on my own" as I am "barely surviving", but I try to make it very clear, both to her and to people I tell this story to, that the problem with "Sink or Swim" is that people who sink fucking DROWN.

Because even as someone who was forced, and who managed to just barely keep my head above the water... I'm a very staunch opponent to the idea of Sink or Swim. What I had to live through was horrible, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else. But not only that, I was very acutely aware that my only options were to figure it out or to quite literally Die.

As someone who survived the extreme of the other side of this coin that OP is talking about... the idea that I or anyone else could manage to survive such circumstances and then turn around and insist that the ends justify the means is both baffling and appalling to me, though I know that it very much happens. I cannot see it as anything other than "I suffered, so you should have to suffer too." It's awful to be on either side of this coin, and if you think it's okay for force people to Sink or Swim, whether you've been in that situation or not, than you can fuck right off with that shit.

Side note, I'm someone with support needs on the higher end of medium. I still can't manage to brush my teeth independently, and I don't manage to feed myself consistently, though I at least manage to do it often enough to get enough calories in me to stay alive (and that's ignoring anything other than calories that make up a healthy and balanced diet, because that's not an option for me. It's eat whatever junk food I manage to get into my my mouth or starve). I have to rely on schedules, because my brain doesn't really understand what hunger feels like. I just eventually feel like I'm going to throw up, and if I'm lucky, my brain figures out that I haven't eaten in all day and that's probably why. But there are days when, even if you put a plate of food in front of me, it wouldn't occur to me to eat it. I will just sit there and stare at it (or into space) without outside promoting to eat. I maybe manage to take out the trash or do laundry every two weeks if I lucky, and sometimes it's only once a month, or less. I have plastic bottles that haven't been taken out in at least six months, and probably closer to a year. Perhaps the only reason I can see the other side of this coin is because I basically live as close to edge as is physically possible without going over the edge, but I really hope that's not it. I don't think people should have to be constantly teetering on the knife-edge of this reality to understand that It's Really Fucking Bad to force people to Sink or Swim, or as I prefer to call it, Survive Or Die.

I don’t think people understand how it is to have been behind on EVERY milestone. Learning how to walk? Late. Learning to read? Late. Learning to use the bathroom independently? Late. Every single milestone was late.

And when you have this, people ask questions. People bully you. Why can’t you shower by yourself at 9,10,15,20? Why can’t you brush your teeth independently and frequently? Why can’t you tie your shoes? Why can’t you do math? Why can’t you do this, or that.

And then there’s the people on social media. “Well I was forced to.” “Well I didn’t have a choice” and that’s understandable and completely valid, but there are people that no matter how much you force them, or neglect them so they “figure it out” they won’t “figure it out”. They’ll die. They’ll starve. They’ll not bathe and be dirty.

Higher support needs people don’t just “figure it out” our brains are wired differently. Our brains don’t get that we HAVE to do these things just to survive. So we don’t. And that sucks.

It’s disheartening to constantly hear people say “well i was forced to” because so was I!! I was forced to do things too! I was neglected too! And guess what? I still didn’t do those things. I STILL wasn’t able to meet those milestones.

The big one that I see is “well I’m forced to talk.” And I get that, but me, a person that’s nonverbal, can’t be forced to talk. No matter if I’m neglected, no matter if my device is taken away or I have no way of communication. I still wouldn’t be able to talk. I CANNOT force myself to talk. Get that through your heads. This is my reality, and although yours sucked there are still some people who cannot do things, and saying that they could if they were “forced” is invalidating of them.

[woozinhos]

heyyy congratulations on you 400 mark, deserved

i think you'd write this well so, id add to my previous ask +

joshua office sex, but a lil bit of power dynamics, like he's suited up and op's bare?

I decided to make Joshua our boss in this one with a bit of power dynamic hope you enjoy :D

You sit at your desk, trying to focus on your work as the tension in the air becomes almost unbearable. Joshua, your boss, sits across from you, his eyes fixed on you with a look of disapproval.

"You're behind on your work again," he says coldly, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

You can't help but wonder why he's sitting at his desk instead of in his office. It's not like him to be this close to you, especially when he's been in a bad mood all day. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues to scrutinize you.

