#i love this dance and the story behind it :)

[eternalguk]

Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 01

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 3.8K

↠ Warnings : swearing, making out, teasing, exhibitionism (sex in a lecture theatre), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, slight dumbification, dirty talk, begging, oral sex (m. receiving), ass smacking, scratching, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, use of pet names, sex on a desk (he hits it from the back at one point), a very moody but flirtatious Jungkook paired with bimbo!oc deserves its own warning :) - I think that’s about it?

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here it is! Chapter 01 of my first series, ‘pink hearts and black clouds’ which I am so excited to share. This story means a lot to me as it explores two completely different personalities finding their way together. With bimbo, sunshine!reader and grunge, grumpy!jk, I hope you enjoy exploring this world as much as I loved creating it. It’s messy, it’s fun, it’s emotional, it’s steamy (at times 👀) and it’s absolutely everything I could ask for! I’d love to hear what you think - your reactions, favourite part, or even anything you’d like to see from them in the future! Feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 01 : Lipgloss & Leather

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A stream of light filters through the wooden, venetian blinds of the lecture theatre windows, slicing through the warm, cinnamon-scented air.

God bless Ms. Choi for her diffusers.

The ambience of the empty theatre is a sharp contrast to the wintry chill that is dancing around outside. The time of season where it bites at your cheeks and refuses to let go. Inside though, the warmth feels like a holiday cocoon, the kind that makes you shed layers and forget the frost clinging to the world beyond your surrounding.

Unfortunately, despite the serene atmosphere, you don��t feel any less distracted.

You are perched in a chair at the back of the theatre, mindlessly playing with your pink glitter gel pen while Jungkook sits on the desk in front of you, legs spread arrogantly, one boot perched on the seat beside yours. The light catches on the silver chain hanging from his neck, a stark contrast to his black t-shirt and ripped dry-denim jeans.

You should be focusing on taking notes for the upcoming midterm, like he told you to do, but instead, your eyes keep wandering back to the powerful man in front of you.

Powerful because he consumes your entire being.

You pout as you swirl a strand of your hair around your finger, oblivious to the smirk curling on Jungkook’s lips as he catches onto your little daydream.

“Not taking notes, princess?” he asks, tone dripping with mockery.

“Erm…” you blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “I was… thinking?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Thinking. Right. About the syllabus or about how good I look right now?”

Your cheeks flame as he leans forward, chin propped lazily on his tattooed hand. His dark hair falls messily over his face, making him look even more impossibly cocky.

“Both?” you meekly offer, putting down the glitter pen and propping your chin onto your soft hands.

His grin stretches wider. “You’re cute when you lie.”

You smile at the compliment as Jungkook reaches out and grabs the gel pen from the desk, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The sight of his tattooed fingers gripping the sparkly pink plastic makes your heart race.

“Why do you even need this?” he teases, holding the pen just out of reach when you try to grab it back. “It’s ugly, you definitely don’t use it to write anything down and it’s pink.”

Jungkook grimaces, observing the pen as though it’s a foreign object.

You huff and pout harder, crossing your arms. “You said you’d help me study, but all you’re doing is being mean!”

“Mean?” Jungkook cackles, the sound low and gravelly. “Doll, I’m just keeping it real. Someone has to be with you.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” you whine, trying again to snatch the pen, but Jungkook is faster. He swiftly moves it behind his back, staring you down with his usual, conceited smirk.

“And yet, here you are. With me.”

“Because you don’t let me leave,” you shoot back, a small huff escaping as you try your best to appear annoyed.

But you aren’t. Not even a little bit.

Especially when Jungkook leans in even closer, his dark eyes scanning your face like he is trying to memorise every detail.

“C’mere,” he says softly, contrasting his suddenly serious expression.

You blink up at him, your heart fluttering. “Why?”

“Just come here, doll. Trust me.”

You hesitate for half a second before leaning forward, and that is all the invitation Jungkook needs to grab your chair and yank you forward, placing you between his legs. Your breath hitches as he cups your face in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“You’re too fucking pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice so low and intimate that it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Jungkook…” You trail off, feeling utterly flustered and ridiculously warm under his intense gaze.

“What?” he questions, cocking his head playfully. “You don’t like compliments? Want me to call you dumb instead? You like that, huh?”

“N-no!” you stutter, and the way he leans in closer makes your head spin.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk, brushing his nose against yours. “My good girl likes being told she’s pretty.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as his lips find yours, the kiss starting soft but quickly turning hungrier. Jungkook kicks your chair back before tugging you impossibly closer, his hands sliding down to your waist.

“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Strawberry lip gloss,” you utter, still fairly dazed.

He hums appreciatively, a smile now evident on his face. “My favourite.”

Jungkook’s hands slides lower, squeezing your hips as he deepens the kiss. You moan softly when he nips at your bottom lip, his pierced tongue sweeping over it a second later.

The sound of the theatre door creaking open in the distance makes you freeze.

The wind.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, pulling back slightly. “What if someone comes in?”

Jungkook grins, completely unbothered. “Free show?”

“You’re impossible!”

“You love it,” he teases, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His hands tug at the hem of your short pink skirt, hiking it up higher as his fingers toy with the edge of your lace underwear.

“Ahh, is this the pair I got you the other day?”

“Jungkook…” you mewl, voice barely above a whisper. You manage a quick nod, before falling to rest your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My doll is always so needy,” he grumbles, his dark eyes locking with yours. “But I don’t mind.”

Jungkook continues to fiddle with your underwear, his hand slipping inside to cup your now soaked sex in his rough hands. “Nice and wet.”

You squirm in his grasp, your cheeks burning as he presses another kiss to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin until you gasp.

“Relax, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

And with that, you give in - like you always do with your lover boy.

“Get on the desk.”

Your heart races as you turn toward the heavy, wooden desk behind you. It feels cold beneath your palms as you hoist yourself up, the sound of your skirt rustling loud in the quiet space. Jungkook watches you intently, his eyes darkening as you settle onto the surface, your legs dangling over the edge.

He steps closer, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher.

“Look at you,” Jungkook whispers, his voice dripping with approval. “So pretty. So perfect for me.”

You shiver, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as his fingers trace patterns on your skin. Jungkook’s touch feels electric, sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“J-Jungkook—” you stutter, your voice shaky.

“Shh,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your boyfriend's words send a wave of warmth washing over you, and you let your body sink into the desk as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck. You feel the stubble on his jaw brushing against your skin, the faint scent of his woody cologne filling your senses.

“The way you give in,” he begins, his lips grazing your ear, “is fucking beautiful.”

A soft whimper escapes your glossy lips as his hands move higher, pushing your skirt up to your waist. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and you gasp as he tugs them down, leaving you exposed.

Jungkook is quick to toss them onto his discarded leather jacket draped over the chair beside him. The delicate blush of your pink panties against the rugged, worn leather is a stark contrast that sends your mind spiraling.

“Stunning,” he utters to himself, eyes roaming over your body with a hunger that quickens your pulse.

Why the fuck is this man so hot?

You squirm, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Jungkook doesn’t give you time to think. Not that there was much going on up there anyway.

His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. He wraps your delicate legs around him, engulfing you in his embrace.

“As beautiful as you look like this,” Jungkook mutters, caressing your cheek, “I need you on your knees.”

You’re quick to comply, gently shoving Jungkook away. He cackles at your eagerness, but deep inside his brooding heart, he feels at awe.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, quick to change personas, voice rough with desire.

Again, you obey without hesitation, your lips parting as he unzips his jeans. His cock springs free, already hard and straining, and your eyes widen as he steps closer, the tip brushing against your lips.

“Suck,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for only a second before leaning forward, taking him into your mouth. His taste is salty and masculine, making you moan softly as you begin to move your tongue, your lips wrapping tightly around his girthy member.

Jungkook groans, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down. “That’s it, doll,” he encourages, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take all of me.”

You sink deeper, gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, determined to please him.

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook effortlessly praises, his grip tightening in your hair. “You were fucking made for this.”

The words send a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “I’ll be painting your face with cum if you keep that up.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t that what you like?”

Jungkook chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “Not yet, baby. I have other plans for you first.”

Before you can even think of a response, Jungkook pulls you off the floor, spinning you around so your back is pressed against his chest. His hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts through your satin blouse as he nips at your earlobe.

“You’re turn, princess,” he whispers, voice sending shivers down your spine for the umpteenth time this afternoon.

You gasp as his cold fingers find their way between your legs, exploring your already soaked folds. He teases you mercilessly, touch light yet maddening enough that it has you writhing in his bulky arms.

“Please,” you beg, voice trembling with need.

You try to grind against him, but Jungkook’s firm grip stops you from doing so.

“Please what?” he taunts, feigning confusion, breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, the words spilling out effortlessly.

Jungkook grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “What my pretty doll wants, my pretty doll gets.”

In one swift motion, he lifts you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. Jungkook’s cock presses against your entrance, and you yelp as he thrusts into you in one smooth, powerful movement.

”God, why are you so tight?” Jungkook groans, his hands gripping your hips as he begins to move. “I fucked you this morning.”

The sensation, along with the reminder of your earlier shenanigans, is overwhelming and both the stretch and burn send waves of pleasure through you.

You wrap your legs around Jungkook’s slim waist, urging him deeper as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Harder,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More.”

Jungkook obliges, slamming into you with a force that has the desk rocking against the floor. The sound echoes through the lecture theatre, mingling with your desperate moans and his guttural grunts.

“Could fuck this cunt all day,” Jungkook growls, his pace increasing as he mercilessly hammers his thick cock into you.

You cling to him, body trembling on the edge of release. But just as you’re about to let go, Jungkook pulls out, leaving you gasping and empty.

“No!” you cry, your eyes snapping open to meet his smug grin.

“Not yet,” he warns, voice firm. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”

You whimper, your body aching with need, but Jungkook isn’t done. He flips you over onto your stomach, hoisting your hips up so your ass is in the air.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice muffled by the desk.

“Giving you what you wanted,” he replies casually, his hands spreading your cheeks apart.

And then Jungkook is inside you again, filling you completely as he drives into you with a ferocity that leaves you utterly breathless.

Your sopping pussy lewdly squelches around Jungkook, completely soaking him. The sound turns the pair of you on further.

“Right there!” You mewl, pushing yourself back onto Jungkook, the pressure making you moan uncontrollably.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough with exertion. “Tell me who fucks you this good.”

“Y-you,” you stutter, your voice breaking as he hits your g-spot deep inside you. “This drenched pussy is yours.”

“And who do you belong to?” Your boyfriend growls, his hand coming down on your plump ass with a sharp smack.

“I’m yours!” you cry, the pain mixing with pleasure in the most delicious way. “Love the way you fuck me.”

Jungkook smirks, his pace slowing as he leans over you, lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl. Now come for me.”

As soon as the words leave his filthy mouth, your body convulses, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone. Jungkook isn’t far behind, his own release hitting him with a force that leaves him trembling.

The feeling of his cum oozing into you has you wanting to turn around and ride the fuck out of your lover boy.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggle to catch your breath.

“You okay, doll?” he asks, his voice softening as he turns you around and carefully seats you on the desk.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. I’m- wow.”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing.”

“And you, Bakugo,” you reply, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Your lover boy grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “Round two after lunch?”

The cafeteria hums with energy, alive with the noise of lively chatter and the sporadic clatter of trays hitting tables.

You’re perched on the bench beside Jungkook, a tray of half-eaten chips and an unopened can of Samjin Mango Soda sitting in front of you.

Across the table, Taehyung and Jimin are engaged in a heated debate about Haikyu, their hands waving dramatically as they try to outtalk each other about the anime the two of them are currently rewatching.

Well, truthfully speaking, all of you have been rewatching, but only the two of them are so deeply interested. Maybe Jungkook, but he’d never admit it.

Speaking of Jungkook, he is slouched against the table, one elbow propped up as his thumb scrolls lazily through your phone, staring at pictures you had taken of yourself today.

And he says he isn’t obsessed.

As usual, he hasn’t said much, just the occasional grunt when someone asks him a question. He looks effortlessly intimidating, his black hoodie (that you finally returned) pulled low over his forehead, his iconic silver chain around his neck catching the light and his usual scowl that is always imprinted on his beautiful face.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more of a contrast. You’re in your own world, a makeshift beauty station spread out in front of you, next to yours and Jungkook’s shared meal. Your compact mirror is propped against the soda can, brushes and glosses neatly scattered around it.

A soft pout forms on your lips as you reapply a coat of your signature lip gloss, the sticky sheen glistening in the light. You’re blissfully focused, tilting your head to inspect your work like an artist perfecting their masterpiece.

“You’re so wrong,” Jimin says, leaning forward with a look of betrayal. “There’s no way Seijoh vs. Karasuno is better than Shiratorizawa vs. Karasuno.”

“It’s about the emotional stakes, Jimin,” Taehyung replies, sipping his iced tea as though he is a certified anime critic. “Oikawa’s genius mind versus Kageyama’s raw talent? That’s art.”

“Art?” Jimin scoffs. “Bro, real art is Ushijima annihilating them with a spike.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Oikawa’s smugness had more impact than any spike ever could.”

“Who’s Kageyama again?” you pipe up, tilting your head.

Jungkook’s phone, well your phone, lowers an inch as he glances at you, his expression blank. “You can’t be serious. We literally watched an episode yesterday.”

You shrug, completely unbothered by the disbelief in his tone. “I don’t remember the boring ones.”

Jimin nearly chokes on his drink, eyes wide in horror. “Boring?! He’s literally the King of the Court!”

“Don’t,” Jungkook says flatly, cutting off Jimin’s impending rant. “She’ll just start listing the hot ones.”

You grin, batting your lashes at him. “Is that a problem, Koo?”

Taehyung leans back in his seat, smirking. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you, Koo?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Jungkook mutters, though his ears tinge pink. “And don’t fucking call me that.”

Taehyung catches it immediately, raising his brows. “Is that a blush I see, Jungkook? The same guy who nearly broke someone’s nose in basketball last week?”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles, sliding your phone over to you.

“Bro, you’re whipped,” Jimin adds, his laugh practically echoing across the room.

“No I’m not-”

“You are,” Taehyung interrupts, pointing a chip at him. “It’s so obvious. You’ve got that whole, ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ thing going on, but this one over here bats her fake lashes and you’re folding fast.”

“Hey! They’re real,” you protest, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palms.

You study Jungkook with a teasing smile. “Is that true? Am I your kryptonite?”

His eyes flick to yours, dark and unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something - amusement, maybe, or fond exasperation. Jungkook simply doesn’t answer, just grabbing a chip from the tray and popping it into his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, your smile widening.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. He leans back in his seat, stretching his long legs out under the table, and you notice the way his fingers tap rhythmically against his knee. He looks relaxed, but you know him well enough to recognise the effort it takes to hold back a snarky comment.

“He doesn’t even deny it,” Jimin continues, grinning like he’s won something. “You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re good for him.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, though his tone is far more mischievous. “You’re like the sunshine to his thundercloud.”

“Lipgloss to his cigarette,” Jimin chimes in.

“Or the idiot to his genius,” Jungkook finishes off, his voice dry as ever.

You gasp, smacking his muscular arm lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m very smart!”

“Name the capital of the United States,” he challenges, barely hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Easy,” you say confidently, shrugging your shoulders. “Hollywood.”

Taehyung and Jimin dissolve into laughter, and even Jungkook can’t hold back the small shake of his shoulders.

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

You pout, confused why the boys are laughing. But, the sight of Jungkook joining in with them has you leaning into his side, grinning up at him. “You still like me, right?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, but his hand moves to casually rest against the small of your back, his fingers caressing the exposed skin.

And that?

That’s the only answer you need.

You busy yourself with dabbing some extra Dior blush onto your cheeks, the sunlight streaming through the window catching the shimmer within it. Jimin plays with your Ilia mascara, shaking his head as he takes in the rest of your makeup that is scattered around.

Taehyung sees that you’re occupied and smirks, leaning closer to Jungkook. “You defo love it, you’re just too much of a moody shit to admit it.”

“Love what?” Jungkook asks, deadpan, though the tightening of his jaw gives him away.

“Having someone fuss over you,” his best friend teases, motioning his thumb towards you with a grin. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, looking down at the now empty takeaway container in front of him like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “You have nothing better to talk about?”

Your eyes dart to him, catching the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck.

Smiling to yourself, you lean your chin on your palm. “It’s okay, Jungkookie,” you coo softly. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

He glares at you, but there’s no real bite to it. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” you ask, pouting in innocence. “You love it when I call you that.”

Taehyung and Jimin burst into laughter once again at your audacity.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at them before turning to you. For a split second, his fingers twitch on the table, like he’s about to pull you closer. His gaze softens as it lingers on you - like he’s on autopilot, already halfway to pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

But then he stops.

Clearing his throat, he leans back in his chair instead, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head like armour. “You’re insufferable and annoying.”

You blink, caught between surprise and amusement. “You almost- you almost did it!”

“What?” he grunts, refusing to look at you.

“You were going to kiss my head.” Your voice is laced with a playful lilt, but there’s a flicker of something tender beneath it. “Don’t worry, Kookie. Next time, you’ll follow through.”

His tongue pokes against his cheek, a telltale sign of his rising frustration - or embarrassment, you can’t quite tell. “Shut up and eat,” he mutters, tugging his hood lower before he shoves a packet of crisps your way.

Jimin and Taehyung howl in laughter, and you can’t help but join them, even as Jungkook mumbles curses under his breath.

Somewhere beneath the gruffness, there’s the faintest quirk of his lips - a fleeting smile that only you seem to notice.

And in small moments like this you conclude that while Jungkook doesn’t give you flowers or grace you with love letters, he gives you something that is endless - pieces of himself: his time, his trust, his unwavering presence, and a love so consuming it feels like forever.

And there we have it! Please do let me know your thoughts ; the support I receive means the world to me 🫶🏻

↠ Taglist : @bangchanwantsmesobad @rklvez @doulcha @starlight-1010 @mimi1097 @khadeeeeej @jkslvsnella @royalguk @gaebestie @iamstilljk @myjungkookthighs @jungshaking @kookiesgiggles @minimoninini @lovejkmilitarywife @pplongoing @pokolunolino @dontcallmeelle @taeisbae13 @ronyiboniyy @nerdycheol @onlyforyoukook @ukandtwme @morosisxx @smwhrinthehaze @thebluegoddess @ramyun-h @remgeolli @minniejim @cherricherryy @avawants2havefun @fr0ggieth1nk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeeykey @ficluvr613 @deeznutkooks @kookienooki (names in italics could not be tagged).

[greengoblinswifey]

I would def love another Nicholas, Cooper and reader story. Maybe it takes place at a party or club and the reader is vibing dancing until nick and cooper take special notice of her 👀

pairing— nicholas chavez x cooper koch x actress!reader

warnings— grinding/dry humping, oral(m&f receiving), slight degradation, praise kink, unprotected sex, double penetration, choking, anal, double creampie, aftercare.

a/n— apologies for the long wait, enjoy <33

The music pulsed through the club, vibrating through your chest as you swayed to the beat, lost in the moment. Tonight was about letting go, about celebrating, you’d just wrapped filming on your latest project, and the energy of the crowd was fueling.

But as you spun lightly on your heels, you froze for a moment, your gaze locking onto two familiar faces at the bar. Nicholas Chavez and Cooper Koch. Actors whose work you admired, whose talent you’d occasionally gushed about in interviews. They were here, laughing and looking like they owned the room, and for some reason, their attention was suddenly on you.

Nicholas was the first to move, his brown eyes glinting under the neon lights as he crossed the room. You could feel his gaze as he approached, slipping behind you, the warmth of his presence igniting something electric down your spine.

“Mind if I dance with you?” His voice was low, barely audible over the thumping bass.

“Not at all,” you said, breath hitching, but you nodded, leaning slightly into him.

Nicholas placed his hands lightly on your hips, his movements syncing perfectly with yours as you danced. He was confident but not overbearing, his touch firm but respectful. You let yourself melt into him, the proximity making your heart race.

Then your eyes flicked over to Cooper, who had been watching with a smirk. Feeling bold, you extended a hand, beckoning him closer. He didn’t hesitate, slipping into place in front of you, his hands gently on your hips as the three of you danced together.

“You’re stealing the attention of two guys tonight,” Cooper teased, his lips close enough to your ear to send a shiver down your neck.

“Maybe I’m just that good,” you replied, smirking.

“She knows her power,” Nicholas said, chuckling behind you.

It was playful at first, but the sexual tension built quickly. Cooper leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, exploratory kiss. You responded instinctively, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as the kiss deepened. Then you tilted your head, your lips finding Nicholas’ next. His kiss was different, slower and deeper, his hands holding you securely as though he wanted to take his time with you.

Nicholas pulled back to meet your gaze. His voice was a low murmur against your lips. “Want to get out of here? Our hotel isn’t far.”

Your answer was a simple nod, your heart hammering in your chest.

The car ride back was filled with heat and hands. Nicholas sat to your left, his fingers tracing slow circles on your thigh, while Cooper’s hand rested on your other leg, his thumb brushing against your knee. Every touch felt intentional, the promise of more hanging in the air.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, the anticipation was almost unbearable. Nicholas opened the door for you, offering you a sly smile. “After you, beautiful.” You slowly walked in, hips swaying.

Without hesitation, Nicholas stepped forward, his hands finding the tie of your dress, tugging it free with a pull. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, as the fabric slipped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet.

Cooper was just as eager, his lips brushing along your neck while his hands traced your sides. “We’ve been waiting all night for this,” he added.

Before you could even catch your breath, their clothes joined your dress on the floor. Nicholas’ hands found your waist as Cooper dropped to his knees, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he leaned forward. His lips pressed against your pussy, soft and wet, then leaving a trail of kisses down your inner thigh.

“Relax for us,” Nicholas coaxed, his fingers brushing your chin to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. His lips ghosted over yours as his hand slid into your braids, anchoring you in place. “You deserve this.”

Your response was lost in the moan that escaped your lips when Cooper’s mouth worked against your wetness. The precision of his tongue sent waves of pleasure through your body, and you couldn’t stop the way your hands clutched at Nicholas’ muscular forearms for balance.

“That’s it,” Nicholas praised. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

The combination of Cooper’s relentless tongue and Nicholas’ reassuring praises left you breathless. When the flick of his tongue became overwhelming, you reached for Nicholas, your fingers unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down. You didn’t have to ask for guidance, he stepped forward, his hand resting at the back of your head as you took his big, hard cock into your mouth.

“Perfect little cock sucker,” Nicholas murmured, his voice faltering slightly as your head bobbed. His hand tightened in your braids, a low moan escaping him. “So good, baby. You’re making it hard to not cum.”

Cooper’s tongue became more purposeful, his grip on your thighs firm as he brought you closer to the edge. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming, and it wasn’t long before your body tensed, the pleasure hitting you like a tidal wave.

The moment your pussy squirted, Nicholas followed suit, his voice hoarse as he murmured your name, his grip on you tightening for a brief second before his load shot down your throat. You leaned back swallowing it, your breaths ragged as the room spun slightly. Nicholas pulled you up gently, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he smiled down at you. “You’re fucking amazing,” he said softly.

Cooper rose to his feet, his lips curving into a satisfied grin as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re shaking baby,” he observed. “Nervous? Or just needy?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly, but your tone betrayed you.

“Oh, I think it’s both,” Nicholas said, tilting your chin up with his fingers. “Look at her. So desperate, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself.”

You blinked up at him, his gaze pinning you in place. “I’m not desperate,” you replied, trying to sound confident, but your voice wavered slightly.

“Sure, baby,” Cooper chimed in from behind, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “That’s why you’re standing there like you’re about to beg us to fuck you.”

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, the boldness surprising even you, “fuck, I need the both of you.”

Nicholas chuckled darkly, his hand trailing down your arm as he leaned in close. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Then let us give you what you want.”

Cooper shifted back on the bed, gesturing for you to climb into his lap. You hesitated for only a moment before crawling onto the mattress, settling back against his chest as his arms encircled your waist. Nicholas moved to kneel in front of you both, his fingers spreading open your wet pussy as he smirked up at you.

“You look so pretty like this,” Nicholas said, his voice low and taunting. “Your holes are ours, aren’t they?”

You nodded, your heart hammering as his words sank in. Cooper’s hands roamed over your waist, his touch firm but measured. His veiny cock circled your hole before he slowly sank inside. At the same time, Nicholas collected your juices on the tip of his cock before inching inside at the same pace Cooper went. “You’re doing good,” Cooper whispered into your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “But don’t think we’re going to go easy on a slut like you.”

Nicholas hands slid higher, his grip going around your neck as his smirk deepened. “She doesn’t want easy,” he said. “Do you?”

“No, I don’t, fuck me hard,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s what I thought” Nicholas murmured, his tone almost mocking as he leaned closer. “Now be good for us, sweetheart, and we’ll make sure you feel exactly what you’ve been begging for.”

Nicholas and Cooper maintained a steady, their cocks in your holes were perfectly synchronized, your orgasm approaching with each passing moment. Nicholas’ hand rested tighter around your throat, his fingers curling ever so slightly to exert just enough pressure to keep your focus entirely on the pleasure.

