#I promised my friend I didn't like him anymore

[murasaki-cha]

Tcf headcanon

I believe Cale had not realised how much the entire calefam meant to him until the Top's Whip test. He truly believed he was keeping them at arms length until he finally saw the pain he would experience if he lost them.

Because here's the thing, he did say in the early chapters of the story that "His family grew bigger again", yet he still tried to keep a distance. He cared obviously and he did acknowledge them as family, but he was still afraid. He lost his family before, he lost 2 of them. First his parents and then his brothers. He couldn't handle losing another family again.

And I think after he acknowledged that "Oh, they are becoming my family", Cale got scared and tried to keep a distance. The less he cares, the less it will hurt if they leave him. He tried not to show much interest, tried not to behave too friendly and he may have thought he was doing a good job at it. That is until Top's Whip test. Until he saw a future with all of them gone.

And also, it's worth to note that Cale knew everything in Top's Whip test was an illusion. He knew it was not real, that everyone was still alive. Yet he broke. He understood his greatest fear. He understood that it was inevitable now, that he loved them and there was nothing he could do about it. They were his family, his new family and just the idea of losing them was a torture all on it's own.

He didn't just see the worst possible future there, he relived his past. He felt the pain of losing parents he couldn't remember anymore and the parents that he gained now. He relived the death of his brothers, his best friends and was faced with the death of his new siblings and his new best friends that were like brothers to him. He saw, once again, the loss of his team mates, of the shelter members and had to see his companions empty rooms with just their relics.

But now he was faced with a new horror, one he had never experienced before, one that cut too deep. Because, while he had faced every single loss once before and knew that pain already, this was one he had never imagined, one that was truly his breaking point.

His children were gone.

He had lost them too.

I believe it was at this moment, when he saw the piggy banks, that Cale truly knew he couldn't lose this family. That he could not handle this pain. He knew that there was no promises that would keep him alive anymore. His love for them was too great. He could have ignored it before but not anymore, after the piggy banks he was forced to face reality.

He, Kim Rok Soo, Cale Henituse, cares for his family more than he could have ever imagined caring for.

[alchemistc]

For the director's cut: anything about "eddie makes it worse"

Alli you are in luck, the Avs Charity Banquet sufficiently distracted me from The Horrors (say thank you specifically to Nate MacKinnon for his little dancy-dance) so I feel good talking about Eddie Makes It Worse now. Not gonna be much commentary, tbh, because I fully lost steam on part three and will probably never finish it, so you're getting the unedited draft I've had sitting around for months at this point. I am once again slightly suspicious about how much of my spec fic related to Tommy and his insecurities has ended up on the show, because I really don't think I'm that good at getting a read, but alas. Eddie Makes It Worse was specifically written in response to me not blocking well enough on here (although I can't actually remember the exact post that made me ravenous for Eddie to throw another live grenade at an Issue), and also me thinking to myself "But wouldn't it be funny if actually BOTH of them were jealous of Eddie for completely batshit reasons because Eddie loves them both like brothers". Here's the draft that's been hanging around taunting me for ages:

Tommy won't lie. He's thought about it. Despite Eddie's firm assertion that he's straight, the way he knows without a doubt Eddie isn't attracted to him - he's thought about it. And not even necessarily in a death-knell of the relationship kind of way. Eddie's hot. Buck's hot. The two of them are obsessed with each other and impossible to separate.

(That's unfair. Eddie has absolutely made it a point to give Buck and Tommy their own time. He's forced them into it, when they can tell he's feeling down and hesitate to leave him be.)

So. He's thought about it. Idle thoughts, bordering on fantasy. What they'd look like together. How they'd move, how they'd sound. How it would feel to watch it from the outside. How it would feel, if they knew he was watching.

Eddie makes an intrigued noise when Buck tips his chin and Tommy once again considers throwing something. Buck's never once used that move on Tommy, because he likes not being the aggressor, likes the feeling that Tommy just can't quite take it anymore. Sometimes, Tommy was certain he yapped so much just to see Tommy snap and lean in for a kiss.

And then there are lips. Because they are actually fully commiting to this. Buck's lips, on Eddie's, a little more forceful than Tommy had been expecting - but then maybe he's just projecting. Tommy and Buck aren't BuckandEddie. They have a different thing.

It's not not hot. Buck's hand slides along Eddie's side, tugs him in. Eddie's lips part just enough for Buck to press the advantage. Their noses clash, and Buck changes the angle, and the awkward hand Eddie's had floating at Buck's shoulder shifts to grip his neck.

Buck opens his eyes as he gets Eddie's bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, and suddenly he's watching his ex make out with a mutual friend while his ex stares straight into his eyes and challenges him to do something about it.

Tommy can't move. Can't think can't breathe doesn't want a single thing to do with any of this and he wishes he'd never let Eddie through that door.

They'd talked about it once. The idea of seeing each other physical with other people. Buck took it as an insult, and Tommy was just grateful that he wouldn't be introducing Buck to the idea of it, even if he'd spent the next week promising Buck that he didn't expect Buck to cheat.

("It wouldn't be cheating if it was something we discussed," Tommy had said, torn between begging forgiveness and trying to give Buck a little more insight into what this new section of the world he'd opened up was really like sometimes, like straight people didn't also fuck around for the excitement of it. The thing was, he didn't really want to be Evan Buckley's gay guru and the fact that the very idea of an even slightly open relationship was abhorrent to Buck had settled something under Tommy's skin. They were in this. They were together. Tommy hadn't pushed or examined any further than that and he wishes he had.)

Buck slides a hand into the short hairs at the back of Eddie's head, swallows up the sound of Eddie breathing through his nose, and releases with a slick noise, hand pressing Eddie back, eyes still not leaving Tommy.

And now Tommy has seen... all of that.

"Weird technique," Eddie intones, eyes tilted up to the ceiling like he's actually formulating a critique. "The biting thing was kinda nice." Buck's eyes finally fall away from Tommy because now he is incensed.

"Weird technique! You introduced tongue before our faces were even aligned!"

"You have a weird shaped nose, I wasn't expecting to have to work around it!"

Buck's hand darts towards his face. Tommy happens to like that nose, but then again, the one on his own face is a lot to work with. He'd find anything less than a beak charming.

This is ... not even remotely what he'd been expecting. They both seem like nothing has shifted. Like this is any other day where they bicker just to bicker.

"Do women actually like that thing you do on the roof of their mouth?" Buck asks, gesturing vaguely, and Eddie scowls.

"Your tongue is like, monstrous, you know that right?"

Swell. They have a comedy routine.

In any other situation, Tommy fucking knows Buck would be forming a shit-eating grin and a sly comment that revealed way too much information. As it is, Buck's gaze just darts to Tommy, momentary heat before his expression shutters.

"I don't think he's convinced, Buck. Maybe we should have sex." Eddie says it so monotone Tommy's actually a little impressed.

Buck looks contemplative. "I mean fine, but if you don't like my kissing you are not gonna like-"

"Are you two fucking insane?"

They both turn to look at Tommy. He's sounding a little manic, tone pitched higher than normal, eyes wide, hands gesturing more than they usually do. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants them both to leave and never speak to him again because this is beyond the pale of insanity.

[tw1lightstar]

im going to go insane I need Joel RIGHT NOW

[eraserbread]

it's just one of those things... nanami likes you close.

but, your husband is actually a very sane individual and decides its best not to keep you leashed down. however, it didn't make it easier when you brought up the idea of visiting your family during the spring.

nanami loves your family, but he loves them in his way. he loves them from far, far away—perhaps not even a phone call away, just a yearly birthday card kind of closeness. It's not an energy he wishes to be around.

but, he wants whatever makes you happy, so he lets you go for a week.

a grueling, seven-day week. one filled with work, overtime, stress and anger, all to an empty house to crawl back to. it's okay -- its all he can tell himself as he tucks into bed lonely as hell.

he wills himself to sleep, begging his mind to leave you alone. let you have your space without his voice in your ear. he thinks you want this -- this... disgusting silence.

little did he know, you were five cities away waiting by the phone.

just waiting. hoping at least a good night text would fall your way. you know he's up thinking about you. he has to be.

so, when you get home a week later. you're pissed and touch starved and nanami starved. you had a mind to let him have it, to spew everything you've been pining over while he's been too busy to text or call.

it also doesn't help that you got home four hours before him, having time to cool down and shower off. a part of you wants to call him -- perhaps he's getting drinks or dinner with a friend, but if he didn't contact you for a week, you'd be sure not to contact him. its the only way you know how to teach him.

he arrives home when you're wrapped in your pajamas, glass of wine in your hand, and waiting for this exact moment.

"welcome home, my beautiful wife."

he begins, and it brings a small smile to your face. it's already seeming like he's redeeming himself. "you know I love you."

"really? i don't know... just thought i'd see it more when we're apart," you mumble, chewing on your lip over the rim of your glass. you can't see nanami's expression, but you can feel the quirk in his brow - the tightness in the corner of his lips.

"well, don't be vague. you're mad at me." he knows, yet he's still so calm. you refuse to glance back at him, even when he's taking off his shoes and pulling off his tie. it's something you'd usually help him with. this time, you help yourself to your wine.

"look, a week apart did us both a world of good, I promise you."

"yeah? would your hand agree with you, there?"

he laughs. "not everything's about sex, dear. I'm capable of holding out for a week." another wordless sip of your wine, and he's approaching you. "but, just because I can, doesn't mean I want to go into day eight without it."

it takes every fiber of your soul to say, "'m sorry, nanami. i'm just not in the mood tonight."

if you didn't know him so well, you wouldn't have caught the slight twitch in his brow at the news. however, he takes it well with a small smile on his face. "of course. i'll be in my office."

you sip your wine, cursing him internally for his politeness. he could have anything he wanted from you if he just said it. but, he never will. if its your will to go to bed without giving yourself to him, then so be it. he won't beg at your feet like a child.

but... what if you wanted him to?

you're not keeping track of time anymore, but you feel renewed with a headful of wine and time spent with nothing but thoughts of him. it's genuinely unnerving to you just how in love you are. nanami is so gentle, strong, beautiful and polite. it fucking makes your head spin.

then, you feel like a monster..

the feeling wills one foot in front of the other, all the way to his office door. it's not closed, just cracked. golden desk lamp lighting spills out into the hall in rectangular designs. you find yourself fixating on it in your drunkenness.

the door squeaks as you push it open, and you peek inside to see where he was amongst the organized chaos of books and work papers.

"ken?"

surprisingly, he's not staring right back at you. he's face down over his desk, resting so that you can't see his face—only the back of his head and all his disheveled blonde hair.

when you approach, he stays completely still. worry begins brewing in your chest.

"you know you can come to bed..." you whisper, leaning against the side of his desk. his pretty eyes flutter open at the softness of your voice and touch, quirking a smile.

"didn't think i could lay next to you and keep my hands to myself." he sits up into your hand, shivering as you massage over his scalp. he's like a little orange kitten, nudging your hand with sleepy eyes.

"don't you dare go ghost on me for a week ever again. do you know how obsessed I am with you?"

"i can guess." he chuckles softly, swallowing something down as he looks up at you. "I'm so sorry. just figured you would want your time to yourself."

"that doesn't mean you can't text me."

"then, i'm throwing my hands up and taking my wrongs." there he goes again, not even so much as debating his reasoning; he just wants you. if being the bad guy means he can lay down his gorgeous, tipsy wife, he'll be the worst person in the world.

there's newfound speed behind his actions as he spins his chair around, reaching out to grab you by the hips. it's so fluid and familiar, but it gets your pulse racing, the beat between your thighs mimicking the rhythm of his heart. he's so close to everything -- to you, to all of it.

he kisses your tummy where the hem of your shirt kisses the waistband of your shorts. he's breathing you in, memorizing the sound of you, it seems. your hands find the back of his neck, thumbing circles into the fuzz, there. it's a moment he'd never speak about again, but the ones you cherish the most. he just holds you. like, it's been over five minutes now...

"i'm sorry. i love you so much."

he nods into your stomach, kissing the ticklish sliver of bare skin there. you're dewy with the after-breath of him, but you love the warmth. you want him back when he pulls away.

"i love you." he nods, giving you those eyes when he looks up at you. your heart fucking pummels and rushes through your body, nearly bringing tears to your eyes -- he's so beautiful. "and I love this fabric on you."

"please. please take it off, kento. i love you so fucking... so fucking much." you're breathless already, and all he's done is kiss you. it's a little embarrassing, but neither of you care. tomorrow morning when he kisses you awake, you'll shrug off your demeanor on the alcohol but you weren't that drunk. you just missed him.

"take it off, please. take it off..."

"huh?"

"please, don't fucking tease me i'm so horny right now. nanami kento, i love you so much, please."

"wow, girl." he trails his lips to your waistband, taking it between his teeth shortly. "are you begging for it?"

"fuck my pride, i don't have it with you anymore." you gasp, tightening your fist in his hair to lead him just... down. of course, he's too fucking strong. he doesn't budge. "kentooo-"

he stares up with wide eyes for just a second longer before giving in. he mumbles, "all right, all right." just before yanking your shorts and taking you apart. he drives his chair forward as he slides open your cunt on two fingers, showing you his tongue and diving in. he's done this hundreds of times, but you'll never be used to the feeling.

he knows every inch of your body - how you vibrate when he flicks your clit that one way or dips his tongue the other. he has your orgasm down to a science, but he still takes his time massaging around your labia, kissing the crook between your thighs.

you were already so close, you cuss. "fuck - what ar- what are you doing?!"

"if you would just have some patience," he responds vaguely, holding your thigh and kissing across the inside. with rushing breaths, you try to calm down, swallowing as you watch him. "you were about to finish, I could tell."

"so, you stopped?"

"i know you've been drinking... so you won't last past this round." of course, only he would know that and actually apply logic to it. it hits you dumbfounded. "I'm selfish. just wanted you to cum when I'm inside a'you."

there's absolutely nothing you can say to translate your thoughts, all you can do is breathe out a shaky moan. you were so fucked off of his tongue, right now.

"desk? bedroom? hm?"

or

you want me to fuck you on my desk or in our bed?

bed sounds better, that way you can pass out immediately afterwards. your mind swims thinking about being back in his arms tonight.

it seems you said that out loud, because he gives you a small smile, then carries you all the way to your bedroom.

he fucks you slow and deep tonight, letting you rest on your back as he held your legs over his waist. you're mewling in reaction, biting down on the inside of your wrist to keep the embarrassment at bay. nanami's being so devious, fucking you like this. he knows it'd take you longer to cum, but he wants that.

he wanted to savor this. you. all of it. all he can do as he stares down at you is admire. he loves the way your breasts rise and fall with each shaky breath. he loves the way your neck dips every time he hits that spot or touches you there.

inside of your warmth is home for him. he just loves you so fucking much that you're the only thing on his mind when he cums alongside you.

he even thinks his left eye drops a tear when he collapses in bed with you. though, he'd never, ever admit it.

then, he kisses the top of your head as you drift away into spinning dreams and whispers:

"god, what did i ever do before you?"

[hvnlygrl]

rafe Cameron has started blowing off gf!reader to hangout with his friends like cancelling plans last minute, leaving in the middle of a date, and just ignoring/neglecting her when all she wants is to just spend time with him. And it makes her so sad and insecure and she finally confronts him when he tries to leave their plans and she says "if you don't want me anymore please just say it and stop stringing me along" and just breaks down and he feels terrible, she's the love of his life and he didn't realize what he had been doing and makes it up to her with cuddles gifts breakfast in bed and maybeee some smut

strung along the line.

pairing — rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count — 1.2k

warnings — lotta hurt lotta comfort, near-break up, make-up, fluff

synopsis — after rafe stops putting in enough effort into your relationship, you confront him about stringing you along.

notes — ugh my heart. why are boys so stupid sometimes.

the first time it happened, it stung a little, but you were sure it wasn’t on purpose. rafe didn’t show up to the date, leaving you to sit in the parking lot of the restaurant, tears streaming down your cheeks. it was more disappointment than anything else, but rafe chalked it up to getting caught up with topper and kelce at the paintball place, the date completely slipping his mind. 

you left it at that, opting to give him another chance. he missed that one too, his excuse being something to do with ward and some kook bullshit you didn’t understand. the last time, however, was different. 

the two of you were in the middle of dinner at your apartment. you’d made a home-cooked meal you found a recipe for online, and the two of you sat at the couch, about an hour into a movie you’d been begging him to watch for weeks. he was there, but mentally he was somewhere else. 

it felt like every minute on the minute he was checking his phone or texting someone. as the movie progressed, you became more and more fed up. then you watched him send a text and then look at you, face screaming i hate to do this, but. 

“you’re leaving, aren’t you?” the words only amplify your anger. 

“yeah, the boys wanna go try out topper’s new wave-runners, can we take a raincheck?” it’s almost as if he has no idea how much this hurts. or maybe he just doesn’t care. 

you scoff, shaking your head as you stand from the couch. you pick the plates up from the table and walk into the kitchen without saying a word. you rinse the dishes and place them into the dishwasher, dropping a pod into it and hitting the start button. 

“babe? is it cool if i dip? they’re blowing up my phone right now,” he reiterates from the couch, brows raised expectantly. 

“whatever, rafe,” you shrug emotionlessly as you make your way back to the living room. you curl into yourself on the opposite side of the couch, wrapping yourself in one of the throw blankets as you back out of the movie and put on the show you’d been binging recently. 

“you mad at me?” he asks, confused. 

you let out a wry laugh at that, cutting a glare at him. “what do you think, rafe?” 

“i don’t get why you’re mad, though?” 

“i’m not mad, rafe,” you look at him, eyes watering, “if you don’t wanna be here anymore i’m not gonna hold you hostage.” 

“what?” he cocks his head back at that, “what are you talking about?” 

“dude,” you scoff, “it just feels like you want nothing to do with me anymore. like every time we have a date or try to hang out you either leave early or just don’t show up and i just-” you can't help the way your voice cracks, “i just can’t keep waiting around for you all the time, rafe. this is killing me, so if you don’t wanna do this anymore just tell me now, okay? stop stringing me along, please.” 

rafe’s face falls with realization, his heart clenching at the look on your face alone. “oh shit, babe,” he starts, expression riddled with regret and agony. “fuck, i’m so sorry, i-i’ve been such a terrible boyfriend lately. it’s not you, i promise you that, i don’t know why i haven’t been putting in enough effort, i just have been so carried away with kelce and topper that i haven’t even noticed what i’ve been doing to you. i’m so sorry, baby. i do wanna be here, more than anything, i want to be with you more than anything.” 

his words send you spiralling a bit, tears flowing more freely now. you sob softly, hands flying up to cover your face. “i just don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“i know, baby,” he can't help the way his own voice cracks this time, “i never meant for it to be this way, please, please just give me one more chance. let me make it up to you, okay? i promise i’ll be a better boyfriend.”

“i wanna believe you, rafe, i really do,” you sniffle, shoulders falling in exhaustion, “but i just don’t think I can anymore.” 

rafe drags his hands over his head anxiously, “c’mon, baby, please. i swear to god, if i fuck up again you never have to see or talk to me again, okay? just let me prove it to you?”

you gnaw at the inside of your cheek for a bit, eyes locked on his bright blue irises. “fine. but don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“i swear i won’t,” he holds his pinky out to yours, waiting for you to link your own pinky with his. once you do, he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your soft skin. 

he texts topper and kelce, telling them to fuck off since he’s at dinner with his girl, and puts his phone on do not disturb. he cuddles into you on the couch, pulling your head onto his chest while his ringed hand rubs soft shapes onto your back. “i love you,” he hums into your scalp before pressing a kiss onto the hair.

“i love you, rafe,” you mutter back, heart panging at his words but aching to believe that it’s true. “more than anything.” 

“more than everything,” rafe retorts before pulling you tighter into his chest, nearly suffocating you in a hug. “i really am sorry.” 

you nod against his chest, feeling the tears well up in your eyes again. you desperately blink them away, hand gripping his t-shirt tightly as you control your breathing. 

you aren’t entirely sure when you fell asleep, or when rafe moved you to your bed. you woke up to the smell of bacon, eggs, and maple syrup. you pulled the charger from your phone and checked the time, a glaring 7:45 shining back at you. 

you scrolled on your phone for a few minutes before rafe made his way to the room with a tray of fruit, tiny pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs, just like you liked them. he even went to the store to get you more of your favorite breakfast drink; cranberry juice. 

“bon appetit,” he grinned at you as he placed the tray in your lap. 

“oh my god, rafe, when did you have time to do all this?” you look at him tenderly, heart fluttering at the time and energy he put into your meal. 