"You're not paying attention," he snaps, his eyes narrowing. "Do I need to spell everything out for you?"

You flinch at his harsh tone, feeling a mix of irritation and anxiety.

"I'm trying to pay attention," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "But it's hard when you're breathing down my neck like this."

Joshua raises an eyebrow at your comment, clearly not amused.

"You're getting mouthy," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't appreciate your attitude."

He stands up from his chair and walks over to your desk, towering over you as he looks down at you with a smirk. You feel your heartbeat quicken as he looms over you, his presence intimidating and domineering.

"I've had enough of your insolence," he growls, leaning in closer to you. "You need to learn your place."

He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"You're just a little employee," he says, his grip tightening as he speaks. "And I'm your boss. You do as I say, and you do it without question."

In a moment of anger and defiance, you slap his hand away from your face, glaring up at him.

"I'm not some puppet for you to control," you snap, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

Joshua's eyes flash with anger as you slap his hand away, and for a moment, you think he's going to hit you back. But instead, he grabs your wrists and pins them against the desk, leaning in close to your face.

"You just made a big mistake," he hisses, his face inches from yours.

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?" you retort, trying to keep your voice from wavering.

You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you struggle against his grip, your body pressed against the desk beneath him. Joshua smirks at your defiant words, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anger and excitement.

"You're really pushing my buttons, aren't you?" he says, his grip on your wrists tightening. "You have no idea what I'm capable of when I'm angry."

"I don't care," you spit out, your words laced with defiance. "You can't intimidate me into submission."

With a snarl, Joshua pulls you up from your chair and drags you into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

He shoves you against the wall, pinning you there with his body as he towers over you. With a click, Joshua locks the door, ensuring that no one will interrupt them. He leans in close to you, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers in a low voice.

"You're all mine now, little one."

"And I'm going to make you pay for your insolence," he continues, his hands trailing down your body as he speaks.

He grabs your hips and pins you more firmly against the wall, his body pressed against yours as he looks down at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You think you can just punish me whenever you feel like it?" you say, trying to sound defiant despite the heat pooling in your core.

Joshua chuckles darkly, his hands moving up to cup your face as he forces you to look at him.

"Oh, I know I can," he says, his voice low and commanding. "And you're going to take it like the good girl you are."

"Say it," he growls, his fingers digging into your skin. "Say 'stop' and I'll let you go."

He takes your silence as a challenge, and with a possessive growl, he crashes his lips against yours in a rough, demanding kiss. In your mind, you're screaming at yourself for kissing him back. It's crazy, it's wrong, but there's something about the way he dominates you that makes your body respond in ways you can't control.

As you kiss him back, your mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You're angry at him, furious at his arrogance and his domineering behavior. But there's also a part of you that craves his touch, that revels in the way he makes you feel small and powerless.

His hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as he claims you as his own. You moan into the kiss, your body betraying your anger as it melts into his touch. He pulls back for a moment, a smirk on his face as he sees the desire in your eyes.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Despite your protests, you can't resist me."

"Shut up," you manage to gasp out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Despite your words, you can feel your body arching into his touch, craving more of his dominance and control.

With a rough movement, Joshua lifts you up into his arms and carries you over to his desk. He swipes everything off the surface in one swift motion, sending papers and pens scattering across the floor. He sets you down on the desk, positioning you so that you're sitting on the edge, facing him. As you grab onto his tie, pulling him closer to you, he grins, his eyes dark with desire.

"Oh, you're a feisty one, aren't you?" he says, his hands resting on your thighs as he stands between your legs.

"I hate you," you whisper, even as your body betrays you and presses closer to his.

Joshua laughs at your words, his hands tightening on your thighs as he leans in closer.

"I know you do," he says, his voice low and seductive. "But your body doesn't seem to agree."

He runs his hands up your thighs, his touch sending shivers through your body.

"Your body is practically begging for me," he continues, his fingers trailing higher and higher until they're teasing the edge of your panties.

"Do you want me to take you here, right now?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. "Right on my desk, where anyone could walk in and see us?"

"Yes," you say, the word tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop it.

You feel a mix of shame and excitement at the thought of being taken so publicly, so wantonly. A wicked grin spreads across Joshua's face as he hears your answer.