“You’re doing so well for us,” he murmured. “Look at you, so perfect, just like this.”

Behind you, Cooper’s hands were everywhere, groping you, holding your hips and guiding you on their cocks. One hand drifted lower, his touch soft as he rubbed your clit, drawing moans and gasps from you that you couldn’t contain.

“Those pretty moans,” Cooper whispered.

Your breaths came in short gasps, and your body trembled as the pleasure built. Nicholas leaned down, his lips brushing against your collarbone before trailing lower to press a gentle kiss to your tits. “I can feel how close you are,” he whispered. “Don’t hold back, baby. Cum for us.”

Your head tipped back, overwhelmed by the sensations. “I— I’m about to—”you stammered, your voice shaking.

“It’s okay baby,” Cooper reassured you, his lips brushing against your neck. “Cum for us. Be a good girl.”

Nicholas tightened his grip on your throat, his eyes locked on yours. “Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “Show us how good of a whore you can be.”

With their words urging you on, everything came crashing down at once. Your body shook, the sensation overwhelming as you lost yourself, the release leaving you breathless and weightless all at once as you squirted all over their cocks. Cooper pressed soft kisses to your neck, murmuring praises in your ear.

“That’s our girl,” he said. “So good for us.”

Nicholas slowed, his hand slipping from your throat to brush against your cheek. “You were incredible,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You barely registered the moment they followed, their thrusts stilling as they came inside your holes. Cooper’s hands held you close as Nicholas’ forehead rested against yours briefly, grounding you both.

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of your shared breaths. Nicholas pulled away first, his hands gentle as he helped you adjust. Cooper slipped out from behind you, moving quickly to grab a warm towel.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Cooper said, his tone soft and affectionate.

Nicholas stayed by your side, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You did so well,” he said. “We’re so proud of you.”

Cooper returned, dabbing your skin with the towel as Nicholas helped you lie back against the pillows. They both climbed into bed with you, pulling you close between them.

“How are you feeling?” Nicholas asked, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“Perfect,” you smiled.

Cooper kissed your forehead, pulling the blankets up around all three of you. “Good,” he said. “Because you deserve nothing less.”

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @nicholaschavezslut69 @rain-likes-purple

[its-avalon-08]

the paths we didn't take (cl16)

part6!

multipart story! part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Summary : Years ago, Charles Leclerc and Y/N promised to let each other go—for his dreams, for her freedom. No calls, no texts, just memories they buried deep. But when fate reunites them in Monaco, old scars and unresolved feelings resurface. Some loves are unforgettable, but can they find their way back, or is it too late?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Chapter 6: "The Weight of the Past"

The silence stretched between them, the noise of the party fading into an indistinct hum. Y/N’s mind raced, memories and emotions swirling in a chaotic dance. Charles looked just as stunned, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

Before either of them could break the tension, a voice called out from behind Charles, cutting through the thick air.

“There you are, babe!”

Y/N blinked, her gaze shifting just as a woman stumbled toward Charles, clearly tipsy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a clumsy embrace. Her laughter was light and carefree, completely oblivious to the charged moment she had interrupted.

“God, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” the woman murmured, leaning up to press a kiss on Charles’s lips. She giggled, her fingers threading through his hair, her hold on him possessive and intimate.

Charles didn’t immediately respond, his eyes flickering back to Y/N, still caught in the gravity of their unexpected reunion. But the woman didn’t seem to notice, her attention fully on him as she whispered something inaudible, her lips brushing against his cheek.

Y/N’s stomach twisted painfully, the weight of the scene before her crushing. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, her heart pounding in her chest as she took an instinctive step back. Her eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears threatening to spill over.

“I—” Y/N stammered, the words catching in her throat. She needed to get out, needed air, needed distance.

Charles reached out, as if to stop her, but his movement was slow, hesitant. His girlfriend clung to him, unaware of the silent storm brewing between them.

Y/N forced a tight smile, the mask of composure slipping into place even as her heart fractured. “It was nice seeing you,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, before turning on her heel.

She weaved through the crowd, her vision blurred and her chest tight. The laughter and music around her seemed distant, her mind spinning as she hurriedly made her way toward the exit. The night air hit her like a shock, cool and crisp, but it did little to ease the storm inside.

She didn’t look back.

----

Charles stood frozen, his mind reeling from what had just happened. Y/N. After all these years, she had been right there, in front of him, and then gone just as quickly. His heart raced, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind, struggling to process the whirlwind of emotions crashing over him.

“Charles, are you even listening to me?” his girlfriend’s slurred voice cut through his haze. She tugged at his arm, pouting when he didn’t immediately respond.

“Huh? What?” Charles blinked, his gaze shifting to her, but his mind was still miles away, replaying Y/N’s shocked expression, the way her voice had trembled when she said his name.

“I said, let’s go get another drink,” she whined, pulling him toward the bar, nearly stumbling in her heels. “You’re acting weird.”

Charles sighed, trying to shake off the confusion swirling in his chest. “I’m just... thinking.”

“Thinking? About what?” she asked, her tone playful but insistent. “It’s a party, Charles. Relax! Have fun!” She pressed herself against him, her lips brushing against his neck, but he barely registered the touch.

“Seriously, can you just... give me a minute?” he muttered, stepping back slightly, but she clung on tighter, refusing to let go.

“A minute? You’ve been so distant all night!” she protested, her words slurring. “What’s wrong with you? You’re not even looking at me.”

“I’m just—” Charles ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He needed space, needed to breathe, but she was relentless, her drunk state making her clingier than usual. “I’m fine, just... a lot on my mind.”

She huffed, crossing her arms in a pout. “A lot on your mind? Like what? This is supposed to be fun, Charles! You’re ruining the vibe.”

Charles’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin. “Can you stop for a second? Please?”

She blinked, taken aback by his sudden sharpness. “What’s your problem tonight? You’ve been weird since I found you. Did something happen?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. How could he even begin to explain what had just happened? That he had just come face-to-face with the girl who had once been his entire world? The girl he thought he had moved on from, only to feel everything rush back the moment he saw her again?

“It’s nothing,” he finally said, his voice tight. “Just... drop it, okay?”

His girlfriend frowned, clearly unhappy but too drunk to push further. She reached for her drink, taking a long sip before leaning into him again. “Fine. But you owe me for being such a buzzkill.”

Charles nodded absently, his thoughts already drifting back to Y/N. He could still see her face, the hurt in her eyes as she fled the party. His chest tightened, the weight of their past pressing down on him like a physical burden.

“I need some air,” he mumbled, gently prying her arms off him.

“What? No! You can’t leave me alone!” she whined, grabbing his hand.

“I’m not leaving,” he reassured her, though his mind was elsewhere. “Just need a minute.”

She pouted but relented, slumping onto a nearby couch. “Fine. But hurry back. You owe me a dance.”

Charles nodded, already stepping away, the noise of the party fading into the background. His mind was a mess, emotions swirling as he tried to make sense of everything. Seeing Y/N again had opened a floodgate he hadn’t even realized was still there, and now he was drowning in the memories, the what-ifs, and the unresolved feelings.

He stepped outside, the cool night air hitting him like a balm, though it did little to ease the storm inside. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the city lights, his thoughts consumed by the girl who had once been everything to him.

“Y/N...” he whispered into the night, the name tasting familiar yet foreign on his tongue. What had just happened? And why did it feel like his heart was breaking all over again?

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

taglist : @jenxjar @noam-rosier-icr @prttylight @gluecksbaerchieee

@janeh22 @tobucina @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @weekendlusting

@wisestarfishbouquet @ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins

@vyctorya @mel164  @dazecrea @lol6sposts @raynetargaryan2

@ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins @vyctorya @f1fantasys

[elixirfromthestars]

A Snow Day With You

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (college au)

Summary: The end of the semester has you stressing beyond belief, so Bucky decides to cheer you up by spending a snowy afternoon sledding.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> sledding isn't as fun as when we were kids

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Ray @whatever-lmaoo ♡♡ Your comments on my first fic of these two have forever carved a home in my heart, so this one is for you ♡ I hope this fluffy piece can bring you a bit of happiness whenever college gets stressful ♡ This is a standalone fic, but everyone is welcome to read more of their story!₊˚⊹☆ Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

where their love story began ♡ || fluffy winter fics masterlist ❆

“Babe, we're going to get hypothermia,” you grumble out, hugging your coat closer to your body. The frosty wind shoving past your face, chilling you to the bone. Bucky plops the wooden toboggan onto the snow, laughing in disbelief at your assertion, “Sweetheart, we’re not getting hypothermia.” He’s not wrong as he says this, since apart from the wind, the weather was tolerable. Last night’s snowstorm ended this morning, leaving behind ten inches of snow. Enough for a multitude of winter activities—like sledding—to be possible. 

“Maybe not, but one of us will break a bone,” you retort, watching in growing concern as other people slide down the snowy hill and end up tumbling out of their sleds when they reach the bottom. Bucky follows your line of sight and playfully rolls his eyes, “No one is going to break a bone, Y/n.” He goes to adjust your scarf, the indigo fabric a little too loose for his liking. Up close he can see the look in your eye, the one that tells him you’re not done trying to back out of this just yet. 

“Maybe you won’t, but I might. I’m not athletic enough to go sledding.”

“Baby, you don’t have to be athletic to go sledding.”

The more you speak the more Bucky’s amusement grows, but he tries not to show it too much as he sees the underlying nervousness dancing in your eyes. He finishes fixing your scarf and you plant a soft kiss on his cheek as a thank you. He smiles at you fondly, noticing your grumpy mood subside slightly. He doesn’t take your mood to heart, knowing the real reason you haven’t been feeling the best lately is because of one thing and one thing only. 

Finals.

More specifically, final grades—or the lack thereof. Most of your professors haven’t submitted them yet, leaving you in a state of limbo unsure of whether you managed to save the semester or not. 

Bucky has been your rock throughout finals season. Supporting you with extra study sessions, holding you close to soothe your frustration when it got the better of you, kissing all your tears away, and on those days you needed a break, he would put on your favorite comfort show and order takeout from your favorite restaurant. He did anything and everything he could to make you feel better. 

These last few days, however, all of that wasn’t enough to shake away the dread that insisted on making a home in your heart. Bucky knew he needed to do something different to cheer you up and get your mind off of things. After seeing how the snow had piled up overnight, he was either going to ask you to build a snowman or go sledding.

Your boyfriend—captain of your university’s baseball team—naturally chose sledding. 

“Just trust me, okay? I’ll hold you tight and make sure nothing happens to you,” Bucky promises as he makes his way over to the sled. He sits down on the end of it, his left hand gently outstretching to grab onto yours. Your gaze locks with his, your trepidation melting away the more you look into his eyes. There’s something about the snow all around him that makes his eyes a little more blue and it pulls you in with the assurance of safety. You nod, taking hold of his hand and letting him guide you to the front of the sled—slowly pulling you down to sit in front of him. 

He instructs you on everything you need to know to keep yourself stable and inside at all times. You’re not entirely paying attention as you focus more on the way he scoots forward and presses your back against his chest. His arms are on either side of you, encasing you in a protective embrace. You lean into it, letting the steadiness of his presence soothe the remaining unease in your body. 

“I’ll countdown from five and then I’ll push off, okay?” he mentions kindly, his chin resting on your shoulder as he awaits your response. You watch as others go down the snowy hill without a care in the world. Children and adults alike coasting down on sleds and pool floats, merriment written on their faces and echoing in their laughs. It helps subdue the butterflies in your stomach somewhat. 

At your silence, Bucky presses a comforting kiss to your cheek, the coldness of his lips bringing you back to him. You look over your shoulder to give him a reassuring smile, “Okay, but don’t you dare let me go, Bucky Barnes.” You warn playfully, feeling the way his chest rumbles with a laugh before he replies, “I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” 

He pulls you tighter against his chest as your hands grasp onto the steering rope. He starts the countdown from five gradually inching the sled to the edge of the peak. When the countdown ends, you feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter intensely as the descent begins. Your breath gets caught in your throat and your eyes close tightly the entire way down. While a shriek of adrenaline escapes you, Bucky chortles the entire time as he’s having the time of his life. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Bucky poses the question when you reach the bottom, a boyish grin on his face. Your eyes open when you look behind you, noticing the way the apples of his cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold, his hair blown across his forehead, and yet the sparkle in his pretty blues unaffected by the chill. You’re reminded then and there that you’d do anything for him. Even sliding down the hill a million times if it meant keeping that joy on his face. 

“I think I left my stomach at the top of the hill, but apart from that—it wasn’t so bad,” you concede, your smile matching his. He hums in amusement, “We should probably go get it then. Shouldn’t we?” You know he’s really asking you if you two could go down the hill again, and there’s no way you would ever be able to say no, so you nod—knowing you would follow him anywhere. 

The second time you go down the hill you keep your eyes open. Marveling at the sight of the snowy trees blurring into one. By the third time, you're laughing along with Bucky and by the fourth you have the same sparkle in your eyes—enjoying the rush of the fall. And by the fifth, the stress of finals is long forgotten and Bucky feels an overwhelming sense of pride knowing he was able to lift that weight off your shoulders. 

On your last descent, things don’t go as smoothly as the other times. Halfway down the hill, the sled bumps into a large rock hidden beneath the layers of snow. You barely have time to register when Bucky yells your name, as the sled derails from its path—your stomach flipping along with the sled. 

You end up tumbling a few feet down the hill. Bucky holds you like a lifeline to his body as you land in the blanket of snow. You’re disoriented for a moment, but Bucky lifts himself to his knees in an instant, hovering above you to scan you from head to toe for any injuries. The worry etched into his features tugging at your heartstrings. 

“Y/n, are you okay? Sweetheart, please tell me you’re not hurt. Do I need to—” The fit of giggles that erupt from you cuts off his distressed rambling, a bewildered expression replacing his concern. Instead of telling him you’re alright, you decide to show him. Your hands reach out to grasp the edges of his coat and pull him down for a kiss. He melts into it faster than ice does, a cheesy smile replacing his frown. 

“I think that’s enough sledding for today,” you mumble into the kiss. He nods, agreeing wholeheartedly as he deepens it, “Mm, I second that. I can think of other ways we can spend the rest of the day,” his tone drips with suggestion, his eyes glimmering with playful mischief. You slap at his chest lightheartedly, which only elicits a deep chuckle from him before he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

No matter what comes next, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be on a snowy day than with him.

[bellaed1t]

- mysterious man -

pt. 1 pt. 2

rapper!rafe & singer!reader meet at the grammys

warnings: none that i can think of!

authors note: first time writing btw! sorry if you don't like it

word count: 552

You stood backstage at one of the most pivotal moments of your career—the Grammys. Tonight, you were set to perform the songs from your highly anticipated new album, “Behind My Back.” The album, raw and deeply personal, poured out the pain and betrayal of your past relationship—one where love was shattered by infidelity. This performance was your moment to not just share your music, but to reclaim your story.

On your way to the dressing room, you collided with someone, the impact jarring you slightly.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, looking up.

He was tall, with an athletic frame and piercing blue eyes that held an intensity hard to ignore. His sharp jawline accentuated his striking features, and his buzzed hair gave him a clean, effortless look. Handsome, without a doubt.

“It’s fine,” he replied curtly, his tone clipped as if he were in a hurry.

Before you could say more, he was already moving past you. You shrugged it off, shaking the moment from your thoughts as you stepped into your dressing room.

With your outfit perfectly in place and a final glance in the mirror, you were ready. The crowd awaited, and tonight’s setlist included “Because I Liked a Boy” and “Brutal”—songs that held all the power of your truth.

You walked onto the stage, the lights blinding at first before settling into a dazzling glow that bathed the crowd in electric energy. The roar of your fans filled the arena, their voices echoing your lyrics with raw emotion. The beat dropped, and the rhythm pulsed through the floor beneath your feet.

As you sang your heart out, you saw them—faces illuminated by passion, bodies moving to the music, and arms raised in unison. The air was alive with the sound of your truth.

And then, there was him.

Amid the swaying crowd and the sea of dancing silhouettes, his eyes locked onto yours. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to slow. The intensity of his gaze lingered—sharp, unwavering, and impossible to ignore.

But the music was louder, and the spotlight was yours. You poured every ounce of pain, power, and triumph into your performance, leaving everything on the stage.

After the ceremony, you clutched not one, but two Grammys—your very first wins. The weight of the golden trophies in your hands was nothing compared to the joy that lit up your face. Cameras flashed, your smile wide and unstoppable as you soaked in the moment you had dreamed of for so long.

As the crowd thinned, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows.

“Hey,” he said, a playful glint in his piercing blue eyes. “Are you going to the after-party?”

There was a subtle confidence in his voice, the kind that hinted he already knew your answer—but he asked anyway.

You blinked, caught off guard for a beat, before a grin tugged at your lips. “Umm, sure!”

He smirked, a slow, knowing expression that made your heart skip.

“Good. I’ll see you there.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you rooted in place.

Your cheeks felt warmer than before. Did he just make you blush?

A part of you couldn’t wait to see him again. Another part of you burned with curiosity, wanting—needing—to know more about the mysterious man who had so effortlessly stolen your attention.

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[woozinhos]

Hiii i loved the story you wrote with vernon (both idols), so I wanted to ask if you kinda could write a similar story but with hoshi? But maybe this time hoshi and the reader get caught in the backgro making out or smt? I yk how svt films “inside seventeen” dance practice, so maybe in the background there? Im sorry im bad at this it’s my first time requesting something. Ofc you can write however you want. 🫶🫶

I decided to make this a going seventeen episode and a little funny hehe enjoyyy :D

It's the middle of a filming session for "Going Seventeen," and you're backstage with Hoshi. You're both supposed to be watching the other members perform their scenes, but you can't help but get a little distracted. Hoshi pulls you into a secluded corner, away from prying eyes and cameras. He pushes you against the wall, his body pressed against yours as he captures your lips in a heated kiss. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as you return the kiss with equal fervor.

You can hear the other members laughing and chatting in the distance, but you don't care. All that matters is the feeling of Hoshi's body against yours, the way his tongue is exploring your mouth, and the way his hands are roaming over your body. Hoshi's hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer to him as he deepens the kiss. He breaks away from your lips, trailing a line of kisses down your jawline and onto your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin, leaving a mark that you'll have to hide later.

"I'm so glad you came on set today," Hoshi murmurs against your skin, his breath hot against your neck. "I've been wanting to get my hands on you all day."

He sucks on your neck, his teeth scraping against the skin as he leaves another mark.

"You're driving me crazy," he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "I can't wait to take you home and have you all to myself."

As Hoshi continues to mark your neck, the sounds of DK and Mingyu's laughter and chatter grows louder. But you're too caught up in the moment to notice, your body too focused on the way Hoshi is making you feel. It's not until DK clears his throat loudly that you both finally break apart, your eyes widening in shock as you realize you've been caught.

Hoshi's eyes dart towards the camera, and he freezes, a look of panic on his face. DK and Mingyu are both standing there, watching you and Hoshi with grins on their faces. The camera man behind them is looking at the two of you with a smirk, clearly having captured everything on film. Hoshi quickly steps away from you, trying to regain his composure.

"This isn't what it looks like," he says, his voice a bit too high-pitched to be believable.

DK and Mingyu just laugh, clearly enjoying the fact that they've caught you two in the act.

"Really?" Mingyu says, raising an eyebrow. "Because it looks like you were making out with your girlfriend in the middle of a filming session."

Hoshi runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered and embarrassed.

"We were just...taking a break," he tries to explain, but even he knows it sounds weak.

DK grins and slaps Hoshi on the back.

"Sure, you were," he says, winking at you. "And I'm sure that 'break' involved a lot more than just kissing."

The camera man coughs speaking up. “We won’t be uploading this we’ll have to cut this from the episode,”

The camera man's words are a bit of a relief, but they also bring a new wave of panic. If the footage can't be used in the episode, that means the company will have to delete it. Which means it will never see the light of day...but also means you and Hoshi won't be able to get away with your secret relationship anymore.

[hisfavegirl]

A Forbidden Flame - Modern!Daemon Targaryen x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary : The story of love, loss, and regret began in the shadows, but it would soon unfold in the most painful way. Daemon’s heart would be shattered as the consequences of his reckless love echoed through his world. What had started as a passion-driven affair would become the deepest regret of his life—a regret that would haunt him for as long as he lived. And so, as the storm brewed on the horizon, Daemon Targaryen was about to learn that the greatest cost of love was not the sacrifice of the heart, but the devastation of losing it all.

Daemon Masterlist.

You never imagined that working with Daemon Targaryen would lead you down this path. What began as a professional relationship quickly spiraled into something far more complex, far more dangerous. The world knows Daemon as the charismatic and ruthless executive, always a step ahead in the cutthroat world of business. But behind closed doors, he is something else entirely—yours.

Your relationship is a well-kept secret, hidden from the prying eyes of the public and, most importantly, from his wife, Rhaenyra. She often travels abroad, handling international ventures or attending exclusive events that demand her presence. Whenever she’s away, it’s as if the world belongs to you and Daemon alone. In those moments, he is yours, and you are his—completely, passionately, and undeniably.

Daemon made it clear from the beginning: you are his and only his. His possessiveness is both thrilling and terrifying, a constant reminder of the precariousness of your situation. He whispers it to you in the dark, his voice laced with a promise that no one else will ever have you. “You are mine,” he says, each word a declaration, a claim that leaves no room for doubt.

Despite the secrecy, the stolen glances, and the heated moments in his office when the world outside fades away, you can’t deny the intensity of your connection. It’s a dangerous dance, one that could unravel everything if ever exposed. Yet, you find yourself unable to resist him, the allure of his presence too strong to deny.

You know the risks, the consequences that would follow if anyone ever found out. But in the quiet of the night, when it’s just the two of you, none of that seems to matter. All that exists is the fire between you, burning brightly in the shadows of your hidden world.

The grand hall is alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the soft glow of chandeliers casting a golden light over the gathered elite. You stand by Daemon’s side, your elegant black gown hugging your figure in all the right places. It’s daring, yet refined, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Tonight, you are his companion, the one who stands beside him when Rhaenyra chooses not to.

Daemon’s hand rests possessively on your lower back as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t like how they’re looking at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with a quiet warning. “They forget that you belong to me.”

You chuckle softly, a delicate sound that only he can hear over the murmur of the crowd. “Let them look,” you tease, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “It’s not as if they can have what’s yours.”

His grip tightens slightly, his gaze flickering with a mixture of pride and frustration. He enjoys the attention you garner, but only to a point. It feeds his ego to have the most captivating woman in the room by his side, yet it stokes his possessiveness to see others admire what he considers his alone.

Before he can respond, a movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention. Aegon and Aemond, Daemon’s nephews, approach with their usual confident stride. Both dressed impeccably, their sharp features mirror the unmistakable Targaryen lineage. Their eyes, however, are locked on their uncle as they draw closer.

“Uncle,” Aegon greets with a smirk, his gaze briefly flickering to you before returning to Daemon. “Mind if we steal you away for a moment?”

Aemond, more reserved but no less observant, nods in agreement, his single eye—hidden beneath a patch—studying you with quiet curiosity. “There’s something we’d like to discuss.”

Daemon’s hand lingers on your back for a moment longer, a silent reassurance before he turns to face his nephews. “Of course,” he says, though his voice holds a trace of reluctance. “But make it quick.”

As Daemon steps aside with Aegon and Aemond, you’re left momentarily alone, the weight of their curious glances lingering on you. You can feel the subtle tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the complex dynamics at play. Though the room continues to buzz with conversation, you can’t shake the feeling that eyes are still on you—not just from the crowd, but from the two young men now engaged in a hushed conversation with Daemon.

You take a steady breath, reminding yourself of your place beside Daemon. This world, with all its secrets and power plays, is as much yours now as it is his. And no matter how many eyes linger, you know that in the end, Daemon’s attention—his fierce, unyielding devotion—belongs solely to you.

The lively chatter of the room falters for a moment as Daemon’s voice, sharp and heated, cuts through the air. He’s nearly shouting, his usual calm exterior cracking as he glares at Aegon, his frustration bubbling over. You can feel the tension escalating, the attention of the nearby guests subtly shifting toward the unfolding scene.

Concerned, you step forward, placing a gentle hand on Daemon’s arm. “Daemon,” you murmur softly, your voice soothing, “please, not here.” Your eyes plead with him to calm down, aware that the spectacle is drawing too much notice.

But before Daemon can respond, Aemond reaches out, his hand brushing yours as he grips it firmly. “Everything is fine,” he says in a low, measured tone, his gaze steady and composed. There’s something about his calm demeanor that contrasts sharply with Daemon’s simmering anger, and for a brief moment, the tension seems to ease.

Daemon’s eyes darken as he watches Aemond’s hand on yours, a flicker of possessive fury flashing across his face. Without a word, he steps forward, swatting Aemond’s hand away from yours with a forceful gesture. His jaw clenches, and his hand finds its way to your lower back again, guiding you firmly away from his nephews.