“i couldn’t sleep so I went to the store and got some stuff for breakfast,” he shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. “it’s no biggie, plus I know you don’t eat unless someone feeds you most of the time.” 

“that’s an exaggeration,” you huff, “i'm just not hungry most of the time.” 

“yea, well, you still gotta eat, babe,” he shrugs again as he scooches in next to you. “how is it?”

“it looks amazing,” you can practically hear your stomach growling at you just from the smell of the food, much less the sight. after taking a bite of everything on your plate, you look at him, nodding in approval, “it’s delicious.” 

“good,” rafe smiles at you, “i’m glad.” 

once you finish the meal, rafe takes your dishes from you and spends a few minutes in the kitchen as he cleans his mess. once he comes back, he gets comfortable next to you, this time letting you lay your head on his lap as he turns your favorite show on. 

“thank you, rafey,” you hum happily. 

“of course, baby,” he gives your bicep a tender squeeze, “anything for my girl.” 

-> back to masterlist.

rafe cameron taglist -> @lanasb0ngwater @wintersoldierenthusiastt

[fastandcarlos]

On The Mend : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: with your lack of presence in the paddock, fans are starting to worry, little do they know that you happen to be a little broken back at home

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 849,183 others

oscarpiastri: another successful week of racing, super proud of the whole team to get the car all the way to P2 this weekend 🏆🏎️

35,058 comments

username1: congratulations oscar, such an awesome drive!!

username2: just a shame that yn wasn’t there to see it once again 🙄

landonorris: so proud of you osc 😭😭😭

username3: surely they can’t still be together, she hasn’t shown her face in weeks…

charles_leclerc: mum is very proud that the two of us were on the podium btw

oscarpiastri: @/charles_leclerc it was all thanks to her pep talk ofc

username4: we’ll still support you osc even if yn won’t

mclaren: the whole team is so proud of you, congratulations oscar!

username5: enjoy the celebrations, I’m sure the team will be there for you at least 🥲

danielricciardo: congrats brother, always nice to see you repping for down under

username6: either something must be seriously wrong or yn really just doesn’t care anymore 😭

maxverstappen1: hell of a drive from you, great to see you back where you belong!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername posted two private stories

replies

georgerussell63: thanks for reminding everyone I got a penalty yn 😂😂

oscarpiastri: make sure you’re resting, you don’t need to worry about the race sweetheart!!

ynusername: I’ve never missed a race of yours 😩

danielricciardo: why tf are you in hospital and why didn’t you tell me immediately so that I could help!!

nicolepiastri: sending you lots of love sweetheart, sorry we can’t be there to help you 💕

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

oscarpiastri: I promise to sneak you in loads of snacks as soon as I’m there 💞

lilymhe: I miss you so much, hope you’re recovering well girlie

landonorris: he’s on the first flight outta here straight back to you 🧡

carmenmmundt: sending you all the healing vibes in the world ❤️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, logansargeant and 812,948 others

oscarpiastri: wish me luck on the flight, some weird passenger keeps looking over their shoulder at me 👀

36,950 comments

username7: that poor pilot having to drive these two home lmao

danielricciardo: now you get to experience my struggle before you came along 😭

oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo idk how you ever did it 🤦🏻

username8: at least oscar has lando to celebrate with even though others have abandoned him

alex_albon: why else do you think we offered to take you home on our plane instead?! 😂

username9: i wonder if he's going home to yn being there or not

charles_leclerc: you're incredibly brave volunteering to travel home with him 👏🏻

username10: yn should be there with him, i really hope that they're okay

username11: what would we do without these two in our lives!?

maxverstappen1: we tried to talk you out of it but you didn't listen 🤷🏻

username 12: i love how all the boys are exposing lando as a terrible travel partner hahah

landonorris: stop trying to make it sound like we're not bffs osc 💔

oscarpiastri: @/landonorris that's because we're definitely not best friends

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, alex_albon and 793,722 others

oscarpiastri: seeing as some people want to make it their business, we thought we’d share why yn hasn’t been around recently. a couple of weeks ago she had a nasty fall at home which resulted in a broken leg. yesterday I finally got to bring her home and begin helping her with recovery…just call me doctor piastri from now on 🧑🏻‍⚕️💞

57,492 comments

username13: i hope all you losers who thought they broke up are proud of yourselves 🙄

landonorris: you guys know where i am if you need anything!!

georgerussel63: we love you yn, make sure you get plenty of rest ❤️❤️❤️

username14: sending you so much love yn, get plenty of rest

ynusername: apologies in advance for the lack of sleep you're about to get because of me 😂

oscarpiastri: @/ynusername as long as you're healing idc 🥹

username15: can't believe some of you were so stupid to ever think they'd actually break up

alex_albon: glad to see you're back at home where you belong yn

danielricciardo: do i even want to ask how she managed to break her leg??

oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo if I told you I don't think you'd believe me 😂

username16: poor oscar looks exhausted having to drive and take care of yn too

charles_leclerc: pls tell me I get to sign the cast ✍️

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc i'll save a spot just for you

username17: please make sure you take care of yourself yn and ignore what everyone has to say

carmenmmundt: sending you so many healing vibes yn, we miss you at the paddock

username18: during a time when they need privacy and instead they've been hounded by nosey idiots 🤦🏻

maxverstappen1: can't wait to see all the doctor piastri content from you! 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by georgerussell63, carlossainz55 and 682,058 others

oscarpiastri: the only way to get her out of the house atm is to bribe her with coffee ☕️

63,957 comments

username19: it's adorable how much oscar cares about her 🥰

lilymhe: tell her im omw with coffee as we speak to get her out again!

username20: it's so good to see yn back up on her feet and moving around again 🤩

alex_albon: i actually forgot what yn looked like stood upright for a moment

username21: why does it feel like oscar is one of those partners who is constantly checking on her making sure she's doing her exercises and following every single bit of advice

maxverstappen1: yn's injury is really making you look like the doting boyfriend rn ❤️

danielricciardo: if yn ever gets bored of being entertained on a walk by you, you know where i am!

username22: i bet yn can't wait for race weekend again to get rid of the nagging doctor 😂

landonorris: wish you looked after me as well as you look after yn

oscarpiastri: @/landonorris just a shame that we're not dating then really huh?!

username23: anyone else noticed how many drivers have been round this week to take yn out and make sure she's staying active too

username24: @/username23 i think she might just be the most popular wag on the grid

ynusername: i hate you but i love you at the same time these days 💞

oscarpiastri: @/ynusername if the doctor says you keep moving, it's my job to make you move 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 59,491 others

ynusername: I always knew oscar was secretly boyfriend coded but damn having him look after me is making me fancy him all over again 🔥

12,056 comments

username25: i think i might've just fallen in love with him all over again too 😍

alexandrasaintmleux: make the most of all of the attention you're getting girl

ynusername: @/alexandrasaintmleux oh I am, he doesn't let me lift a finger 😘

username26: soft, doctor boyfriend oscar might just be my new favourite thing

charles_leclerc: if i see many more of these posts from you i might just need a sick bucket 🤮

username27: yn you really are the luckiest having this guy in your life

carlossainz55: i always knew he was a softie deep down 🥺

oscarpiastri: you know i'd do anything as long as it meant getting you better again

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri you're an angel in disguise i swear

username28: i'd break my leg too if it meant oscar piastri was there to look after me 😂

username29: it melts my heart to see how caring oscar has been over the past few weeks

danielricciardo: even i found myself getting a bit excited when i saw these photos yn

username30: everyone needs an oscar piastri in their life

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername posted two stories

replies

landonorris: you're ruining oscar's image with every post you share these days 😂

oscarpiastri: there's nowhere else that I'd rather be

ynusername: we'll pretend you didn't complain that it wasn't race weekend first thing this morning shall we???

carmenmmundt: hope it's good news, lemme know how you get on!!

alex_albon: praying for you and hoping that it's the beginning of the end now 💕

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

danielricciardo: thinking of you guys, tell the doctor if he doesn't give you good news i'll break his leg 💞

ynusername: something tells me you might find a few challenges in doing that hahah

georgerussell63: you're so strong yn, just remember we love you

charles_leclerc: the whole family is hoping for good news for you and oscar ❤️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 70,238 others

ynusername: the moment i've waited for for so long, back in my second home of the garage and back supporting my love during race weekend

14,592 comments

username31: make sure you keep taking care of yourself yn!! 💕

oscarpiastri: cannot begin to tell you how happy i am to have you back with me again ☺️

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri the best feeling in the world being able to cheer you on again

danielricciardo: ik just how much this means to you, welcome back to us yn

username32: it's so good to see you right back where you belong again

username33: it feels like you've never been away, I'm so happy for you guys 🥹

charles_leclerc: on the mend at last, i hope you know just how many people can't wait to welcome you back this weekend

username34: we love our favourite #81 fan 🧡

iamrebeccad: i am hurrying over to that mclaren garage as fast as i possibly can rn ‼️

username35: so happy to see you back on your feet and back with our favourite duo again

username36: this is the content we've been waiting for, it's so good to see you back

landonorris: as much as i hate having to share oscar again, it's a joy to have you back 🙃

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[neptuneiris]

Back To You | (One-shot)

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (friend with benefits)

summary: you're always there, hoping for more. to be more. to mean more and something real. but that's not what he wants, always drawing the line. until… you just can't take it anymore.

words: 19k

sorry for the delay and also sorry this is too long. i won't promise anything next time 😅 and please comment, i want to hear your opinions, a reblog is also appreciated guys.

my masterlist • next part

warnings: angst, sex content, heartbreak.

The first time you met Aemond, it was in the same way everyone else did and in his main way of making himself known to people: quiet, calm and reserved.

If you didn't have friends in common, you know you would never have been able to get close to him. But it was your small group of friends in college that brought you together with him; Alysanne, Sara, Cregan and Jason.

From the beginning, Aemond seemed to exist in his own orbit.

While the others fill the spaces with laughter and conversation, he preferred silence. He is like a constant shadow in the group, always present but not fully integrated.

He usually didn't speak much in topics of conversation, but when he did, his voice is quiet, soft and even soothing that it was almost hypnotic.

And maybe that was what first caught your attention. Something about the way he was, that unwavering distance and tranquility that wasn't arrogant, but almost… carefree.

You understand that he befriended Cregan in one of the classes they shared together. And it was Cregan who gradually included him in the group, at the same time that Sara was also including you.

You soon noticed that, although he was present at meetings and outings, there was a pattern in his behavior.

He talked more with Cregan and Jason, not with the same ease with which they talked to each other, but with a ease that he didn't have with Alysanne, Sara or you.

It's not that he was rude, when you addressed him a few times, he responded politely, but his tone was always restrained, measured.

And not only that, you also notice that as soon as someone tries to get too close, invisible walls rise around him, high and impenetrable. And his selectivity with the people he surrounds himself with, or talks to, becomes all too noticeable.

Even in the group chat Alysanne had created, he doesn't say much. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all.

He never initiated conversations or left casual comments compared to the others. And when he did write, it was only when someone asked him a question. Sometimes days or weeks would go by without his name coming up in conversation.

And, at least, at first… you didn't think much of him.

Aemond was just another presence in the group, someone with whom you shared moments but not necessarily a connection, let alone a friendship, at all. You just kept in mind that his reserved and carefree attitude made him different.

Although over time, you began to notice certain things about him that began to catch your attention.

The way he kept his distance even when surrounded by people. The ease with which he glided through life without worrying about fitting in or pleasing anyone. And the way he showed no interest in being heard or belonging.

He didn't show his emotions and it was hard to read. As well as it was hard to tell what he was thinking about, if he was thinking about anything at all.

That made him even more intriguing and that was the way he inevitably began to draw your interest.

Not because you hoped to change him or because you wanted to discover some secret hidden behind his distant attitude, but because, without even trying, he stood out from everyone else.

While the others sought validation in shared laughter and endless conversation, Aemond didn't care about any of that. And worst of all, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, every time you saw him, every time you suddenly heard his voice, you felt something twisting inside you.

At first, you justified it as simple curiosity. But curiosity doesn't explain the way your attention kept coming back to him.

How you found yourself looking for him at every meeting, how you waited for him to speak, even if it was just to answer a simple question, and how, despite his indifference, you began to realize that you wanted him closer.

It also didn't help with how incredibly attractive he is.

Despite the scar down the middle of his face and the eye he doesn't have, actually being a prosthetic, he is beautiful.

An accident, Cregan told you, when you asked him, to get a little more information about him. But that was all he told you and with a tone that made it clear to you that he didn't even know that much. So you didn't press the subject.

Not because you weren't curious, but because you knew that Aemond is the kind of person who doesn't talk about certain things with just anyone. And over time, that distance between the two of you began to bother you.

You wanted to get to know him beyond the few words he shared with the group, beyond the occasional comments he made. So, one day, you decided to try to get closer to him.

Try to break down his walls with you.

A difficult thing to do, considering everyone knows what he's like. But not impossible. Or at least that's what you told yourself.

You have an advantage, considering you both belong to the same group of friends. But you know that won't make it any less difficult, still, it's something in your favor. The problem was that you needed an excuse.

You couldn't just show up and talk to him for no reason. You needed something that would get his attention so he would talk back to you to keep him. But there was nothing. There was no specific topic, no common theme or shared class, nothing.

But you would find it. You had to.

Until one day, you saw a change in him. So slight and so small it could barely be noticed. Anyone else wouldn't have even noticed, but you did.

A change in his cold and disinterested attitude, which was suddenly colder and more disinterested. He was more serious than usual. He didn't speak at all unless the guys asked him something.

And his look… serious and even annoyed, with slumped shoulders and as if he was more lost in thought than usual. From the morning, when he arrives on campus with his usual air of indifference, you notice that change in him.

And on a Friday, as the day goes by normally, you can't take your eyes off him.

At lunch, the group gathers in the gardens for lunch, as usual, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Jason and Cregan talk about their usual anecdotes, Alysanne and Sara laugh and tease them and he… completely silent.

Sitting at the end of the table, he has only a bottle of water in front of him, which he sips from time to time. He does not join in the conversation and gazes off into the horizon, lost in thought.

But his tense posture, hard stare and clenched jaw, you notice all that. You want to talk to him. Ask him if he's okay. But you don't want to bother him. However, Jason notices it too and thankfully asks him.

“What's wrong, dude? Aren't you going to eat?”

You immediately watch them intently.

“I'm not hungry,” he replies simply and without emotion.

“And why is that? Everything okay with you?”

Aemond nods without saying anything else. He doesn't explain, and Jason doesn't insist. Neither do the others. They simply continue the conversation as if nothing had happened.

To them, Aemond has always been like that; reserved, quiet and indifferent. But you know there's more to it.

The minutes pass and you don't know what to do. You think about what would be the most ideal way to approach him. But nothing comes to mind.

Then he suddenly stands up and tells Cregan quietly that he will be leaving for his next class. He doesn't say goodbye to the others, just hangs his backpack over his shoulder and leaves.

And it's in that instant that you make a decision.

You don't know if it's a good idea. You don't know if it will work. And you hesitate, as you watch him walk off into the distance.

You could approach him, ask him if he's okay. But you know he'll most likely pull your back out before you can even try. So instead, you pull out your phone, unlock the screen, open the messaging app and start typing.

'Hey, are you okay?'

Simple. Subtle. Polite. You don't look at it the wrong way. In fact, it might work. Still, nerves wash over you, actually not so sure. But you finally take a deep breath and press send.

Honestly, you don't know why you thought he'd respond right away. Or that at the very least, his response would come in maybe ten or fifteen minutes.

By the time night falls and you're lying in your bed, rolling through your social media and no new messages, you begin to accept that he won't reply. And that he probably just ignored the message because he's not the least bit interested.

You sigh and put your phone aside, trying to push the topic out of your mind. But just as sleep begins to grip you, the vibration of your phone startles you.

You pick up the device quickly, a spark of hope lighting up your chest, only to have it shut off abruptly when you read his reply.

'Who are you?'

Embarrassment hits you so hard you feel heat rise to your face.

Disillusion and disappointment that he doesn't even have you in his contacts. You mean… you both belong to the same group of friends and you're both in the same group chat. And he doesn't have your number?

You bite the inside of your cheek, seriously considering not saying anything else to him and pretending this never happened.

But after staring at the message for a few long minutes, you let go of the humiliation and reply in the hope that he'll get back to you in a few minutes and not until tomorrow.

'I'm Y/N.'

A few minutes pass, at most three, but you feel them eternal. All is silence, until his next message comes through.

'Why do you ask that?'

You press your lips together, rereading the screen. It could be genuine curiosity… or it could be his way of making you feel even more out of place. But you don't take it back. Not this time and not anymore.

So you sigh, settle better in bed and decide to be honest.

'Well, I saw you really off today and I just wanted to make sure you're okay.'

The 'read' indicator almost to the second, makes your heart skip a beat. And you watch, expecting to see the 'typing' later.

But seconds pass and nothing. And you watch your screen more intently, as if that will magically make him decide to write you when you want him to. And when you see that he has left you on read, again the embarrassment invades you.

When suddenly, the ´typing´ appears and your heart skips a beat. And finally, his reply.

'I'm fine.'

Two words. Nothing more.

You bite your lip, reading the message over and over, not entirely what you expected and increasingly convinced that this is going to be harder than you thought.

It's not a closed response, but it's not an invitation to continue the conversation either. You could leave it at that. Decide that you did your part and that, if he doesn't want to talk, you can't force him.

But something in you is resisting. You don't want to leave it at that even though you know you're going to be disappointed and that this, his attitude, won't change overnight.

But at least you can be honest. So you write and send the message before you regret it.

'If you need someone to talk to, I'm here.'

And again, you wait.

Surprisingly, he reads your message within a second. However, disappointment again overcomes you when you read his immediate, curt reply.

'Thanks.'

All hope, anticipation and excitement evaporates from your body. You stand there for a moment doing nothing, thinking about what else to write him, wanting to be more sincere and show him that he's counting on you.

'I mean it. I'm here for you, Aemond.'

That's something you'd like to hear if you're not feeling at your best. Knowing that there's someone who cares about you and your well-being, too, would help a lot.

However, the minutes tick by and this time Aemond's reply never comes. Nor does it come all weekend.

You're hoping that at college maybe he'll reach out after the brief text exchange, even… thank you personally for caring about him, text him or something, you don't even know but you're hoping for something, anything.

But you had to know that he would remain just as distant and cold as always.

Disillusioned, you keep noticing that slight pain he seems to be stuck in but is trying to ignore every time you all get together, without anyone else noticing.

You watch him from a distance, attentive and hopeful, but disappointed that you are unsuccessful in every approach to him to initiate a conversation.

Even after the two of you spoke by message, he has no interest in talking to you in person. And he barely notices your presence, as if you weren't even there.

That hurt you, but you understood that it was about what's going on in his mind and whatever it is that has him so depressed, not because you were really the problem.

So during a meeting on campus waiting for the next class to start, everyone discusses their weekend plans.

“There's a party tonight at the Martell frat house,” Cregan announces excitedly, “It's going to be great, they always know how to make a good scandal.”

Everyone begins to agree to attend, sharing laughs and jokes about the last time they went to a Martell party, even Alysanne and Sara, already planning their outfits for the night, except for you and Aemond.

Parties aren't your favorite place, though you've been to several before and always manage to have a good time with help from the girls. And Aemond being quiet catches Jason's attention.

“You'll come, won't you?” he asks him as he gives him a friendly tap on the shoulder.

He shrugs, starting to take a cigarette from his pocket along with the lighter, not caring at all about the subject of the party.

“I don't know.”

Jason frowns, watching him blankly.

“You don't know?”

“Who doesn't know?” inquires Cregan instantly, listening intently and confused.

Jason points it out but Aemond nonchalantly lights his cigarette, while you watch the interaction of the three of them, but always focus entirely on him.

“But you always come over,” Cregan tells him just as confused as Jason.

“It'll be fun,” Jason continues, ”Besides, it's Friday night. What else could you be doing?”

“I don't really feel like going to a party,” he says, just as nonchalant as before.

“Oh, come on,” Jason urges, “We deserve it, you especially after the hell of projects we've had to submit. We need to de-stress.”

“And besides you'll be with us, what can go wrong?” says Cregan to him with his tone full of optimism, trying to convince him.

“Everything,” he tells him in his equally soft and low tone of voice as always, causing a chuckle between both boys.

“But it'll be fun, come on.”

He focuses his gaze on an unimportant point and you, listening to the conversation intently, feel that little spark in your chest lingering, watching him hopefully for him to say yes.

Then you decide to add your voice to convince him.