"Good girl," he says, his fingers tracing the outline of your panties. "You're learning to be honest with yourself, at least."

He leans in, his lips trailing down your neck as he whispers in your ear.

"I'm going to make you mine, right here and now. And you're going to beg for it."

With a swift motion, Joshua bends you over the desk, your chest pressed against the cool surface as he positions you exactly how he wants you. The sound of his belt buckle being undone sends a shiver down your spine, anticipation building within you. You can feel his hands on your hips, his touch rough and possessive as he pulls your panties down your legs.

"You're mine," he growls, his breath hot against your skin. "And I'm going to make sure you remember that."

You hear the sound of a condom wrapper being torn open, and a moment later, you feel him press against your entrance.

"You're going to take all of me," he says, his voice filled with raw need. "And you're going to scream my name."

Joshua takes his time, teasing you mercilessly as he rubs himself against you. He knows exactly how to make you desperate, how to push your limits until you're begging for him to take you.

"Please," you gasp out, your body aching with need. "Please, just take me already."

"Beg for it," he says, his voice firm. "Beg for me like a good girl, to take you, to make you mine."

"Please, Joshua," you whimper, your body trembling with desire. "I need you. I need you inside me. Please, take me. I'll do anything."

Joshua finally gives in to your pleas, sliding into you in one smooth motion. He groans as he feels your tightness around him, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he begins to move.

Joshua sets a brutal pace, his thrusts hard and fast as he claims you on his desk. He grunts with each movement, his hands leaving bruises on your hips as he pounds into you relentlessly. Yes, he's being deliberately loud, his moans and grunts echoing through the room as he makes sure everyone outside can hear what's happening.

He wants them to know that you're his, that he's claiming you right here and now. With each thrust, he hits that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers filthy words in your ear.

"You feel so good," he growls, his hot breath on your neck. "So tight and perfect around me. You were made for me."

Joshua's moans grow louder and more desperate, his body trembling with pleasure as he nears his release.

"I'm going to come," he grunts, his fingers digging into your hips as he drives into you harder and faster. "I'm going to fill you up and make you mine, forever."

With a final, powerful thrust, Joshua reaches his peak, his body tensing as he spills into the condom. He lets out a low groan, his face buried in your shoulder as he rides out the waves of pleasure. For a moment, he just holds you there, his body still pressed against yours as he catches his breath.

Then, he slowly pulls out of you, discarding the condom in a nearby trash can. As he straightens up, Joshua can see the unsatisfied look on your face. He smirks, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Looks like I still have some work to do," he says, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Joshua spins you around and lifts you up onto the desk, your legs spread wide for him.

He drops to his knees in front of you, his eyes dark with hunger as he takes in the sight of you.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard you forget your own name," he growls, before diving in between your legs.

His tongue laps at your sensitive flesh, tracing every inch of you with skillful precision.

He knows exactly what you like, exactly where to touch and how hard to press. He alternates between teasing your clit and plunging his tongue deep inside you, driving you closer and closer to the edge with each passing moment. As he works you closer to your climax, he slides a finger into you, curling it just right to hit that sweet spot.

He can feel your body trembling beneath him, your moans growing louder and more desperate as he brings you closer and closer to your release. Joshua adds another finger, scissoring them inside you as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. He can feel you getting close, your walls fluttering around his fingers as your body starts to tense up.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs against your skin. "Let go for me. I want to taste you."

He redoubles his efforts, his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly as he sucks hard on your clit.

Your body shudders and convulses as you finally reach your peak, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone. Joshua doesn't stop, continuing to work you through your orgasm with his mouth and fingers until you're a trembling, boneless mess on his desk. As you come down from your high, Joshua slowly pulls back, licking his lips and grinning up at you.

"Delicious," he says, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

He stands up and hands you your pants, helping you to slide them back on as your legs are still a bit shaky.

"You okay, baby?" he asks, his tone softer now as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You take a deep breath, still feeling dazed and floaty from your orgasm.

"Yeah," you manage to croak out, your voice hoarse. "I'm good."

"Good," Joshua says, a smirk on his face. "Now, get back to work. I have a lot of paperwork to do, and you're distracting me."