The air between the four of you is thick with unspoken words and lingering tension, but Daemon doesn’t look back. He leads you through the crowd, his grip firm, as he maneuvers you both toward a quieter corner of the hall, away from prying eyes.

Once you’re alone, his gaze softens slightly, though the remnants of his anger still linger. “Are you alright?” he asks, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His concern is genuine, though tinged with the frustration that moments ago had threatened to boil over.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, your hand resting on his chest. “But you need to calm down. This isn’t the place for confrontations.”

Daemon takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for a moment before nodding. “I just can’t stand them interfering,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Especially when it comes to you.”

You smile softly, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, Daemon. No one else’s. Let’s not give them the satisfaction of seeing us rattle.”

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as he sighs. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I won’t let them ruin our night.”

Together, you both turn back to the gathering, a united front once more. The storm that had threatened to erupt has passed—for now—but the undercurrents of tension remain, a reminder that in this world of power and pride, nothing is ever truly at rest.

The evening had begun to settle into a comfortable rhythm once more. Daemon, though still watchful, allowed you a moment to yourself as you requested permission to fetch a drink. His eyes lingered on you as you moved through the crowd, a quiet reminder of his ever-present vigilance.

As you stepped away, the cool air of the corridor offered a brief respite from the heat of the crowded hall. But before you could take more than a few steps, a sudden, forceful grip seized your arm, yanking you into the dimly lit hallway. The world around you blurred as you stumbled, your heart pounding in your chest.

You barely had time to react before a sharp blow landed on your shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through your body. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the cold, unfeeling floor rushing up to meet you.

Back in the grand hall, Daemon’s unease grew with each passing moment. He checked his watch, his gaze flickering toward the spot where he had last seen you. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as he waited, his foot tapping anxiously against the polished floor.

When you didn’t return, the knot of worry in his chest tightened. He scanned the room, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of you. His heart began to race as he realized you were nowhere to be seen.

Daemon moved quickly, his steps purposeful as he pushed through the crowd, calling your name under his breath. The anxiety clawed at his composure, each passing second feeding the growing dread in his gut.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed your number, hoping to hear your voice, to hear anything that would reassure him. But the shrill ring echoed from a distance, pulling his gaze toward the far end of the hallway. There, lying carelessly on the floor, was your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Beside it, your handbag lay discarded, a stark and chilling testament to your sudden disappearance.

Daemon’s blood ran cold, his mind racing through the possibilities, each one darker than the last. His heart pounded in his chest as he crouched down, picking up your phone with a trembling hand. The realization hit him like a blow: you were gone, and someone had taken you.

Without wasting another moment, he rose to his feet, his jaw set in a grim line. Whoever had dared to take you would pay dearly. Daemon’s fury burned just beneath the surface, a dangerous storm brewing as he vowed to find you—no matter what it took.

Daemon’s fury was barely contained as he stormed towards Aegon and Aemond, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the corridor. His eyes burned with a cold fire, his jaw clenched tight in frustration. Without a word, he reached out and roughly grabbed Aegon by the collar, yanking him closer.

“Where is she?” Daemon’s voice was low, dangerous, as he demanded an answer. “What have you done with her?”

Aegon recoiled, his eyes wide with confusion. “I don’t know, Daemon,” he replied, his voice shaky. “I swear, I don’t know anything about where she is. I haven’t seen her since you sent me away.”

Daemon’s gaze hardened as he released Aegon, his grip tightening into a fist at his side. Aemond stepped forward, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Daemon’s seething anger. Without hesitation, he placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, pulling him away from Aegon.

“Let’s take this outside,” Aemond said, his voice steady and measured, but with an underlying urgency. “We need to think this through, away from the prying eyes of the guests.”

Daemon didn’t hesitate, following Aemond’s lead as they both made their way out of the hall and into the cool night air. The tension between them was palpable, but Aemond knew this was the only way to prevent Daemon from exploding in front of the crowd.

Once they were safely out of sight, Aemond turned to Daemon, his face thoughtful but wary. “It could be the Lannisters,” he suggested, his voice low. “The rivalry between our families, the business competition… they have always been opportunistic.”

Daemon’s gaze flickered, considering the possibility. The Lannisters were indeed ruthless in their pursuit of power, but something about this felt wrong. “Why her?” Daemon muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth. “Why take her and not my children? Not my wife?” The confusion in his voice was evident, the question lingering in the cold air between them.

Aemond’s expression darkened, and he looked over at his uncle. “It could also be the Baratheons,” he suggested, his tone now tinged with suspicion. “The tensions between you and Borros… that conflict was months ago, but who knows how deep their grudges run? Maybe they see her as leverage against you.”

Daemon stopped in his tracks, his gaze hardening as he turned back to Aemond. “But why her?” he repeated, his fists clenching as frustration built inside him. “She’s not a pawn, Aemond. She’s not some piece in this damn game.”

Aemond’s silence was deafening as he considered Daemon’s words. He understood his uncle’s pain, but he couldn’t help but acknowledge the possibility that whoever was behind this might have had other reasons—reasons beyond simple political strategy.

Daemon’s mind raced with possibilities, but none of them made sense. Why take you? He couldn’t fathom the reasons, but one thing was clear: whoever was behind this had made a grave mistake. They had just provoked the wrong Targaryen. And Daemon would burn the world down to find you and bring you back, no matter the cost.

Daemon’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his knuckles pale from the force. His eyes were narrowed, burning with a fury that seemed to radiate off him in waves. The road ahead was a blur, his mind consumed by thoughts of you, his heart pounding in his chest with each passing second.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sound of it echoing through the car’s interior as frustration and desperation collided inside him. “Find her,” he growled into the phone, his voice a low snarl. “I don’t care where you have to look, I want her found now.”

The voice on the other end of the line stammered, trying to reassure him. “Sir, we’re already—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Daemon cut in, his voice sharp and commanding. “I want results. Now. If I have to tear apart every Lannister and Baratheon stronghold, I’ll do it myself.”

The words hung in the air, a promise to burn every bridge and destroy anyone who stood in his way. He couldn’t afford to lose you, not now, not when everything in his life felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The thought of you in danger, out of his reach, made his blood boil with rage.

He disconnected the call abruptly and sped up, ignoring the speed limits as his mind raced. He wasn’t sure where to go, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time. Each second felt like a lifetime, each mile that passed without finding you adding another weight to his chest.

Daemon’s thoughts drifted to the last time he saw you—your smile, your warmth, everything about you that made him feel alive. He could still feel the lingering touch of your hand, the warmth of your embrace. And now, you were gone, taken by someone who dared to challenge him. The person who did this had no idea who they were dealing with.

“Come back to me,” he whispered under his breath, his voice hoarse with emotion. He had to find you. He would tear down the world if that’s what it took to bring you home.

His phone rang again, the voice on the other end speaking quickly, urgently. “Sir, we’ve checked the Lannister and Baratheon estates. There’s no sign of her.”

“Keep searching,” he snapped, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care what it takes. Someone has her, and I’m going to make them regret it. Keep me updated, or I swear I’ll handle this myself.”

He hung up and stared out into the night, his mind swirling with thoughts of the worst possible outcomes. The silence of the road stretched out before him, but Daemon couldn’t feel any peace. All he could feel was the burning need to find you, to ensure that nothing had happened to you, and to make those who took you pay for their sins.

Daemon parked his car haphazardly in the driveway, not caring about the angle or the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. His mind was a whirlwind of rage and desperation as he stormed into his home, his steps quick and purposeful. He was heading straight for his study, the place where he could think, plan, and command the search for you in secrecy.

But before he could reach the sanctuary of his workspace, a familiar voice called out, stopping him in his tracks. “Daemon?” Rhaenyra’s soft, inquisitive tone echoed through the hallway, laced with concern. She appeared from the shadows, her brow furrowed as she approached him. “Is everything all right? You look… tense.”

Daemon’s heart clenched at the sight of his wife, her eyes filled with worry. He couldn’t let her know the truth. The affair, the disappearance—it was a storm he had to weather alone. Quickly, he masked his turmoil with a feigned calmness, his lips curling into a tight, unconvincing smile.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice steady, though his hands still trembled slightly from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “There was a misunderstanding with the Tullys at the party. It got a bit heated, that’s all.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes searched his, trying to read the storm behind his words. “Are you sure that’s all?” she asked, her voice gentle but probing. “You seem more than just upset.”

Daemon stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. “It’s under control,” he lied smoothly, though his mind was anything but. “I just need some time to cool down.”

She nodded slowly, though the concern never left her eyes. “If you need to talk, I’m here,” she offered, her voice softening. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Daemon replied, his tone warmer, though guilt gnawed at his insides. He kissed her forehead, a gesture meant to end the conversation. “I’ll be in my study. I just need to gather my thoughts.”

With that, he turned and continued towards his study, his expression hardening once more as soon as he was out of her sight. The weight of his secrets bore down on him like never before. The thought of you out there, missing, possibly in danger, consumed him entirely.

Once inside the study, he shut the door firmly behind him and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling deeply. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He walked to his desk, picked up his phone, and began dialing furiously, issuing commands to his men with a voice that brooked no argument.

“Find her,” he repeated, his words a cold, unwavering directive. “I don’t care how you do it, just find her. And whoever is responsible, make sure they understand what it means to cross me.”

His fists clenched as he ended the call, his mind a battleground of fear, anger, and longing. He couldn’t let Rhaenyra find out, couldn’t let this scandal unravel the life he had carefully constructed. But above all, he couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Daemon sat at his desk, his laptop glowing dimly in the darkened room. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard as he contacted everyone he knew—old allies, informants, anyone who owed him a favor. His messages were short and urgent, each one a call to arms in the desperate search for you.

But then, a soft chime pulled his attention away. A notification had appeared at the corner of his screen. His brow furrowed as he clicked on it, the screen shifting to reveal a video file. Hesitation gripped him for a brief moment, but he couldn’t afford to wait. He clicked play.

The video opened to a dimly lit room, the shadows swallowing most of the details. But what stood out, stark and undeniable, was you—unconscious, bound to a chair, your head slumped forward, strands of your hair falling across your face. The peaceful expression on your face, despite the circumstances, tore through Daemon like a blade.

His breath caught in his throat, the image of you in such a vulnerable state igniting a firestorm of rage within him. His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared at the screen. The room around him seemed to blur, his focus narrowing solely on you.

The sound of his heartbeat thundered in his ears as he watched, helpless for the moment but brimming with a dangerous resolve. Whoever had done this had made their move, taunting him with your captivity. The video ended abruptly, leaving the screen black, but Daemon’s anger blazed brighter than ever.

His hand trembled as he shut the laptop, the echo of the closing lid reverberating in the silence. Standing abruptly, he paced the room, his mind racing with possibilities. Every second counted, every delay felt like an eternity, but now he had a clue—a glimpse into where you were and what you were enduring.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed his phone again, his voice cold and cutting as he barked out new orders. “I have a lead. Find that room. Check every dark corner, every abandoned building, every place those bastards could be hiding. I want her found now.”

His gaze drifted back to the laptop, the image of you seared into his memory. His jaw clenched as he made a silent vow. He would find you. And when he did, there would be no mercy for those who dared to hurt you. They would learn the true extent of his wrath.

Daemon’s eyes were fixed on the video replaying on his laptop, scrutinizing every frame for any clue that could lead him to you. His mind raced through possibilities, trying to piece together the puzzle of your whereabouts. The dim lighting, the faint sounds in the background—every detail could be crucial.

But his concentration was broken when the door to his study creaked open. He looked up sharply, his expression softening just enough to mask the storm within as Rhaenyra stepped in, cradling their child in her arms. The sight of them, serene and innocent, was a stark contrast to the chaos brewing inside him.

“I wanted to let you know,” Rhaenyra began, her voice gentle but tired, “that I have to leave for Dragonstone tomorrow. There are matters I need to attend to.”

Daemon rose from his chair, crossing the room swiftly. He cupped her face gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Of course,” he murmured, his tone warm, betraying none of the turmoil he felt. “You should rest then. We both should, if you have to leave early.”

Rhaenyra nodded, leaning into his touch, unaware of the turmoil that lay just beneath the surface. “Come to bed,” she whispered, her voice laced with concern. “You’ve been tense all night.”

“I will,” Daemon promised, guiding her out of the study, their child nestled between them. He walked alongside her towards their chambers, his steps steady, his demeanor calm. But beneath the surface, his mind remained a battlefield.

As they settled into bed, Daemon lay beside Rhaenyra, holding her close as she drifted off to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts consumed by you. The frustration and fury he had buried for her sake simmered just beneath his skin, threatening to boil over.

He couldn’t let Rhaenyra suspect anything, not now. Not until he had you back, safe and sound. For now, he had to wear the mask of normalcy, playing the role of the devoted husband and father. But once the lights were out and the house was silent, his mind would return to the search, driven by the burning need to find you and end the nightmare that had gripped his life.

Cold water splashed over your face, jolting you awake from the darkness that had claimed you. Gasping, you blinked rapidly, your vision blurry as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. The air was damp and stale, the faint hum of distant machinery the only sound in the dimly lit room. Your wrists and ankles were bound tightly to a chair, the rough ropes biting into your skin.

As your vision cleared, you focused on the figure standing in front of you-a woman, unfamiliar and stern, her eyes cold and calculating. She watched you with a mixture of contempt and curiosity, as if deciding what to do next. Before you could speak, her hand lashed out, striking your cheek with a sharp, stinging slap. The force of the blow left your face burning, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Please," you choked out, your voice trembling.

"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"

The woman didn't answer. Her expression remained stoic, devoid of any empathy. She stared at you for a moment longer, then turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing as she walked away. The heavy door creaked open, casting a sliver of light into the room before it closed behind her with a resounding thud, plunging you back into near darkness.

Left alone, fear surged through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest. You struggled against the bindings, but they held fast. Tears streamed down your face as the weight of the situation settled over you. You had no idea who this woman was or why she had taken you. The uncertainty was suffocating.

In the silence, your thoughts drifted to Daemon. You knew he would be searching for you, relentless and unyielding. He wouldn't rest until he found you. Clinging to that hope, you steadied your breathing, determined to stay strong. You had to believe that he would come for you, that this nightmare would end.

Your voice, hoarse from hours of shouting, echoed weakly in the oppressive darkness. You had called for help, screamed until your throat was raw, but there was no response, only the deafening silence of the cold, damp room. The chill from your soaked gown seeped into your bones, causing your body to shiver uncontrollably. The thin fabric clung to your skin, offering no protection from the relentless cold.

You had lost all sense of time, the absence of windows or any sign of the outside world leaving you disoriented. The darkness seemed to stretch on endlessly, an eternal night that left you feeling isolated and vulnerable. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of your breathing, anything to anchor you in the present.

In the depths of your fear, your thoughts returned to Daemon. You could almost hear his voice, calm and reassuring, promising to protect you no matter what. You clung to that image, whispering silent prayers into the void, hoping that he could somehow sense your distress.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “Find me.”

Your heart ached with the longing to see him again, to feel his arms around you, safe and secure. The bond you shared with him was your lifeline, the only thing keeping you from succumbing to despair. You knew he would be relentless in his search, that he would stop at nothing to bring you back.

As the minutes dragged into hours, your body grew weaker, the cold sapping your strength. But you refused to give in. You had to hold on, had to believe that rescue was on its way. With each breath, you summoned the strength to endure, hoping that the next sound you heard would be Daemon’s voice calling your name, pulling you out of the darkness and into the light.

Daemon stood on the tarmac, his eyes following the private jet as it ascended into the sky, carrying Rhaenyra away to Dragonstone. As the plane disappeared from view, he reached for his phone, immediately dialing one of his most trusted men.

“Any updates?” His voice was clipped, laced with barely contained fury.

“Not yet, sir,” came the hesitant reply. “We’re combing through all possible leads, but nothing solid has come up.”

“Then dig deeper,” Daemon snapped. “I want every contact, every informant pressed for information. No stone unturned. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll find her.”

Daemon ended the call abruptly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut with tension. The frustration of your disappearance gnawed at him, the helplessness an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation.

He turned and strode towards his car, his steps quick and purposeful. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine and sped away from the airstrip, the roar of the car echoing in the crisp morning air. The road blurred as he drove, his mind racing with thoughts of you—where you could be, who could have taken you, and why.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as he navigated through the city streets. Every moment you were missing felt like an eternity. The image of your phone and handbag abandoned in that corridor haunted him, a grim reminder of how swiftly you had been taken from him.

As he neared the house, Daemon’s mind shifted gears. He needed to remain composed, at least on the surface. Rhaenyra might be away, but the rest of the household staff would be watching. He had to maintain the façade, to keep suspicion at bay while he orchestrated the search behind the scenes.

Pulling into the driveway, Daemon parked the car and took a moment to gather himself. His gaze hardened, determination flickering in his eyes. He would find you. And when he did, there would be hell to pay for those who had dared to take you from him.

Daemon entered his study, his sharp gaze immediately falling on Aegon and Aemond, who were seated casually, their expressions a mix of curiosity and impatience. He had summoned them here, knowing he needed all the resources and connections he could muster to find you. But the tension in the room was palpable, each man bringing their own agenda to the table.

Daemon moved to his desk, leaning against it, arms crossed as he assessed the two men before him. “We need to strategize,” he began, his voice low but commanding. “Every minute we waste is a minute she remains in danger. We need to track down every lead, every possible motive for this abduction.”

Aegon nodded, his usual nonchalance replaced by a rare seriousness. “I’ve already contacted a few people who might have information. We’ll get some answers soon.”

Aemond, ever the tactician, added, “I’ve dispatched a few of our men to shadow known enemies. If this is a power play, we’ll have something to leverage.”

For a moment, there was a semblance of unity, a shared goal. But then Aemond’s gaze hardened, his curiosity turning to skepticism. “But I have to ask, Daemon,” he said, his tone cold and calculating, “what makes her so important? She’s just your mistress, isn’t she? Is she worth all this effort?”

The question hung in the air like a blade, sharp and poised to cut. Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. A flash of anger crossed his features, his control slipping for a brief moment.

“She’s more than that,” Daemon growled, his voice laced with venom. “She is mine. And no one takes what is mine without consequence.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but he held his ground, a subtle challenge in his gaze. Aegon shifted uncomfortably, sensing the rising tension. “We’re all on the same side here,” Aegon interjected, trying to diffuse the situation. “Let’s focus on finding her first.”

Daemon inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. His priority was finding you, and petty rivalries would only slow them down.

“You’re right,” Daemon conceded, though his eyes never left Aemond’s. “We find her first. Then we deal with everything else.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their mission pressing down on all of them. Despite the underlying tension, they knew they had to work together. Time was running out, and you were still out there, waiting to be found.

Daemon was pacing the room when Aegon’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Daemon, wait!” Aegon called, his eyes fixed on the paused frame of the video on the laptop screen. “Look here, in the corner,” he pointed, enlarging the image to reveal a faint but unmistakable symbol etched into the shadowed wall. It was the sigil of House Baratheon.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing as the implications of the discovery sank in. Without hesitation, he grabbed the keys to his car and a pistol from the desk drawer. He was already halfway to the door when Aegon spoke again, his voice filled with urgency.

“Daemon, we need to plan this out!” Aegon shouted, moving to block his path, but Daemon brushed past him with a determined stride.

“Don’t be reckless!” Aemond added, stepping forward, his hand reaching out to stop his uncle. “We’ll go with you. You can’t just—”

But Daemon was already out the door, his mind singularly focused on one thing: getting to you. The roar of the engine echoed through the courtyard as he peeled out of the driveway, leaving Aegon and Aemond behind, their shouts fading into the distance.

The drive to the Baratheon estate was a blur, the city lights streaking past as Daemon pushed the car to its limits. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white with tension. His mind played through every possible scenario, each one ending with him bringing you back safely. The pistol on the passenger seat was a silent promise of what would happen to anyone who stood in his way.

As the grand gates of the Baratheon estate loomed ahead, Daemon slowed, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of a trap. His heart pounded in his chest, but his resolve was unwavering. He was here to reclaim what was his, and nothing would stop him.

Pulling the car to a stop just outside the gates, Daemon stepped out, the pistol now firmly in his grip. His gaze hardened as he approached the estate, his mind a flurry of tactics and determination.

The hunt had begun, and Daemon Targaryen was a man on a mission.

The stillness of the night was shattered by Daemon’s furious shout. “Borros Baratheon! Get out here!” His voice echoed through the vast grounds of the Baratheon estate, filled with rage and desperation.

Behind him, the rumble of several cars pulling up signaled the arrival of his reinforcements—his own men, as well as some from Aegon and Aemond. Their presence added to the tension in the air, a silent promise of the lengths Daemon was willing to go.

The grand doors of the estate creaked open, and Borros Baratheon emerged, flanked by his guards. His expression was a mix of confusion and indignation. Before he could utter a word, Daemon raised his pistol, aiming directly at Borros.

“Where is she?” Daemon demanded, his voice like a whip. “Where are you hiding her?”

Borros raised his hands slightly, signaling his men to hold their fire, though they kept their weapons trained on Daemon. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Borros replied, his tone measured but firm. “You’re making a mistake, Targaryen.”

Daemon’s grip on the pistol tightened. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “I saw your symbol in the video. She’s here, and I’m not leaving without her.”

“I don’t have your mistress,” Borros said coldly. “If someone used my symbol, it wasn’t with my knowledge.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe him. Without lowering his weapon, he pulled out his phone and called his men. “Search the entire estate,” he ordered. “Every room, every corner. I want her found.”

Borros stiffened but remained silent as Daemon’s men and their allies stormed the estate, searching every inch of the property. The tension between the two men was palpable, each second stretching into an eternity as they waited for news.

Minutes turned into hours, and one by one, the search parties returned, their expressions grim. The leader of Daemon’s men approached, shaking his head. “We’ve searched everywhere, sir. She’s not here.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his fury barely contained. He lowered the pistol but kept his gaze locked on Borros. “If I find out you had anything to do with this,” Daemon warned, his voice low and dangerous, “there will be no place you can hide.”

Borros met his gaze without flinching. “I suggest you find out who really took her,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”

Daemon turned on his heel, marching back to his car with his men following closely behind. As he got behind the wheel, his mind was already racing, considering his next move. He knew time was running out, and failure was not an option.

Your head snapped to the side as the door creaked open once more, the dim light casting a shadow over the figure stepping inside. The woman approached you with a cold, calculating expression, her eyes filled with disdain. Without warning, her hand shot out, gripping your face roughly, her nails digging into your skin.

"Why?" she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "Why would Daemon betray Rhaenyra for someone like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart pounding with fear and guilt. You remained silent, unable to find the words to respond. If this was the reason for your capture, you cursed your own feelings, the forbidden nature of your relationship with Daemon now a bitter weight on your soul.

The woman's patience was thin. Frustrated by your lack of response, she struck you across the face again, the sting of her slap burning your skin. "Answer me!" she demanded, her voice rising with anger.

Your body trembled, the cold seeping into your bones, exacerbated by the dampness of your dress. You could barely manage to whisper, "I don't know."

The woman's grip tightened, her face inches from yours. "You don't know?" she spat. "You ruined everything, and you don't even know why?"

You sobbed softly, the pain of her words cutting deeper than the physical blows. "| never meant for any of this," you choked out. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."

The woman released you with a shove, making you stumble back against the chair. She paced the room, her anger simmering. "You're nothing but a distraction," she muttered, more to herself than to you. "Daemon will pay for this."

You watched her, fear knotting in your stomach. The reality of your situation pressed down on you, the hopelessness of escape looming large. Yet, through the haze of fear, a glimmer of hope flickered-Daemon would find you. He had to.

Daemon stormed into his home, his emotions a whirlwind of rage and despair. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silent hallways, his heart pounding with frustration. In the dimly lit living room, Aemond and Aegon rose from their seats, their faces lined with concern as they awaited any news.

“Did you find her?” Aemond asked cautiously, his single eye narrowing with unease.

Daemon stopped in his tracks, his expression dark. He shook his head slowly, the weight of failure pressing heavily on his shoulders. Without a word, he lashed out, flipping a nearby table with a ferocious roar. The crash of wood against marble reverberated through the room, a violent symphony of his anguish.

He didn’t stop there. His fists found a vase, shattering it against the wall. Chairs were hurled across the room, curtains torn down in his fury. The servants, startled by the noise, peeked nervously from the corners, unsure of whether to intervene or flee. The house quaked under the force of his anger, the once serene atmosphere now a chaotic tempest.

Upstairs, the muffled sounds of Daemon’s rage reached the ears of his children. They huddled close, fear and confusion etched on their young faces. Their father, the formidable and controlled figure they knew, was unraveling before their eyes, a man consumed by his desperation.

Aegon stepped forward, trying to reason with his uncle. “Daemon, stop. Destroying your home won’t bring her back.”

But Daemon wasn’t listening. His chest heaved as he stared at the mess he’d created, his mind a storm of worry for you. The thought of you alone, frightened, and at the mercy of unknown captors drove him to the brink. “I should have protected her,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Aemond, always the more composed of the two, approached cautiously. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly. “But we need a plan, not chaos.”