“You should come,” you say, catching the attention of the three of them, with your shy but firm look and voice, ”It might be a good distraction and it will help you clear your mind.”

Not exactly the best words but you try and feel your heart start to beat fast in your chest from nerves as you watch his eye meet yours.

But it doesn't last too long as Cregan speaks again.

“Yeah, dude. Let's all go together. I don't think you'll get bored but if you do, we can always leave early or switch parties, whichever is better.”

The three of them watch him expectantly for his response, to which he is a little overwhelmed by the attention. But he finally lets out a resigned sigh, feeling the weight of his friends' expectations, and nods slowly, lowering his gaze and refocusing on his cigarette.

“Fine,” he says in a low but determined voice. “But don't expect me to stay all night.”

The answer sparks a small celebration between Cregan and Jason, who pat him on the back and you avoid smiling big, pursing your lips.

“Great! That's all we asked for, mate.”

“It'll be fun, you'll see.”

Everyone else speaks again, except for him and you, as you stare at him for a brief moment, feeling the spark of hope grow bigger inside you.

Tonight may be the opportunity you need to reach out and create connection with him. Besides, it's a party, everyone will be relaxed and surely he will be too, so you can't miss the opportunity.

The night arrives and with it, the anticipation of the party at the Martell fraternity house.

As you approach the imposing house you notice the pulsating lights and vibrant music that can be heard from yards away, promising a fun and energetic night. With Alysanne and Sara, you see the groups of people talking and laughing at every corner, drinking and smoking.

And as you enter the house, the party is in full bloom, with everyone dancing and having a good time, with the smell of beer, cigarettes and even weed lingering in the air, causing Alysanne and Sara to quickly immerse themselves in the atmosphere, pulling you along with them very excitedly to where everyone is dancing.

The energy around you is contagious and as the minutes pass, you catch yourself laughing and dancing, where your worries momentarily fade away amidst the bright lights and pulsating rhythms, enjoying the moment.

Yet there is still that anticipation in you, that excitement as you look out the front door and in all directions, waiting to see him.

And in the middle of dancing with your friends, singing the songs of the moment at the top of your lungs and enjoying the energy of the whole party, just as your gaze briefly focuses on your surroundings, you finally spot a figure with silver hair moving through the crowd.

With a jolt in your heart, you focus your gaze and recognize Aemond.

He moves with a quiet grace, but his expression is a mixture of discomfort and determination. He weaves his way through the people, his gaze scanning the entire place, as if seeking a refuge or maybe a familiar face.

His posture and energy is oblivious to the frenetic energy of the party with his deliberate movements and nonchalant attitude.

And you continue to watch him, with the hustle and bustle of the party fading around you and focusing entirely on him.

You feel a mixture of relief and happiness at seeing him, relief that he has come and happiness that tonight you will finally be able to get close to him.

Aemond continues to approach the epicenter of the party, when on his way he finally meets Cregan and Jason, who greet him enthusiastically and hand him a drink almost instantly, integrating him into the atmosphere and enveloping him in their conversation.

Over drinks and cigarettes, as well as after some banter and laughter, Aemond finally begins to relax, though his movements are more restrained than the others. He would prefer less noise, but it is a party after all.

And you watch from a distance, seeing how the guys entertain him and integrate him into the party, noticing how his posture relaxes more and his expression softens, holding a bottle of beer in his hand and a cigarette in the other.

You know that now is not the time to get close, you want to let him find his own pace without pressure, so you stay in your place, enjoying the company of your friends and also the whole party.

Afterwards you join your friends for more drinks, they insist on taking pictures and videos together, you dance some more, go to get some fresh air because of how suffocated it is and when you look back towards the guys, Aemond is not there.

Cregan and Jason are there with some girls, but he especially is nowhere to be seen. You begin to feel a twinge of unease and start to move slyly through the crowd, looking for his familiar figure.

Until you decide to approach and ask for him or else you'll never be able to find him among all the people already at the party and the people still still entering the house.

“Hey,” you approach towards them, with a relaxed attitude, trying to look casual, ”Where's Aemond? I saw him arrive earlier.”

Cregan turns to you, smiling, while Jason blinks several times as if trying to remember.

“Oh, yeah, he went out a few minutes ago.”

“I think that way,” Cregan points to the backyard with a nod, ”Maybe he needed air or something, he said he'd be back soon.”

You decide to look for him discreetly, making your way through all the students, but the house is full, even more so than it was a few moments ago, with the heat and bustle starting to make you feel overwhelmed.

You think to yourself that he probably went to the bathroom, but minutes pass and being with the girls, you keep looking for him but he's nowhere to be seen.

And that's when you think about the possibility that he has decided to leave.

This leaves you with an empty feeling in your chest and you look around, letting out a long breath and inevitably already starting to feel disappointed.

You continue to scan the place in hope, but minutes pass and there is no sign of him at all.

“Hey,” Alysanne calls out to you, “What's up?” she watches you intently and with a soft smile on her lips.

“Oh… n-nothing,” you act casual, “I just need to go to the bathroom,” you point out, “I'll be right back, okay?”

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, no, don't worry, it's fine,” you assure her instantly.

Again you make your way through the students and head towards the stairs, hoping to find an empty room or a space with fewer people, since you don't really need to go to the bathroom.

At this point you already feel too overwhelmed with the music and all the people that keep arriving, making it impossible to walk. So you just want to breathe and have some peace and quiet.

Fortunately the corridors on the second floor are not so crowded, there are people, yes, but nothing like down there and you try to open the doors, cautious of course, afraid of interrupting some compromising scene.

Until finally the last door opens and it's an empty room, clearly decorated with the personal touch of one of the frat boys.

You sigh and close the door behind you, stepping inside, barely hearing the sound of music up to here and all the chaos. You plop down on the edge of the bed, trying to calm your mind and feeling the tension in your feet give way after all that dancing.

The minutes pass and although you try to distract yourself with anything on your phone, again the disappointment invades you and so does the thought, without being able to help it.

You have failed to keep in touch with Aemond and at this rate, it seems you will never succeed.

He is quite an enigma, very reserved, indifferent to the attentions that many girls in college would long to receive from him and that is what confuses you.

You think of his brother Aegon, whose behavior is the complete opposite.

Aegon adores the attention of girls, his adventures are scattered all over campus and yet, Aemond is a mystery, so secretive that even a simple friendship with him seems out of reach.

And these differences between the two brothers only add another layer of confusion to your feelings for Aemond. You can't help but wonder why someone like him, so aloof and closed off, appeals to you so much.

He won't even give you the time of day, he barely acknowledges your existence when you're in a group with the guys, his gaze barely rests on you, and whenever you try to talk to him, he barely responds and then brushes you aside with an indifference that leaves you feeling completely invisible.

Then why? Why do you keep trying?

You don't even know.

You get up and start walking slowly around the room, trying to calm your thoughts, not really knowing what to do.

You think maybe you should go back to your dorm, since you really don't want to go back down there with all the people and the commotion. But you know that Alysanne and Sara are still enjoying themselves and you leave alone.

You sit back down on the bed and run a hand across your forehead, letting out a sigh, when suddenly, the bedroom door opens and you look up almost instantly.

And then your heart leaps with anticipation and surprise.

Aemond appears under the threshold, his eye meeting yours and you both stand for a moment motionless, saying nothing.

He scans your face and the room as well, while you continue to stare at him in surprise, definitely not expecting him to appear here at all. And there's something particularly in his gaze that tells you he's also looking for shelter from the party. When again his gaze focuses on you.

"I'm sorry," he says to you, in a low, unconcerned voice, "I didn't know anyone was here."

You say nothing for a few seconds, but force yourself to react.

"It's okay," you say quickly, trying to sound calm, "Don't worry."

Again the anticipation grows inside you, this time stronger, mingling with unexpected joy.

He is not gone.

He is here.

And that rekindles the spark of hope in you, which makes you strive to keep your expression relaxed and less surprised, trying to look completely casual and act normal.

A silence settles between you, one that is both awkward and full of potential, to which you try to speak but Aemond speaks first, taking a step back and with his hand still on the knob.

"Am I bothering you?" he asks, his gaze studying you.

"No, not at all," you reply immediately, your words coming out a little more hastily than you intended.

This instantly embarrasses you and you lower your gaze for a moment, clearing your throat.

"I mean, no," you say more relaxed and in a soft tone, "It's okay if you stay. You're not bothering me," you offer him a small, tight-lipped smile, "I guess you want to hide for a while."

He looks out into the hallway, seeming to consider your words for a moment, then lets out a sigh, again watching you and finally enters the room with soft steps, closing the door behind him.

"From Cregan and Jason specifically."

You let out a small chuckle under your breath, wanting to create that light and easy atmosphere between the two of you by being open and relaxed with him so as to get him to loosen up a bit more with you.

You remain seated on the bed, as he walks over to the window and begins to pull his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket along with his lighter.

With a deft movement, he lights the cigarette, where the small flame briefly illuminates his features before a ball of smoke dissipates into the room.

He opens the window and all the commotion outside is heard more clearly, but not enough for both of you to feel annoyed with it, feeling the night air come in to envelop you.

And you continue to sit, trying not to watch him too much, though it's impossible, he is Aemond Targaryen after all.

Still you search for something to say as he stands in a casual pose by the window, smoking and watching the night sky.

"Are you all right?" you ask finally, breaking the silence, your tone soft and gentle, not wanting to seem intrusive.

He nods, not watching you, with the smoke from the cigarette wafting around his face.

"Yeah," he replies in a distant tone, but you notice how thoughts keep running through his mind, "I'm fine."

You omit to let out a long sigh as you gently bite the inside of your cheek and watch him silently for a moment, thinking of something else to say.

Even he doesn't feel your gaze on him, where you silently admire his straight profile, his set jaw, the high cheekbones, the line of his nose, his lips... all his completely beautiful features and so ethereal.

And yet, all those beautiful features have a weight of sadness and tension, where you can see how a tide of thoughts cross his mind that seemingly only you can notice.

You see his barely-there frown and the tension in his jaw, lost in thought, with the cigarette slowly burning away between his long fingers.

You are torn between remaining silent or trying to break the ice surrounding it. You know that your words must be carefully chosen, not pushing but showing your genuine concern.

So you think your words through very carefully and finally decide to take a chance, hoping that your sincerity might do something, anything.

"I've noticed you've been... distant lately," you say, in a soft voice, "More than usual."

He doesn't respond right away, but you notice a slight tension in his shoulders. He takes a deep drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly, his gaze still fixed on some point beyond the window, as if he's searching for answers in the dark.

Finally, he shakes his head and again responds without looking at you.

"It's nothing, just..." he is quiet for a moment, "Nothing that really matters to anyone."

Your eyebrows furrow slightly and you feel compelled to speak without thinking too much.

"It matters to me," you say in a soft tone, your gaze fixed on him, trying to let him see the sincerity in your eyes.

He slowly turns to you, finally watching you, his expression suddenly alert. There is a mixture of curiosity and anticipation on his face.

"And why would that be?" he asks you, his tone serious and slightly defensive, his frown showing his confusion, clearly not believing your words, "You don't even know me, nor I you."

The words that have come out of you so spontaneously now leave you vulnerable, but you can't back down. You feel a slight blush creep up your cheeks, but you try to stand firm even in your words.

"We're part of the same group of friends," you reply softly, your gaze fixed on him, trying to keep your composure, "We don't talk much, it's true, but I still care about you. Just like I care about everyone else."

He doesn't say anything to you right away. From a distance, he just stands there, watching you. The dim light in the room outlines the lines of his face in soft shadows.

You try not to look away from him, despite how overly intimidated and nervous you feel. And then, as if he is evaluating your words, he looks away and you see a small but visible smile curving his lips, to again raise the cigarette towards them.

"Is that so?" he murmurs and then takes a drag.

You find the scene hypnotic. The way he smokes. A simple action making him look so sexy.

And realizing you're making progress here, when you hadn't even seen him smile the way he just did, you decide to continue to be honest.

"I'm here for you Aemond, I mean it," you murmur, without hesitation, feeling the warmth of your own words. "Either way."

You watch him stare out the window for a few moments, taking another drag on his cigarette and then, he turns fully towards you.

His eye watches you with intensity and you see how there is an indecipherable glint. He tilts his head slightly, watching as he slowly sweeps his gaze over you, igniting all your alerts in you.

Still, you hold his gaze, despite the way he seems to evaluate you and make you feel exposed. He searches for the truth in your every word, as if he's waiting for you to take it back, to hesitate and consider what you're telling him.

But you don't.

Then, with the cigarette slowly burning between his fingers, with a nonchalant movement, he stubs it out against a piece of furniture in the room. And then, he moves slowly and precisely, towards you.

One step. Another step. And another. Each one filling the space between you until the distance is minimal. Until you feel his proximity and your skin bristles, before he even touches you.

Enraptured, you slowly raise your gaze to him as he steps in front of you. His knees brush lightly against yours and his fragrance envelops you, a faint mixture of cigarettes and his cologne that smells too good and intoxicating.

Your heart begins to beat quite hard and fast in your chest, not understanding what is going on. But you don't want it to end.

And being like this, in this way, makes everything even more interesting. You continue to sit on the edge of the bed, while he stands in front of you, looking at your face more closely.

The silence stretches and you see the curve of his lips lift slightly as he sees no hesitation in you. And when he speaks, his voice is low, deep and soft, infused with something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Either way?"

His words aren't just a question. They are a challenge. A provocation.

And you don't look away, as you watch him with your big eyes, not backing down. And then, you nod.

The blue of his eye seems to darken with your response, as if you've ignited something inside him. Then, he lifts a hand and with exasperating slowness, directs it to your face and his long fingers brush your cheek.

Holding your breath, you watch him curiously and attentively, as he tests the ground, your reaction. And then his caress becomes firmer. His fingers run along the line of your jaw, slowly ascending to tangle at the base of your hair.

His thumb slides to the corner of your lips, tracing the contour with a softness that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze, while you have to remind yourself how to breathe.

"Then say it," he murmurs, leaning in just barely.

Your throat feels dry. Your lips part, watching him completely mesmerized and unable to believe this is really happening. Your words get stuck, because in this moment, with Aemond so close, with his touch igniting every part of your body, you realize there's no turning back.

"Either way," you assure him in a soft, slightly trembling voice.

"And how far does either way go?"

He holds your gaze, that blue eye burning and as if he can see right through you, something dangerous and exciting.

His hand on your face is firm, but his thumb keeps tracing slow circles at the corner of your lips, almost in a distracted, shuddering caress. He is waiting, testing you.

"As far as you need," you murmur, without hesitation.

He tilts his head and suddenly, his free hand takes your arm, making you rise from the bed as his hand on your cheek is firmer, keeping you right where he wants you.

"So any way I need?" he murmurs, a barely raspy, enveloping whisper that seems to filter through your skin.

He leans in, until you feel his nose brush against yours. And you close your eyes for a moment, trying to contain the whirlwind of emotions he's nothing short of unleashing in you.

"Yes," you say in a whisper, trying to stand on your own two feet.

Suddenly his hand on your waist grips you firmly and tightly, holding you in his orbit with an ease that takes your breath away. There is no pressure, no urgency, just a silent possession that feels more dangerous than any words.

He leans closer to you, his face descending in a movement so slow it almost seems deliberate, as if he wants to lengthen the moment, as if he's enjoying the way your breath hitches, in how your lips barely part, in the way your pupils dilate as the space between you disappears.

His breath, warm with the faint trace of cigarette and mint, mingles with yours. Until his lips brush yours in a touch so ephemeral that it seems like an illusion.

A silent provocation. It's not an immediate kiss. No. He takes his time, brushing his mouth over yours torturously slow, as if giving you a chance to pull away, to stop him.

But you don't. Because you don't want to. Because you want him, so badly.

And when your body leans slightly into him, a sigh escapes your mouth before you can avoid it, needing him. And that seems to be all he needs, because then, you feel it.

His lips slide over yours with devastating precision, trapping you in a kiss that leaves no room to breathe. His hand on your cheek holds you by the back of your neck, while the hand on your waist pulls you closer to him.

He closes in a little more, tilting your face towards him as his other hand slowly slides down your waist, drawing you closer, eliminating any chink of space between your bodies.

The kiss intensifies as his tongue brushes against yours, soft, teasing, exploring with a patience and assurance that makes you shiver. Aemond does not rush. There is no desperation in his touch, just something darker, deeper, as if he wants to memorize your every reaction, every tremor of your body beneath his.

Then it's deeper and more demanding.

You have to cling to his shirt, to the folds of fabric between your fingers, because suddenly you're not sure you can stand without him.

And when he finally pulls away, just a little, just enough to look at you with that fiery blue eye, lips parted and breath hitching, you know nothing will ever be the same again.

"Tell me again," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead touching yours.

With your heart racing, you manage to hold his gaze and find the words to speak, when all you want to do is keep kissing him.

"I'm here for you, Aemond," you say, your tone soft, but confident, "Either way," you complete, without a hint of hesitation.

His gaze darkens. And then, he kisses you again.

And from that moment, that's when it all began. But only when you were alone.

There were no words about it, no questions, no explanations. The next day, Aemond behaved the same as always: serious, distant, impenetrable when you were surrounded by people.

There were no glances, no brushes, no hint that anything had happened the night before. But at some point in the night, he showed up. A short message.

A silent signal that gave way to the change in your relationship with him.

The first time you went to his apartment, there was no doubt or hesitation. He opened the door without a word and you walked in, feeling the warmth of his gaze following you closely. There were no words other than cordial ones and then there was no more preamble.

His way of touching you was firm, decisive, as if he had known you forever, as if he knew exactly what to do to make everything else disappear.

And in those moments, with his breath brushing against your skin and his hands roaming your body, you understood what this was.

It was just sex. But, surprisingly, there was something more.

Something that wasn't said out loud, but it was there, in the way his fingers lingered on your skin after it was all over. He wasn't asking you to stay, but he wasn't asking you to leave either. And somehow, that was enough.

That's how the dynamic between you began.

There were no explicit rules, but the boundaries were clear. The relationship was not based solely on desire, though.

When the two of you were alone, Aemond wasn't his usual self. He wasn't the cold, serious man everyone knew. With you, when the door closed and the world was outside, his expression changed. His barriers would crumble, if only for a moment.

There were nights when, after all, he would simply lie beside you, tangling his fingers in your hair in silence. He would tell you things he never told anyone, fragments of his mind that he rarely shared. And so did you with him.

It wasn't that he was affectionate, for Aemond is not that kind of person. But in the quiet of the night, when you were alone, he allowed himself to be something more than the impenetrable man everyone thought they knew.

In public, however, nothing changed.

He didn't ignore you, but he didn't treat you differently either. If you shared a room with others, he was the same old Aemond: observant, reserved, with an expression no one could read.

There were no signs of what went on when you were alone. It wasn't that he was ashamed of what you had, but he wasn't interested in letting the world know either.

And there were times when you wondered if this was enough for you. If you could go through with this, whatever it was, that existed only in the shadows. The doubt kept you up most of the night and distracted in your classes.

But then, there came the moments that made you forget those doubts.

When he had you against the wall or under his body, his mouth claiming yours with deep, electrifying movements, demanding and possessive.

There was tenderness in the small gestures, in the way he ran his fingers down your back after all, in the way he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear before kissing you again.

But all that only existed when it was just the two of you.

A delicate balance between what was allowed and what was not. A secret kept within four walls, where Aemond allowed himself to be more than just the man everyone knew. Where you are one of the few people he allows to see him as he really is.

And that, for now, is enough for you.

“Gods, Aemond.”

The sensation of his wet tongue exploring your pussy takes over every part of your mind and body. Your fingers grip his hair as your hips begin to roll into his face, unable to contain yourself and unable to stop the moans that escape your lips.

You let your head fall back against his pillow, closing your eyes and furrowing your brows in pleasure as you feel his lips suck and lick your clit.

Your thighs rest against his shoulders, as his arms spread you even wider for him, letting him see all of you. He feasts, tasting his saliva and your juices, unable to get enough of you.

Your whole body writhes, having no escape from his grip, as your moans and the sound of his tongue working on you fill his room. When a suck on your clit especially makes you shudder, feeling the reach of your orgasm sooner than you expected.

“Oh my—fuck, I'm gonna come,” you gasp, warning quickly.

“Yeah?” he asks you, pulling slightly away from your pussy, “Are you close, baby?”

You can't speak, just nod.

Then you throw your head back hard, moaning as his tongue finds its way through all your wetness again and one of his fingers enters you, further stimulating the arrival of your orgasm.

“Oh, fuck! Yes, Aem—

He watches you from where he is, still eating you, delighting in your expression and the way you squirm.

You bring both of your hands up to hold your breasts tightly, biting your lips and moaning loudly, feeling the heated pleasure hit you with intensity. He keeps sucking you, prolonging your orgasm, while you moan and see stars behind your eyes.

The perfect scene to make his cock harder.

He gives you one last kiss on your clit as you calm down and he moves up your body, bringing one of his hands to one of your breasts, cupping it and kneading it firmly.

His face leans toward you and he kisses you, letting you taste your flavor as he has so many times before. You feel dizzy, exhausted and overheated. But you know none of this ends here.

So you open your arms, embracing him as he makes room between your legs, never stopping kissing you.

“So pretty. So good for me,” he whispers against your lips with desire.

Hot and heavy, Aemond presses his cock against you, pressing it deliciously against your clit. You furrow your brows and gasp, still feeling the weight of your earlier, intense orgasm.

But you want more, more of him.

“Please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, ”I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? You want that?”

Everything about him is intoxicating, enthralling, dazzling and hypnotic. You don't think clearly. Much less in sex. So you just nod, needing more of him. Your pussy clenches around nothing and it frustrates you, so you grind your hips harder against his cock.

“Don't worry. I'm going to fuck you just right,” he tells you then leaves a soft kiss on your cheek.

Agitated, you watch as he removes his boxers and his hard cock slams against his lower abdomen. Big, pale and hot.

He reaches over to his nightstand drawer, grabbing a condom. He puts it on quickly and brings the tip to your folds, wetting it with your juices and slowly opening you for him.

The contact makes you shudder and you cling to his shoulders as he slowly begins to open you up. The sensation invades you almost instantly, intoxicating you, as he fills you to the hilt.

You watch him with your mouth open, as his eye bores into yours and he drops down for a moment to watch perfectly as the two of you join, hissing, staying still afterwards to give you time to adjust.

You've felt it many times before, it's not new, you can take it in completely. Yet it feels like the first time, every time.

And then, he begins his gentle back and forth, moving in and out of you slowly, at the same time burying his face in your neck, sighing as he feels your perfect pussy squeeze him.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps in your ear, sending shivers through your body, “Squeezing me so fucking tight. Feels so good. So deep in your pretty pussy.”

“Feels good. So good, Aemond.”

Then, he begins to penetrate you with steadier movements, deep and hard.

The air leaves your lungs, as you cling to his shoulders and hug him against you as you feel his warm breath against your neck each time he thrusts inside you again.

You whimper, feeling him keep up the steady rhythm, making you bite your lip at the delicious sensation that soothes the need you feel deep inside you.

“Oh Gods,” you moan, ”Oh yes.”

His onslaught is faster and more energetic, penetrating you harder.

“That's it, baby. Wrap your legs around my torso,” he commands you in a soft, but firm, deep voice, full of lust.

And you do, desperate to feel him deeper inside you. The sound of skin against skin along with moans and gasps are all you hear in the room.

“Yeah, just like that,” he croons in your ear, ”Good girl. Just for me.”

All he gets from you is that you squeeze his cock harder. And he speeds up his movements, as he steals your breath with each thrust.

Aemond grunts and leans in a little, raising one hand to grab the edge of the bed's backrest for support to hit your exact spot with more precision and you whimper, arching your back at the delicious sensation.

He watches your every expression pleased, digging his fingers even deeper into the wood and with his other hand your skin, enjoying your pretty sounds that you make only for him.

“Aemond,” you moan.

Resting your head on the pillow and moaning without caring about anything else, you collapse. You tremble beneath him, your eyes roll back in your head, and you explode with an intensity stronger than your previous orgasm.

Feeling the way you squeeze him, he speeds up his movements, his thrusts faster and harder, reaching his own orgasm. He grunts and buries his face in your neck, grabbing one of your breasts hard as he cums inside you.

He curses, as he drops his body on top of you, breathing hard and his pulse too fast.

Then, complete silence.

Neither of you say or do anything. You both try to regulate your breathing and calm down from the high. Then, he leaves a soft kiss on your cheek, with his hand holding your face to then begin a brief trail of kisses to your lips. He kisses you deeply and finally leaves a last kiss on your forehead.

It feels like heaven and everything about him completely consumes you. It drugs you and floods you in the way you don't want it to stop. And you deeply wish time would stop so you can enjoy the moment forever.

But then, he gets off of you and lies down next to you letting out a sigh. And suddenly, coldness. There is no more affection or the warmth he used to give you.

You cover yourself with the sheets and watch him almost out of the corner of your eye. You want to get close to him, to hug him and have him make you feel safe and well cared for after the act of intimacy, like before.

But before you even try anything, he reaches over and takes from his nightstand a cigarette, lighting it. He makes himself comfortable in his own way and takes drags while staring at the ceiling or a spot in the room.

You bite your lips and look away from him, having no idea what to say.

The smoke reaches your nostrils and you both stay like that, existing, saying and doing nothing for a few long minutes. Then you see the time and it's late.

It's dangerous for you to go home by yourself, even in an Uber. And by his behavior, you doubt that he will tell you that you can stay or that he will drive you home.

You don't want to be later so you let out a long breath and without looking at him, you sit up with the sheets on your chest and start looking for your clothes.

"Where are you going?"

His question surprises you and catches you off guard instantly, so you turn to look at him a little uncertainly as you tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.

"It's late. I should be going."

He checks the time too and watches you with a frown.

"Don't you want to stay?"

"Hum... I don't know," you shrug, "You want me to?"

"Yeah," he says nonchalantly, "You've stayed many times before."

"Yeah, I know, but... I don't know. I thought you didn't want me to stay this time."

He holds his frown as you watch him exhale smoke from between his parted lips, making a confused gesture with his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just thought about it," you shake your head, averting your gaze from him.

You feel his gaze on you as you bend over and pull on your shirt so you don't sleep completely naked. And he doesn't even tell you to wear his, like he used to a time ago.

He used to tell you that he loved seeing how his shirts looked on you and now... nothing.

"I'll drive you home in the morning. Don't worry," he tells you in that again nonchalant and... distant tone.

"Yeah," you murmur, turning to lie down next to him.

He lasts a few more minutes smoking his cigarette staring at the ceiling and nothing else, while you silently watch the features of his handsome face and the movements he makes with his hand and cigarette.

Finally he stubs out and throws what little is left of it in the trash, then turns off the lamp and begins to settle in next to you. He leans towards you, puts an arm behind your head and pulls your body towards him to sleep together, as before.

You place your head between his chest and neck as he wraps both arms around you and rests his head on yours, releasing a long breath to finally fall asleep.

For a moment, the action and the way you both are comforts you. His closeness and the way he holds you, makes you feel safe, comfortable, warm and makes those butterflies flutter in your stomach.

But you notice the little differences.

His touch is different, his nonchalant and distant attitude is transmitted through his movements and this... it felt like a mechanical movement, a movement caused by habit and almost forced.

It's like he has to, not because he really wants to. There are no little kisses or little caresses before bedtime while he holds you. Nothing. He doesn't make you feel the way he used to.

But at least he holds you.

And you settle for that, still with sadness in your heart and with the feeling that something has changed and you don't know what it is but, it gives you a bad feeling.

At least he's still doing these little things that used to make you happy. But... again, it's not like before.

You prepare breakfast for Aemond and yourself.

You woke up earlier than usual just so you could prepare a decent breakfast for him so he wouldn't go to class on an empty stomach.

You know that his classes start earlier in the day compared to yours and you have been listening to him take a shower for a while and now he is probably finishing getting ready to leave.

A few minutes ago you received messages from Sara asking you where you will celebrate your birthday tomorrow. You just had to tell her a place and she and the guys will take care of the rest.

You feel visibly excited about it. Although Aemond hasn't talked to you about any of that but... you are hopeful.

At that moment he appears down the hallway, ready to go to class, heading quickly towards the living room where his backpack is, shooting you a brief glance.

"What are you doing?"

"I made breakfast," you tell him, making him coffee the way he likes it.

"I don't have time," he tells you hurriedly, not even looking at you.

That makes you stop and look at him confused.

You shouldn't either, in fact, they are little things that anyone would tell you are unimportant but... you notice them and it sets off another alarm in you.

"Aren't you going to have breakfast?" you ask him confused.

"No."

"But you always eat breakfast even if you're late."

"I can't now, Y/N. My first class is important," he tells you again with that coldness and almost... annoyance.

You watch him for a few seconds without saying anything. And then you watch all the breakfast ready in front of you as you bite the inside of your cheek, again feeling that bad feeling and discomfort running inside your body.

"Go get changed so I can drop you off at the dorm in passing," he tells you, "I don't have much time. We have to go now."

Surprisingly you don't want to.

Normally you would have accepted without even hesitating but now...you feel like you're annoying him and you don't want to do that with this too. Besides, he looks very rushed.

"Don't worry. I'll take the bus," you say without emotion, leaving everything on the table and heading towards his room to change.

"As you wish," he says behind you, unconcerned.

A sharp pain settles in your chest and you try to control yourself, not wanting to overthink things, even though you are already doing so.

With the sadness inside you, taking your time, you change and improve your appearance just a little. Normally you would have taken a shower here too but now you don't want to do any of that. You just want to go home.

You're barely finishing putting on your pants when you see him appear under the door frame with his backpack on his shoulder.

"Hey," he says to you in a surprisingly soft tone compared to a few seconds ago, "What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"Huh?" you look at him confused and attentive.

"Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon?"

You think about it for a moment, not expecting his question.

"Hum... no, not yet. In the night it's just the hanging out with the guys."

"Yeah, I know. But I thought we could do something the two of us before we go meet them."

And then, again that little hope appears and every ugly feeling from before is replaced.

My birthday.

You think instantly, feeling hopeful and excited. Surely he has a surprise for you and everything you were thinking before about his attitude and behavior, surely it's just because he has a lot to do regarding his classes and it really has nothing to do with you.

"Like what?"

He puts on a small half smile.

"Just be ready at six. I'll call you and pick you up."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, sure," you nod, smiling softly.

"Okay," he murmurs, "I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah. Drive safe."

He leaves and eventually so do you, it being a common routine where you know how to secure the door to his apartment when you're the last to leave.

Despite attending to your classes and work, you couldn't help but think of a thousand ways and things to do where Aemond will probably surprise you.

You didn't talk to him for the rest of the day. You texted him once you got to your residence and your day was almost over but he didn't respond.

Then you took a shower, finished some chores and watched a new episode of the show you are currently watching. Every once in a while you couldn't help but check your phone to see if you got a message from him or if he called you, but nothing.

Until eventually you fell asleep.

And the next morning, when you wake up, it's your birthday.

You get lots of messages and congratulations from your friends. Sara tags you on many Instagram stories wishing you a happy birthday. Other of your classmates also congratulate you and you spend part of the morning smiling and replying messages.

You FaceTime with your parents and family members you haven't seen in months. Even though the vacations are fast approaching, you've already made plans with Aemond to stay with him.

You receive more congratulations from cousins, aunts and uncles, you also talk to your grandparents and answer more messages from your friends.

Until you look for a specific person, there is nothing. Aemond hasn't texted or called you. The message you sent him yesterday he hasn't even seen it and that seems weird to you.

But the day is just starting so there is still plenty of time.

You also remember that he has something prepared for you this afternoon, so you look forward to whatever it will be. You know he will text or call you later.

You get ready and choose an outfit that makes it clear that this is your special day. You do waves in your hair and make your makeup a little more bold. Finally you apply lip gloss and head to campus.

You meet your classmates, they give you their best wishes, your professors also congratulate you on your birthday and your day is potentially going great.

Still, the hours pass and Aemond still hasn't contacted you.

That seems weird to you. But it's still early. So you follow the corresponding schedule of your classes and keep your mind busy for a couple more hours.

You finally get an hour's break and take a seat at one of the tables outside in one of the many gardens on campus. You pick up your phone and frown when you see that Aemond still hasn't texted you.

Confused, and just to put your mind at ease, you decide to text him yourself, asking if he's okay. But the messages don't reach him, confusing you and drawing your attention even more.

Either he has no signal wherever he is or his phone is turned off, which is very weird.

You tell yourself that surely he must be busy and will call you soon. You mean... he has to, right? It's your birthday and he has a plan for the two of you in a few more hours.

At that moment, you run into Jason, Cregan and Sara, who lock you in a tight group hug, congratulating you on your birthday and making a bit of a fuss.

"How's the birthday girl doing?" Jason asks you, smiling.

"Great," you assure him.

"Did you get any presents?" asks Sara.

"Mmm… yes, from some classmates," you reply with a small soft smile, "My mom also send a video with my little brothers. We promised to celebrate when I see them on vacation," you pause for a moment, hesitating if you should ask what's really on your mind.

But finally, you decide to do it in the most casual way possible.

"Oh and... have either of you seen Aemond?"

"I haven't," says Sara.

"I called him but sent me straight to mailbox," says Cregan.

"I think I saw him heading toward that building," Jason points out, "About two hours ago."

So he did come to class.

That's what your mind immediately thinks. But you don't understand what's going on with his phone.

"Yet he said he's going to the pub later," Cregan says.

"Yeah, that's where the whole group will finally be together," agrees Sara cheerfully.

Well, at least you know he's okay. And if he doesn't text or call you, you're sure he'll pick you up at your dorm like he said he would.

You linger for a few more moments chatting with the guys until eventually everyone heads off to their next class, hours pass and you finally finish your classes.

You quickly head to your residence to touch up your makeup and put on another outfit. You have exactly half an hour until six o'clock and Aemond arrives.

You put on your playlist of the moment and undecidedly start looking at all the outfits that are for the whole occasion. You don't know where Aemond will take you so you want to be prepared in case of anything.

You also make sure of your lingerie.

You recently bought a couple of new outfits and now seems like the time to break in a new one.

With Aemond it's almost a law that you'll both find the time wherever it is to obviously do... that. He's insatiable and goes crazy over every new outfit you put on and you really want to surprise him.

You finally finish getting ready and look at the time on your phone, it's exactly six o'clock. And excited, you wait for him.

Usually Aemond is very punctual. The time he says he will arrive, he arrives exactly at that time. But ten long, eternal minutes go by and he doesn't show up. And that really seems very weird to you.

Then fifteen, twenty minutes and he still doesn't show up.

If something got in his way, he would usually let you know. But you don't get a text or a call from him. So you decide to call him yourself.

Finally the call comes in and you wait for him to answer, relieved that his phone has a signal or is on, whatever happened. But he doesn't answer.

You call again, nothing. And again, nothing. Bewildered, you text him, telling him you're waiting for him. But nothing, he doesn't answer, doesn't tell you anything, doesn't even read them.

You start anxiously moving your foot up and down and call him a couple more times, but he doesn't answer. And that's what happens for over an hour, waiting for him to call you or say something, anything, but nothing.

Feelings of disappointment, sadness and anger wash over you. You plop down on your bed and continue to stare at your phone waiting for something, anything, with a bitter look on your face. But, again and as lately, nothing.

He hasn't even said happy birthday. He hasn't said anything at all. And the plan for both of you, completely forgotten.

When then, a terrible realization begins to dawn on you.

He maybe...?

No.

You immediately say to yourself, in denial.

He hasn't forgotten your birthday. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that to you. He couldn't.

Frustrated, you let out a long breath as the thought begins to creep deeper and deeper into your mind. Not leaving you alone and wanting to convince you that's exactly what happened. Or else he would have responded to your message from this morning and you both would be together right now.

But you tell yourself that maybe something happened. Something he didn't plan for. Maybe something important and he can't communicate it now, but eventually he will.

You're sure he wouldn't do something like this to you, so it must be something unexpected and important.

You chase away all the negative things you're thinking and think about Cregan saying he's going to the pub anyway. You know that right there he'll give you an explanation and make it up to you, you're pretty sure.

So you wait for the time you agreed to show up at the pub with Sara, all the time still hoping to hear something from Aemond, anything. But nothing.

Finally he arrives.

His arrival completely steals your attention. You watch as he enters the pub with a completely disinterested and... resigned look on his face. As if he doesn't really want to be here.

This gets your attention even more but in front of the others, you hide it and don't immediately approach him, as if you haven't been waiting for him all this time.

Jason and Cregan literally rush towards him, while you sit there talking to Sara and your other classmates continue to talk and drink.

Sara is talking but you're not really listening to her, as out of the corner of your eye you watch him, talking to the guys with a tense posture and a somewhat irritated look on his face.

And after a few minutes, the guys practically drag him over to the table where you are, cheering him on.

The three of them take a seat, he specifically in front of you and all he does is give you and Sara a slight nod of his head in greeting and... that's it.

And that's the point where you finally don't understand anything.

He hasn't even said happy birthday to you. Nor does he give you the signal to both speak privately. He doesn't even seem to have your numerous missed calls and messages you left him in mind.

What's wrong with him?

He's looking all around, until the moment comes when, of course, he takes his lighter and his cigarette and doesn't even glance at you. He doesn't join in the conversation either. He doesn't really do anything.

And you start looking for the perfect opportunity to approach him and ask him to explain himself.

And you think it finally comes when he gets up and says he's going to get a drink, heading with dispassionate movements towards the bar.

But the bar is in plain sight and your drink is still full. So you start taking quick sips to finish it without drawing attention to yourself. Still, you watch him and are more confused when you see him with his back to you typing on his phone, waiting for his drink.

There's no way he hasn't noticed the numerous messages you've left him.

You don't understand why he hasn't spoken to you all day and why he seems to be ignoring you. You just don't understand anything.

And just as you're about to get up to go with him, he returns with drink in hand and a seriousness in his eyes that you haven't seen for a long time. So you last a long time at the table, talking to the guys, waiting for the opportunity that keeps not coming as time goes by.

You also talk to your classmates at the other table and from time to time you watch him, if not all the time, wanting him to look back at you but nothing.

He seems distracted, serious and irritated. Everything about him you can see and notice.

When suddenly he stands up without a word and you watch intently as he heads for the restroom.

The perfect opportunity.

From the tables where everyone is sitting, they can't see the small hallway leading to the restrooms. So you let a few small seconds pass, act all normal and casual, and finally get up and tell Sara that you will go to the restroom and will be back in a moment.

You do everything normal, although you don't really do anything inside the restroom, except stand at the entrance and listen attentively for the moment when the men's restrooms door opens so you can go out and bump into him.

And that's what you do the moment you hear the door open, hoping it's him and not someone else.

And to your good fortune, it's him. And he watches you the instant your figure appears in front of him, both of you stopping your steps.

"Hey," you say a little uncertainly, looking at him slightly confused and with nervousness creeping over you.

And he speaks to you with the most disinterested and cold tone he has ever addressed you with. His gaze cold and distant.

"Hey."

This confuses you even more and you decide to get to the point directly, needing to know what's wrong with him.

"Are you okay?"

He frowns, as if your question is absurd.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well... I haven't heard from you all day. I called you many times and left you several messages, but you didn't get back to me."

Aemond raises an eyebrow, as if he doesn't understand what you're saying and starts pulling his phone out of his pocket, seemingly unconcerned.

"You did?"

"Yes," you say, feeling more lost than ever, "I wait for you."

"For what?"

You stare at him incredulously and with all the bewilderment in your gaze, parting your lips.

"For what?" you repeat, not understanding, "Yesterday you said you'd pick me up at six. You didn't tell me where we were going and so I kept calling and texting you but you never answered. You didn't even let me know you weren't coming," you say looking at him confused, "Something happened or... you forgot?"

The change in his gaze is subtle, but you can see it. Something inside him softens, watching you silently, with realization. And upon seeing your gaze, he averts his gaze full of resignation as he takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face.

"Fuck," he mutters.

And you watch him the whole time, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"Sorry," he finally says, watching you and his voice deepens, "I forgot. I was busy."

You blink, watching him sadly and uncomprehendingly, frowning at him.

"You forgot?" you repeat in a mumble, shaking your head and shrugging.

"It wasn't intentional," he tells you in a more serious tone, "I was busy and I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you later, okay?"

But something in his words doesn't convince you, and you continue to stare at him with that look that begs for deeper answers.

"But why would you forget? Where were you?"

"I already told you I was busy."

"Yes but you were the one who told me that—

"I know," he cuts you off sharply, "And I forgot because, for the fourth time, I was busy. Now stop making a big deal out of it and stop whining like a little girl."

Pain flashes across your face as you take a step back, bewildered and surprised.

He has never spoken to you this way before. Nor has he ever behaved with you the way he is behaving now. You just don't understand. But then... again that thought comes to your mind as you watch him with your parted lips.