Daemon’s eyes finally met Aemond’s, his gaze filled with a mixture of hope and helplessness. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to regain control. “I can’t lose her,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Not like this.”

Aegon and Aemond exchanged a glance, understanding the depth of Daemon’s feelings. They knew this wasn’t just about possession or pride—it was about love, however complicated and forbidden it might be. Together, they resolved to stand by Daemon, to do whatever it took to bring you back safely.

The sound of the door creaking open made your heart race with a mix of hope and dread. You turned your head, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that Daemon had found you—had come to rescue you. But instead, the figure that walked into the room was none other than Rhaenyra.

For a fleeting second, relief washed over you. She was here. But that feeling of comfort vanished in an instant when Rhaenyra’s hand collided with your cheek with a sharp, unforgiving slap. The impact stung, both physically and emotionally, and you recoiled in shock, your body trembling.

Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed with fury as she stepped closer, her grip tightening around your face. Her voice, usually calm and composed, was now a mixture of anger and disbelief. “How could you?” she hissed, her words cutting deep. “How could you betray me like this?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you couldn’t speak. You couldn’t find the words to explain, to justify the feelings that had developed between you and Daemon. Rhaenyra shook you, her voice rising as she continued. “I brought you into our lives, to help you, to make something of yourself—not to betray me! Not to sleep with him!”

Her accusations struck you like a thousand daggers. Every word felt like it was tearing apart the bond you once had with her, the trust that had always existed between you both, now shattered beyond repair.

You wanted to explain, to tell her that your feelings for Daemon were never meant to hurt her, but the guilt and shame suffocated you. “I never wanted to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Rhaenyra scoffed, releasing her grip on your face with a forceful shove. “You’ve already done that,” she spat. “You’ve betrayed not just me, but everything we’ve built. You can’t be trusted.”

Her words, cold and final, left you feeling empty. You had no defense, no way to undo the damage. All you could do was look at her, the woman you once admired, and feel the weight of your choices crushing you from within.

And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else in Rhaenyra’s eyes—a flicker of pain, a wound she was trying to hide. It was clear she didn’t just feel betrayed by you. She felt the devastation of losing her trust in you, and in some twisted way, it mirrored your own heartache.

But it was too late for apologies. Too late for explanations. The damage had been done, and no amount of regret could undo the betrayal that had transpired between you.

Daemon’s frustration reached a boiling point as he paced relentlessly in his office, shouting into the phone to his men. His voice was harsh, desperate for answers, for any clue that might lead him to you. The tension in the air was palpable, his every move filled with the weight of his failure to find you.

Then, Aegon, who had been quietly sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, caught his attention. He gestured toward his phone, his face a mix of concern and urgency. “Daemon, you need to see this,” he said, his voice laced with an unspoken dread.

Daemon turned sharply, his mind already clouded with worry, but the moment his eyes locked onto the screen in Aegon’s hands, his heart sank.

The video was dark, cold, and haunting. You were sitting in a dimly lit, damp room, your body trembling with the cold. Your hair clung to your face, your clothes soaked through. You were calling out for him, your voice breaking with desperation as you screamed his name, pleading for help.

“Daemon!” you cried, your voice filled with anguish. “Please… help me!”

Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, his grip tightening around the edge of the desk. The raw emotion in your voice sent a shockwave through him. Every instinct within him screamed that he had to act now, but the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks.

He knew that room.

He recognized the cold, desolate walls, the isolation. It was a place he had used in the past, a place where he kept those who had betrayed him, where he sought to punish those who had crossed him. It was hidden deep within Dragonstone, a place known only to a few, a place no one dared to venture unless they were prepared to lose everything.

And now, as the truth settled over him, Daemon’s mind raced. His own wife, Rhaenyra, had taken you. She had done this. She had taken you, and she had orchestrated your capture.

Daemon’s heart burned with fury and disbelief. Rhaenyra had known. She had known everything. The betrayal, the secret he had kept hidden from her, it was all out in the open now. The woman he had once trusted, the woman he had built a life with, had taken the one person who meant the world to him.

He turned away from Aegon, his chest tight with anger and guilt. His hand gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. His mind was a storm of emotions—rage, confusion, sorrow.

“Dragonstone,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course… it’s always been Dragonstone.”

The weight of the realization crashed down on him. Rhaenyra had known what was happening between him and you. She had seen through their lies, through their deception. And now, she had made a decision. A decision that would change everything.

Daemon’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he turned to Aegon, his voice low and cold. “Get the men ready. We leave for Dragonstone now.”

There was no hesitation in his tone, no room for doubt. He would not let Rhaenyra have you. Not now, not ever. Whatever it took, he would bring you back.

As the plane soared through the sky toward Dragonstone, Daemon’s mind was consumed with the chaos that had unfolded. His thoughts spiraled back to the moment when Rhaenyra had asked for permission to go there, to handle affairs with the family. How had he not seen this coming? How had he been so blind to what she was capable of?

The weight of his own failure settled heavily on his chest. He had always thought he could control everything—his desires, his actions, his relationships. But this, this was different. The connection he had forged with you was a mistake he couldn’t undo. And now, that mistake was costing you dearly.

His eyes closed, a pang of guilt stabbing through him. The image of you, cold, wet, and trapped in that dark room, calling for him, was all he could see. He could only imagine how terrified you must have been. The fear in your voice echoed in his ears, and the thought of you suffering because of his choices made him sick to his stomach.

Aegon and Aemond, sitting silently across from him, exchanged glances, their faces serious. They had witnessed Daemon’s descent into turmoil but said nothing. They knew better than to disturb him in this state. His guilt, his frustration—it was palpable, suffocating even.

Daemon gripped his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “This is my fault,” he muttered under his breath. “I should never have let this happen. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to fall for you.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and his breath hitched. The last thing he wanted was for you to be caught in the crossfire of his own mistakes, yet here you were—taken, frightened, and alone—because of him.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the bottle of water beside him, but it did little to calm the storm inside. His thoughts raced with a thousand scenarios, a thousand ways he could’ve stopped this, ways he could’ve prevented Rhaenyra from ever discovering his betrayal. But what was done was done. All that mattered now was finding you, bringing you back safely.

Aegon, who had remained silent for the duration of the flight, finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “Daemon… this isn’t just on you. Rhaenyra made her choices too. She knew what she was doing, and she knew exactly what kind of effect this would have on you. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

Aemond, usually the more stoic one, nodded in agreement. “But you still have to fix it. You owe her that much… and you owe yourself the chance to right this.”

Daemon clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he looked out the window, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the sea below. A storm was brewing inside him, one that would only be quieted once he had you back, once he had righted his wrongs.

“I have to make this right,” Daemon finally spoke, his voice a whisper full of determination. “I’ll bring her back, even if I have to tear down everything I’ve built to do it.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between them. Aemond and Aegon said nothing in return, both of them fully aware of what Daemon was capable of when pushed to the edge.

And now, in this moment, nothing else mattered. The world could crumble, alliances could shatter, but as long as you were safe, Daemon would do whatever it took to fix the destruction he had caused.

Daemon stormed into the grand house at Dragonstone, his steps heavy with urgency. His voice echoed through the halls as he called out for Rhaenyra. The tension in his chest was unbearable—he needed to know where you were, needed to find you, to make sure you were safe.

Minutes passed before Rhaenyra appeared at the top of the stairs, her face a mask of calm, as though nothing had happened. Her poise was unsettling to Daemon, who was consumed by the fear of losing you. He stared at her, his eyes wild with desperation.

“Where is she?” Daemon demanded, his voice sharp with anger and panic. “Where is she, Rhaenyra?”

But Rhaenyra did not immediately answer. Instead, she looked at him with a cold gaze, her lips barely parting as she spoke. “Why, Daemon?” she asked quietly. “Why would you betray me for her? Do you really think I would not find out?”

Daemon’s frustration reached its peak, but he didn’t have time for her questions, for her accusations. He was done with this. The only thing that mattered was finding you. Without another word, he pushed past her, his steps quick and determined as he moved toward the basement.

The door ahead of him was close—he could almost feel it. But as he reached for the handle, a voice stopped him. Rhaenyra’s voice.

“Daemon,” she called softly, the weight of the gun in her hand becoming clear. “Stop.”

Daemon froze. The cold, unmistakable sound of a pistol being raised sent a chill down his spine. His heart pounded, but he didn’t turn around. He knew what she was capable of, and yet, his focus remained solely on the door in front of him, on you, who he had to save.

His voice was low, a growl of frustration. “Move aside, Rhaenyra. This isn’t you. Don’t do this.”

But Rhaenyra remained silent, her presence behind him a looming threat. He could feel the tension in the air, but he didn’t let it stop him. Not when your safety was on the line. He was ready to face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting Rhaenyra, even if it meant sacrificing everything to get to you.

In that moment, Daemon understood the true cost of his actions. But no matter the price, he would not let you suffer. Not again.

Rhaenyra slowly approached Daemon, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. She snapped her fingers, signaling her men. Immediately, they moved toward you, their grip firm as they dragged your trembling body from the shadows. Weak and drenched, you were thrown to the floor at Daemon’s feet, your body shaking violently from fear and the cold.

Daemon’s heart shattered at the sight of you—helpless, vulnerable—and yet, he was powerless to act. His body tensed, his hands itching to rush to your side, to hold you, to protect you from the torment Rhaenyra had subjected you to. But he couldn’t. Not with Rhaenyra standing in his way.

You let out a soft whimper as you were unceremoniously thrown onto the cold stone floor, your body unable to bear the harsh treatment. Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, but his focus remained solely on you. He wanted to rush to you, to pull you into his arms and promise you that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t move.

Then, Rhaenyra moved toward you, her expression twisted in anger. She grabbed your hair roughly, yanking your head back so that you were forced to look up at Daemon. Her eyes gleamed with fury, a twisted satisfaction in her movements as she forced you to face the man who had betrayed her.

But what happened next was not what Daemon had expected. His gaze met yours, and what he saw made his chest tighten—your eyes, filled with pain and desperation. You looked at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke through your trembling lips, “Please, Daemon… save our child…”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. Rhaenyra froze, her gaze flickering between you and Daemon, as if processing what you had just revealed. Daemon, too, stood frozen, his heart racing, his mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of what you had said. His world tilted in that moment.

You were pregnant. With his child. And he hadn’t even known.

Rhaenyra’s face twisted in shock, the shock that mirrored Daemon’s own. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with betrayal, confusion, and the weight of unspoken words. Daemon’s emotions surged—anger, guilt, and a deep, aching need to protect you, to keep you safe, to fix everything he had broken.

Rhaenyra’s hold on you loosened slightly as she processed your plea, her eyes wide with disbelief, but the damage had already been done. The truth had come to light in the worst possible way.

Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, sharp and filled with fury as she screamed. Without a second thought, her foot connected with your belly, sending a wave of pain coursing through your body. You gasped, curling up as the cold stone floor pressed against your aching limbs.

Daemon’s body stiffened in reaction. He took a step forward, instinctively wanting to rush to your side, to stop Rhaenyra from hurting you any further. But before he could move, one of Rhaenyra’s men stepped forward, the cold, metallic gleam of a pistol aimed directly at Daemon’s head.

Daemon froze. The cold barrel of the weapon left him helpless, his body taut with frustration. He stood there, powerless, unable to do anything but watch, his heart breaking with every agonizing second that passed. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with sorrow and helplessness.

He wanted to comfort you, to ease your pain, but there was nothing he could do. He was trapped.

Rhaenyra, her chest heaving from the intensity of her emotions, turned toward Daemon. Her face was contorted in anger, but there was something else there—something raw, something deeply wounded. She marched up to him, face flushed with fury, tears streaming down her face as she shouted at him.

“How could you do this to me, Daemon?!” she cried, her voice cracking. “How could you betray me like this?!”

Her words were laced with heartbreak and rage, the agony of a woman who had been deceived by the man she had trusted most. She was breaking before his very eyes, unable to hold back the emotions that had been building within her for so long.

Daemon stood there, helpless. He had never seen Rhaenyra like this—never imagined that his actions would lead to this kind of pain. His throat tightened, and though he wanted to speak, to explain, to beg for her forgiveness, the words stuck in his throat. All he could do was look at her, his eyes filled with regret and sorrow.

Rhaenyra’s anger didn’t subside. She screamed, her pain evident in every movement, her hands trembling with emotion. Her voice cracked as she shouted again, “You have shattered everything, Daemon! Everything I ever believed in!”

Daemon wanted to reach out, to hold her, to tell her he was sorry, but he knew it wouldn’t fix anything. He knew he had caused this, and now, there was nothing left to do but watch as everything he cared about crumbled before him.

And through it all, you—his love, his future—lay there in the shadows, suffering, while he remained a prisoner of his own guilt and her wrath.

Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with rage as she glared down at you, her breath shallow and erratic. The tension in the room thickened, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone in the dark, silent space. Her hands trembled slightly, but her resolve was absolute as she aimed the gun straight at you.

Daemon’s heart skipped a beat. “Rhaenyra, no!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation. He took a step forward, reaching out, but it was too late. The sound of the gunshot rang out, echoing in the small, dimly lit room.

The world seemed to slow down in that instant. You gasped, feeling the searing pain as the bullet found its mark. Time stood still as your body went limp, the excruciating pain taking over. You couldn’t process it fast enough. You tried to call out, to beg for mercy, but all that left your lips was a strained, choked gasp.

And then, chaos erupted.

Aegon and Aemond stormed into the room, their men following behind, moving quickly to subdue Rhaenyra’s guards. The air was thick with gunfire, the sound of combat mingling with the sharp cries of men in battle. Aegon was the first to reach Daemon, grabbing his arm to steady him as the sight of you bleeding on the floor shattered his composure.

Daemon didn’t look at them. He didn’t hear the chaos around him. All that mattered was you. His eyes locked onto your limp body, and without hesitation, he rushed toward you, his legs moving faster than his mind could comprehend.

“Please,” he whispered as he knelt beside you, pulling you into his arms. His hands shook as he cradled your body, the warmth of your blood staining his shirt. “Please, stay with me,” he begged, his voice cracking, the despair evident in every word. “For me, for our child… please.”

His hand pressed against your wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but the effort felt futile. He could feel your pulse—weak, faint, like a flickering flame in a storm. His mind raced, but there were no words that could fix what had just happened. All he could do was hold you, praying that somehow, you would pull through.

His breath hitched as he looked down at you, his world crashing around him. “I’m so sorry,” Daemon whispered, his voice broken. “This is all my fault. But you can’t leave me… not like this. Not now.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and for the first time, Daemon felt truly vulnerable—his entire life and everything he loved hanging by the thinnest thread. He was terrified. The sight of you slipping away, of losing you, broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He didn’t care about his wife, the betrayal, or anything else. All that mattered was you—your life, your future, the life growing inside you.

Aegon and Aemond stood back, unable to offer more than their silent support. They knew the stakes were higher than ever now. But in that moment, all the Targaryens could do was wait and pray that it wasn’t too late for you.

Daemon, his heart shattered, held you close, desperate to keep you alive.

Without hesitation, Daemon scooped you up into his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His heart pounded in his chest, the fear gripping him tighter with each passing second. Blood seeped through your clothes, staining his hands, but he couldn’t let himself think about that now. He had to get you to safety.

“Out of the way!” he roared at the men surrounding the house, his voice laced with panic and fury. He didn’t have time to waste on formalities. His only focus was you.

He carried you to the car, his movements hurried yet careful. Placing you gently in the back seat, he climbed in beside you, pulling your fragile form close to him. The driver, sensing the urgency, started the engine and sped off, the tires screeching as they left the estate behind.

Daemon leaned over you, his face inches from yours. His fingers brushed against your cheek, trembling as he traced the outline of your face. You were growing pale, your breaths shallow, and it terrified him.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, stay with me. We’re almost there.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued to stroke your face, his lips pressing against your forehead. “You’re strong. You can fight this.”

He clutched your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, kissing it softly. “I need you,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I need you. Don’t give up now.”

The car sped through the streets, racing against time. Daemon’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and fears. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. The weight of his guilt pressed heavily on him, but he couldn’t let it consume him. All he could do was hold on to hope that you would make it, that the universe would grant him one more chance to make things right.

As the hospital came into view, Daemon shouted to the driver, “Faster! We’re almost there!” The car skidded to a halt at the entrance, and Daemon didn’t wait for help. He lifted you into his arms again, rushing inside, yelling for assistance.

“Help her!” he begged the medical staff, his voice filled with desperation. “Please, save her!”

As they took you from his arms, Daemon felt a part of himself break, his soul aching with the thought of losing you. He watched as they wheeled you away, his heart in his throat, praying to every god he knew that he wouldn’t lose you tonight.

Daemon sat in the dimly lit hospital corridor, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing the turmoil within. His leg bounced uncontrollably, a physical manifestation of the storm raging inside him. His hands covered his face, fingers digging into his skin as if trying to claw away the guilt and fear threatening to consume him.

He couldn’t sit still. The wait was agonizing, every minute stretching into an eternity. Somewhere behind those closed doors, you were fighting for your life, and the life of the child you carried. The thought of losing both of you was unbearable.

Aegon and Aemond had taken charge of the situation, dealing with Rhaenyra and her man. Daemon barely registered their presence. His mind was trapped in a relentless loop of regret and fear, replaying the events that had led to this moment. His betrayal, his recklessness—it had put you in danger. He had failed to protect you, and now you were paying the price.

Tears streamed down his face, silent and unchecked. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. His chest heaved with silent sobs, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He was no stranger to violence, to conflict, but this—this was different. This was personal. This was his fault.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to himself, the words barely audible. “I’m sorry for everything.”

He thought about the last moments before you were taken into surgery, the fear in your eyes, the trust you still had in him despite everything. He had promised to keep you safe, and he had failed. Now, all he could do was wait and hope that fate would be merciful, that he would have the chance to make amends, to be the man you deserved.

As the hours dragged on, Daemon remained in that chair, his body tense, his soul tormented. Every sound, every movement in the hallway made him jump, hoping for news, dreading what it might be. His heart clung to a fragile thread of hope, praying that you and the baby would survive, that he wouldn’t lose the two most important pieces of his life.

Daemon’s head snapped up as the doors to the operating room swung open. He rose to his feet, heart pounding in his chest, as a doctor approached him, a somber expression etched on his face.

“The operation was successful,” the doctor began, his voice gentle yet heavy. “She’s stable, and we managed to save her. However…” He paused, his eyes filled with sympathy. “The baby didn’t survive. The pregnancy was still too early, and with the trauma she endured over the past few days, it was just too much.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Daemon’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, the weight of the news crashing down on him. His hands covered his face as the reality of the loss hit him like a tidal wave. His child—your child—was gone. His reckless actions had brought you both to this point, and now he had to live with the consequences.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled himself together, forcing his body to move, to be with you. Once you were transferred to a recovery room, he entered quietly, his steps hesitant. The sight of you lying there, pale and still, tore at his heart. He approached the bed, sitting down beside you carefully.

Daemon reached out, his hand trembling as he gently brushed his fingers along your cheek. Your eyes remained closed, your breathing steady but shallow. He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against your knuckles.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I’ve failed you. I’ve failed our child.”

His thumb caressed the back of your hand as he continued, his voice soft, almost a plea. “I’ll make it right. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. I swear it.”

He sat there, holding your hand, hoping that when you woke, you could find it in your heart to forgive him. But for now, he remained by your side, consumed by guilt, yet determined to never let you suffer alone again.

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

[movingmusically]

Hi can I request an austin one shot where there is only domestic fluff

Author’s Note:

I decided to make this one a collection of sweet memories rather than flowing story.

Word Count: 4,596

Masterlist

The Little Things

The soft glow of the TV lit up the room as you nestled deeper into the sofa, your legs draped lazily over Austin’s lap. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sat between you, mostly forgotten as his hand moved in slow, absent-minded circles on your calf. The movie—a romcom you’d picked—was nearing its predictable, heartwarming ending, but neither of you seemed to be paying much attention.

Instead, you let yourself sink into the quiet comfort of the moment. The warmth of his hand on your skin, the soft sound of his breathing blending with the faint hum of the TV—it all wrapped around you like a cocoon. You could see the subtle curve of his lips, the way his head tilted back as he absently traced patterns on your leg. The simplicity of it made your heart ache in the best way.

Your mind drifted to the smaller moments, the ones that didn’t make grand romantic gestures but settled in your heart all the same. It was those moments, more than anything, that made you realise just how deeply you loved him.

The first time Austin cooked for you felt like a glimpse into a part of him you hadn’t seen before. It was early in your relationship, it had been a casual invitation to his place—nothing fancy, he’d said—but when you arrived, the smell of cedar and herbs greeted you before he did. You found him in the backyard, standing near his prized wood-fired pizza oven, the flames dancing warmly behind him.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he’d said, flashing you that easy smile as he turned a cedar plank over in his hands, the fillet of salmon already resting on top. “Thought I’d keep it simple tonight—just some salt, pepper, and a little lemon. Let the wood do the work.”

You’d perched on a chair nearby, watching as he moved between the oven and the small outdoor prep station he’d set up. He worked with a careful ease, sprinkling fresh dill over the fish and checking the temperature inside the oven with practiced precision. It wasn’t just cooking; it was something closer to art.

“You’re really into this, huh?” you teased, trying to keep your voice light, though the sight of him so focused and content made your chest ache in the best way.

He glanced at you, that boyish grin creeping across his face. “It’s the smell,” he said, motioning to the oven. “The wood, the smokiness—it reminds me why I got this thing in the first place. Plus, it’s kind of a win-win. I like making it, and you get to eat it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “So selfless of you.”

When he finally set the plate in front of you, the dish was both simple and beautiful—a fillet of salmon, perfectly tender, paired with roasted vegetables he’d tossed with just the right amount of seasoning. You’d taken one bite and practically melted into your seat.

“This is incredible,” you said, meaning every word.

He leaned back in his chair, a look of quiet satisfaction settling on his face. “Good,” he said, his voice softer now. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

That night had stayed with you, not just because the food was delicious—though it absolutely was—but because of the way he’d shared it with you. The way he’d talked about the smoky cedar and the simplicity of salt and lemon, like it wasn’t just a meal but a piece of himself.

It became something of a tradition after that, his cedar-plank salmon making an appearance on birthdays, anniversaries, and lazy Sundays when he just wanted to do something special for you. But no matter how many times you’d had it since, nothing quite compared to that first night—watching him cook under the stars, the wood-smoke curling through the air, and the way his smile lingered, like he knew he’d made an impression you wouldn’t soon forget.

Another memory bloomed, soft and sweet, as if it were happening all over again. It had been at a small gathering—friends, music, and the low hum of conversation filling the room. You’d been sitting beside Austin, your hand resting on his knee, when someone mentioned party tricks.

“I don’t have one,” you’d said with a laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Unless embarrassing myself counts.”

Austin had grinned, that easy, mischievous smile you loved so much. “I’ve got one,” he’d said casually, reaching for a napkin from the table.

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You do?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied, already folding the napkin with practiced precision. His fingers moved quickly, twisting and creasing with a focus that drew the attention of everyone nearby. The group around you leaned in to watch as he shaped the plain napkin into something delicate and intricate.

By the time he finished, he held out a perfectly crafted rose, its petals soft and curved, the stem twisted just enough to look real. “Voilà,” he said, offering it to you with a little flourish.

You’d stared at it for a moment, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “You’ve been hiding this from me?” you teased, taking the paper rose from his hand.

“I can’t give away all my secrets at once,” he said, his voice low and playful.

“Where did you even learn this?” you asked, holding the rose carefully like it was something fragile.

He leaned back with a grin, crossing his arms like he was about to tell a story he’d been waiting to share. “There was this kid at my sister’s high school—cool Brazilian guy, leather jacket, the whole vibe. He used to sit in the corner of the cafeteria making these for the girls. I was enamoured with him and begged him to teach me.”

You laughed at the image of teenage Austin, wide-eyed and determined to learn this one oddly specific skill. “And did it work? Did you impress anyone?”

His grin widened as he leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Well, you tell me.”

You couldn’t stop smiling, shaking your head. “Yeah, it worked.”

The rose from that night had been the first, but not the last. Over time, you’d quietly started saving them, stashing them in drawers, on shelves, even between the pages of books. There was a small collection now—each one a little different, depending on the material he’d had to work with, but all of them unmistakably his.

Every time you looked at them, you thought of moments like that night. The way he made something so simple feel special, the way his hands could turn an ordinary napkin into something extraordinary, and the way he always managed to make you feel like the most important person in the room.

From there, your thoughts drifted to the day you moved into your first place together. It had been chaos—boxes everywhere, carefully chosen vintage furniture waiting to find its place, and a list of things to do that seemed endless. But instead of feeling overwhelmed, the two of you had tackled it with a mix of determination and laughter.

“I think this couch is going to be perfect here,” you’d said, stepping back to admire the mid-century piece you’d hunted down at a vintage store.