The realization comes and hits you to make you see the reality. And you watch it sadder and more confused than before.

"You don't even know what today is? Did you forget too?" you ask him with your voice cracking in disappointment and disbelief, "I-I... I just... I just wanted to know if you were okay and where you were. And I don't think it's fair that—

"Look," he says, interrupting you with a coldness and a look full of annoyance, "Just because we slept together doesn't mean you're my girlfriend Y/N, because you're not. Let's make it fucking clear to you once and for all and stop thinking you have the right to demand explanations from me that I don't have to give you. You're just a convenient fuck and that's all, do you understand?"

His words fall like a weight on your chest and everything around you seems to stop. Your breath catches and your throat closes as you stand there, not knowing what to do and unable to believe what you just heard.

You can't believe he, he, said that.

Not the Aemond who looked at you with that intensity that seemed to promise more, who always found a way to make you feel special, even if it was in the privacy of bed or in the shadows of your moments together.

But here he is, looking at you coldly and honestly, also with some annoyance, as if you were just another problem he doesn't need to solve, but to get rid of. And really meaning every word he says.

You don't say anything. You just can't. The lump in your throat makes it impossible for you to speak and tears burn in your eyes, threatening to fall.

You try to stand firm, but every second that passes is a struggle not to break down in front of him. When then, you hear Sara's voice.

"There you are!"

She exclaims, approaching with a huge smile.

"What are you doing? We're waiting for you. It's time to sing happy birthday."

You don't see it but the confusion in Aemond's eye appears when Sara mentions the word birthday.

And you nod, biting the inside of your cheek, instantly pretending that everything is perfectly fine and you weren't heartbroken just a few seconds ago.

You swallow hard, controlling yourself.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go."

She takes your arm and leads you along with her towards the table with the candle-decorated cake that all your friends together have bought for you.

Sara also makes sure to place your gifts around for pictures while you take a seat in the middle in full view of everyone and continue to hold your ground.

Aemond eventually approaches the table as well, you feel his closeness without even looking him, at the same time as everyone starts singing for you.

The room is filled with laughter and voices, with the hubbub of your friends singing a rousing and somewhat off-key version of 'happy birthday'. Sara is at your side, smiling radiantly, as the others raise their glasses, animated and happy.

And you... you smile too.

A wide, almost perfect smile that seems to fit the scene. But inside, you feel how every second that passes is like a knife pressing against your heart. An uncomfortable knot forms in your chest as you struggle to keep your composure.

Don't cry. Don't cry now.

You repeat yourself over and over, forcing yourself to keep up the facade. You know your friends are here for you, that they really want to see you happy, but all you can think about are Aemond's words and how he reduced you to something insignificant.

Your hands are tense, clenching the edges of the table as if that will keep you on your feet.

Your jaw aches from pretending so much, from holding back the tears that burn in your eyes. But, fortunately, you're doing a good job and no one notices.

However, you don't know it either but Aemond does.

He has come close enough to see your face. And although at first glance you look radiant, he knows you too well and something in your smile, in your eyes, tells him the truth and that smile is not real.

You don't see it, but you feel his gaze on you, so intense. As he purses his lips and continues to watch the scene, remorse hitting him with a force he didn't expect.

The last chords of the song echo as everyone applauds, cheering and encouraging you to blow out the candles. You take a breath, blinking rapidly to clear any sign of your emotions.

"Go on, make a wish, birthday girl," Sara tells you excitedly.

You lean into the cake, closing your eyes.

Your mind, treacherously, can't help but return to Aemond's words, again feeling the urge to cry. And yet, you make an effort to push those thoughts to the back of your mind, at least for now.

And finally, you blow out the candles.

Applause fills the space again, and you smile as everyone begins to surround you, offering hugs and warm words. When your gaze inevitably meets his.

He's still there, standing a little apart, watching you with a mixture of guilt and something else you can't quite decipher. He doesn't even try to come closer and you're grateful for that, because it's the smartest thing he can do now.

You look away from him and continue to thank them, doing the best thing you know how to do: pretend.

You laugh lightly at a comment from Sara, accept another hug, and even allow someone to smear a bit of frosting from the cake on your nose.

It all seems so normal, so perfect, but you know it's not.

Aemond is still there, motionless, watching you. And even though you try to ignore him, you can feel his gaze burning into you. He knows he has crossed a boundary tonight. He knows he's hurt you and you're like this because of him.

"Happy birthday, Y/N."

One of your classmates says to you as he hugs you. Then someone else hugs you and says the same thing, then another person and another.

But the voice you most longed to hear saying those words to you is absent and the emptiness it leaves weighs heavier than you'd like to admit.

But one thing is guaranteed and that is that you're fucking done.

After your birthday celebration, you went home earlier than you normally would have stayed to celebrate. But you just couldn't pretend anymore.

Aemond is the one who always takes people who live near him with him in his car. But this time it was Sara who did you the favor after telling her that you appreciated everyone's great gesture for celebrating your day but you weren't feeling well.

You received a couple of texts from him during the ride. Messages you decided not to read or you would end up crying with Sara in her car. So you stood your ground and made a promise to yourself that you wouldn't cry for him once you got to your dorm.

Obviously, you failed.

As soon as you finished taking off your clothes to put on your pajamas and started removing your makeup, inevitably the first tears started to fall. And then, you were a complete mess.

You weren't helped by the fact that his texts kept coming. And you had an idea what they were saying, so the very pain and bitterness deep inside you made you strong enough to not read anything, turn off your phone and go to bed to sleep.

But clearly nothing ended there.

You expected that he would later try to talk to you, no matter what.

So you did what you had never done before when it was about him and what he sometimes did when it was about you; you sent him straight to voicemail and didn't respond to any of his texts for days.

Y/N, please.

I didn't fucking mean it.

I'm sorry.

Can I talk to you?

Call me as soon as you can.

I know you're mad at me but I needed to talk to you, please.

That and more similar texts is what you've been getting these past few days. Days in which you have fortunately managed to avoid him on campus. And not just him, your other friends too or else he'll intercept you with them and you won't have a subtle escape.

And you don't want that.

You don't want to be weak enough in front of him to listen to his justifications and forgive him so easily. What he did to you, what he said to you… is not worthy of forgiveness.

You never realized before how insignificant you are to him and how he truly sees you. You are not even a little bit special than you considered him to you.

But that what happened, it broke your heart but it has also opened your eyes. You know you won't be able to hide forever. You also know that eventually meeting Aemond either alone or with people would be inevitable.

Besides, your friends were already starting to notice it weird that they didn't see you around, so you meet up with them in the usual campus gardens and act completely normal.

When Aemond also joins shortly after.

Everyone greets him as normal when he arrives and he greets them back with his usual nonchalant and serious attitude. However, you don't greet him. You don't even look at him.

You take the opportunity to do one of your homework right there, participating in the conversation from time to time but without being involved, just accompanying them and nothing more.

He takes a seat in front of you, where you instantly feel his piercing, burning gaze. You feel him silently begging you to look at him, to give him a chance to talk, to not ignore him anymore. But that's what you do, you ignore him.

“And how are your vacation plans going?” asks Cregan.

Inevitably, you tense up at the question. And the memories come back.

“Come with me.”

“Where to?”

“To Dragonstone.”

You press your lips together and more purposefully pretend to be completely immersed in your homework, when the truth is you hear the entire conversation.

“Where are you going?” he asks Jason.

“Sunspear, with my whole family.”

“And you?”

“I'm going home, Winterfell,” Sara replies.

“Winterfell?” repeats Cregan confused, “ You didn't say you were going to the beach?”

“Nope. I'll relax in the cabins with hot tubs,” she says with a smug grin, “How about you?”

“I'll go to the beach, definitely. I'm thinking Runestone.”

They go on to talk about their plans, places and so on. When they ask Aemond and you particularly pay more attention to that.

“You haven't changed your plans? You're going to Dragonstone?”

And his quiet, soft, nonchalant voice is not long in coming.

“Yes.”

And you continue to pretend. Pretending that you're not listening, that it's not a big deal, and that you secretly didn't have the same plan to go with him. And you're so immersed in it, you didn't think about the fact that eventually you'd also be asked the same question.

“What about you, Y/N? You said you had plans too.”

Shit.

You try to look like the question hasn't caught you off guard. And you quickly compose yourself. You raise your gaze to them, all but him, and speak with a nonchalant attitude and tone.

“Actually… no,” you place a soft smile, ”I'm going to stay here.”

“Oh really?”

“And why is that?”

Everyone looks at you in surprise and bewilderment. But, specifically, a burning, piercing eye watches you with more intensity than before and with a annoyance you can feel through your skin. Betrayal and pain, even. And honestly, it bothers you, too.

What was he expecting after what happened?

You try not to let it affect you, pretend he's not even here. And you deliberately ignore him.

“Maybe I'll visit my mom for a week or two,” you explain calmly, “But I'll stay most of the time here. And that's okay. It's no big deal.”

The guys give you their opinion and invite you to spend the vacations with them, somehow not wanting to leave you behind. But you turn them down politely, thanking them for their concern and saying that what you want is some time to yourself. And they understand.

And then, Aegon appears.

His entrance is, as always, loud and carefree. He wears a wide grin and a mocking twinkle in his eye as he greets everyone.

“Ah, look at this boring group alone,” he says, plopping his body down next to you on the grass.

Everyone waves at him, even you.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“The vacations.”

“Oh yeah, I can't wait. I need a break from all this,” he says as he lets out an exaggerated sigh and everyone in the group watches him with raised eyebrows.

“You? A break?” Sara asks him.

“Sure,” he shrugs, ”I'm a student too.”

“You've been drinking and going to parties every day,” Jason tells him amused, “What break are you talking about exactly?”

Everyone in the group laughs, even you, except him.

Aegon tries to justify himself, but even he knows he's a mess. When suddenly, his gaze fixes on you, raising an eyebrow and placing a smirk as if something has suddenly crossed his mind.

“Hey, Y/N,” he nudges you lightly with his shoulder, ”it was your birthday, right?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and nod with a small smile, trying to keep your composure.

“Why didn't you invite me?” he asks, feigning indignation.

Cregan scoffs.

“I invited you, you idiot.”

“Oh, right, right,” Aegon replies with a carefree laugh, ”I'm sorry I didn't go. I had another little party. Aemond was there too, wasn't he, little brother?”

Aemond's silence is immediate and deafening. He says nothing, and that makes the atmosphere suddenly heavy, for you.

And something inside you twists. And you look down at your notebook, trying to control your emotions and everything you're thinking. But you can't.

A party. He was at a party, on your birthday.

“And how was that party?” asks Cregan.

“Oh, fun, as always,” Aegon replies with a light tone. “They were our childhood friends, the Baratheons, the Tyrells, the Martells, and the Lannisters.”

Your heart stops for an instant.

Lannister.

That last name weighs on your mind like a rock.

“Yeah, it was really fun,” Aegon continues with a smile, “Even Aemond had a good time.”

The sound of his scandalous laughter fills the air, but is suddenly interrupted by Aemond's cold, cutting voice.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The elder only shrugs with a smirk and raises both hands in surrender.

“Oh, fucking spare me. You know how it is with him,” he says while at the same time starting to get up, ”First he's fine and then suddenly he turns into fucking Maleficent, like at that party.”

He waves a lazy goodbye as the guys wave goodbye to him. And you get caught up in his words.

Even Aemond had a good time.

Now you understand. He forgot your birthday because he was with them, with Cerelle.

A pang of pain runs through your chest at the thought of what that implies, of what probably happened between the two of them.

And whatever it was, it didn't end well, because afterwards he went to the pub and he was so distant, so quiet, so cold and so upset that that's why he said those ugly words to you and treated you the way he treated you.

Otherwise, he would have stayed with her and you wouldn't have seen him on your birthday.

Still, the betrayal in your chest is palpable and growing bigger. He still showed up, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't forgotten you on your fucking birthday.

You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears. You won't give him the pleasure of seeing you break. Not now, not here. Least of all when you feel his gaze on you, his gaze intent, fixed and more insistently on you now that you know.

With a new bitterness settling in your chest, you refuse to give him what he seeks. You keep your eyes anywhere but on him, resisting the storm of emotions that threatens to overflow inside you.

A few long minutes pass with the guys making any topic of conversation and that stare starts to bother you more and more, so you decide you've had enough and start putting away all your books and notebooks.

“I have to go now. I can't be late for my next class,” you let them know as you get up with all your stuff, ”I'll see you guys later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

“See ya.”

You settle your backpack on your shoulder and with your phone in hand, you start walking away from them towards your corresponding building.

And as you walk away, a notification comes to your phone, followed by another. You stare at the screen and your breath catches for a moment, reading the texts, from him.

Are you fucking serious?

How long are you going to keep this shit up?

You scoff, shaking your head slightly. You don't even open the chat to let him know you've read it. And in fact, with a bitter look on your face and a new hurt feeling, you block him.

The first week of vacation, you went to visit your Mom in Highgarden.

It wasn't a difficult decision because you knew a few days away from Kings Landing would do you good. And being with your Mom and younger brothers you knew it would be just enough to keep you busy and spend time with all of them.

Sara sent you pictures and videos of her time in the mountains of Winterfell, enjoying big cozy cabins and fancy hot tubs.

For a moment you regretted turning down her invitation, but as you laughed and played with your brothers, you were happy to be with them after so many months without seeing them.

You also sent him pictures of your home, the lake in the garden, flowers and the big woods, as well as selfies of you and your brothers. Through the group chat, Cregan and Jason also sent pictures of their vacations, both of them at the beach and tanning.

One thing you noticed, inevitably, was the absence of Aemond.

He usually doesn't send messages or pictures of what he's doing. But you assumed he would when he was in Dragonstone, maybe even a picture or two. But nothing. Complete silence. Just like you.

You blocked him from social media too. He has no way of knowing what you're doing and where, just as you have no way of knowing about him. And it was a kind of relief you hadn't experienced about him before. It was good to breathe and not be on the lookout to recognize red hair near him.

And the more it made you realize how much better off you are without getting involved with him.

In fact, you stayed home for more than two weeks. You couldn't help it after your brothers asked you to stay with them longer. Until you finally let Sara know you were going back to Kings Landing the next day.

It wasn't a hard goodbye, but your Mom and brothers were sad. You promised to come back, like you do every year on the next vacation. And finally you get on that plane.

It's not a long trip, thankfully. And when you land, surprisingly it's raining. The weather is cloudy, cold and perfect for welcoming you in to watch movies curled up in your bed.

So you order an Uber and soon you're on your way to your residence, letting Sara know of your movements at all times, just as she keeps bragging to you about her days in those comfy cabins.

As you arrive, the rain is still pouring down and you run towards the doors with your suitcase in one hand and the other protecting your head, even though you are already partially wet.

You enter the building, shaking off the water, and climb to the second floor. With your keys already in hand, you start thinking about what you're going to have for dinner and what movie will be the first of your marathon.

But then, you notice something.

Or rather, someone.

In front of your door, sitting on the floor with his head slightly tilted down, there is someone. Surprise forces you to slow your steps and your breathing quickens slightly as you recognize him, even before he looks up.

Aemond.

He turns his head towards you and his one visible eye meets yours. His expression is a strange mix between seriousness and something else… something softer, more vulnerable.

His lips are pressed together and the raindrops that surely reached him glisten on the ends of his hair. For a moment, you stand frozen in the hallway, not knowing what to say or do, with the sound of the rain out there filling the silence between the two of you.

You don't know exactly how long it takes, that you swallow hard and finally speak, taking a couple of cautious steps towards him.

“Aemond?”

He doesn't say anything. He makes what appears to be a defeated gesture and rises from the ground, letting you see his profile straight ahead. He has the same look as before, with his hoddie's cap pulled up over his hair and he leans against the hallway wall behind him, looking at you and nothing else.

You shake your head, not understanding.

“What are you doing here?”

You ask him in surprise and confusion. And inevitably, seeing his state, you shouldn't but begin to worry about him. Has something bad happened to him?

“You didn't go to Dragonstone?” you ask him later as you remember, feeling more confused than before.

What is he doing here instead of enjoying his vacation at his family's huge, luxurious beachside mansion?

And he finally speaks in his low, soft tone.

“No.”

You frown, only with his answer creating more questions in your mind.

“And what are you doing here? How did you know I was coming back today?”

“I asked Sara.”

You part your lips, confused.

“Why would she tell you that?”

“You blocked me from everywhere, Y/N,” he tells you in a low, obvious tone, as if he had no choice.

Confusion and anger slowly begins to creep up on you. But you know you can't be upset with Sara, not with her. None of the boys know what you had with Aemond, they didn't even suspect it then and they certainly won't now.

Surely she saw it as a casual question, something insignificant, as if he had asked her about anyone else. So you can't be bothered. However, you begin to feel the awkwardness, as well as the slight sense of betrayal in your chest. And the bitterness.

“You haven't told me what you're doing here.”

“I need to talk to you,” he says, taking a step toward you.

“About what?” you ask him instantly, confused and with a defensive tone, clearly annoyed.

Everything you have done regarding him, blocking him, not speaking to him anymore and walking away, is more than enough to make him understand that you no longer want to have anything to do with him.

And you know he understands that, so why is his need to keep doing this? Asking for you and looking for you?

You are sick of this situation.

And Aemond, noticing this, your look, which you've never given him before, before your birthday, is not something he's used to. Neither is your tone of voice and the distance you keep from him, when before you always wanted to be near him, almost all the time.

He feels more guilty and like an idiot than ever.

He lowers his gaze, trying to find a way not to keep fucking this up, to be able to talk to you, to let him into your life again. Then, just like he used to be with you when it was just the two of you, he drops his strong walls and for the first time, he comes across in the most honest and sincere way to you.

“I miss you.”

Your body immediately tenses as you hear those two words come out of his mouth. His voice, lower and laden with a sincerity you didn't expect, cuts your breath for a moment.

Your first impulse is to want to laugh, not out of amusement, but as a bitter, incredulous reaction.

And without saying anything, you watch him seriously, waiting for him to say something else, something that would make sense of his presence here, in the rain, in front of your door. But he doesn't.

He just watches you, his shoulders slightly down, and that vulnerability that he rarely lets show in him.

And seeing that you don't react, that you're still watching him even in that way, in that way he's not used to, when before it was a tender and loving look, now there's none of that… he hates it.

So he hurries to speak again, to explain himself, to make you understand.

“I know I fucked up. I didn't mean to tell you all that on your birthday. You didn't deserve it and I'm sorry. I was an idiot,” he says, ”But I miss you and that's why I'm here.”

You shake your head slightly, watching him earnestly and attentively, while at the same time folding your arms, in an attempt to protect yourself from the wave of emotions that threatens to attack you.

He looks at you pleadingly and you look at him serious, disinterested, with the distance marked and the bitterness still inside you.

“That's it?”

His face contracts slightly in frustration.

“Y/N—

“If that's all, you can go,” you interrupt him, quickly pushing past him with your suitcase in hand and trying to get into your dorm room as fast as you can to leave him behind.

But you knew you wouldn't make it.

His hand immediately takes you gently but firmly by your arm, stopping you and turning you back to him so he can see your face and speak to you.

“No, that's not all,” he tells you instantly, “I-I… I want things to go back to the way they used to be.”

“And how were things between the two of us before exactly?” you inquire, taking a decisive step toward him, “You want to go back to the whole ‘no strings attached’ thing? To seeing each other in secret and me still just being your convenient fuck and nothing else? That's what you want?”

Your tone is a poison dart, and you see him recoil, as if your every word burns him. His jaw tenses, but he doesn't say anything right away.

“Say it, “you challenge him, taking a step closer, your eyes boring into his, ”Tell me it wasn't just that. Tell me it wasn't just… that I wasn't just—

Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does. Because even though you're upset, even though you want to stay strong, it's too much. He still affects you even more intensely than he did before.

He looks at you, his lips parted, as the rain continues to fall outside.

“That's what I thought,” you whisper at last, releasing yourself from his grip.

You hold the keys more firmly in your hand, avoiding shaking, to insert it into the lock of your door. But he, not wanting it to end like this, stops you.

“You never said anything. You seemed fine with all of it. Now why the sudden change?”

You close your eyes tightly, no longer able to hold back the tears in your eyes. The bitterness, the sadness, the pain, the betrayal, everything stirs inside you. It hurts you and there seems to be no end to it, because again you turn to face him.

And seeing the tears threatening to run down your cheeks, something in his gaze softens, not expecting to see you like this.

“Are you fucking serious?” you say to him almost in a whisper in a shaky, bitter voice, “After what you did, what you said, how do you expect me to be okay to keep being with you?”