Austin had tilted his head, considering it. “Yeah, but it’s missing something. Maybe a throw or a few pillows to make it feel less… serious.”

You’d grinned at his unexpected but very valid opinion. “Who knew you had such strong feelings about throw pillows?”

“I contain multitudes,” he’d replied with a smirk, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

The best part of that day, though, had been painting the walls. You’d insisted on doing it yourselves, ignoring the advice of friends who told you to hire professionals. Armed with rollers, brushes, and a playlist you’d both curated, you spent the afternoon covering the white walls in a warm, inviting shade that instantly made the space feel like home.

Austin, of course, couldn’t resist turning it into a competition. “I bet I can get my wall done faster than you,” he’d declared, already reaching for his roller.

“You’re on,” you’d replied, narrowing your eyes.

But your friendly rivalry quickly devolved into chaos when you “accidentally” flicked paint in his direction. He’d retaliated, and before long, you were both covered in streaks of colour, laughing so hard your sides hurt.

At one point, he’d grabbed you around the waist, smearing paint on your cheek as you tried—and failed—to wiggle free. “Guess this means I win,” he’d said, his voice low and teasing.

“You cheated,” you’d accused, breathless with laughter.

“You started it,” he’d replied, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple, leaving a faint smudge of paint behind.

When the walls were finally painted—more or less successfully—you stood together in the middle of the room, taking it all in. The sunlight filtered through the windows, bouncing off the still-drying paint and making the space feel alive.

“This is going to be amazing,” you’d said softly, slipping your hand into his.

“It already is,” he’d replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he glanced around the room. Then his eyes settled on you, his smile softening. “We make a good team.”

And in that moment, surrounded by your collective mess and the beginnings of what would become your home, it felt like everything was falling perfectly into place.

You shifted slightly against him, and his hand slid higher, resting lightly on your knee. His touch pulled you back to another memory, one that still made your heart ache in the best way.

The time you’d caught a nasty flu and spent days feeling miserable, wrapped in blankets on the couch. He’d insisted on looking after you, keeping your water glass full, bringing you soup, and tucking you in with the kind of gentleness that made you cry when he wasn’t looking. He never once complained, not even when you’d been at your worst.

You’d tried to tell him not to come over, insisting that you didn’t want him catching whatever awful bug had knocked you down. But Austin being Austin, he’d ignored you completely. He’d shown up at your door with a grocery bag in one hand and a determined look on his face, like this was a challenge he was more than ready to tackle.

“You’re supposed to be avoiding me,” you’d croaked, your voice hoarse and your face pale as you stood in the doorway, a tissue clutched in your hand.

“And you’re supposed to be resting,” he’d countered, breezing past you to deposit his bag on the kitchen counter. “Now sit your stubborn ass down and let me take care of you.”

It was hard to argue with someone who was already unpacking cartons of orange juice, a medley of medicines, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. You shuffled back to the couch, your blanket trailing behind you like a cape, and collapsed with a groan.

Over the next few days, he didn’t just look after you—he made it an art form. He was everywhere, refilling your water glass the moment it ran low, heating up soup (always homemade, never canned), and checking your temperature every few hours. When the coughs kept you up at night, he sat beside you, rubbing slow circles on your back until you finally fell asleep.

The first night, he’d perched on the edge of the couch, but by the second, he’d given up entirely and joined you under the mountain of blankets. “You’re already a mess,” he’d teased, tucking you in against his chest, “what’s a little more exposure?”

You’d felt awful—feverish, achy, and more than a little embarrassed that he was seeing you like this. But he never made you feel like a burden. If anything, he made it seem like taking care of you was exactly where he wanted to be.

And then there was the moment that really got to you. It was late, and you’d just had a coughing fit that left you red-faced and teary-eyed. He’d come back from the kitchen with a mug of honey-laced tea, his brow creased with worry as he knelt beside you.

“Hey,” he’d murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re okay, baby. Just sip this for me.”

It was the way he said it, soft and steady, like nothing else in the world mattered except you getting better. When he kissed your forehead, murmuring that you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. You’d turned your face into the pillow to hide them, but he’d noticed anyway, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to your temple.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, your voice thick with emotion. “Just… tired.”

“I know,” he’d said, settling beside you and pulling the blanket over both of you. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

And he had. Through the chills, the fever, and the endless rounds of tissues, he’d stayed. Even when you’d insisted he should go home and get some real rest, he never once wavered.

It wasn’t the grand gestures that had stayed with you—it was this. The quiet patience, the way he never flinched when you were at your most unlovable. The way he cared for you so selflessly, like there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. It was then, as he sat beside you in the dim glow of the living room lamp, his hand resting on yours, that you’d realised you loved him more than you ever thought possible.

And then there was the music. It was one of your favourite things about him—how he could sit down at the piano or pick up his guitar and make the world feel quieter, softer, more whole. He didn’t just play; he felt the music, letting it flow from his hands like it was a language only he truly understood.

You’d seen him lost in those moments countless times, and each one made you fall a little harder. The way his brow would furrow in concentration, his fingers gliding over the keys or strings as if they were an extension of himself. He’d sometimes hum along, his voice low and warm, or glance over at you with a small, knowing smile, like he was sharing a secret meant just for you.

The first time he’d played for you, really played, was late one night when neither of you could sleep. You’d wandered into the living room, finding him at the piano, his fingers tracing a melody so soft and delicate it felt like a lullaby.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you’d asked, padding over to sit beside him on the bench.

He shook his head, his eyes still on the keys. “Thought I’d work some things out here instead.”

You’d leaned against his shoulder, listening as the notes filled the space between you. After a moment, he glanced at you and started playing something familiar—a love song you’d heard a hundred times but had never sounded quite like this. His voice joined the piano, raw and unpolished but filled with something that made your chest ache.

“Don’t stop,” you’d whispered when his hands paused on the keys.

He smiled softly and kept playing, the music wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Sitting beside him, your head against his shoulder, you’d felt something click into place—something you hadn’t even realised was missing.

Another memory surfaced, this one more chaotic but no less cherished. It was a lazy Sunday, one of those perfect, unhurried days where time seemed to stretch endlessly. Austin had picked up his guitar, settling on the couch with it balanced against his thigh. You’d sprawled out next to him, your head resting on the armrest as you watched his fingers pluck out a soft melody.

“What’s that?” you’d asked, your voice light and curious.

“Not sure yet,” he’d replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Just messing around.”

As he played, you started humming along, letting the music carry you. Emboldened by the ease of the moment, you started to sing—a brave but ill-advised decision given your complete lack of pitch.

Austin’s hands stilled, and he looked at you, his brows lifting in exaggerated surprise. “Well, that’s… something,” he teased, his grin widening as you smacked his arm.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, though you were laughing despite yourself.

“I’m not!” he insisted, his voice thick with mock seriousness. “It’s unique. One of a kind, really.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” you’d said, nudging him with your elbow as you tried to suppress your own giggles.

“Laugh? Never,” he said, his voice laced with exaggerated sincerity. “You’re… breathtaking.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he started playing again, you kept singing—off-key, out of rhythm, but with enough enthusiasm to make up for it. And despite—or maybe because of—how bad it was, he never stopped smiling.

Eventually, he’d set the guitar aside and pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re a terrible singer,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with affection. “But I love it anyway.”

You’d laughed, leaning into him as the room filled with the quiet hum of love and music and the kind of joy that only came from being completely, unabashedly yourselves. Even now, the memory of it made your chest feel warm, like you were still wrapped in his arms.

The memory made you smile, the warmth of it settling deep in your chest. Your legs were already draped across Austin’s lap, but when he caught the shift of your weight, he tugged you closer, his hands gently guiding your hips until you were nestled against his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the way his fingers traced soft, absent-minded circles on your thigh gave away his affection.

You shook your head slightly, not ready to share just yet. Instead, you leaned further into him, your hand resting on his chest as you let the steady rhythm of his breathing settle you. The quiet hum of the movie faded into the background, and your mind drifted to another moment, one filled with warmth and love, ready to unfurl like the pages of a favourite story.

The memory came to life so vividly that you could almost feel the warmth of the kitchen that day. You’d wanted to surprise him, determined to bake a cake from scratch despite your distinct lack of baking skills. The result had been… well, let’s just call it memorable. The cake was lopsided, leaning precariously to one side, and the icing—meant to be a smooth, glossy finish—looked more like it had been applied with a paintbrush by a distracted child.

But you’d worked so hard on it, painstakingly piping “Happy Birthday, Austin” across the top in wobbly letters that looked more like a first grader’s handwriting than your own. By the time he came home, the kitchen was a disaster zone—flour dusting every surface, chocolate smudges on your cheek, and a pile of discarded attempts at icing in the sink.

When he saw it, though, he’d grinned from ear to ear, like you’d given him the world. “Did you make this?” he’d asked, his voice full of awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d gone to the trouble.

“Well, I tried,” you’d admitted, your cheeks heating as you gestured to the cake. “It’s a bit of a mess, but—”

“It’s perfect,” he’d cut in, his hands gently cradling your face as he kissed you, ignoring the faint taste of sugar and flour on your lips.

That night, you’d sat across from him at the table, watching as he took his first bite. “This is amazing,” he’d declared, his blue eyes sparkling with sincerity. You knew it wasn’t—the cake was dense, and the icing a little too sweet—but he’d eaten every bite like it was a Michelin-star dessert.

After dinner, you’d put on one of his favourite songs, a soulful track that filled the space with a gentle rhythm, and grabbed his hand. “Dance with me,” you’d said, already pulling him toward the living room.

He’d let out a small laugh, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe you. “You baked me a cake and now you want to dance? You’re spoiling me,” he teased, but his hand was already sliding into yours.

The hardwood floor was cool under your bare feet as you stepped into him, his arms wrapping around your waist with an ease that made your heart flutter. He led you in slow, unhurried circles, the two of you moving in quiet synchrony as the music washed over you. There was no rush, no reason to impress—just the feel of his hands on your back and the warmth of his body close to yours.

At one point, he spun you out, his grip firm but gentle, and when you twirled back into his arms, your balance faltered just slightly. He caught you effortlessly, his arms wrapping tighter around you as he grinned down at you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Can’t have you taking a tumble on my birthday.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “I wasn’t going to fall.”

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, his eyes bright with affection as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good thing I’ve got you.”

The two of you swayed together again, his hand sliding to the small of your back as he pulled you closer. The song shifted into its final notes, but neither of you moved to let go, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a second skin.

“Best birthday ever,” he’d whispered into your hair, his lips brushing your ear as the music faded into silence. And you’d smiled, knowing that no gift, no cake, no grand gesture could ever mean as much as this.

The warmth of his hand on your thigh pulled you back to another moment, one of your favourites—those lazy mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

Austin had always been a perfectionist when it came to his coffee, treating it less like a beverage and more like an art form. The La Marzocco espresso maker he’d splurged on sat proudly in the corner of your kitchen, gleaming like a piece of fine machinery. You hadn’t understood the obsession at first—not until you saw the way he lit up when he started his ritual.

It usually began with him weighing out the beans, his brows furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the scale to the gram. “You’d think I was performing surgery,” he’d joke, but there was no denying the satisfaction on his face when he got it just right.

Then came the tamping, the careful precision of his movements as he pressed the coffee grounds into the portafilter. “You’ve got to get it evenly compressed,” he’d explained once, his tone entirely serious. “Otherwise, the water doesn’t extract it properly.”

You’d leaned against the counter, watching with equal parts fascination and amusement. “So you’re telling me there’s a wrong way to make coffee?”

“There’s a right way,” he’d corrected with a grin, reaching for the Minor Figures oat milk. “And trust me, this is worth it.”

The steam wand hissed as he frothed the milk, his hand steady as he tilted the pitcher just so. “Barista blend,” he’d said once, holding up the carton like it was a prized possession. “It froths better. Or so they tell us.”

You’d teased him mercilessly about his dedication, but secretly, you loved it. There was something oddly soothing about the whole process—watching him lose himself in the craft, his focus so intense it made your chest ache.

When he’d handed you your first latte, the artful swirl of a heart floating on top of the foam, you’d been stunned. “You’re kidding,” you’d said, cradling the mug like it was a masterpiece. “How did you even do that?”

He’d just shrugged, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Takes practice.”

It had become a tradition after that—Saturday mornings spent in the kitchen, him perfecting his craft while you lounged nearby, content to let him spoil you. Sometimes he’d try new designs, laughing when they turned out more like blobs than flowers, and other times, he’d pull you into the process, teaching you how to steam the milk or tamp the grounds just right. You weren’t nearly as skilled as he was, but you didn’t mind. The way he’d stand behind you, guiding your hands, made it impossible to care about anything else.

And then there were the quieter mornings, when he’d bring the coffee to you on the couch, his own mug cradled in one hand as he settled in beside you. “Perfect cup,” he’d say every time, even when the foam was less than ideal or the milk wasn’t quite as frothy. It wasn’t about the coffee, really—it was about the way he shared it with you, the way he made the simplest things feel like rituals worth treasuring.

The memory lingered, warm and comforting, as if you could still smell the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee hanging in the air. You let it settle in your chest for a moment longer before the sound of Austin’s soft chuckle pulled you back to the present.

The movie’s credits had started to roll, but neither of you made a move to get up. His fingers continued their lazy circles on your thigh, and his other hand reached for the now-empty popcorn bowl, setting it on the table without a word. You tilted your head to look at him, catching the soft, sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because words didn’t feel like enough to capture the depth of what you were feeling. Instead, you smiled and shifted closer, draping your arm across his chest and pressing your cheek to his shoulder.

“Just thinking about us,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.

“Yeah?” His hand moved to rest on your back, his thumb brushing soothingly against your shoulder blade. “Good things, I hope.”

“The best,” you replied, your smile widening as you closed your eyes.

You felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. “You’re all I need, you know that?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you tightened your arm around him, your fingers curling slightly into the soft fabric of his shirt as you let the steady rhythm of his heartbeat guide you back into the quiet comfort of the moment.

The warmth of him, the ease of being wrapped up in his arms, and the soft glow of the TV fading into the background—it was everything you loved about him distilled into one perfect moment. And as your thoughts settled, you realised that no matter how many memories you’d made together, this one—this quiet, ordinary moment—might just be your favourite yet.

[winchesterwild78]

Unspoken Words pt 5

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, other characters

Warnings: fluff, illness, mild language

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This one is about a single mother with a nonverbal autistic daughter who loves Supernatural. The reader is going to a Supernatural Convention with her daughter and things unfold from there. The daughter character is near and dear to my heart. I have someone very close to me who is nonverbal, but he’s such an amazing kid. 

This chapter got a bit long, but it’s worth it. So much happens in this part. I think it’s one of my favorite parts so far. Enjoy. 

This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Jensen is single in this story. 

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

The next morning we woke up in each other’s arms to the sounds of giggles coming from the foot of the bed. We looked up and saw Lily sitting on the floor, playing with her stuffies. She must have woken up and came into my room, but because Jensen was there she didn’t crawl in the bed like she typically does. 

Jensen smiled at me and I at him, “Good morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep?” I snuggled closer in his arms, inhaling his scent and smiled, “Amazing.” “Good, me too.” He lifted my face and kissed my lips. 

Lily came around to my side of the bed and tugged on me. I turned towards her, Jensen’s arms still lazily lying around my waist. “Good morning, Lily. Are you hungry?” “Eat, please” I smiled, “Okay, baby. Let mommy get up and I’ll cook you something.”

I started to get out of the bed and Jensen pulled me back down. I fell back into him and laughed, “Jensen, I need to get up.” “Not yet, not until you give me a proper kiss.” 

I blushed, turned towards him and we kissed. All the unspoken love and the emotions from the past few days poured into the kiss. 

I climbed out of bed and walked into the kitchen. I started the coffee pot and grabbed the bacon and eggs from the fridge. I pulled the toaster out from under the counter and when I got back up Jensen was standing behind me. 

I jumped, “Jeez, Jensen. You scared the heck out of me. You’re like a stealthy mouse.” He laughed, “They do call me squirrel.” He winked and grabbed a coffee cup. “Need some help, baby?” 

“Sure, if you want to start the bacon. Lily likes it crispy, but not too crispy.” He nodded and started cooking. The two of us moved around the kitchen like a synchronized dance. It felt perfect. 

The first batch of bacon was done and Jensen asked how it was. I grabbed a piece to test it, “Hmmm, I don’t know Ackles. I might have found something you’re not good at.” I ate the bacon and laughed. 

He knew I was joking. He grabbed me around my waist, and spun me around. “Oh really? If it’s that bad I guess I need to kiss the taste out of your mouth.” “Yes please, it’s horrible” I exaggerated my words. 

He started kissing my lips and then down my neck. The sound of our laughter and me squealing filled the kitchen. Without thinking I wiggled around and faced him, breathless I kissed his lips, “I love you.” 

I froze. “Jensen I’m sorry. It just came out.” He cupped my face, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay with it. I promise. I love seeing you happy.”

I looked at him and nodded. I am in love with him, and want to say it all the time, but I also don’t want to make him uncomfortable. 

We continued cooking, and Jensen kept up the playful banter. It helped and made me feel better. I really didn’t want a repeat of last night. When he finished the bacon I sent him to relax in the living room. 

Lily had moved to playing on the floor. Jensen sat on the couch and scrolled on his phone. I grabbed my phone to send Sarah a text and let her know what’s going on with me. 

Me: Hey girl! I have updates! How are you?

Sarah: Hey! I have updates too, you go first. How’s my Lily girl? How’s Jensen?

Me: She’s doing great. He stayed last night. We had sex, it was amazing..Like REALLY amazing, then I almost screwed it up and told him I loved him. 

Sarah: Wait, you what?! You told him you loved him?! That's huge girl? Did he say it back? What did he say? Oh, and girl I NEED details. 😉

Me: He didn’t say it back. In fact he left afterwards, but he came back. He said he was scared, and I understand. We talked when he came back and now we are making breakfast. So, how’s things going with Steve?

Sarah: Steve is great. Perfect gentleman and our date went great. We ended up back at his place. 

Me: Did you two have sex?! 👀

Sarah: No, not yet, but that’s partly because we didn’t have protection. 😂

Me: Girl….I don’t want a niece or nephew right now. You better be safe.

Sarah: Always. Give my love to Lily. I gotta run. Steve and I are heading into a store. Love you, Y/N.

Me: I will. Have fun, and I love you too. 

“Lily, go wash up. Breakfast is ready.” I called from the kitchen. Jensen stood and stretched. Revealing the bottom of his torso and showing me the soft skin of his navel. I bit my lip thinking about last night. My body still tingled. 

We sat down to eat and I noticed Lily was devouring her bacon. “Lily, honey. Is the bacon that good?” I chuckled. All she said was, “mmm”. 

“Well, baby, Jensen cooked it today. He did good, didn’t he?” 

Lily stopped eating, looked at her plate and then up at Jensen. She climbed out of her chair and walked over to him. 

She stood by his chair and he moved back a bit. Lily walked up to him, placed her hand on his chest and looked at him. I looked at Jensen and he looked at me. I’d never seen her do this before, so I was confused about what she was doing. 

With her hand on his chest, she looked up at him and said, “Love Jensen.” I gasped and so did he. He scooped her up and held her tightly. Kissing the top of her head. Tears fell heavy and fast from my eyes.

“Wow, looks like both my girls love me. I am one lucky man.” His eyes flicked to mine and then down at Lily. She snuggled into his arms, “I love you too, Lily, and (he turned towards me) I love you too.” 

My breath hitched. Lily wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. She let him go and wiggled out of his arms, climbing back in her chair to finish eating. 

Jensen took the opportunity to walk over to me. He took my hands in his and pulled me up to him. “Jensen, you didn’t have to say it.” “I know, sweetheart. I wanted to, because I mean it. I love you and Lily so much. Being with you two is exactly where I’m supposed to be. I love you, Y/N. I’m still scared, but I know we are in this together.” 

A few tears slipped out and Jensen wiped them away with his thumb, “Don’t cry baby. Please. Hearing you say you love me last night and hearing that sweet girl say it made me realize just how precious and rare what we have is. I’m all in baby, for as long as you’ll have me. 

I leaned into his chest, “How does forever sound, Jens?” He chuckled, kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Perfect”. 

Jensen and I fell into a comfortable rhythm over the next few weeks. Lily talked some, but mostly around or to Jensen. 

I had just gotten home from work and Sarah was bringing Lily home later. I jumped in the shower and changed into something more comfortable. Steve and Jensen were coming over dinner and a movie night. Sarah and I were cooking and I was baking dessert. 

Sarah and Steve were spending more and more time together and I could tell she was completely smitten by Steve. I had already told him if he hurt her I would make sure he was never able to have children. Jensen roared when I told him that. Steve looked genuinely scared, Sarah was embarrassed. 

Dinner and the movie went great. Steve and Jensen chatted in the living room while Sarah and I went into the kitchen. Lily was in her favorite spot, on Jensen’s lap. 

“Y/N, Steve invited me back to his place tonight. I’m so nervous.” I smiled, “It’s going to be fine. Just make sure you do what you’re comfortable with, and don’t feel any pressure.” Steve said that too. It’s just been so long since I, well, you know. I don’t want to be bad at it and it ruins what Steve and I have.” “Sarah, I promise it won’t be bad. The first time with someone new is always awkward, but you two will figure it out.” We were hugging when Steve and Jensen walked in the room. “Wow, we let them out of our sight for one minute and we’re already been replaced.” Jensen said laughing. I playfully rolled my eyes, “Nobody can replace her.” I smirked and kissed his lips. 

Steve looked at Sarah, “Are you ready to head out?” He asked softly. She nodded and hugged me. When I pulled her close I whispered, “You’ve got this, and details later.” I squeezed her tight and let her go. 

After Steve and Sarah left Jensen and I snuggled on the couch. “She’s good for him, you know?” Jensen broke the silence. “I hope so. She’s like a sister to me. I can’t stand the thought of her being hurt.” 

Jensen turned me towards him, “Hey, baby. I promise. He was telling me tonight how much he really likes her. They were heading back to his place tonight. If I’m being honest I was surprised they hadn’t already had sex.” My eyes went wide, “What? Why?” Jensen chuckled, “Hey, relax. It’s not what you think. I just know how much Steve likes her.” 

“Well, she really likes him too. I hope tonight is great for both of them.” 

Jensen chuckled softly, “Well, maybe we should head to bed ourselves. I’ve got a couple ideas on how to make tonight great for both of us.” 

“Just a couple? You’re slipping Ackles.” He kissed me and pulled me to the bedroom. 

The next morning we woke up to Lily jumping on the bed. Jensen rolled over and moved so Lily could climb in between us. “Lily, baby. Mama needs more sleep. It’s too early.” “Mama, up.” 

I tried to pull the blanket over my head but she kept pulling it down. “Fine, I’m up.” Jensen chuckled and stretched. The three of us made our way out to the kitchen. 

Jensen made coffee while I fixed a bowl of cereal for Lily. I was about to ask Jensen what he wanted to eat, but he started coughing hard and I looked at him. “Are you okay?” I asked him. 

“Yeah, guess I have a little tickle in my throat.” He coughed again and my brow scrunched. 

I handed him a bottle of water and he nodded, drinking it. 

By the afternoon I could tell Jensen was feeling bad. 

“Jens, are you sure you’re okay? You look like you don’t feel good.” 

“Yeah. I am feeling a little bit bad. I’ll be fine.” 

“Jensen, I think you’re sick.” I took his temperature, much to his dismay and he had a fever. 

I grabbed him some medicine and some water. “You need to rest. Go to bed and I’ll be in there in a minute.” 

“Sweetheart, I should go home if I’m sick. Lily hasn’t been out of the hospital long. I don’t want to make her sick.” 

“You won’t. It’s my job to take care of you. I’d like to think I’m your girlfriend, even if we haven’t made it official.” 

Jensen smiled and cupped my face, “You’re definitely more than that, baby.” 

I smiled and kissed his forehead, “Good, now bed.” 

He smirked, “Yes ma’am.” Jensen crawled back in the bed and I went to check on Lily.

“Sweetie, Jensen isn’t feeling good so he’s in bed. We have to do our best to keep it down so he can rest.” 

Her eyes flicked up at me and filled with concern. She climbed off the couch and ran to my bedroom. 

“Lily, honey. Come back.” Before I could stop her she was standing in the bedroom. “Lily, come on. Let Jensen rest.” 

Tears filled her eyes. Jensen saw her and it broke his heart, “Hey baby girl. I’m okay. Just a little cold.” 

He held his arms out and pulled her in for a hug. She crawled on the bed and sat beside him. 

“Lily, come on.” I tried to get her to leave but she just snuggled down into the bed. 

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Jensen chuckled, “I can’t imagine where she got her stubborn streak from. She’s okay. I promise.” 

I sighed, “Fine Lily, but you have to let him sleep.” She giggled. “I knew you two were gonna be trouble together. She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger.” 

“Since the day we met, right Lily?” Jensen laughed wearily. 

I went back into the living room, grabbed her stuffies and other things. When I walked back into the room the two of them were watching Supernatural together. 

Lily kept looking at Dean on the tv and then back to Jensen. Her smile grew wide. 

“Of course you two are watching this.” I laughed as I handed Lily her things. 

“Do you need anything?” I asked as I placed my hand on Jensen’s forehead. 

“Maybe my other girl snuggled beside me too.” “As much as I’d love to, I need to clean the house and do some laundry. I’ll be back soon to check on you two. Holler if you need anything.” I placed a kiss on his forehead and left. 

A few hours later and 2 loads of laundry I snuck in to check on Jensen and Lily. I found them both asleep. Lily snuggled to Jensen and his arm draped over her. I couldn’t help but snap a picture. 

My heart was so full looking at them. I crept back to the living room and finished folding the laundry. 

Lily woke up and wiggled out from the bed and came into the room with me. 

“Hey baby. Did you have a good nap?” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bedroom, pointing at Jensen. 

I wasn’t sure what was wrong, but I stepped closer to him. Soft snores left his slightly parted lips. 

Lily took my hand and placed it on Jensen. He was soaked. I knew what she was telling me. 

I picked her up and took her out of the room. “He’s okay baby. He’s sweating because his fever is gone. I promise he’s okay.” 

Lily stayed in the living room with me while Jensen slept. A few hours later he was awake and feeling a bit better. I told him what Lily did and he smiled. 

“Look at that. My Lily girl made the fever go away. Thank you baby girl.” 

She smiled. When he started coughing again she looked worried. 

Lily left the room quickly. “Wonder where she’s going.” I said. 

She came back with her moose and squirrel and handed them to Jensen. He smiled. “For me to get better?” She nodded. “Love dada.” 

I gasped. “Did she just..” my voice trailed off. Jensen smiled, “yeah she did.” 

“Jensen, I’m sorry. I…uh…” I started to panic. Everything was happening so fast I was afraid it would scare him off. 

“Hey, Y/N. Take a deep breath. It’s okay.” I took a deep, shaky breath. 

“Besides, I kinda like the sound of that.” 

Over the next week Jensen got better. He’d split his time between my house and his. We’d talked about Lily and I spending nights at his house so today the three of us were heading to pick out some things for Lily’s room at Jensen’s. He wanted her to be comfortable and was willing to get her whatever she wanted for her room. 

“Jensen, please don’t go overboard. She’ll be perfectly happy with a bed and dresser.” 

Jensen chuckled, “I promise I won’t go overboard.” He got a devilish look on his face and I knew I was in trouble. 

The three of us loaded up the car and Jensen headed towards the furniture store he frequented. 

Walking in I gasped softly. “Jensen, I can already tell this place is going to be out of my budget.” 

He stepped closer to me, “Not out of mine.” He kissed my lips and scooped Lily up and walked towards the kids section. 

I laughed, shook my head and followed them. A sales associate approached Jensen and I, “Is there anything particular you two are looking for?” She asked. 

Jensen pointed at Lily, “Whatever she wants.” She looked over at Lily and nodded. 

Lily walked around and Jensen was close by. I hung back and looked around too. I found a cute little bed, simple and perfect. Then I heard Lily squeal. 

My attention was instantly focused on her. She’d found a bed that looked like Cinderella’s carriage. There was a matching side table and dresser. The canopy sparkled under the showroom lights. 

The sales associate walked over and started talking to Jensen. “Seems like your little girl really likes this bed.” 

He chuckled then looked over at me then back to Lily. “Yeah. I think so too.” 

I stepped closer and I shook my head. “Jensen, this is too much. She doesn’t need a princess bed.” 

He walked over and sat beside her on the bed. “Yes she does, because she’s my princess. Isn’t that right Lily?” 

She snuggled close to him. “I’m going to lose this argument, aren’t I?” 

He nodded, “Yep.” 

I sighed and shook my head. “If you say so. I still think it’s too much.” 

He kissed my lips, “Nothing will ever be too much for her or you.” I smiled and kissed him back, “Just try not to spoil her too much.” “No promises, darlin’.” 

Jensen paid for the bedroom set, a new mattress and delivery. He ordered the full size bed instead of the twin because Lily loved snuggles and it’s easier with a bigger bed. 

Before we left a few fans approached him and he took pictures and signed autographs. 

This was the first time I’d been with him since the convention where he was noticed. 

Getting into the car Jensen took my hand in his and kissed the back of it. “I think that was a successful shopping trip, don’t you?” 

I nodded. He knew something was wrong. “Baby, you okay?” “Yeah, it’s still just strange being out in public with you and people approach you. I guess I need to get used to it. 

He nodded in understanding, “I know. It can be a bit much, but I’ll be by your side the whole time.” 

We pulled back up to Jensen’s house and went in. Lily ran to play in the living room while Jensen and I went to the room that was going to be Lily’s. 

“Jensen, this room is huge.” “Nothing but the best for my girl. So I’m thinking of an area rug so she’s not sitting directly on the floor. This floor gets chilly. I’ll take care of all of it. The bedroom set will be here in a few days, so I’ll get my designer here to pick out the rug and other things for the room.” 

I just smiled and nodded. I knew it was pointless to argue. I kissed his lips softly, “You’re amazing, you know that.” He smirked, “I’ve been told a time or two.” 

We cleaned out the room and as I was sweeping the floor Jensen’s phone rang. “Hey, I’ll be back. I’ve got to take this.” I nodded and kept cleaning. 

When he came back into the room he let out a deep sigh. “Hey, we need to talk.” 

I swallowed hard, my heart pounded in my chest, “Sure, what’s going on Jensen?” “Well, a couple of things actually. That was my manager. Apparently someone took pictures of us today and posted them online. Lily’s face was hidden, so that’s good, but your face was not.” 

“Oh, so is your manager telling you to break up with me?” Jensen’s eyes went wide, “What?! No, they just wanted to let me know and wanted to see if I wanted to make a statement about us. That’s what I wanted to ask you, if you were okay with going public or not yet.” 

I sighed and let out the breath I was holding. “Um, I’m okay with whatever you want to do Jensen. This is all so new to me. I don’t want to mess your job up, so I will let you decide. I’m okay with whatever you think is best.” 

“Well, going public or keeping our relationship to ourselves right now have their advantages and disadvantages. If we go public we don’t have to sneak around, but that means your face and name will be in public, and unfortunately at the mercy of some nasty people at times. If we keep this between us, then we continue to keep things private, so not going out as much, and your name stays out of public. If we keep things private that means I attend events and parties alone, and if I’m being honest I don’t want that.”

I took a deep breath, “Let’s do it, Jensen. Let’s go public. I’m terrified, but I know you’re going to be by my side the whole time.” Jensen stepped closer to me and pulled me close, his lips ghosting mine, “You better believe it. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“So, what was the other thing you wanted to talk to me about?” He took a shaky breath, “Well, they bumped up my shooting schedule for one of the series I’m working on. I have to leave next week for California.” 

My heart sank, I got so used to him being at home I almost forgot he worked away from home. “I get it, you’ve got to go when they want you to. Lily and I will miss you like crazy, but we’ll be here waiting for you. Just promise you’ll FaceTime us. I don’t know if I can go long without seeing your handsome face.”

He smiled at me, “Yeah, I promise. I’ll call and FaceTime every single day.” 

The two of us walked into the living room and found Lily coloring and drawing. “You know, the hardest part is going to be telling her you’re leaving. She might try to hide in your suitcase.” We both laughed, but I was worried about her. 

“Well, what if we don’t have to tell her I’m leaving?” I looked at him confused, “Jensen, she’s going to realize you’re gone. Even if she can’t talk she’s going to feel your absence.” “No, what I mean is why don’t you two go with me?” “What?” “Yeah, Y/N, you and Lily go to California with me. When I’m not on set the three of us can explore the area and I can take my girls out in LA.” 

“Really? You want us to go with you?” He nodded enthusiastically, “Yes!” “Well, I’d have to talk to my boss, but I don’t see why not. I think she’d love that. I know I would.” 

He pulled me flush to his body and kissed my lips, “I’d like it too, sweetheart.” 

The next few days we went about our normal lives. Jensen told his manager he was going to go public with our relationship, but he would do it his way. They agreed. Lily was sitting in between Jensen and I on the couch when there was a knock at the front door. 

I got up to answer it, looking out the peephole I gasped. Jensen was by my side quickly, “What’s wrong?” “Um, it’s David. Lily’s father.” 

“What the hell does he want?” “I don’t know. I haven't seen him since I found out I was pregnant. What should I do?” 

“Go ahead and open the door. I’m right here, baby.” I nodded and opened the door. He smirked when I opened the door, “Hey Y/N. Long time. What's it been, 7 years?” “David, what the hell are you doing here?” 

“Well, I saw you on Instagram. I see you went ahead and had the baby. I’m here to meet my daughter.” 

I scoffed, “Your daughter?!  Where the hell have you been the past 7 years of her life?! She’s not your daughter, she’s mine.” I practically growled. 

He looked past me and saw Lily on the couch, “Hey sweetie, it’s daddy. Why don’t you come say hello.” Lily wouldn’t look at him. 

Jensen stood between us, “I think you should leave.” “Who are you, pretty boy?” Jensen’s jaw tightened, “I’m the one that’s been here with Y/N and her daughter. Like I said, I think you should leave.” 

“Not happening until I meet my daughter.” “David, please leave. You’re going to upset Lily. She doesn’t do well with strangers. If you even care about her a little bit you’ll leave.” 

“What do you mean she doesn’t do well around strangers? I’m not a stranger. I’m her father. Lily, come here baby. Come to daddy.” 

I could see Jensen’s jaw get tighter. Lily ran to Jensen’s leg and grabbed him. “Dada up.” 

David looked at me and then Jensen, “What’s wrong with her?” “She’s autistic, David and doesn’t talk much. Please leave.” 

“Wow, what did you do to her that caused this?” Tears fell from my eyes, “I didn’t do anything, she was born this way you asshole.” 

Lily buried her face in Jensen’s neck and clung tightly to him. Jensen stepped between David and I, “Let me ask you something. If you're her father then tell me when is her birthday? What about her favorite TV show, color? How does she like her bacon? What’s her favorite stuffy? A REAL father would be able to answer all of that. You aren’t her father, you’re just the man who knocked up her mother and then left. Now, I’m not going to ask you again to leave.” 

David scoffed, “You know what, you can have both of them. I never wanted her and she’s just an easy lay. Good luck with her.” He turned on his heels and walked away. 

I closed the door and let out the breath I was holding and the tears fell. Lily clung to Jensen, “My daddy.” “Yes, baby. I’m your daddy and I love you beyond the stars.” 

“Speaking of which, Y/N, let’s make that announcement now. I’m ready if you are.” I nodded. He picked a picture he took of us, both of us looking at the camera and smiling, and another picture of us kissing. “Are these two okay with you?” I smiled and nodded, “Perfect, Jensen.” 

He posted both photos to Instagram, tagging me, and captioned it with: I can’t believe I get to call you mine. I love you beyond the stars, Y/N. Now and forever. 🥰 💗

When my phone went off I smiled and commented: “You better believe it. Now and forever, Jens.” 

He smiled, looked at me and kissed my lips. “There, now there is no mistaking who my heart belongs to. I love you, Y/N.” “I love you too, Jensen.” 

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[graceisinthelibrary]

How about #2 from the prompt list.

Sorry, but this took a while and it's too long... It's set between the episodes 5.5 and 5.6.

“You’re burning up! Like a match!” 

“Nonsense! Bugger off!” The mere idea was preposterous. Siegfried stared at his brother, the smug beggar, and wished him to the moon or at least back to Doncaster. He did his best to ignore the heat in his cheeks and hoped his beard would sufficiently cover his unease, before anyone else noticed it. 

Tristan chuckled and picked up the manuscript, the tome, as Siegfried had baptised it and gave the title a closer look. “Ancient Persia, eh? A memoir… anything racy?” With another giggle he dropped the volume to the desk. Dust exploded, dancing in the sunlight of the late spring morning. 

Siegfried wished his embarrassment about his feeble attempts at dating were less distinctive. It rubbed him the wrong way that everyone thought he was a lonely old man without any prospects in love. Well, he was getting older, no doubt about that. His aching bones spoke volumes about his age and so did his reading glasses, but none of this meant he wasn’t interesting to women. He was rusty, admittedly. But he wasn’t past his prime. Mrs Hall had said so, Carmody had reminded him about it, but Tristan had a field day with it. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard Mrs Hall moving about. She was giving the dining room a thorough dusting and although she would never say anything to embarrass him, he knew she was well aware of his interest in Miss Grantley. There was nothing happening in this household that she wasn’t aware of. He felt the heat in his cheeks intensifying as he tried to fathom whether she had an opinion about the matter or not. 

Did she think of him as a fool for trying his luck? 

Did she find him pathetic by getting into Miss Grantley’s good graces by reading her book? 

Tristan apparently did and he knew Helen good enough to know, she was thinking the same. James was perhaps the only one who didn’t bother to phrase his opinion and he was glad for his partner’s discretion. 

He had read his way half through the manuscript by now and didn’t know what to make of it. Catherine Grantley’s grammar lacked some things to be desired, and the story of her life seemed indeed racy. A bit too racy for his taste, but then what did he know about life and love in Persia? He wasn’t stuffy, but he wasn’t sure he enjoyed various descriptions of liaisons in the desert. 

In the corner of his eyes he watched Mrs Hall as she picked up Evelyn’s picture and cautiously cleaned it. She placed it gently back on the piano before she moved on to the next object, a small clock. The almost loving way with which Audrey Hall looked after Evelyn’s memory touched him and made him wonder about Miss Grantley and the late husband she barely remembered. 

The phone rang and sensing this was the opportunity to get rid of Tris, he barked at his brother to answer ‘the bloody phone’. Tris’ refusal, rooting in his amusement, vanished when Mrs Hall used her feather duster and her stern gaze on him. Once again she had saved him, but he didn’t want to show her how much Tristan’s teasing bothered him. 

“Just ignore him,” she said softly. “You know how he is.” 

“You mean he’s an annoying busybody. Worse than the vicar’s wife!” 

“He means well. He wants you to be happy.” 

“Well, I would be a lot happier if people stopped bothering me!” He snapped. Mrs Hall was the last person who deserved his gruff, but he didn’t know how to cope. He stared at the manuscript and sighed, annoyed with himself. “Is it that bad?” She asked, leaving it open if she was referring to the book or the woman herself. 

“Bosworth was right, you know.” He shoved the book into his drawer and shut it forcefully. “I’m all played out. Maybe I should join him for some bingo session on Friday night in the church hall.” 

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “You better not. You have no idea how the widows long for an eligible widower who’s still in possession of his own teeth and hair.” Despite his wish to be grumpy she just made him laugh. He looked at her and realised how cute she looked. The duster was stuck under her armpit and one of the feathers had come loose and was entangled with her hair. He longed to pull it out, but that would perhaps be considered overstepping. There was a roguishness about the way she smiled at him, that restored his good mood though and so he let her go without mentioning the feather. 

His eyes followed her trail down the hall. Suddenly he thought that he maybe should tell Miss Grantley about her grammar mistakes and some minor content-related improvements for her literary work. 

On her way into the kitchen Audrey thought about Siegfried and his sudden wish to impress that archeologist or whatever that lady did for a living. She couldn’t help but feel that she had put the bug in his ear when she had told him not to compare himself to Bosworth and that there was plenty in life ahead of him. And she had meant it. Their temper aside, the men didn’t have much in common. 

So, why did it bother her that he was trying to get into the good graces of this exotic stranger? From what Carmody had told her, Miss Grantley was an alien figure to begin with. Nice, but also… aloof? If Richard Carmody noticed as much she must be a handful. 

Lost in her thoughts, she entered her pantry and listlessly collected the ingredients she needed to prepare lunch. As she put the pan on the stove, Siegfried entered the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. 

“I can do that,” she offered and looked at him. 

He just smiled and shook his head. “Mrs Hall… May I?” 

Confused, she blinked, as he raised his hand and pointed at her head. 

“Course…” 

He slowly pulled out the feather and showed it to her. “A bit rogue that one,” he said. She took it and smiled at him. “Thank you for restoring me dignity.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Hall,” he said and when she crooked her eyebrow, puzzled, he added, “For being you.” 

[leviathanleva]

Sugar Bomb

Pairing: Findlay 'Hazard' Docherty x Fem!Reader

Description: After months of dancing around each other, you and Hazard come to one last draw before your inevitable departure.

[3.7 k words]

Chapter 7

Early February morning, the snow has partly melted by now. Out on the second-story balcony, the vapor coming from your coffee isn’t the only visible steam. Your breath is as well, it comes out in puffs before rising above your head and dissipating.

The air is crisp and refreshing, the sky is clear and the sun is shining brightly. For a moment, you close your eyes and let the rays warm your frozen, runny nose.

The coffee mug is scalding against your chest, it’s comforting, brings you solace and helps you think clearly about the conversation that is to come. You rest against the railing of the balcony, taking in the city beyond, Maisie is sniffling at your feet, already walked and fed because that’s the first thing you do in the morning, even before showering.

Your feet are cold despite the thick woolen socks and slippers you have on. You think it is what it is and decide to just live with it, your extremities have always been cold during the winter.

The sliding door behind you opens and you look back to see Findlay’s disheveled form standing there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawns and stretches, the thick muscles under his tank top flexing and expanding, it’s a sight to behold for sure, but sadly you won’t be a witness to it for much longer. And he’s never cold, a part of you has always been jealous of that trait of his.

“Hey.” You call softly, voice still heavy with sleep. You keep your eyes on him for a bit longer before turning them back to the city.

“Ey.” He responds in kind and comes to your side, your elbows collide when he leans on the railing next to you, following your gaze towards the cluster of skyscrapers in the distance. There’s a brief moment of silence before he asks. “Is everything a’right? Ah didn’t expect you leavin’ a note f’ me out of all people.”

You take your time sipping coffee before speaking up again.

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you. Just wanted to talk in private.”

Deep, steady breath and a calm mind were how you were going to get through this encounter. You just had to stay level-headed, that’s all, be friendly but keep him at arm’s length, for both your sakes.

“Was this about?” He doesn’t even seem bothered that stray snowflakes are falling on his bare shoulders, meanwhile, you’re shaking, but whether that’s from the cold or from anxiety is uncertain.

You take a breath, then another, then finally manage to string together the words.

“I found a place.” You begin and glance at him anxiously. “Y’know, to move into and finally stop being a freeloader here.” He doesn’t react and you take it as a bad sign so you continue, trying to lighten the already heavy atmosphere. “It’s already furnished so I won’t be stealing any of your things.”

“You can take wha’ever you wont, you know I don’t care.” He rasps, you hear the strain surging in his voice, the pebble stuck in his throat, the weight suddenly pressing down on his chest, a weight you had just put there. “You can take the whole place wi’cha, if y’ wanted. Still won’t care.”

“Fin…”

“Why?” You stiffen at his question, the rawness of his tone, the betrayal he’s trying to hide but is still so visible in those honeyed eyes you’ve come to love. It’s painful to watch him at a loss, not knowing how to combat your decision and ultimately having to let you go.

He looks like he’s been slapped.

You’d been preparing for this talk for days and it was hard for you, you couldn’t imagine what it was like for him. But you were set on your words, you couldn’t stay any longer, you didn’t want to.

“Because – ”

“ – Is someone botherin’ you?” He finally turns to face you. “Did someone do someth’n t’ you? Y’ can tell me, I always listen.”

“No, it’s not that.” You avert your eyes and stare into the blackness of your coffee instead, trying to find the right words in the murky caffeinated water. “Of course, nobody’s done anything, I love you all like family.”

A breeze blows past and manages to force a shiver up your spine. His first thought was to take you in his arms and bade the cold away, but just as abruptly as his hands lifted to reach for you, they fell back to his sides.

You wanted to cry… protest and have him continue, tell you that everything was going to be okay and that he’d take care of things like he always did. But now wasn’t the time for weakness. Because the hug would end, then he’d ruffle your hair and leave, nothing more. He wouldn’t hold you like a lover but like a sibling, a friend.

And you didn’t want to leave. You had to.

“Wot is it then? Yer room? Too small?” He asks abruptly, wracking his brain and trying to figure out your reasoning while simultaneously coming up with solutions. Anything to keep you from leaving him. He couldn’t bear the thought, not after everything. He’d move with you if it weren’t for his family depending on him, he didn’t care where in the world he was as long as it was with you. “You can have mine, Ah don’t care.”

You shake your head and his world shatters a little bit more.

“No. Fin, please listen to me.”

“Why den? Why leave?” He’s at a loss, completely forgetting that you can speak for yourself and he doesn’t need to play a guessing game. So he goes quiet and stares at you pleadingly, ignoring the ache in his chest and focusing solely on you.

“Please…Please, tell me what’s wrong…”

You take one last stressed sip of your coffee and set it down before turning to him properly, no longer leaning on the railing but instead facing each other in your full stature.

He at least deserved a proper reason and to look him in the eyes when you giving it.

“Because it’s not right to stay.” You say, then motion towards your chest as your brows knit together, an angsty expression bittering your features. “I don’t benefit you guys in any way. The best I can do is make food and clean up, help you with some tasks and run errands. I don’t fit in here. I’m not phreak, I don’t have any skills.”

Even in dire moments like these, you’re still so pretty to him. His little angel…

The way the sunrays cascade over your form, giving you an otherworldly glow, it takes his breath away and balms over his turbulent feelings and racing thoughts.

You always did have a way of soothing him. Soft words and gentle touches, that’s how you were, those are some of the many things that made you perfect in his eyes. Always caring for others, especially him who’s been alone in shouldering the unfairness of the world for so long.

“That never mattered.” He shoots back with confidence this time because it’s true. You’ve been a vital part of their team since you first came to join them. It didn’t matter that you weren’t a skilled hacker or couldn’t shoot a gun. Civilians had their own set of irreplaceable skills. Even if all you wanted to do was be Maisie’s sitter, you’d still be doing more than enough. “We all love you, we do. Couldn’t have made it dis far without ya.”

“Findlay…”

Why did he have to fight back so hard? Why couldn’t he just make things easy on you? You were already suffering with regret and the agony of separation before you’d even left, and seeing him this desperate, this sincere in trying to keep you from slipping away was just adding salt to the wound.

You wanted to hug him close and coo at him until he was calmed, tell him that this wasn’t goodbye forever. You’d come to visit, have dinners as a family again, take walks with Maisie and him, just the three of you. You just wouldn’t be constantly around.

That’s all. It wasn’t that serious, you weren’t moving to another city.

“So is not just tha’ then.” He scoffs to himself, rips his eyes off you to stare into nothingness. “Someone did do somethin’.” There’s a brief pause before his gaze rises again to meet yours, you see the bleak fire within it, still the combative spirit persists, refuses to let you go without a good tussle. “Tell me who, I’ll have a talk with ‘em, can resolve this right now.”

“No…” you rub at your eyes to massage away the tears.

You couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t.

It wasn’t his fault, it was yours. You’d fallen for him, not the other way around.

“What then? Why d’ ya wanna leave so badly?” His anguished, sullen words are like razors to your neck. You can’t breathe properly anymore. The sobs are beating down on your throat and you can’t fight them off for much longer.

“I – ”

“ – Don’ leave.” He says, begs you as much as a man of his character and ssize can. Your knees weaken at his pleads and you bite down viciously on your bottom lip to keep from breaking down completely. “You cannae leave me. Won’t let you.” He takes your hands in his, sucks in a long inhale and pulls you a bit closer, shielding you from the glare of the sun, from the cold, from the world, everything. “Please. Stay.”

You’re crumbling in front of him as he stands there silently and lets you speak. Mentally drained and emotionally at the brink, yet you refuse to let go of his hands and that’s enough to tell him that you don’t want to leave, but something is making you. And the worst part is that you refuse to tell him to keep him unburdened while you take on all of the weight and try to carry it away with you silently.

A part of him is enraged by this. How dare you try to take all the blame and let him demonize you for simply wanting to abandon him? How dare you take his job of carrying the hefty loads? He was the strong one, he was the tank, he was the shield that was supposed to separate you from all danger and problems.

He’d failed you…

He couldn’t stand it…

“I just…I can’t do this anymore, Fin.”

His thoughts come to a screeching halt.

“Do wha’?”

“This!” You let go of one of him long enough to motion between the two of you. “Whatever this is, whatever we are. I just… I can’t…”

He’s almost relieved to hear you confess your woes finally.

“Tha’s it?” He quirks a brow and you see the strain in his shoulders vanish. “Okey, aye I get it.” He rubs at the stubble on his chin, presumably in thought, but not really. The answer to your problem was right there. “I’s no problem. I’ll leave ya alone. Won’t hear a peep from me.” Despite the rejection that had been thrown in his face, he smiles wide. If this meant keeping you, he was willing to sacrifice. “Should’a said something earlier, lass. I just thought you – ”

“ – No!” You protest, yell nearly loud enough to wake up everyone still asleep. You want to rip your hair out with how exasperatingly daft he is. “You don’t get it!” You grip the straps of his tanktop, then tear your hands away from him only to hug yourself out of frustration. “I want – I – ”

This is the perfect moment, but again you’re left with a lump at the base of your mouth, a lock on your tongue, unable to speak the words. Beyond desperate to explain, you do the only other thing you can think of, you act before your self-sabotaging mind has a chance to talk you out of it.