He lets out a long breath.

“Y/N… you weren't just that. You never were. And I… I was upset that day. And I shouldn't have taken it out on you, I know that. But I promise you weren't just that to me.”

You shake your head, not believing his words for a second. Not anymore.

“The thing here is, your words don't mean anything to me anymore.”

He takes a step toward you.

“I didn't mean to… I didn't think that—

“That's the problem, Aemond, you never think of anyone but yourself,” you interrupt him in a harsh, annoyed voice, ”Everything is always about what you want, what's convenient for you.”

He shakes his head.

“That's not true—

“Of course it is,” you take a shaky breath and your words coming out softer, but no less sharp, “ And even now, after all, you don't understand how much you meant to me. Because I didn't matter to you, ever.”

No matter how many times he tells you that it was not so, you will not believe him, because he did not necessarily prove to you before something that can prove his words. There are no facts, there is nothing.

And that same bitterness, makes you finally be brave, speak up, get it off your chest. So you don't let him talk so you can get it over with once and for all.

“You know what happened?” you ask, ”I got feelings. That's what happened.”

And there it is. You've said it.

Those words you never said long ago so as not to scare him away from you, how you knew it would happen, without putting you and what you felt first. But still, without having said it before, you ended up with a broken heart.

The weight of your words falls between the two of you like an invisible wall, so palpable you can almost touch it. Aemond seems to freeze, his eyes anchored on yours.

“That's why things can't go back to the way they were, because, of course, that's not what you want. What you want is an idiot who is at your beck and call whenever and however you want her to be.”

Your words hit him unexpectedly.

And the change in his expression is immediate. All the vulnerability he had shown disappears from his face.

And once again you are in front of the Aemond everyone knows; the cold, distant, serious and inexpressive Aemond. His gaze, once pleading and remorseful, becomes hard and distant.

His jaw visibly tenses and you notice how his shoulders square, adopting that defensive posture you know so well.

“Don't say that,” his voice comes out low, strained. “It wasn't like that.”

“It wasn't?” you inquire, pursing your lips, ”You said I was just a convenient fuck. I'm sure you can find someone else, then.”

Every word comes like poison from your lips, and though it pains you to say them, you know they're true. You see it in the way his face contorts slightly, as if your words have hit him where it hurts the most.

But he maintains that typical attitude of his, that mask of indifference he has perfected over the years.

You wait for him to contradict you, to deny it, to try to justify it. But nothing. He says nothing. He just stands there, staring at you seriously, jaw clenched and looking like he's having an internal fight, struggling against his thoughts, not knowing what to do or what to say.

And you again press your lips together, having enough of this.

”Get out.”

And he finally reacts, lowering his gaze and letting out a deep sigh, pursing his lips and looking at you again with a serious look.

“I can't give you what you want, Y/N.”

“But you do want me to give you what you want,” you say firmly and curtly, “Because Cerelle didn't, right?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can think about what you're going to say. But there it is, you've said it too.

His lips part, his whole body tenses, watching you in surprise and mild confusion, definitely not expecting that from you. And there, you leave him speechless, trying to understand how it is that you know about her.

And although for a second you look unsure about what you've said and regretful, you also decide that you're not going to keep quiet about it any longer. And you continue, with bitterness in your eyes and in your tone of voice.

“You forgot my birthday, because of her,” you say, each word like a dagger, ”You were late because you were with her.”

“How do you know about her?” he asks you instantly, his voice like ice.

You swallow hard softly, holding his gaze despite the pain it causes you.

Of course he would ask you that.

“I noticed something between you, when she went to the same parties as us,” you reply, “The way you looked at her, how your mood changed when she appeared and when you both disappeared,” you say with those moments replaying in your mind, still so present, “And then Aegon, drunk as usual, told me a few things.”

“What did he tell you?” he again asks you instantly, serious and thoughtful.

The rigidity in his body, the tension, is more evident now, as is the vulnerability and sadness in you as you talk about her. And you avert your gaze, with every word coming out of your mouth aching, but needing to say it all.

“That the two of you had a thing. That you're in love with her, but she's not in love with you.”

The muscle in his jaw tenses so tight you fear he'll break his teeth, his breathing grows heavier, and for a moment, you see a flash of raw pain in his eyes before the mask of coldness falls back into place.

“The worst part is that I've known that for a while now,” you continue, your voice cracking slightly despite your best efforts, ”I kept hoping I meant more to you than just your way of filling that void.”

For a moment, your mask of coldness cracks. But only for a moment. And you see a glimmer, of something deeper in her gaze. Guilt? Remorse?

But just as it appears, it vanishes. You notice how his hands open and close at his sides, a nervous gesture he rarely displays. His gaze again seems to search for something on the floor, before meeting your gaze again.

And when he finally speaks, his voice comes out lower, more controlled, as if each word is carefully measured.

“That was never my intention.”

It's almost as if the words hurt as they come out, as if a part of him wants to say more but doesn't know how. And you scoff, incredulous.

“Sure, you didn't mean to treat me as your second option and break my heart with every cold, disinterested attitude every time she came back to break yours?”

The silence that follows is heavy, laden with all the unsaid things between you.

“I can't give you what you want,” he repeats resignedly, watching you seriously.

“Then leave.”

“Y/N—

“No,” you interrupt him instantly, stepping back instinctively, ”I'm done here. I'm done with you. So leave. Don't come looking for me, ever again, do you understand? I don't want anything to do with you anymore.”

You are clear in your words. You're not playing games. You're not hesitating for a second. And you're being terribly honest.

Something snaps inside you, but there's also something starting to break free. There's no turning back now and you both know it, because this time, finally, you chose to put yourself first.

So you walk into your dorm room, while he stands in the middle of the hallway, not saying or doing anything else. And then you close the door.

AEMOND POV

There is something off… in the way you are no longer around.

It shows in the small details, the way you slowly disappeared from his life. In the way a message with your name no longer appears on his phone, nor a call.

In the way he was unconsciously so used to visiting you in your dorm or your going to his apartment. The way you used to fall asleep next to him in his big bed. The way you would make breakfast for the two of you before you went to class.

The way you both exchanged subtle glances when you were in a group with the guys or at parties. The way in secret encounters, stolen kisses in the shadows and passionate moments in his bedroom.

But there was also the way you always waited for him.

That's a thought that hits him with the force of a delayed revelation, something his own selfishness kept him from seeing before.

When he would ignore your texts or calls, when he wouldn't meet you, when he would cancel plans at the last minute, when he would disappear for days and barely be around, for her… for Cerelle.

Even on his bad days, after every fight with her, he would come back and there you were, without protest or asking for explanations. And then it was back to the usual routine; all secret. And casual.

He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. He looks at the clock on his nightstand; midnight. He can't sleep. His mind keeps him awake, because all he can think about, is you.

Since the day of your birthday, specifically, you've tormented his mind. Ever since he knew he fucked up, ever since you stopped answering his texts, calls, to ignoring him even when he was in front of you and leaving him behind, you haven't stopped rolling around in his mind.

He was supposed to be right now in Dragonstone, enjoying his vacation, like everyone else before the new semester crushes him with new difficulties, responsibilities and pressures.

But he decided not to go, because he couldn't. Because you were supposed to go with him.

He doesn't even want to admit how much that idea excited him. The two of you had made the plan, you were supposed to go with him. But when you canceled, without even telling him directly, it disappointed him in a way he didn't expect.

But he doesn't blame you. He can't. Not after what he did.

He's too proud though, too stubborn to accept it ending like this. He refuses to let you go, even when you've made it perfectly clear that you want nothing more to do with him. He can't help but seek you out, pursue you, unaware of the damage he continues to cause.

That's why he went looking for you. But he had already lost you, for a while now.

And he misses you. By the Gods, how he misses you.

He took you for granted, thinking you would always be there for him, even with his bad moods and his habit of taking it out on others, like he did on your birthday.

A growl of frustration escapes his throat as he brings a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes tightly.

The memory of that day haunts him like a curse. Not only did he ruin everything between you two, but he did it on your birthday. Your damn birthday that he forgot.

Guilt and regret flood him inside as he lies in his bed. And every memory, every mental image is a reminder of what he has lost because of his own stupidity.

How could he have been so blind? So selfish?

The silence of the night is deafening, interrupted only by the soft ticking of the clock and his own breathing. His eyes burn with exhaustion, but sleep refuses to take him.

Not when your voice echoes in his mind, repeating those words, “I kept waiting to mean more to you than just your way of filling that void.”

Suddenly, the silence is broken by the ringing of his phone. His heart violently flips in his chest, and for a moment, he thinks it might be you. His hands move with almost desperate speed to reach for his phone.

But hope dies quickly when he sees the name on the screen; Cerelle.

He stands completely still, watching the screen light up again and again with her call. And for the first time, something changes inside him. Instead of the usual anxious fluttering in his stomach when he sees her name, instead of that compulsive need to answer immediately, he feels… nothing.

Or maybe not nothing. He feels tiredness. A deep, overwhelming tiredness.

He knows exactly why she's calling. He can picture it perfectly, another fight with Aegon, tears in her voice, needing someone to listen to her, to comfort her. Needing him, not because she really wants him, but because it's convenient.

Because she knows he is always there, waiting like an idiot, ready to pick up the pieces his brother leaves behind.

“It wasn't your intention to treat me like your second choice? To break my heart with every cold, disinterested attitude every time she came back to break yours?”

The irony is not lost on him, he did to you exactly what Cerelle does to him. He used you to fill a void, to not feel so alone, so unloved.

The phone stops ringing, only to start again almost immediately. This time, however, he feels no hesitation. With a decisive move, he turns it off completely, cutting off the call and any chance of further messages.

He drops back onto the bed, his mind inevitably drifting back to you. It's as if he can't help himself, as if all his thoughts have a direct path to your memory.

He sees your face with a clarity that hurts him, the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed, how your nose crinkled slightly when something bothered you, the softness of your cheeks when you blushed, the way your hair fell over your face when you concentrated on something.

Your lips… the way they curved into a smile, how they felt against his, the taste of your kisses. Every detail of you is burned into his memory.

The silence of the night seems to taunt him, reminding him of all the times he could have done things differently, all the opportunities he had to value you as you deserved and wasted thinking of someone else.

He lost you because of his own stupidity, because of his inability to see what was in front of him until it was no longer there. For chasing an illusion with Cerelle while he had something real with you.

And now, it's too late.

thank you for reading!

[sirxlla]

Accidentally Hitting Them In The Balls/Them Accidentally Hitting You In The Boobs

Note: Not Proofread or Check Grammer (I would today but its my birthday and I dont wanna.

Dick: "No, I promise I can get it open. Just hold the bottom of it." He was helping you open a pickle jar that almost seemed superglued shut.

"Are you sure you got it, Hun? It's not a big deal, it's a pickle." You said as you held onto the jar as he pulled and squeezed at the lid. At this point, you weren't even sure you wanted a pickle anymore after such a hassle.

"You want a pickle, you get a pickle." He said as he pulled the lid off and somehow simultaneously hit you in the boobs. Your face turned bright red, as did his, you two were just friends, and he hadn't ever grabbed you like that before.

"Ummm...." He started to short-circuit like a phone that had been dropped in the kitchen sink.

"Cop a feel, why don'tcha?" You teased him, and his face got even redder. He liked you, but right now, he's trying not to burst into flames due to embarrassment.

"I wasn't trying to cop- I mean, I am a cop, but I- I- Um...Pickle?" He held up the fork with the freshly skewered pickle, and as you took it, he quickly put the lid back on the pickles and opened the fridge door before pretending to browse the fridge until you left the room. It took him about thirty minutes for the blood that rushed to his face to leave.

Jason: "No, tighten this one, Babygirl." He instructed you as you tried your best to fix up your Chevy Impala you found at an auction a few weeks ago.

You attempted to tighten the bolt on the bottom of the vehicle but quickly realized you grabbed the wrong wrench. 'Oh. No problem, I'll just get the other one.' You thought before you slid out and went to get up, effectively teabagging yourself with Jason's boys. You were trying to be quick so you hit them a little too hard with your head. If you asked Jason to recount it right now he'd remember it like those X-Rays you get when you play Mortal Kombat.

He groaned and held onto the hood of the car, leaning over it, just trying to handle the pain in his groin. He reached down to massage them, and you did your best to apologize, which you were doing profusely.

"I- Um....um...Ice?" You asked even though you knew the answer and you went to get up and slipped and elbowed him in the crotch.

"I'm so sorry! Jason- I-" You didn't know what to do and you didn't want him in any pain.

"Just- Just go get the ice!" He was lying on the floor at this point, gripping his family jewels like the precious cargo they were to him. You quickly ran off to go get ice, but there was none in the fridge, and you were scrambling.

"Ms. L/N, Can I help you find something?" Alfred asked as he noticed your panic and your watery eyes.

"Jason- knee- nutz- ice-" You were so worried and concerned about Jason that you weren't entirely thinking about what you were actually saying, but alas, Alfred put together what you were trying to say. He had gotten good at that after all of the boys and essentially him raising Bruce on his own.

"Ah, you hit Master Todd in the nads? Take the frozen peas in there, they will work better than any ice pack or ice cubes." He said as he directed you to the frozen lentils.

He shook his head with a bit of a smile as you ran back out to the garage. You leaned down next to Jason before gently removing his hands from his boys to place the icepack as softly as you could, holding them for him.

"I'm so sorry, Jay. I- I didn't know you were right there. I thought you were on the other side still." You apologized profusely over and over whilst rubbing his arm with one hand to try to calm the both of you.

"It's okay, I should've told you. It's okay, Princess. Deep breaths. Shhhh...I'm okay, it's okay." Jason knows you didn't mean to, and he definitely was not gonna get mad or angry at you for an accident.

Bruce: You're his assistant, and of course, being his assistant meant you're normally with him regularly when he takes flights, in meetings, etc. The both of you were on a plane, he got off the seats that turned into a bed, and it was all great until there was some serious turbulence. Bruce's hand suddenly reached out for anything he could grab. In this case, that was your ass that caused you to blush and clear your throat.

"Um...I'm sorry, Ms. L/N, I didn't mean anything by it. I- Not that you're ugly, 'cause that most certainly isn't the case; I don't believe I've seen someone so beautiful. I-" He stammers out as his face turns as red as the lobster he ordered.

"I um- sorry, Mr. Wayne. It's entirely my fault for not watching-"

"It isn't, don't take blame for my actions."

You probably sit down before taking a few breaths to try to calm the redness in your face. He's your boss, and you shouldn't be thinking of him this way right now, the only thing you would think about was what was underneath his clothes.

The same thought was on his mind about exactly what you would look like when your clothes were off and how he felt the soft skin of your ass underneath his hands, and how he would love to feel that again. The rest of the flight was silent between you two it was hard to ignore the tension that filled the two seats. After the flight, both of you took a car to the hotel and found out they only booked one room instead of two.

Well, it looks like you're sleeping in the same room as your boss. Even after you had insisted that he sleep on the bed with you because you didn't want him to be uncomfortable he still slept on the couch like a gentleman.

Tim: Tim asked you out on a date, and he chose roller skating even if he hasn't done it in years, and he's definitely out of practice.

"Come on, Slow Poke! I'll race you!" You said as you zoomed past him, skating backward, and the colorful lights lit your face in such beautiful ways. He's distracted as he fights his desire to just continue admiring the look on your face right now. If he could tattoo this moment on the inside of his eyelids he would.

You laughed at the traced look on his face, but before you both knew it, you hit the short partition that blocks the rink from the dining area, and his face was buried deep in your breasts.

He pulled his face from your breasts, and his face was redder than a firetruck, and he began to apologize profusely. You didn't even hear what he was saying with the song on the loudspeaker blasting in your ears. You gently grabbed his face to calm him because his embarrassment was turning into panic and worry.

"Hey, It's okay." You smiled and his heart fluttered before it stopped as soon as your lips pressed against his. His shoulders fell, and he relaxed against you, completely forgetting he had just mashed his face into your boobs on the first date.

Damian: Both you and Damian are drenched in sweat from working out. His black compression shirt stuck to his torso like a second skin, and the both of you ready yourselves again. He looks at you. You aren't even remotely ready, you're exhausted and wanna stop but promised him one more round.

Damian goes to flip you onto your ass, but you move, flipping over, and your face somehow ends up firmly planted into his crotch. You move your head and press your cheek to his thigh as you try to catch a breath. You can't see it, but his face is bright red as he fights the erection that his body is forcing on him, as well as the pain from your head hitting him in the crotch.

You can feel it forming underneath you but choose to ignore it to not embarrass you or him; it's better if both of you pretend to be ignorant of the hardness and pain. He breathes trying to put himself at ease.

Damian brings his hand down into your hair to comfort you and himself, more so for himself. The both of you calm your panting breaths slowly, not to rush each other.

"Teabagging myself on you wasn't on my yearly bingo card. You okay?" You asked as you took a break from training on your best friend's lap.

"I didn't imagine I'd have pants on." He jokes before his eyes widen like saucers when he realizes what he says.

"I- Errrr." He stammers a slight bit before quickly snapping his mouth closed again and continuing the silence between you both; you both lay like that until you fall asleep against his thigh, much to his relief. Damian, being the gentleman he is, puts you in his bed, and you wake up surrounded by his silk sheets and warm blanket. It's one of those blankets that just wraps you up like a fireplace; you look at the time and realize he's most likely on patrol now and decide to head to the bathroom to relieve yourself and refresh. Then you change into one of his shirts and socks before crawling back into those sheets.

Masterlist

Send me prompts if youd like.

[littlelamy]

the one where he wants you again

s2!rafe x reader

rafe was pissed at himself. was he really that dumb to dump you so quickly? you were his bunny, his princess; if he asked you to jump, you would ask him how high. you were his. he didn't deserve you. but, God, he wanted you so badly. he needed you not only for your perfect body but because you did what others couldn't. he'd never tell himself that he loves you, but he does.

it was almost like an obsession. something about you that made him needy for you. something that made you a guilty pleasure for him. you are the only one who has ever made him think of a future. marriage, babies, anniversaries. all things that meant forever.

but rafe was scared. he was scared that one day you'll leave him. one day you'll listen to others and think his too crazy to be with. so he ended it before you could. now his sitting at this party after 10+ shots thinking of you while your smiling and giggling with a damn pogue right in front of his face.

you made it seem like you were okay but you were feeling just as sad as him. but you'd never say it. you want rafe to learn that there are consequences to actions. it took a lot for you not to jump into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck and kiss all over him, but rafe need a lesson. you are a gift, and he needs to treat you as such.

"y/n you there," pope says snapping his fingers in you face. "are you still thinking about rafe." yes. "if you want him so bad just tell him, maybe he'll change." no, you don't know rafe. you say to yourself.

"he's special to me, pope," you groan, annoyed at how bad you want him. "i can't just jump in his lap and play house with him. he hurt me, pope," you say feeling those familiar eyes watching you. "but, God, he looks so good," you complain looking at rafe out of the side of your eyes.

rafe couldn't take it anymore. he needed his bunny back. "pogue leave," rafe says sneaking up behind you and staring daggers at pope. "kook business so go," rafe rudely commands.

"rafe, stop being disrespectful," you turn around angrily. "his name is pope, and if you need to speak to me, you ask me nicely and take me aside. but you will not disrespect my friend." you say, turning back to pope, who is shocked. "i'm sorry, pope, I'll see you tomorrow at john b's party."

"it's fine, y/n, I'll see you tomorrow," pope says, still shaken up, walking away. you turn back around to an embarrassed rafe, as you gaze upon him his cockiness returns.

"so just because i dumped you doesn't mean, you come to this party looking like that," rafe gestures to your tight, short white dress looking like heaven on earth. "i told you that you can only wear that when you come to parties with me."

"um let me get this straight," you start. "you dumped me two days rafe, two days before my birthday, with some dumb excuse that ward didn't want you to be with me," you say, getting angry all over again. "then i see ward at the country club saying that he loved that rafe decide to date me because i make rafe a better person. so if i want to dress slutty, i can and you cant do any thing about it."

before you storm off, rafe gently grabs your arm, pulling you to his chest. rafe was not going to let you leave this time. "don't do it, bunny," rafe whispers in you ear. "i messed up, baby. and i miss you. please don't do this," rafe pleads with his cool minty breath blowing in your ear. "please, princess, please." he's doing it again the begging thing that you love. everything felt so intense.

you fed up with the neediness pull rafe in by his neck and give him a quick but passionate peck on the lips. "rafe, you have to promise me, that you will try to do better," you order him, caressing the back of his neck. "i love you but you can't keep pushing me away," you say looking into his blue eyes.

rafe needs you. rafe wants you and only you. rafe gently nods his head, leaning down to give you another peck on the lips, mumbling an 'i love you.'