You kiss him.

Stand high on your toes, pull him down by the neck, and link your lips to his. It’s a brief kiss, a sloppy and uncoordinated one, your mouths don’t even fit together properly.

Gasping for air, you pull away as abruptly as you’d leaned in and search his eyes for anything to hint at rejection.

He’d not done anything when you’d locked lips, hadn’t reeled back, but hadn’t reciprocated either so you were left in a standstill until he made up his mind.

He stares at you dumbly with his mouth agape and eyes wide and unblinking.

A minute passes and the doubt is already munching at your sanity. However, then you’re unceremoniously picked up and hoisted against his broad chest. He guides your legs to wrap around his toned torso, has your arms locked around his neck and mapping out what skin you can reach as he molds his lips back to yours. You feel your back being gently pressed into a wall to make sure you had support on both ends.

A meek mewl slips past you and his reply is a pleased grunt as he rubs needy patterns into your thighs.

He pushes his tongue past your teeth and twirls it around yours, beckoning you to play. The muffled moan that erupts from you is music to his ears, a noise unparalleled by anything he’s ever heard in his life. He presses harder against you, squishing you between his warm chest and the cold wall behind so there’s nowhere for you to run anymore. This was it, you were stuck with him now.

No more running, no more denying, no more beating around the bush.

He was certain now that you wanted him as much as he’d wanted you and he’d not let anything stand between you anymore.

And to think this was why you’d wanted to leave…

His baby stubble grazes your skin deliciously, a single compliment from you months ago and he’d started keeping it instead of shaving it off every morning.

He kisses you with suffocating need, bruising your lips and making them swell as he nips and licks and tastes, and explores every inch of your mouth. He indulges himself, gives into you like you’re a peace of Heaven on Earth, a sinful delight that’s been dangling before him for months, just out of reach.

The skin on his back ripples to life under your touch, awakens into eager goosebumps that you ghost over with flattened palms. You cross your ankles over his waist, your toes curling in delight the longer he smothers your mouth with his own.

A thin trail of saliva still connects you when Hazard pulls away long enough to take a breath before diving for your neck. You lean your head back willingly, rest your crown against the cement wall and crane your neck to the side to give him more room to explore. Your thighs begin to quiver when you feel his sharp canines grazing over your sensitive skin. His tongue works wonders into your flesh, makes you both giggle and choke on moans, completely forgetting about the cold or the exposure.

“Findlay…” You wail weakly, then gasp when he automatically bucks into you, spurred on by the call of his name. Sparks fly behind your lids and you rake your nails over his shoulders, riling him up even more.

“Shite…” He groans and struggles for air as his grip on your legs tightens. “Don’t do tha’, luv.”

“Why?” You question dumbly, too drunk on him to truly care for the answer. All you want is to keep feeling him, keep hearing his voice, and smelling his scent.

“Makes me go wild.”

You laugh out an apology, note the grin, the widest one you’ve ever seen, listen to him pant heavily through his nose and rest his forehead against your collarbones as he comes down from his high.

“I love you…” You blurt out and thump a fist weakly against his back. Your legs untangle from his waist without your consent, but every muscle in your body has turned to jello and you’re given no choice. You’ve turned to mush in his brutish embrace and you’d have it no other way. “You moron…I love you so much…”

It comes out so easily now like you’ve been saying it forever. It’s smooth on your tongue, feels right, deserved.

“I thought..” He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief and the tips of his hair tickle your nose.

“You thought wrong.” You’re all too eager to interject, cutting off whatever idiotic, self-detrimental bullshit he was about to spit out.

Hazard brings his gaze away from the soft comfort of your sweater, and watches you from beneath his brows as the passion darkening his features morphs into the gentlest love. He readjusts, gives you a bit more movement space, but has no intention of letting you go. His hands are still palming at your legs, you can feel the heat coming off them and seeping over your skin even through the thick leggings hugging your thighs.

“Cannae blame me.” He says softly, words only meant for your ears. And despite the twinge of a joking tone, you know he’s serious, that he doesn’t think very highly of himself in terms of appearance. “Who’d wanna wake up t’ this ugly mug every mornin’.?”

It’s sad to think he’s been denying you and himself for so long because of self-doubt, thinking that you deserve better, that you should find better. Someone who has a stable life, can provide you with comfort instead of dragging you into a war and offer you a safe and calm life. Someone who didn’t have half his body replaced by cybernetics, a man fully human who wasn’t littered with battle scars.

“I would.” You combat tenderly and glide your hands down until they’re resting over the steady beat of his heart. “I want this.” You tap his forehead next. “And this. Everything that’s you, I want, Fin.”

“Don’t deserve a pre’y bird like you.”

It’s a compliment for you and an insult towards him, it’s unbearable to hear such bitter-sweetness. You press the cushions of your thumbs against his lips to shush him.

“None of that, please.”

He kisses you then, having forgotten for a moment that now he was free to do that whenever he wanted. The puppy love flares, lashes out, needing more of your essence on him. He wanted to have a piece of you always with him, hell, he’d carry you around in his pocket if that was an option, show you off to anyone who crossed his path.

You smile in contentment against him, cling to him with one arm as your free hand travels up to comb through the soft tuft of hair you’d helped him bleach not too long ago.

Serenity isn’t something you take lightly, you know it’s a gift to feel at peace, and he’s brought you so much of that this morning. You caress his cheek, both look over and trace his features with the tips of your fingers, committing every dip and line to memory.

He stands still for you, closes his eyes, and leans into your touch like a man who’s never been touched with tenderness before, never been handled with care.

Your very own hazardous beast turned pet by a drop of affection. It was as cute as it was tragic.

He deserved so much more. He deserved the world.

“Whenever we were together.” You begin, drawing his attention from studying your kiss-bruised lips to your eyes where he lets himself get lost. You shake your head at the confession, nearly cringing, but it was only natural, for which couple didn’t have their cringe-worthy moments? “Outside that is, running errands. I’d always watch you closely to see which women you’d look at. Wanted to know what you fancied.” It’s a silly little confession, but you want him to know, you want him to know everything about you, be your lager of sorts and from the way he’s focused all his concentration on you, you can tell he’s more than willing to be put to the task. So a smile etches itself onto your winter-chilled features and you continue. “But you never looked at anyone…I had to guess what you liked.”

The answer is simple in his mind, he spits it out without even having to think it through.

“Da’s cuz I only got eyes fer you, daftie.” He shrugs as if his words didn’t melt your core and nearly give you baby fever. “Don’t need ta be lookin’ at other birds.”

It’s been such a long game of denial and restraint and now that all cards have been laid face up on the table, you’re not sure what follows. You didn’t expect things to turn out as they did, the bags in your room were ready for departure, you’d thought this morning would be goodbye.

You kick your feet nonchalantly, still propped up several feet above the floor. He holds you as if you weigh nothing and compared to his usual load, you probably don’t.

“What do we do now?” Is the only thing you can muster to ask next, looking to Hazard for guidance as if he wasn’t just as lost as you were.

Mischief twinkles in his honeyed orbs, a certain thought pulls a smirk onto his lips before he answers:

“Shag.”

“Findlay!” You exclaim. You’re mortified while he just laughs. Anticipation makes your skin tingle. The image of peeling off his clothes and witnessing everything you’ve only dreamed of is both nerve-wracking and enticing. But his choice of words couldn’t have been more unattractive, he went straight to the point though.

“I don’t shag.” You say and cup his face gently, rub your thumbs over his cheeks and smooth down his cocky smirk. You make sure to catch his eyes and draw his attention out of its bubble of lewd images. “I make love.”

He blinks blankly at that, processing your statement, before showering you with suffocating pecks. He leaves no surface untended in his kiss crusade. You fight him off weakly, turning your head this way and that, eyes squinted shut at his loving assault.

His excitement is unmatched, he’s like a pup at a pet store.

When he’s satisfied with his work and you’re left visibly breathless, he pulls back.

“Le’s get some breakfast first doe, ‘m starvin’.”

<<< Chapter 6

Masterlist

[oinkoink04]

Jinx and Vi with Jayce and Viktor

Linke said something about how arcane had always been a story of two sisters and two scientists and I wanted to talk a little about the similarités between these two bc I’m still obsessed with the show even if it’s 2025

Viktor = Jinx

both are ill (one physically, one mentally)

Their illness is greatly influences their plot that kickstart S2: jinx with killing the council and Viktor when creating the hexcore.

They both mean well but unintentionally hurt those around them: with Jinx being a Jinx, Viktor “helping” all those people.

Both killed the ones that loved them unconditionally and that only saw the best in them and buried those ppl in water: jinx to Silco and Viktor to Sky

Both felt betrayed by their counterparts: 1.)Jinx when Vi left her in S1 act1, and in S2 act 1 when she joins the enforcers. 2.)Viktor when seeing Jayce build weapons S2 act 1 and S2 act 2 when he blasts a hole through the chest

Both are “enhanced”: jinx is enhanced by shimmer and Viktor by a mix of shimmer and the hexcore

They both see death as an escape from their suffering.

Started out close with their counterparts (act 1 S1), split up (physically Jinx split with Vi while ideologically and philosophically Viktor split with Jayce), and ended close with their counterparts.

Vi = Jayce

both are healthy compared to their partners

They both are concerned about the health and wellbeing of their counterparts.

Their lovers have similar abilities to their counterparts: 1.)Mel and Viktor both have magic. 2.) Cait and Jinx both shoot as their main form of attack

They both constantly fight for their counterparts (while the fandom thinks they don’t lol)

They wear their emotions on their sleeves and have fights being emotionally fueled (hence why CaitMel were able to get shit done while ViJayce were bookstreet lol)

Both did the devils tango, the spicy dance, the bedsheets-rock…sex while their counterparts were dying: the sextech scene for Jayce and suicidal Jinx with Vi

Both will sacrifice their happiness and everyone else they love to save their counterparts: 1.) Jayce ended it with Viktor despite Viktor telling him to leave. Jayce leaves piltover and the ones he loved behind. 2.) Jinx realizes Vi was never gonna give up on her and would sacrifice being with Cait just to be with and fight for Jinx, hence why she left herself.

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 9 : Crosshair x F!OC

It's been a bumpy ride and it's only getting bumpier as our story plunges into the depths of the pleasure planet. Our heroes are shaken and feeling a fear that runs deeper than the chasm they find themselves entombed in. As they quake from the struggles that have gripped them, deep underground, some truths may come to the surface. Is a confession still true if it's whispered in the dark?

Chapter Specific Warnings: Smut, PiV+ Cπ, skin to skin comfort, lots of talking, Crosshair slowly becoming allergic to clothing (not literal) Angst, Crying.

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Authors Note: Not much going on visually this chapter, but we're back baby! Tie up some lose ends and ease you guys into the second half of this book.

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Word Count: 6746

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it. Murder is his love language.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Like A Prayer, Bigod 20 Cover

Listen on Spotify - Listen on Youtube

Chapter 9: Like a Prayer

It was a bumpy trip, as we slid down through the open chasm. The headlights danced wildly as rocks caught the undercarriage with the sound of tearing mineral, tipping the speeder to free fall several meters, back end pointed down. We hit a smooth, slanted plane that crumpled the trunk compartment with a crunch of twisting metal and a painful jolt through my neck. The engine sputtered out and the headlights died as we pitched forward with a crash, sliding down the glossy slope, first with a slow shriek and then rapidly, faster and faster, we plunged further into the abyss. 

I wrestled with the handling, trying to keep us straight and away from the eerily smooth walls, but with the engine out I was steering blind without the headlights or power assist. 

Crosshair had thrown himself against my seat as we plunged through the open rock, binding me in place with strong arms thrown about me for dear life. His arms still wrapped about my chest was the only thing reassuring me he hadn't fallen out. 

I was pumping the breaks, but without the engine they were useless. The starter was clicking as I punched the button which wasn't connected anymore, I'd have to get at the wires again… not happening at this speed, even if I could see what I was doing. 

The slope sharpened into a narrow tunnel, sections collapsing behind us as our crashing vehicle destabilized the tunnel, sparks shooting off the side of the speeder as it drifted against the tight walls. 

We were slowing, gradually as the tunnel evened out. Eventually we were spat out into a wider cavern, the dragging speeder catching in the sand, finally grinding to a stop. 

Listening to the tink and clicks of the cooling engine with my eyes closed… I felt like I had gone def at the sudden absence of shrieking, sparking metal. Our heavy breathing reverberated through the cave, adding to the soft, ethereal soundscape filtering through the shock. I opened my eyes slowly, half expecting to find we hadn't actually survived that. My knuckles were white where they gripped the steering, then I looked around.

The vision that greeted me pulled a gasp from my rattled lungs. 

The cave system we came to rest in was deep… the dark enclosing rock far overhead. The stone had the same blue tinge as most Ga'haiian bedrock, though the walls had been worn to a polished shine, evidence of long extinct glacial flows. The old water channels spread in all directions from this main vein, twisting in impossible shapes. 

None of that was the remarkable part however. 

Quartz deposits, clear from years of pressure, were embedded throughout the walls of stone. Occasionally these clear patches would glow with a crackling snap of white electricity, the current arcing through the stone to resemble lightning strikes dancing along the cave systems tunnels, providing a constant, flickering light. 

“What is that?”

“It's Iotryke. A conductive kind of quartz, we landed in a vein.”

“Why's it doing… that?”

“I-I've heard it's ‘cause of the storm… lightning striking the mountains or something.”

The mundane exchange was calming our nerves… it wasn't just me that was rattled. He wouldn't let on, but I could feel the tremors in his arms binding me to the seat. 

I didn't want to think about the whiplash we'd be nursing.

He moved, tossing off his helmet before unlocking my buckle and lacing his hands under my arms, hoisting me up and over into the back with him. I fell against his chest. My legs were still caught on the back of front seat, but his arms were fixed tight, not allowing me to right myself.

…

“… you okay, Crosshair?”

“I'm sorry.”

“... For what?”

“I shouldn't have told you to run, I miscalculated,”

…

“You got me back… don't beat yourself up over it,”

His arms only tightened on me. 

“It was stupid. What if I had taken longer to get to you?”

“I would have kept stalling… look, things always seem obvious from this side of it but I assure you all those other plans going through your head could have easily gone just as wrong.”

Scrambling to loosen his grip, I shifted carefully to sit on his thighs holding his face. 

“Today it worked out, we'll learn from it tomorrow… for now, well… we're trapped in a cave,”

He looked away, trying to find his pride somewhere other than my eyes. Then his gaze flicked back to me. He cocked an eyebrow, lifting the leather jacket with a finger to scan the tan, stitched together two-piece.  

“What… exactly, are you wearing?”

I guess the nature of my dress hadn't really registered in the frenzy of the rescue. I put on a haughty tone,

“A respectful representation of our first peoples,”

“... Uh huh,”

He cupped my cheek, pulling me into a soft kiss, before resting his forehead against mine. The cold shiver in us was difficult to ignore, bringing our attention back to the shaken feeling we could sense on each other. It was more than the bumpy ride through the cave. 

I was scared… truly… truly scared.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, something breaking in me, pouring out through sudden, hot tears rolling off my cheeks to fall against his. 

Crying again… twice in one day. 

But I couldn't stop it, a slow stream of salt, muscles rigid as the day's events sank into me. 

His lips were finding each stray tear, kissing away the wet stains on my skin…

“I'm sorry… so sorry, Tahny”

I pressed hard against him, finding his mouth with mine. I needed him… I needed to not feel like this. Weak, fragile. 

“I don't need apologies,”

My hands had already started tracing the lines of his breastplate, searching for a hold to pry it off.  

His hand closed around my wandering fingers. 

“Tahny, slow down,”

“I don't want to…Crosshair, please…”

His name had become a cry of desperation on my tongue, begging for the peace I only felt with him…

He kissed me again, his gentleness in sharp contrast to my rough escapism. 

“Just slow down,”

He reached up and the breastplate came off, sliding from between us. The series of clacks echoed sharply against the acoustic stone hall, pieces of armor falling away one by one. 

I slid my hands under the hem of the tight black top as it was exposed, taking his lead, pacing myself. Just feeling his skin, his lips against mine.

More clicks, and I rolled the hem up and over, lips parting a moment as I tugged the shirt off of him. He slid the jacket from my shoulders, and started to pick at the leather knots lacing my vest closed. The article hung open as the straps were loosened from their eyelets, and I hugged tight to him again, pressing my skin against his. His warmth sunk into me, chasing the stubborn chill from my bones. 

He held me there against him, hushing sobs that were already starting to slow. 

“He really got to you, didn't he?...I should have gotten there sooner,”

I shook my head… that's all wrong.

“He shouldn't have been able to… I'm not so easily threatened, I shouldn't be scared of someone like him… somethings wrong with me,”

Why was I so shaken?

He was stroking my hair, confused and a little concerned at my rapidly swinging reactions.

…

“So you're afraid to die, I think that's normal, Tahny… you’re supposed to care what happens to you…”

I looked at him through the curtain of my hair. That was exactly it. Somewhere, somehow… I lost the sense of invincibility that came with embracing death.

“It's all your fault,”

“Excuse me?”

“Me, caring about things… it's been happening ever since you showed up,”

His lips twitched, the corners turning up briefly with a short exhale before he forced his usual serious expression, clearing his throat.  

“Is that so? What's so bad about caring?”

I groaned.

“Caring karken kriffs, Cross… it makes you want to change things you can't and have hope and all that… hopeful stuff.”

“So I… make you hopeful?”

This time he let the smirk fly, squeezing me with his usual mischievous spark glinting back at me in the flickering light.

I rolled my eyes, letting my head fall to his shoulder with a thump. 

“That is the sappiest interpretation possible,”

“You didn't say I was wrong,”

His voice purred against my ear, sending sparks down my spine. I hissed at him,

“Your foolishness is contagious.”

He lifted me, crushing his lips to mine. 

The side door thumped open, Cross kicking it wide to give us room as he angled me to lay on the firm bench seat, not letting our lips part. His hips snugged between my thighs, and I sighed, wrapping my legs about him. 

I was trailing my fingers down his back, the muscles flexing against them as Crosshair moved over me. I found the dimples of his pelvis between his hips and paused a moment, tracing the dips before sliding around front, guided by his hip bones, to unhitch his belt letting it slide to the floor. 

Lips were tracing a warm trail across my jaw, Crosshair leading himself to the sensitive spot on my neck to graze his teeth against it, making me shiver. 

“I need you, Crosshair…”

The confession was whispered in his ear, pulling a low groan of desire from the man who clamped to the tender flesh of my jugular, sucking a new mark into the skin. I tugged at his waistband, pulling his blacks down to his thighs, trying to hide the notion I might mean more than his body; not entirely sure if I was trying to fool him or myself. 

His half hard shaft fell free to lay on my belly and he pinned me like that, in no particular hurry to rush into the next step. The feeling of his hardening length pressed between us was causing a heat to rise desperately in my skin, my core. Need. 

Channeling my frustration I ran my tongue up his neck to take his earlobe in my teeth. The salt of his sweat stung my lips as I nipped him.

“Let me have you li’nen… take it slow if you must but do so inside me,”

“...the things you say.”

His voice was a smooth vibration against my skin as he continued to leave small love marks down my neck and over my collarbone, ignoring my request. I tried to reach for him but he pressed harder against me, blocking me. 

The cock in question was sliding over the thin leather of the tiny skirt and thong, making me quiver pathetically as he bit his way down to my chest, licking over a breast before sucking the nipple between his lips, teasing it with his tongue. 

I groaned at the rush of electricity through me... I wanted to disappear into the feeling. Crosshair had other ideas. 

Releasing my breast with a soft ‘pop’ he came even with me again, framing my face with his forearms to look into my eyes, pulling me back to focus with his protective posturing.

“I won't let it happen again, I promise… so you don't need to be afraid,”

You can't promise such things…

I was about to protest, but a look in his eyes caught me, bringing me to the meaning behind his words… a plead for me, needing me, to believe it… begging me to, so that he could. 

The gears in me whirred as I contemplated taking the weight of such responsibility. 

I can do that… if I want to believe you I can.

I cradled his chin in my hands, 

“Don't you dare break such a promise.”

His lips found mine with a renewed fervor, a restored sense of purpose as he slipped a hand between my legs to tug the thin strip of leather separating us aside. 

I moaned into his lips as he adjusted to press himself into my folds, coaxing his length into me, interlocking. The seat creaked as he shifted his weight to his pelvis, sinking as deep as he could. My legs snaked around his, hooking the heels of my boots around his calves. 

An ache bloomed trough my pelvis, my flesh was tender after our previous days together and I inhaled sharply at the stretching sensation. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, just a little bruised,”

“...I should have known, should I stop?”

I shook my head, pressing my cheek against his.

“Just, this once… be gentle,”

He hummed back, our arms wrapping tighter about each other as he reclaimed my lips. 

We sprawled over the backseat, entangled as he warmed himself in me, not yet moving. There was no frantic race to get as much out of this as we could, frankly, we weren't going anywhere anytime soon. 

His shooting hand cupped the back of my neck, calluses rough against my nape as his tongue dove against mine, pulling me into deeper and deeper kisses. Moans rose softly from me against his lips, letting out an occasional squeak when he'd grind his hips, sending a sudden wave of pleasure through me with the friction. 

Cross pulled his lips from me, whispers hot in my hair. 

“How long’s it been?...Since the night we picked you up?”

It was a difficult question to focus on, pinned to the seat as I was. Four days on the transport, the moon and all the in betweens…

“Two weeks tomorrow,”

I mumbled into his neck, tightening my thighs about him. 

“Kriff, really?”

“Mhmm”

…

“Just two weeks…”

His pelvis pulled back a moment, thrusting back home, I bit into his neck, stifling the moan that ripped through me. His hips kept that rhythm, slow, forceful, sinking my hips into the back seat with each thrust. 

I let his skin slip from my teeth, harsh gasps spilling from my lips to whisper back to me from the cave walls punctuated with pitched moans in time with Cross’s movements. 

“Say it again, Tahny... That you need me,”

“I need you.”

It barely left me before his mouth was on mine again, ungraceful and frantic as his thrusts picked up pace. I lifted my thighs to wrap higher around his back, angling him to hit that spot just right, bruises be damned. 

With his free hand his knuckles drifted down, dragging against my skin till he sunk his fingers into my hips to hold me still; Carefully, Crosshair stroked into me, the weight of his bare chest pressing hard against my arching form as he moved his hips. My eyes fluttered against the waves of bliss pulsing through my brain. 

“I'm so close… take me there, Cross,”

My thoughts felt fuzzy and warm, the skin against mine hot and heavy and comforting. His breath was becoming ragged against his own rising pleasure. 

“You're mine Tahny,”

He moaned it against my lips, thrusting hips starting to snap in an erratic desperation. 

“Say it… I need you to say it,”

…

“I'm yours, Crosshair,”

The delirium took us, my body taught and rigid as I came for him. Cross pulled my hips against his, groaning softly as he poured into me. 

He was trembling from the intensity of the release, hips still bucking weakly as if to deny the pleasure should end. 

Our gasping breaths chorused back to us, filling the cavern we were stranded in. I listened to the sounds of our mingled voices, watching the false lighting zig zag across the ceiling, slowly coming back down to the backseat of the wrecked speeder. 

“Just two weeks?”