"come on, baby, let's go back to tannyhill and take a bath," you say to a love-struck rafe. "then we can talk more tomorrow, okay?" you finish.

"yes, princess, whatever you want," rafe agrees, pulling your hand out of topper's house. even though he messed up, you can't possibly give up on him.

[kamospeach]

plot: plug!ony wants to show a innocent girl how to really spend a friday night

content warning: drug use, black coded, driving under the influence, exhibitionism if you squint, bathroom sex, quickie, fingering, oral f!recieving, size kink if you drag it, standing, backshots

peachy's yap: wc 3.1k .ᐟ anything about ony will do it for me. hood nigga ony is my fav ony sorry not sorry.

"yeah, one of her closest friends. i told her i'd come get her but she refused to leave her friend alone at home." connie informed ony about you as they made their way to your house. ony shrugged following the directions on the navigation not too worried about you.

the two guys had a few drops to make before turning in for the night. connie's car was at home and he didn't feel like doubling back. pulling up to your house mansion ony's jaw dropped. connie nodded looking at him and not shocked by the mere size of your home anymore.

"she's fucking rich and she's a little sheltered," he warned him knowing how ony can get. he's not loud or super outgoing but he's very assertive and he's bold. ony just nodded watching you and sasha walk out of the front door.

"you didn't tell me she looked that good." ony hit connie on the shoulder and connie frowned up.

"why would i? that's my girl's close friend, she's like a sister." he shook his head as sasha and you entered the car. sasha leaned up to kiss connie before she went back to talking to you.

"y'all not gon' say hi t'me?" ony asked and sasha smacked her lips.

"you always beggin' for attention, hi ony," she said and ony looked at you and you cleared your throat.

"hi onyankapon," you said his full name and he shook his head.

"i know we just met but you can call me ony, ma. i prefer that anyways," he tells you and you nod giving him a small smile before turning back to sasha who slaps your arm. connie gave him a look that said 'really?' and ony smiled to himself.

the four of you rode around as connie and ony made their final drops for the night. sasha and you giggling and gossiping in the back. until ony heard something that piqued his interest.

"you've never been to a sideshow?" he said not caring if he was caught listening in on your conversation.

"no..." you said and he laughed.

"hey con isn't there one this friday?” ony asked and connie nodded grabbing his phone and keys.

“yeah eren and jean said they're going too," he said opening the door sasha followed behind him and ony nodded.

"they spinnin'?" he asked and your brows furrowed not understanding what 'spinning' referred to. while con nodded you looked at sasha who waved at you to get out of the car. you followed behind sasha and connie and they took you home.

over the next week, ony had invited you and sasha to tag along as they made their drops. you and sasha sitting in the back gossiping and watching tiktoks. while ony and connie eavesdropped on the two of you. connie adds his two sense now and then while ony agreeing or disagreeing.

when friday rolled around you were nervous. ony promised you that you'd have a good time and to wear a sweater or something. over the last week, you and ony had exchanged numbers and had casual conversations over text. the first time he called you was last night when he facetimed you to talk about the plans for the night.

-flashback-

frank ocean played on your speaker as you did your homework. you hummed to the song you were sidetracked by the new eye masks you had bought. after putting them on you put your focus back on your homework.

your music was interrupted by your phone ringing, expecting it to be your parents or sasha. you looked down seeing ony was facetiming. your brain scrambled making your hair was good. you answered the phone sitting it against your vanity.

"hello?" you said looking up at the phone and seeing ony eyes low looking at you. he was clearly in the car and smoke clouded his face. he licked his lips and smiled small showing his gold grillz.

"what you doin’?" he asked bringing the phone close to his face and putting his eye in the camera. you laughed at his silly gesture shaking your head.

"i'm doin' homework." ony nods grabbing the blunt from who you assumed was connie. they were best friends and if ony was with a group of people connie had to be there too or he wasn't going. although ony was bold and spoke how he felt he was a usually quiet person. he didn't speak unless he felt comfortable enough to put in his opinion.

"you still comin wit us tomorrow right?" he asked and you nodded your head quickly.

"of course, we've been talkin' about it all week," you tell ony and he smiles. you were excited for this friday you liked spending time with ony and you'd get to go out and have fun for once.

-flashback over-

you looked in the mirror one last time nodding at your outfit. it wasn't insanely cold since it was between summer and fall. you grabbed a purse making sure you had your essentials.

lip gloss. phone. gum. wallet. keys.

after you checked that you had everything you ran downstairs going out to ony's car. this time connie's car was parked in front of his but you didn't notice. you opened up the back seat not seeing sasha.

"you sittin' in the front with me ma," he tells you. you nod and join him in the front. once it dawned on you that connie and sasha were leading the way and you two were following behind them.

"i thought con and sasha were in here," you said looking at ony's side profile. he looked better than he did on the factime yesterday. brown skin glowing under the sunset his mustache and goatee combo. he was like a fine-ass black movie star and you couldn't take his eyes off him.

"i thought they were riding with us but con said he'd drive." he informed you and you nodded still staring at him. "starin' is rude y'know that right?" he laughed and you quickly looked away from him.

"i ain't mean ta stare." you clear your throat and he hums. although you didn't mean to stare you still did anyway. eyes trained on the way his arm covered in tattoos steered his free hand holding a blunt between his pointer and thumb.

he had on a loose white short sleeve with black graphics and black cargo pants. he had on a durag and a black and white yankees fitted and maison mihara canvas lows. he looked too good his golds shining under the setting sun.

the rest of the ride was silent while ony smoked his blunt and followed behind connie. when you all pulled up to the abandoned empty lot people were hoping out of their car. big speakers were pulled out and music began to play. car after car came in drifting in the small circle. a couple of people got hit which made you a little nervous to be as close as you were.

ony and connie had introduced you to reiner, armin, mikasa, annie, eren, jean, levi, and hange. you were shocked by the large group of friends you had never met in the 10 years you were friends with sasha. you all leaned on reiner's big pickup truck watching eren drive into the circle.

"is he good?" you asked looking up at ony. you were leaning against his chest as his arms wrapped around your shoulders.

"as fuck. lot of people come just ta' see him." ony told you and you nodded taking in your surroundings. "you good?" he asked and you smiled at him with a nod. honestly, you were enjoying your time here.

"you think i could spend more time with y'all?" you asked and he nodded.

"hell yeah, you're sasha's friend and you're my friend now so of course you can." he smiled down at you and you looked away too shy to look at him. some guy walked up to the two of you smiling at ony.

"wassup man you got that shit on you?" he asked and ony nodded.

"you know i do." he laughed dapping him up and taking the money from the man's hand. he handed him the bag and the man quickly walked off.

although it was legal ony didn't care for everyone knowing he sold. especially at a sideshow that was as crowded as this. he wanted to vibe out with you especially since he felt like y'all were feeling each other. he wanted to put 100% of his attention on you and you only. not selling to some potheads who couldn't spare an extra 5 minutes asking someone else.

your big mesmerized eyes were looking everywhere shocked at what you were seeing. ony smiled concedely taking credit for being the one to show you something new. he enjoyed how every time something happened you'd look back at him with a shocked expression. pointing at the car saying "did you see that?" "look at that car" "oooo that one's girlie!". he loved every second of your obvious enjoyment.

after the sideshow, the group decided to go to waffle house very original. it was going on 2 am and everyone sat around the table eating their food. eren made money and you weren't exactly sure how. ony made money too, that you knew how.

"i'll be right back you told the group and they nodded." you stood up walking to the bathroom expecting to see stalls you realized there was only one family bathroom in the whole restaurant.

after doing your business you washed your hands. you grabbed your lip gloss out of your purse reapplying as someone knocked on the door. you didn't answer initially thinking they'd notice someone was in here after they wiggled the locked handle. yet the knock came again.

"just a second!" you yelled and whoever was behind the door knocked harder. "i said just a second the fuck?" you yelled swinging the door open and seeing ony standing there, toothpick in his mouth.

"you yellin' at me ma?" he asked and you smiled backing up the closeness between the two of you too much. but it only made it worse since ony came into the bathroom with you locking the door behind him.

"nah, i thought you was somebody else. if you would've said it was you i would've let you in," you said and ony raised a brow.

"let me in? i really just came to talk to you with all those people around. been waiting to be wit just you." he said licking his lips at you making you look away from him.

"why just me?" you asked and he shrugged wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"i been wanting to kiss you since tuesday," he said lowly in your ear. you were taken aback by this confession since you had only met him sunday.

"kiss me?" you asked and ony laughed.

"you askin' or tellin'?" he smirked as your face was hot from his flirty comments.

"both," you said building up the courage to try keyword try to flirt back with ony.

"yeah," he responded to your question and then the hand on your waist fell to your ass. this reaction was a response to you telling. he kissed you like he had been wanting to do for the past week.

your lips moved fast and hungrily the sweet taste of syrup on his lips. while he tasted the cherry flavor of your lip gloss. the mix of flavors is sweet and tasty. your hands reached up grabbing his cheeks and pulling him closer to you. his other now on your waist.

"mmm." you moan into his mouth as his hands knead the fatty flesh of your ass. you pulled away standing on tiptoes to trail kisses from his lips down his neck. your hands going up his shirt running up his toned abs.

"right now?" he asked in shock and you knew what he meant not needing it to be interpreted. you nodded looking up at him with doe eyes. "i could take you home tho..." he said, breathing unevenly he was getting turned on by the minute.

"need you now, m'so wet," you whispered to him. ony was shocked by your boldness and your admission of needing him. he smirked at you picking you up and pushing your back against the wall of the bathroom.

he realized now that this wasn't a good idea since the one piece you wore had to be unzipped from the back. he let you down taking off your jacket and hanging it on the hook. looking for the zipper on the back of your one-piece.

"how the fuck do you take this shit off?" he grumbled and you were whining from being impatient. "i know baby i know i'm tryna find this bitch ass zipper. lucky we ain't at home i'd rip this bitch off you." he said angrily finally finding the zipper. he helped you out of it and hung it on the hook too.

"c'mere," you said wrapping your arms around his neck. he unbuckled his pants pulling them down. he couldn't afford to have a wet spot on his pants when you both returned to the table. "we only have 10 minutes."

"that'll do," he grunted lifting your right leg and squatting down. placing your leg over his shoulder he wasted no time pushing two of his fingers into your tight cunt.

"fuck wait." you moaned out and ony hummed. you hadn't had sex in a while and you were tighter than usual. the stretch from ony's fingers was almost too much for you to take.

"im thicker than this." he warned and the thought of his big cock tearing you in half had you clenching on his fingers. "oh you like that? you're getting wetter just thinkin' about me?" he taunted you as he fucked his fingers into you. your juices dripped down your leg and he licked it up. trapping your clit into his mouth as he ate you out so good.

he pulled his fingers out of you pushing his fingers into your mouth. you grabbed his wrist and sucked his fingers clean. his eyes dilated as he watched you in awe he knew he needed to feel your mouth around him. but you didn't have time.

with that reminder, ony spun you around pressing your chest against the wall. you spread your legs bending over enough that your ass arched. ony pulled a condom out of his wallet ripping the condom. he slid the condom down his dick rubbing the tip on your clit.

"ready?"

"yes." you moaned and ony groaned as he pushed himself halfway in. and he was right he was thicker than his fingers. the stretch brought tears to your eyes, and you turned around looking to see he was only halfway in. he pushed more of himself in and you whined pushing against his stomach.

"let me just get all the way and you can take all the time you need," he said leaning forward to kiss away your tears. you nodded letting him bottom out in you the tip of his dick kissing your cervix. you moved slowly as your tight cunt adjusted to him.

"m'ready," you told him and he nodded starting off with nice slow strokes. your moans were uncontrollable as he pounded into you painfully slow. "f...faster please." you mumbled and ony laughed at your plea.

"what was that ma i couldn't hear you," he said making his strokes even slower to antagonize you.

"faster ony please!" you yelp and he smirks loving the way you said screaming out his name and begging for him. and just like you asked ony fucked you faster his hips snapped into you. his hands roughly gripped your waist as he bullied his big cock into you.

"fuck baby this pussy s’good for me. so tight and warm." he moaned throwing his head back. he slapped your ass and gripped it roughly. his other hand followed suit. now both hands were on your ass spreading it open he fucked into you. he was hypnotized by the glistening of your essence coating him and the way you grip him.

his hips never slowed down as if he was digging the orgasm out of you. his groans were almost louder than your moans as he pounded into you. your hands flat against the wall as your body roughly hit the wall from ony's thrust. because of his fast pace and roughness, you were about to cum.

"fuck... on.... cum...." was all you could manage from the way his dick fucked you senseless.

"you cumming ma? yeahhhh good girl. tell me how good it feels." he groaned angling his hips to fuck you even better. you let out a squeal 'feels s'good' as his dick hit every spot that made you come undone. "fuck i'm behind you, cum wit me baby." he moaned leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"oh my god onyyyy..." you whined as you came all over his cock ony followed cumming into the condom. your cream painting his cock white as he continued to rock his hips into yours.

"so good for me," he grunted his cum still leaking out into the condom. he stilled in your as you both caught your breath.

"ooo shit," he grunted his cum still leaking out into the condom. he stilled in your as you both caught your breath. “gotta… hurry up,” he huffed grabbing paper towels and wetting them to wipe in between your legs. 

he cleaned you up and helped you put back on your clothes. he pulled up his pants and helped you get situated before you both were ready to leave. as you opened up the door reiner was about to knock on the door. his eyes wide looking between the two of you with a knowing look. 

“if i ain’t know no better i’d think the two of ya was fuckin’.” he said in his thick country accent and you looked up at ony who looked down at you. “i’m just fuckin’ wit y’all.” he laughed letting the two of you out to go inside and use the bathroom. the two of you laughed at that awkward moment until you walked up to the table. everyone was looking up at the two of you and down at your legs.

“shit.” ony mumbled and you looked down, there was a rip in the inner thing of your bodysuit.

“they was fucking!” eren laughed and mikasa hit his arm telling him to hush.

“we gon’ go.” ony said grabbing your arm as the two of you left out of waffle house.

“how did this happen? you took it off!” you whined as you both got in the car and ony drove you home.

“i mean i heard a rip but i thought that was the zipper.” ony grumbled and you snapped your head to look at him.

“you what?” you yelled and he laughed.

“oops?”

[bratbarzal]

for ur valentines blurb pretty please these prompts with quinn hughes ☺️😘

¹⁾ “you really planned this?! remind me how you’re single, again?”

⁴⁾ “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.”

⁵⁾ “i can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

idk why I give prompts and then continue to go off script but I honestly think I have a problem with being told what to do lmao. something about scripted sentence cuts a creative wire in my brain. THE SENTIMENT OF WHAT I WROTE IS THE SAME!!!!! I promise. also I like this one lmao!! I hope you like it too thanks for requesting!! and stacking the prompts is very cool gave me a nice little story to follow I love it!!! I wrote this whole thing and realised I didn't mention valentines once, but it's belated, so..... we're going to pretend it's okay I've decided on your behalf thanks love you

this ended up at 3.4k words lol - warnings for fade to black type smut, slightly angsty

Quinn: you coming over tonight?

A text from him has never filled you with anxiety like this.

But then again, for as long as the two of you have been friends, you've never actively avoided Quinn until now.

Monday had been one word answers, Tuesday had been emojis, Wednesday had been reactions, and Thursday had been radio silence, because he hadn't texted you, anyway.

It's not that you're mad at him. You wish you could be mad - wish you had any reason other than your own shame to be turning down all attempts at contact. But instead, all you can think when you see his name is how much you had fucked everything up the last time you saw him.

You: idk

And only because you feel instantly bad about how short that is, you immediately follow up with:

You: work has kicked my ass this week

You see the little dots keep popping up, and you're only torturing yourself to watch them come and go as he figures out what to say - how to salvage what you'd so carelessly made a gigantic mess of only last weekend.

You should really just say yes, you think - be the bigger person. Fridays have been your thing, all season. The day of the week he most frequently has the night off, and an end to your usually-hectic work-week, it has just made sense for the two of you to hang out, to make a routine of doing so.

Bailing on him is harsh, you know that. And with such a weak excuse too - you've had much worse times in your job, and it's never come between the two of you before.

And you know that he knows what you're doing. It's obvious. It's just whether he's in any mood to try and recover whatever scraps of your friendship still remain. Whether he even cares, anymore.

Quinn: please?

The two minutes it took for him to type just one word dragged longer than they ever have in your life, and you blink at your phone screen as you see the dots jump up again.

You chew nervously at your lip and wait, tapping your foot against the side of your desk and watching this time as it stays.

Quinn: I've already bought enough to cook for us both

He's such a guilt tripper.

You sigh, typing back and sending an immediate response, figuring a week of the bare minimum is punishment enough without blanking him or making him wait.

You: okay

A heart pops up below your message almost immediately, the reaction only worsening your anxiety at the thought of how hard keeping your distance is.

You: I'm finishing later than usual, should be there around 8

Quinn: ok I'll have dinner ready for then!

--

You knock on Quinn's door a little after 8pm - still in your work clothes, although that is usually how you come over, in your defence. Quinn loans you something comfy, and you usually change, but changing means staying over, and you're kind of trying to avoid all that again.

So when he welcomes you in, you awkwardly pat at his back as he tries to embrace you, before hovering around the kitchen instead of making your way back to his room.

He frowns a little as he watches you - he's in a hoodie and sweats, settled in now for the night with no intentions of getting back up once the two of you have eventually sunk down into the couch together - and waits a second to see if you're just on a delay, if you're just beat from work, like you said.

"I left a change of clothes for you on my bed," he says once he realises you aren't shifting, glancing quickly at you before he starts to busy himself with dishing up dinner.

"I'm good," you tell him, short, with a tight lipped smile sent his way when his eyes meet yours, narrowed in curiosity.

You're wearing a skirt and heels, for Christ's sake, and a blouse that's a little too restrictive around your shoulders. You've been in them all day, too. Of course you aren't good, and of course he knows that, but he drops it, a resigned nod and an awkward shift of his gaze back to the task at hand, spooning an assortment of green vegetables beside the rice on your plate.

You chance a good look at him while he's distracted - his hair soft, pushed back messily in a way that makes it flop straight back into place, and he looks a little tired, but he's had a long week, too. Back in training, pushing himself, dealing with a best friend who isn't reciprocating his energy. He's probably exhausted.

His jaw is clenched as he finishes the meal off, clattering utensils a little louder the longer you're quiet, and letting out heavy sighs when he's clearly growing more frustrated with how little you're giving back.

"How was work?" he tries, reaching into the draw and retrieving a knife and fork for the two of you.

"Long," you sigh, offering a small smile when he looks over to let him know that this particular instance of a short response isn't personal. You are genuinely exhausted - you'd worked an extra long day, just to get a major project finished, and, if you're honest, you're just ready for bed. "Glad it's the weekend, I'm probably gonna hit my pillow tonight and not see tomorrow."

The initial spark that lit up in his eyes when you started speaking a full sentence to him dulled immediately when he realised that you had all intentions of going home.

"You're not staying over?"

"I can hardly sleep here until Sunday, Quinn, that would be insane." Like you haven't spent consecutive days around his apartment, before. Like you haven't spent weeks with him back at his lake house in Michigan in the summer. Like the two of you didn't isolate together when you both got covid, probably from each other.

He nods, brief and sharp, jaw tensing again as he mutters out a bitter, "Right."

God, this is hard.

"Do you want me to carry anything?" You ask, trying to be helpful, just to make yourself feel better.

He wordlessly hands over the cutlery before turning to grab both plates on his own, nodding for you to make your way out of the kitchen for him to follow.

You do as he asks, holding the door for him so he doesn't struggle, stepping nervously behind him as he guides you through to where he's set the dining table up.

His curtains are drawn, a picturesque view of the nightlife of downtown Vancouver, twinkling city lights and the distant flash of vehicles passing by below stands as the most perfect backdrop to his set-up - the table candle-lit, a vase of fresh flowers in the middle, wine glasses and a salad bowl situated around the nice placemats you'd made him buy the last time the two of you went shopping together.

You hesitate when you get a little closer, eyeing up the setting reluctantly as Quinn places the plates in your retrospective places.

He's usually neat when it comes to his dinner table - usually likes to set things up so that they look nice, placemats, coasters. cutlery and napkins - but it's never like this.

"What's all this?" You ask, meeting his eye as he leans across the table to place down the knives and forks you hand to him.