He breathed it against my neck, air hot from exertion. I shrugged,

“We can pretend it's been longer,”

“I'm not sure that's the point…”

~~~

My shoulder burned from the stretched position leaning into the hood of the vehicle. I found another loose wire and clipped it in. 

“Okay, tap it again.”

Crosshair touched the wires under the dash together and waited. 

Clicking, but no start.

I flicked the vibroblade open again in a huff, angling it into the thin space to try to see with the dim light it cast. 

No, all these connections are plugged here fine… 

I leaned a little farther, wedging my slight form deeper into the tight space. Couldn't see much… but,

There was a faint ‘tink’ of something dripping. 

I carefully wiggled to face the fuel tank and sure enough, a gasket was knocked ajar of its clamps. Readjusting the fitting and tightening the fasteners I finally worked my way out of the engine block. 

“Alright, try again.’

To my surprise the engine finally roared to life and I thunked the hood back down, Casting a look at the man in the driver's seat wearing a mildly impressed expression.

“You actually did it,”

Not wanting to waste water I scooped sand off the floor and scrubbed at the grime on my hands. I scoffed back, masking my shared disbelief,

“Told you, these things can take a beating,”

The rest of the speeder was rough, paint stripped from either side and trunk mostly crumpled but it was up and hovering again. 

Thank the void.

The idea of walking from here to any part of civilization was far from appealing. Not like we could try to get back to Estkle from here, the southern tunnel that dropped us in here was steep and who knows how far down we really were. There was no way to get the speeder up to the opening again anyways. The cavern was riddled with passages but there was only one that was ground level.

So, according to the dash-comp, North it was, and further down too from the looks of it, but the path was wide enough to drive through. We had the fuel, might as well use it. 

I slipped into the passenger side as Cross shifted us into gear angling the nose of the vehicle down the corridor we had decided on. Yanking my bag from where it had gotten wedged under the seat, I pulled out some dry rations and handed one over to him while I counted the rest. We hadn't touched them since leaving the moon but there was only half a duffle of food. Maybe five days if we're careful, but we'll most likely be in trouble if we don't find an alternative at some point. 

Especially if we can't find a way back above ground…

I scanned about the wide cavern flickering with spectral lightning. There was no light leaking into the chamber, no way to tell how far underground we really were. We were betting a lot on the water trails leading… somewhere, but with us sliding down so far I wasn't sure anyone would be able to find us if they tried to follow from the surface. 

“Ready?”

Crosshair was biting down on his nutrient bar looking to me for the final word before we broke the first rule of being lost and left the cavern. 

“There’s got to be another side, right? Might as well get started.”

He pressed the accelerator, gradually increasing our speed when no immediate obstacles presented themselves till we were at a comfortable cruising speed. 

We moved ahead in a shared anxious silence, the sandy floors of the cavern passing smoothly under us as we drove further into the dark shaft. 

Hours went by, quietly at first as we basked in the seclusion of the tunnel system, then with light conversation, shouted over the car noise. A comment about the stone, a wonder about the water, a lesson on the geological makeup of a tidal locked world. 

It was boring, the tunnel tight and uniform as it stretched under the mountain. There were fewer fragments of quartz in the long channels so the headlights guided us through. No obstacles, no turn offs, just a dark tunnel that seemed to go on for ages. 

The clock on the radio worked, and if it was correct, it would be early evening Ga'haiian. Too bad we couldn't get any signal down here for some music, the sound of the engine reverberating from the rocky walls was somewhat maddening and made the chit chat difficult. 

So I sat, leaning against my door watching the clone drive. He was relaxed, angled into his own door's armrest steering one handed. His armor plates were carefully stacked in the back seat, black top folded with them, leaving Crosshair in only the skin tight bottoms and boots. 

He casually gave the accelerator more pressure, feeling my eyes on him, and our speed started to edge on reckless. 

“Ease up, fuel burns faster like that…”

I had to shout to be heard but we decelerated. 

“That's no fun,”

He sighed, and I understood the lament. There wasn't even anything to look at down here. 

I etched the time, direction and our speed onto the dash with my vibroblade, calculating how far we'd traveled and trying to remember how many kilometers it was from Estkle to the Trimecca farm lands between the range and Sohn. We were no doubt still a ways off. 

The tunnel gradually widened and dropped into another dried out reservoir. Crosshair slowed and pulled the speeder to a stop. 

The new bur offered us a few routes to take, the tunnels spitting into two wide enough for the vehicle. I stepped out, walking to the mouth of the first passage. The air was still and dark and I debated the cost of fuel versus calories in scouting out which one might be more useful. Cross spoke up from the car,

“Maybe we should rest here for now…”

I didn't like the idea of extending our stay, but it wasn't worth pushing ourselves. Standing was already releasing some of the tension from the long drive… Might as well stretch our legs. 

I nodded and he cut the engine, plunging us into momentary darkness as our eyes adjusted to the inconsistent Iotryke flicker. 

We spent some time pacing about the new cave. I ran my hand over the smooth walls, warm wherever the sparking quartz was exposed. The caves were cool now, but the closer we got to Sohn the hotter it would get. I wasn't sure how far we'd be able to travel beneath the surface, or how far the atmosphere shields of Sohn extended. 

I was starting to get overwhelmed. The immensity of what it meant to be lost down here crushed into me all at once. Closing my eyes I filled my lungs, holding it a moment before sighing it back out. 

Heat gave away what the soft sand didn't as Cross came near, drawn by my tense exhale.

He enclosed me in his arms, warm skin pressing against my back. 

“Credit for your accounts?”

“Just trying to calculate our way out of here.”

“What if we’re here forever?”

He whispered it through a smile in my hair and I tilted my head back to look up at him. 

“There's nothing alive down here Cross, that doesn't bode well for making a life of it,”

“You so sure about that?”

He tilted his chin to guide my gaze to a shadowy crevice in the otherwise smooth walls. If you squinted, and looked long enough… it shimmered with movement.

I made my way to the wall, as close as I could get to the elevated crack. In the dark, fist sized… crustations? Clamored about each other, disappearing and reappearing in small burrows in the exposed rock. 

“We could always eat the wall bugs,”

I shot him a look for his word choice, but it was good to see something thriving. 

“No way to know if they're poisonous…”

I was bluffing slightly, given enough time I could usually figure out how to butcher something safely. I've had to learn some odd skills to keep my father's clients happy. 

“My stomach can handle it,”

“That explains the thirty two rotations…”

“Does it?”

“No. You're going to have to… expand on your story, How the kark did you manage that again?”

“That would take a while,”

“All we have down here is time,”

That smile again, making me chuckle in exasperation,

“I don't believe you, we're trapped and you're happy about it,”

“If we weren't, and we had made that train we would have what… hours?”

Maybe less. Kark, my father must be looking for me by now. 

“And you prefer certain death?”

He sloped over, pushing me against the wall,

“We won't die, I won't let you, though… I could get used to the idea of having you the rest of my life,”

He leaned in to nip my neck and my face flushed. 

“Let's try to make it a long one, yeah?... What do you think’s in the trunk?

I squirmed out from under him and he groaned in frustration.

~~~

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

I threw the tight ball of plastic ration packaging up again, catching it as I stared hard at the tunnel openings from where I was sprawled on the speeder hood. 

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

It wasn't the most accurate way to make a travel decision…

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

That and my mind was wandering. 

“You’re quiet again, what's eating you?”

Crosshair huffed and leaned against the trunk he had been messing with, insistent he could get the damaged lock pried open with the tiny vibroblade. He was working up a sweat trying to prove himself right. I was staring and he raised an eyebrow. 

“Just… who was Rah’dehko working for… and how they're related to my Vah'hadarr”

“What makes you think your father's involved?”

“Rah'dehko Den. After our little run in, Va’hah would have wanted to keep tabs on him…whoever he answered to has to have ties to my family,”

“What does it matter?”

“Did you notice his gang?”

“Was hard to miss them,”

I shot him a look, trying to be serious. 

“Zygarrions. A few of them… separate from the rest.”

“Slavers.”

“Slavers.”

Zygarrions were almost never seen on Ga’hah, having both a bad history with the Katjarl clans and opposing cultural views on free will with the planet at large. 

“So it's about the recording then?”

“This is all about the recording… isn't it?”

A loud screech and a triumphant grunt brought my attention back behind me. The crumpled trunk finally popping open to creak up lazily. 

“You got it!”

I slid off the hood making my way to Crosshair's side. 

“Too bad… nothing really of use in here.”

He was right. The empty fuel canisters and hover dolly weren't exactly gonna blast a hole for us. It was high hopes to think we might have some extra food or water… I reached in and pulled out some dingy shop blankets. 

“These might make camping in the car more comfortable…”

He took the blankets from me, tossing them into the back of the speeder. Reaching in for his belt and a fresh toothpick. 

“So your father deals in slaves.”

It wasn't a question, and ice slipped down my spine. It had been a suspicion ever since we overheard that secret conversation, but it hurt a little for him to say it so openly. 

“Slavery is a very blatant term suggesting conquer and all that, here on Ga’hah it would be more…contractual,”

“... What's the difference?”

“Mm. Slavery is… was frowned upon by the Republic. They wouldn't have traded with a planet that deals in flesh traditionally… So there's the Ga'haiian cultural loophole.”

“Do tell,” 

He was leaning on the side of the car, watching me. His interest in the topic seemed to be wanning. I ducked under his arm to slide between him and the speeder. 

“Ga'hah is a culture steeped in the pursuits of pleasure, One such being complete devotion, or more bluntly, to be completely owned by another… voluntary,”

Cross paused a moment as the meaning hit him. His hand came up to cup my chin, crooning suggestively,

“A willing slave…”

I shot him a look of incredulity,

“Willing being the operative word, the Republic looks the other way as long as there’s measures to make sure the contracts are entered into by choice,”

“Semantics, the jist is your father is building a sex den for a political figure… it's not exactly mold breaking, Tahny,”

Not just any politician.

Neither of us wanted to say that part aloud, though that was something that bothered me too. This was one figure in the whole political scene of Coruscant who was reputedly as squeaky clean as they came, and from my brief observations… not interested in the ecstasy held in flesh. What he'd want with an array of slaves picked with my father's expertise, to a preference no less…

Either way it would be a scandal if the new Emperor was found to be dealing in trafficking right out the gate. Thinking back to the recorded conversation, trying to remember why it sounded familiar. Who was my father talking to? I was there, I know I had heard it before… and I must have been seen… is it really just me though? 

I looked up at the man stroking my jaw, more focused on my lips than the conversation.

“Crosshair? You said my parents were supposed to be on the transport… right?”

The military vessel assigned to us by his eminence himself, stocked with those of shakey loyalty to the new regime, or maybe simply… disposable.

“Up until the last minute,”

“And when were you assigned to the escort?”

His eyes focused back on me, narrowing.

“About an hour before we left Coruscant.”

It had to have been Crosshair that tipped him off. 

The clone in question had caught up to my reasoning, leaning back slightly,

“If he was spooked by me, why leave you on the ship?”

“The ship still needed to keep to the expected schedule, and he can't have known I would be targeted off of Coruscant… or at least thought it less likely,”

Crosshair scoffed at that and my brow furrowed in irritation. He can't be under the impression my father would sacrifice me and more importantly,

“Why would you be instructed to take me to the safe house if Va'hah thought you were an assassin?”

His cheeks suddenly flushed and he stepped away, running a hand over the back of his head which was… an odd response. 

“Cross…what is it?”

He turned back to me, biting his pick in half as he thought a moment before spitting it out, licking his lips and leaning back over me.

“It was supposed to be Hervos.”

“Hervos?”

“Lieutenant Hervos was supposed to escort you to the moon.”

I raised my brows.

“How was he supposed to do that?”

“He couldn’t have, he'd never have been able to keep you safe,”

Debatable. A diplomatic approach might not have been so bad a move…

“So… no, Crosshair, how did you get the encryption code?”

He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against mine with his eyes closed.

“The Lieutenant kept it on him, I took it as we were leaving.”

“You picked his pocket?”

“No, I looked him in the eye and took it, what was he going to do? Stop me?”

I pulled back, catching his eyes in the flickering light. 

“What happened to following orders?”

“The last orders given to me was to guard you from harm, get you home…”

“So you stole it?”

…

“I stole you,”

His hands trailed the length of my arms to lace his fingers in mine. 

“If you were going to be stranded alone with any one… it was going to be me.”

…

“Then why were you so hesitant to have me… once we were alone?”

“It wasn't about that, if I had let any one of those… any one else and you would have died, it's my job to make sure that doesn't happen,”

He was suddenly tense as he leaned against me, his palms coming up to cup my cheeks,

“I wasn't worried about having you, you're invitation was… clear, but you had to be safe, I was supposed to get you home first… but I needed you that night and- you couldn't die, I couldn't let you go knowing you would die,”

I went rigid, a sudden overwhelming feeling making my face hot and my eyes sting. 

That's not fair…

“What's wrong?”

Everything. 

My voice came out strained,

“This was supposed to be simple, idiot.”

I hopped up to perch on the door, wrapping my legs about his waist to pull his lips to mine in a fervent, frantic desperation. 

~~~

A whimper cut through my wispy dream state, too soft to echo but stirring me from my light sleep. My eyes were already adjusting and taking in the darkened cave. The crumpled trunk hood was still raised from us prying it open, lightning flashes reflecting wildly down on me from the dented metal. 

My skin was hot and I reached down for a bottle from my bag, taking a small sip of water, before sitting up and shifting to lean over Crosshair. He was sleeping in the reclined driver's seat,  a whimper low in his throat again as I watched, face twisting into a pained grimace. I ran my fingertips over his brow bone and cheek, soothing his twitching muscles. 

“Shh, li’nen…”

He gasped awake, jerking under my hand, fingers snapping to the side of his head as he half sat upright. 

“It's okay, Cross, I'm here… we're alone,”

“Where-”

Eyes widening, he follows the lightning across the ceiling.

“We're in the Iotryke caves,”

“The… the caves.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back again. I stroked his cheekbone resting my forehead on his brow and his breathing started to slow, hands finding mine in the bright darkness. 

“... Where were you?”

He was quiet, thumb stroking the hollow of my palm. I pressed him this time, 

“Kamino?”

“...No, before that…”

His fingers brushed his scar and he flinched, as if it hurt anew. 

I pressed a kiss to his temple. 

“Tell me… how'd you get this?”

He looked away… it was subtle, but he was suddenly avoiding my eyes. His brow was knitted with concern, fingers tapping mine in an agitated kind of way. 

“I'm not gonna force you, but… you can tell me, don't think you can chase me off now…”

“We're trapped in a cave.”

“And we could have all the stars between us, yet I'll still stand at your back,”

…

“... Ion Cannon,”

“... Like on a ship?”

“Yes,”

“You… you what? Got too close?”

“... Yes,”

“Crosshair.”

His eyes flicked to mine in the dark, holding my gaze a moment before sighing,

“It was clone force 99.”

“Otherwise known as your brothers…”

His brow pinched again, but he corrected,

“My brothers.”

…

“Burned you with a ship's Ion Cannon?”

… 

“How’d they manage that?”

He sighed, breathing deep,

“They blew up the casing after I trapped them inside… and had my men fire it. I ended up in the line of fire instead, and they escaped.”

He spat his words, looking away again with the defensive air of ‘are you happy now?’ I should've been more surprised at his words… but I wasn't. I understood the story though it wasn't told in a language I knew. 

“So you tried to fry 'em up but got burned?”

He winced, pointedly avoiding my gaze. 

I crawled into his seat, resting my body against his chest. Brushing my lips to his, I whispered against him.

“And you think this would frighten me?”

“It should… if you were sane,”

The guilt in his voice was obvious; The unsure tenor of someone now doubtful of actions they felt justified in the distant moment. If this was to make him a threat to me… no. I've known far worse monsters, ones who torment for the thrill of it… for fun. At times I've been one. 

“I'm perfectly sane and I say it doesn't,”

He rolled his eyes but the tension started to leave him, strong arms founding their way around my back. 

“Maybe Hunter deserved it anyways…”

“Oh yeah? What’d he do to deserve being melted?”

“He wouldn't have been melted,”

He looked almost annoyed I would suggest it, adding pridefully,

“They’re too good for that,”

“That's a varp of a heavy gamble, Cross, even for you…”

“I out maneuvered them and the imps at every turn. If I wanted them dead… they know damn well if I wanted them dead they would be. Hunter…”

There it was again, the name of the ninety nine’s leader accompanied with a distant hurt in his eyes. 

…

“He knew about the inhibitor chips.”

I tensed, 

“The what chips…Cross?”

His turn to stiffen but it didn't last as he crumpled beneath me, defeated, surrendering the secrets he'd been holding.

“The clones are programmed. Controlled.”

He formed a gun with his fingers, and pressed it over his ear. 

“Through a chip. It's how they got them to do it. Turn on the generals… ‘Good soldiers follow orders,’... Buzzing through their heads, their words and thoughts, it's like they're hypnotized,”

A chill dropped through me… compulsion was, well… blasphemous. Not to mention the depth of government secrets he just revealed. He shouldn't be telling me this…

“And Hunter knew what exactly?”

“... That I…”

He gritted his teeth,

“He knew there was a possibility I may have been controlled, and left me to that… fate.”

There were hints of shame in his voice. 

“With what you just told me, you think he could have bested you?... Taken you against your will?”

“Of course not.”

“Well now you're contradicting yourself. What was he supposed to do?”

…

“So… Were you being controlled?”

“Does it matter?”

“I don't think you would have fired a ships engine with them inside of it and just… trusted that they'd get themselves out, not without some external reason,”

“And what if there wasn't a reason, what if I really wanted them to burn for leaving me behind?”

“That still sounds like a reason… just less noble.”

He snorted dryly. 

“Well… you have more confidence in me than he did… asking when it stopped influencing me.”

“I don't think he meant anything b-”

“I don't want to be around people who think I would choose to hurt them. The fact that he even considered I would try to kill them, the child, uninfluenced…”

He was coiling tight with a disembodied indignation. 

“They don't know me. If that's what they think I'm capable of, they never did. Harsh, yes, willing to do what they won't. Always… but I'm not a child killer, All those years as comrades for nothing.”

He sighed, some of the fight going out of his words. His fingers brushed the melted scar over his ear, eyes clouded in reminisce.

“There was fire, and pain, searing pain… and then it was like I woke up; Burned, confused, the lights of the Marauder leaving me behind… again. I tried to pursue, scuttle their engines and catch up… but they left, I suppose more like ‘got away’... The result is the same, I've had no idea what to do since, every decision seems wrong,”

I kissed him again, desperate to steal some of the hurt from his voice, as if I could draw it from him like venom from a wound. He pressed back, subdued and broken, making my heart ache. 

“I'm gonna have to have a word with this ‘Hunter’”

…

His brow furrowed,

“That would be to exchange words, not…?”

I grinned against his cheek,

“I'm going to fight him.”

His lip twitched at that,

“You think you can take Hunter?”

“I have my ways, he'll never see it coming,”

He chuckled, nuzzling the hair against my neck,

“That's my girl…”

He met my lips again, less reserved, pulling me to press into his bare chest. His hands roamed down my back feeling the shape of me. 

Shifting back and crossing my arms on his chest, I rested my head to look up at him. 

“What does it mean… to be yours?”

…

“I'm still working that out myself…”

“Do you wish to be mine?”

…

He fell silent, running his fingers through my hair, letting the strands fall slowly to catch the sparks like dew in a spiderweb. 

“Can’t you see, Tahny?”

His husky voice was barely a whisper, like a private prayer, yet…it echoed through the silent chamber.

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Tags: @feral-ferrule @thecoffeelorian

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[coquelicoq]

went dancing tonight for the first time ever (for my friend's birthday) and for someone whose favorite movie is dirty dancing i sure know nothing about dancing. i've never even done the electric slide. my favorite moment was when a stranger came up to me and said "do you west coast?" to which i responded "i don't know what that means??" i was having an existential crisis like do i west coast?? i'm ON the west coast. i'm FROM the west coast. what does it mean to DO west coast? but they were asking if i know how to do west coast swing dance. which, it should go without saying, i do not. i think if you have to ask yourself "do i west coast??" as if it's some kind of philosophical quandary then you probably do not west coast. if you do do west coast then you don't even need to ask.

[shivunin]

Stack the Deck

(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 1,310 words | Fluff | no warnings)

Fenris could have caught Hawke before she reached the stairs if he’d really been trying, but that probably wasn’t the point. 

Hawke had left the Hanged Man when he’d excused himself for a few moments, and he’d been chasing after her since he’d returned to the table to find her gone. He knew quite well what she was doing, because she’d spent the whole evening “accidentally” running her fingers over the inside of his wrist, whispering so close to his ear that her lips often skimmed the sensitive skin, and tilting her head back in the way that occasionally exposed the small red marks at the joint of her neck. 

She’d also been cheating at cards to no avail, but that was nothing new. Fenris hardly noticed it anymore, since Hawke slipped the extra cards into his belt more often than not these days. As he jogged up the stairs to Hightown, he retrieved three from his waistband alone. He would almost certainly find more tucked away on his person when he finally reached her manor and disrobed. 

Perhaps this sort of thing was odd to do with one’s lover, but Fenris didn’t especially care. He could hear her laughing from here, after all, and the sound of it lightened his steps. As he rounded the corner at last, he spotted Hawke at her manor door, stepping into the firelit foyer.

“Hawke,” he called, speeding up. 

She held the door open for him, beaming across the courtyard as if she hadn’t seen him in days. 

“Oh, dear,” she said, with not an ounce of concern in her voice. “You’ve caught me.”

“You didn’t hide yourself very well, if that’s what you were trying to do,” Fenris told her as he stepped through the door. She swung it shut behind her with a soft click and he caught her waist in his hands, pressing her back against the wood. 

“Heavens,” Hawke said, still smiling, “how forward, messere.”

“I seem to recall having you twice before breakfast,” he murmured, kissing her cheek as he spoke. “How could this possibly be forward, Hawke?”

She seemed disinclined to explain herself, and laughed breathlessly when his lips trailed over the curve of her ear. Fenris huffed and directed his next words there in a murmur.

“Was there a reason for this little game, or did you tease me all night so I would chase you home?”

“Hm?” she said, angling her head away. 

Fenris obliged the silent request and nipped at the soft skin of her neck. It felt just as good as it had this morning. 

“I’m winning a bet,” she said after a moment. 

Fenris leaned back to look at her, brows raised.

“Oh! No, not that,” she said, and produced a playing card from her sleeve with the casual flick of her fingers. 

If he hadn’t known better, Fenris might have thought it was magic, but no—these were only the skills she’d learned as a pickpocket when her family had first come to Lowtown. She’d solemnly sworn never to pretend to pull a coin from his ear again, but that hadn’t kept her from producing various other objects from elsewhere on his person or her own. 

“The Angel of Death?” he asked, reading the card, “Were you losing all night on purpose?”

“Yes and no,” she laughed, producing another card, then another, and another, from her sleeves, then her decolletage, then her belt, and so on. When she finally stopped, Fenris was staring at more than half a deck stacked neatly in her left hand. 

“And the bet?” he said after a moment. She smiled again, eyes lit from within, and produced a card from behind his back. 

“That I wouldn’t make it out of the Hanged Man before Varric realized I’d taken most of his Wicked Grace deck,” she said, and plucked yet another card from the front of his belt. “Angel of Temerity. I was proud of that one.”

“Of course you were,” Fenris said, resting a hand against the door beside her head. “What have you won?”

“Two sov off of Isabela,” she said, tipping her head up so she could meet his eyes. “Would’ve been three, but I couldn’t quite get the last of the Angels. I think she had it in her bosom all along, the blighted pirate.”

Ah. 

Slowly, Fenris reached into his pocket and pulled two cards from it. One was the Knight of Dawn, but the other…

Hawke gasped. 

“No!” she said, reaching up to touch the second card. “Fortitude! But how?”

“I take my cards with me when I leave the table,” Fenris told her, extending the cards. “Or someone would steal them.”

Hawke gasped and would have pressed a hand to her chest, but he’d caught her fingers when she’d reached for his cards. 

“I would never,” she said, the dimples on either side of her mouth deepening despite the solemnity of her words. 

“Never,” Fenris said flatly, not letting go of the pair of cards, “and yet you are doing so now.”

“You offered!” Hawke protested. “Fine, then. What do you want for them?” 

Fenris considered her for a moment. The long walk to Hightown had brought a flush to her cheeks. Her hair, formerly wound into her customary braid, had already begun to come loose. Ringlets sprung from its twined length and brushed against her neck. Beneath dark brows, her eyes laughed at him. 

“What are you offering?” he countered, leaning closer. 

“Nothing you couldn’t have for the asking,” she laughed. “A kiss for the two of them.”

“No.”

“You don’t even want them!” Hawke protested. 

The skin at the corners of her eyes wrinkled when she smiled; Fenris marked it whenever it happened. 

Especially when he was the one who’d made her smile. 

“But you do,” he said, keeping his grip on the cards she was trying to tug away. “Two apiece and I will let go.”

“One apiece,” she countered, “and that’s my final offer. Surely you wouldn’t haggle with your dearest beloved over so—”

Fenris cut off the rest of her sentence with a kiss, and caught the edge of her smile on his lower lip for his haste. He did not mind it, of course. Hawke was smiling half the time when they kissed regardless, and feeling the shift in her when she turned her full attention to him was a pleasure in and of itself. 

“One,” she murmured, tilting her head away. She returned to him before he could think of something to say in return. This time, she let go of the cards and traced the line of his jaw as she kissed him, fingertips running along bone until they reached his chin. 

“Two,” he began when she pulled away, but she was kissing him again before the rest of the syllable tripped from his tongue. 

This kiss lasted the longest of all, until Fenris was leaning harder against the hand he’d braced against the wall, until he’d half-forgotten what they were still doing in her foyer at all. When she tipped her head away at last, he blinked at her for a moment, surprised at the sudden absence of her. 

“That has to count for at least four,” she said, and Fenris felt something brush against his ear. 

“Thank you, my dear,” she added. Fenris turned his head. 

The cards. Of course she was holding the cards. 

“Why argue,” he asked, taking a step back, “if you intended to take them in the first place?”

“It was the principle of the thing,” Hawke said, shrugging. 

Fenris scoffed and shook his head, but she only smiled up at him and pushed off the door. 

“Come on, then,” she said, hooking her fingers into his belt and tugging lightly. “Let me give you the rest.”

And Fenris, as they’d both known he would, followed gladly.

[springcatalyst]

thinking oc thoughts. everything comes back to milo being a storyteller