"You said you had a bad week," he shrugs, "Wanted to do something nice."

He shuffles around you, the light placement of his hand on your hip as he does so jolting you toward the table, head swivelling to watch him disappear back toward the kitchen.

"You planned this?" you call after him, turning to look down at everything - a meal that he cooked, something nutritious and filling, knowing you wouldn't have the energy to make as much yourself, pretty flowers, and a calm, ambient atmosphere flooding the room. Your fingers poke softly at the petals on the flowers, lifting them a little to get a better look, mindful of the roses in the arrangement, careful not to be pricked by their thorns. "And you said you didn't think you'd be a good boyfriend,"

The latter sentence is muttered to yourself more than anything, a remembrance of something he'd said a while ago now - something that had always been in the back of your mind when you considered anything more - but your heart drops when you hear him chuckle from not too far behind, spinning on your heels to look at him, wide-eyed and apologetic. "I didnt-,"

“It’s fine,” he assures you, dipping his head but still keeping his gaze on yours, “Wine?”

He holds the bottle up in one hand, and your mouth goes a little dry at the sight of the label, mind going straight back to this time last week, when you had shared a few glasses with him. When things had gone too far.

Quinn's hands were holding you in place on his lap, soft fingers slipping under the hem of his sweatshirt that you wore, sliding up to press into the warm skin of your back, rocking you on his lap as his tongue swiped languidly against your own.

You couldn't quite tell whose mouth the taste of plummy Malbec sat within, but at that point, you didn't care - you'd both drunk enough of it to find yourselves in such a situation, you were at equal fault.

Not that any of it felt wrong in the moment, his hips bucking up as you straddled his thighs, your fingers clutching where his hair grew thick at the back of his neck. Quinn was humming soft, delicious groans straight between your lips, his own closing around your tongue as he sucked on it - all other bodily movements frantic and stuttered until he was repositioning the two of you, laying you back on the couch and gripping the elastic waist of your sweatpants.

It can't have been wrong - not with how easy it all unfolded, your hips lifting until he slid your bottoms off, his fingertips sneaking their beneath the hem of your panties - too drunk to care how sexy they might have been, never expecting to have to even consider such a thing around Quinn - all the while his mouth pressing firm, bruising kisses to your own.

"I shouldn't, I'm driving," you mumble, a soft shake of your head supposed to let him down easy, and to bring your senses back to the present, but his frown just deepens, the crease between his eyebrows now almost a fold.

"You can stay, you know," he tells you, pouring his own glass. "I don't care if you sleep until Sunday, it's not like you haven't spent the weekend before."

"I don't know," You sit cautiously in your seat, watching as he lowers into his own, face morphing into a hard scowl before he lets out a heavy sigh. "What?"

"It's like you've been making excuses not to hang out."

"Or maybe you've been making excuses to hang out," you retort, cringing yourself at how stupid it sounds, looking down into your lap as you place your napkin there so that he can't see the visible curl of your features.

"That doesn't even make sense," you know that, obviously, but you've been avoiding him for a reason - you don't want to have this conversation. You're not ready. "I don't need an excuse, we're friends, it's what friends do."

And God, you wish he'd just stop saying it. It's getting annoying now, your jaw tensing as you huff a short breath out, still keeping your head down to avoid him reading you like an open book - a book that may as well be pictures, at this point, or written for children with the most basic reading comprehension, one sentence per page and clear as day.

"What friends do," you mutter, in disbelief. He's one to talk about what friends do.

Friends don't do what you did last week.

Quinn's body had pretty much completely flopped onto yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants, but still careful enough not to bare all his weight on you so that yours could do the same.

Your skin felt clammy all over, baby hairs sticking to the back of your neck and your forehead, your neck slick from where his lips had been pressing all into it, sucking and nipping and you swear you'd even felt the glorious scratch of teeth at one point, and the heat of him above you was doing little to remedy the feeling.

You brought a hand up, almost absent-mindedly, to scratch softly at the back of his head as he came down, an overwhelming dizziness gripping at your eyelids, pulling you down as you felt him follow.

"You're making me feel like I'm going crazy," you sigh, "You can't seriously set all this up and not realise that it's way more effort than anyone would normally put in for someone that's just a friend,"

"You're not just anything," he counters, "When did I say you were just anything?"

He looks annoyed, that much is obvious - and yeah, you've technically been avoiding him, just like he assumes, but he was the one who made you feel like you had to.

A soft, sleepy groan was the first sound that brought you into consciousness the next morning - raspy and thick, and so close to your ear that the feeling of it buzzed the whole way down to your toes.

Then came unassuming movements, a twist of his torso, a shuffle of his hips, the stretch of his legs, all of which had been pressed right against all the same parts of your body - the sticky warmth of him catching your skin and rousing you fully from your sleep.

His arms tightened their hold around you before you really thought he knew what he was doing - a lethargic sigh huffing from his nostrils as he got comfortable again - and you had maybe a solid minute in his embrace until he fully came to.

The two of you were naked, one of the throws from the back of the couch draped lazily over your modesty, but that didn't really matter when you could feel the heavy press of him all over - your chest, your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

His fingers tightened, pressing a little into your waist before his touch disappeared completely. Before he was retreating, untangling himself from your body and sitting up. You felt the couch move as he shuffled around doing God-knows-what - felt the soft drape of the throw back over your body, and the whoosh of cold that followed and refused to leave.

When you dared to open your eyes, he was sat on the other side, leaning over, head in his hands after shrugging his boxers back on.

"Quinn?" you asked, your own voice thick with sleep, straightening to face him properly and rubbing at your eyes until they focused. "What's going on?"

"How much did we have to drink last night?"

Your heart dropped at the question, but your eyes floated over to the coffee table, two empty bottles standing on the other side. "A lot, I guess."

"Shit," he cursed, pushing himself up and pacing in front of the couch, refusing to look at you. "Fuck."

"Q, you're making me dizzy."

"I just," he stopped in place and scratched at the back of his neck, eyes lowering down your body in a way that made heat creep back up your neck, and your shoulders practically fold in on themselves consciously. "I didn't mean for it to go that far."

Your lips parted, although you didn't really know what to say to that. All you could do was nod, stuttered and slow, your gaze shifting too until it landed on the carpeted rug in front of him, focusing too hard on the pattern. "It's fine."

You could feel the weight of his stormy stare, but you couldn't look up - too afraid of rejection, too afraid of regret.

"We're friends, you know, you're-,"

"I know," you confirmed, not needing to hear how he didn't ever intend to be anything more. "We were drunk, Q, it's fine."

Your attempt at a reassuring smile probably looked a little more like a grimace, but you were saved probably by the fact that the two of you had had a lot to drink, and you were honestly a little queasy.

And maybe it had been the cold hard slap of rejection you woke up to that made you feel that way - after years of wanting more with Quinn - but he didn't need to know that. Not if he was already 10 toes deep into a regret spiral so soon after opening his eyes.

"We're friends."

"You said it last Saturday," you frown, "Saturday morning."

"No, you said we were drunk. I said we were friends, but you cut me off-,"

"Yeah, 'cause I didn't really want the first thing you said to me that morning to be that you made a mistake!"

"And here you are again, cutting me off!" his voice is a little raised now - so unlike the soft-spoken Quinn you're used to - easy going and well natured. "I can't win with you, you're either avoiding me like the plague, or you're not letting me speak, either way, I can't clear all this up!"

"What's there to clear up?" you scoff, "I don't need you to hold my hand and give me the full speech, okay, I get it, you don't want to be anything more than-," your body is jolted quickly by the sudden scrape of your chair across the floor, Quinn's grip firm on the leg as he pulls, "Hey, what are you-,"

And he's at the perfect height, then, to meet your lips once you're close enough, his hand leaving the chair to grip at your face - hold you in place so that you can't protest, can't cut him off in this, too, like you have been doing with every other way he's tried to communicate his feelings for you.

His kiss feels familiar, achingly so, the swipe of his tongue soft at the parting of your lips, his own mouth closing in a soft pressure against yours, over and over at a disorienting intensity - all thoughts melting away at his endeavour.

When he pulls away, he keeps his hands in place, watching intently as your eyes flutter open, and you slowly sink back into consciousness, pupils blown when they meet his, intense in their focus on you.

"You're really important to me."

You frown, because your brain will only allow you to process that as the start of rejection - followed by, which is why we can't go further - but that's not the direction Quinn is taking this.

"I wanted to do all of this right. That's why I freaked out last week. I didn't want you to think it was a drunken mistake."

Oh.

You're still a little dazed from the kiss, if you're honest, and so you find yourself blinking slowly back at him, mouth bopping open and closed while you figure out what to say.

"What?" Is all that comes out when you find your voice, watching as he rolls his eyes - part exasperated, part amused.

"Now you have nothing to say?" He scoffs, thumb swiping gently at your cheek as if to show you he's kidding. "I like you. I have for a while, and I want to be more than friends. I want you to stay at my place whenever you come over, and wear my clothes, and eat my food, and drink my wine," he lists, dipping his head closer and closer until you're face to face, a mere inch or two from him kissing you again. "And I want you to sleep here until Sunday. Maybe even after."

"Okay." you respond - the kind of one word answer you've been throwing his way to avoid getting hurt all week. And because you feel guilty, you add, "I want all that, too."

He breathes out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and smiling slowly - an infectious kind of smile, that has you doing it right back, noses just brushing before you kiss him, again.

Stone cold sober, no longer looking to avoid your feelings, with the intention of being so much more than his friend.

[valentina-writes]

The Distance He Keeps - Part 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and you have been best friends for centuries. But all of a sudden he won't talk to you anymore.

words: 1.5k | masterlist | part 2 | part 3

This is a 3 part series. The other parts will be released in the next days. I hope you enjoy xx

A/N: I honestly don't know if any of y'all are still here, but I'm kinda back! This was not requested, it's kind of a try at starting to write again. I can't promise that I'm going to be really active again and for now I'm not taking requests. We'll see how it goes :)

I was late for dinner, I realized as I hurried through the front door and foyer of Rhys's townhouse and into the dining room. The inner circle, my friends, my family, were gathered around the long wooden table. All of them were already here, eating, laughing and talking. Their words didn't quite reach me. The only empty seat was my usual one, next to Azriel, who had his wings neatly folded behind his back and was engaged in conversation with Rhys. I squared up my shoulders and excused my late arrival: "Hi everyone. Sorry I'm late, work was terrible". The latter was directed mainly at Rhys. I'd have to have a talk with him later. The rest of my friends greeted me, smiling. Only Azriel didn't. In fact, he did not even look my way. My heart froze in my chest. He had been ignoring me for weeks. My breath hitched as I waited for any sort of reaction, but he resumed his conversation as if I weren't there. My eyes started burning at his disregard and I fought to regain compusure. For a split second I contemplated winnowing away on the spot. But this was our first dinner like this in weeks and I could make this uncomfortable for him too.

With long strides I walked over to Cassian, who was seated next to Nesta. I stopped next to him and he happily said "Hi Y/N". Well, this was going to be awkward. My only response was "Move". The conversations around me came to a halt as Cassian's expression turned to amused confusion. "I… what?". My heart hammered in my chest and heat rose to my cheeks. I did not dare look up to see if Azriel was finally acknowledging me. "I said move", I repeated. And then, quieter, so only he could hear it "Please". He stood up without conplaining and from the look I saw in Nesta's eyes, I gathered she must have said something through the bond to make him comply. I slid into Cass's seat and started to fill my plate as conversation around the table resumed as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. For 300 years I'd had my spot at this table. I had never sat elsewhere. Until today. I mumbled a thanks to Nesta and started eating, when I felt Rhys at the edges of my consciousness, stroking softly against my mental shields to be let in. In response, I slammed a second wall down and shook my head at him slightly. He didn't try again.

Dinner was tense. I tried talking to Nesta, but I was so busy not to look the way of the tall shadowsinger that several times she had to ask her questions twice before I realized she was still talking to me. Nobody addressed my entrance. Inside me, my blood was boiling, my heart a pile of glass shards. I had tried to excuse Azriel's behavior during the past weeks. Most of the time I convinced myself that he was simply too busy with work to spend as much time with me as he used to. But this was different, we were at home for Cauldron's sake. He was supposed to be different here, he was supposed to welcome me with a warm hug and hand me seconds at dessert. How could he all of a sudden not care anymore at all?

I was so lost in thought that I barely registered Rhys standing up and proclaiming: "Excuse us, Y/N and I have to talk about her work". For a second, I merely stared at him, then I dropped my fork and knife on the table and stood up. It was comically obvious that this was not about my work. When we had just crossed the threshold into the foyer, I heard somebody whispering: "Azriel, what the fuck is going on?". His only response: "I need to go".

Rhys brought me into his study and shut the door. I sunk down into one of the armchairs and waited for him to take a seat. Instead, Rhys leaned against his ornate desk and rubbed his forehead as if in pain. "Y/N", he started after a while, "please, what is going on between him and you?". Pain flared through me at his mention. "Nothing".

Rhys's lips twitched into a smile and then he was laughing. "You have been part of my inner circle for more than 300 years. Azriel, I know even longer. He is like my brother. Don't think I wouldn't notice that there is something terribly wrong". Tears burned in my eyes again. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep this from Rhys. Maybe it was a good thing, being able to confide in someone, I beckoned myself. Things were horrible already. This would merely be the last nail in my already finished coffin the Mother had built me.

"The day after starfall I came into work", I said, a tear sliding down my cheek. Rhys came closer and knealt down in front of me. "And he just… wouldn't talk to me". A sob escaped my lips. Rhys took my hand in his and his face turned into a frown.

"At first - I - he…. I thought he was just busy, but it didn't get any better. It only… only got worse". Tears were now streaming down my face. I could barely see Rhys out of my teary swollen eyes. "We haven't talked in weeks. Months even. At work, he doesn't let me go on any missions and instead makes me do paperwork. We don't train together anymore. We don't spend time anymore. Worst of all, he won't even look at me and I just don't understand what I did wrong". The last sentences were almost inaudible over my sobs. Rhys gently pulled me up by my hands and drew me into a tight hug. My hands clasped around his back and I cried and cried until his shirt was wet and my eyes dry.

"Do you want me to talk to him about this?", he asked softly. But I shook my head no against him. "This is bad enough as is. I don't want Azriel to withdraw even more. I thought we were best friends. But I'm so… alone", I croaked. Best friends. We had been inseperable for so long, I almost didn't remember a time before Azriel. His bedroom was next to mine. We worked together, trained together, ate together, spent our free time together. And now that he was gone, the better part of my life was missing. Tears threatened to well up again, but I surpressed them.

Rhys hummed softly. "What do you think could have caused this?".

I rummaged through my memories, trying to take ahold of the root of all evil. And was catapulted back in time to starfall.

Azriel looked radiant in his dark blue suit, the same color as his siphons. Slow music was playing and we were entwined, dancing to it, as the first souls began their journey across the night sky. My cheeks were flushed from being so close to him and was grateful for the darkness surrounding us. Instances like this one were rare. He almost never let anyone touch him, not like this, at least. "It's so beautiful, isn't it?", I asked him, "But isn't it sad how all souls have to make this journey alone?".

He stopped our movements and looked away from me at the sky, as if for the first time that day. "It is. But I don't know if they are truly alone. Wherever they go, I think they will meet again". Thousands of comets rained from the sky. I smiled at his thought and hugged him a little tighter. I hoped he was right. No matter what came after this life, whatever existence the Cauldron had in store for us, without Azriel it would be meaningless.

"Do you think we will see us again?" Our eyes met. The golden specks in his were glowing in the starlight and my breath hitched at the softness of his gaze. There were a million questions in this simple one. Words that had been stuck in my throat for hundreds of years, that always went unsaid, that I had been choking on for eternity.

"I will find you, no matter where. I promise". My heart skipped a beat.

"I love you, I always have", I wanted to say, but it only came out:"And I will find you". His wings cocooned me in, blocking out the noise and light. When he unfoldet them again slightly, we were standing on a deserted terrace under the stars. "Azriel, I…" His face came closer, our lips almost touching - but there was somebody watching.

"Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My. Head. RHYSAND", I nearly screamed as I wound myself out of his embrace. "We are very good friends and I know you know almost every thought in my head. But this. This is fucking private". Now, I was seething. How could he? My innermost thoughts, my most guarded memories. I wanted to curse the Mother for putting me through this misery.

"I don't know if you noticed, but all of your walls were down. You were practically inviting me in", he reasoned, eyes glinting.

"Again, you can see anything you want. But not this", I repeated. My hands balled into fists at my sides. Thick iron walls fell down around my brain, shutting him out.

"Interesting", he mused, chuckling to himself. "I think you should talk to him. I don't think you need to worry at all".

I was already striding out, planning on fetching Cassian to channel my anger into sparring. "I love you, Rhys, you're like a brother to me. Please keep that in mind when I say go fuck yourself".

A hearty laugh sounded from behind me and a whisper in my mind said: "Soon you will understand"

[mrsbarnesblog]

I feel like when reader gets fed up with Rafe not making a move, she tries to go on a date with someone else and it makes him realize that he has to act if doesn’t want to be left with just “baby daddy” label. loved your story

masterlist ko-fi ao3

requests are open

summary: when you have a baby with your ex-friend with benefits, he realizes that he has to talk about your feelings if doesn't want to lose you (can be read as a standalone, but is part two of this fic)

word count: 1.1k.

warnings: ex fwb, baby daddy Rafe, he's really soft and cutesy (i can't help myself, sorry)

Raising a baby with you felt easy. It felt safe and stable because it seeming like you worked perfectly together, never having serious fights and always easily understanding each other. Rafe adored both of you and he was happier than he ever was, even if he was constantly tired from sleepless nights. 

Every time Rafe looked at you holding your daughter, smiling and particularly shining in your post-pregnancy bliss, he felt his heart flattering. You were his. The mother of his daughter, his friend, his family, his girl. 

Then, when you unexpectedly mentioned to him that someone had asked you out, things went south. 

You both hated every second of what was likely your first serious argument, but you were unable to contain your emotions when the situation deeply hurt both of you. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, Rafe! I don’t know what you expect from me when the only thing that I know for certain is that I am the mother of your child!” You screamed at him, blinking away your tears. 

“Don’t say that. You know what I want from you, and I can’t let you go out on dates with some random dudes, Y/N. Like, you have to be joking. We just had a baby, for fuck’s sake!” His hands flew to his hair as he started walking back and forth in the middle of his living room. 

“As far as I’m aware, I’m single, Rafe.” You said it bitterly, bringing your legs closer to your chest and wrapping your hands around them. You wanted to hide because it felt to heavy to be talking about it, especially when you never desired anything more than to be appreciated and loved by the man in front of you.

“So this means nothing to you?” 

“It was not what I said.”

“You said you’re single.” 

“Am I not?” You whispered. “You were horny and had a baby with me. Just admit it.” 

You were looking at each other with emotions and unsaid feelings on the tips of your tongues. It hurt you to say it; it hurt you to realize how easy it was to end everything here and face the reality that you were no one to each other. Tears flooded your vision and you looked down, defeated. 

“I’m sorry.” Rafe whispered back, as the panic started to settle in him. “I’m so so sorry, Y/N. It has never been my intention to make you feel this way, but I promise that you’re much more for me.” He came closer to you, kneeling in front of your shivering body. “Even if it was casual sex at that time, I would've never signed up for a baby with someone who I felt nothing for.” 

His hands reached for your legs, setting them down on the floor and instead moving closer to you. Rafe touched your face, making you look at him through wet eyelashes and you noticed a longing, almost pleading, look in his eyes. 

“I love you. I love you and our little girl, and I don’t want to live like this anymore. I want you. I need you because you’re my best girl—the prettiest, sexiest, most brilliant woman I’ve ever met. I was too dumb to not do it earlier, but I want to have it all with you. I want you both here all the time, with me. You are my family. ”

He left you completely speechless, making you sob harder and lean into his chest, leaving wet stains all over his shirt. You didn't know how you could live in denial for that long, but you realized how desperately you craved to hear these words. How desperately you tried to convince yourself to stick with what you had when the only thing you ever wanted was him.

“Sh-h, baby…” He soothed your hair, holding you closer and allowing you to let go of your emotions. Rafe hated how oblivious he was to your feeling this whole time. Seeing you break down hurt him more than he could imagine and he knew he would do anything to never see that look in your eyes again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, mama. I love you.”

“I l-love you t-too.” You hiccuped, leaning back and wiping your face. Rafe’s eyes stayed on yours when he slowly traced with his thumb your slightly swollen bottom lip and then moved closer. 

He kissed you slowly, passionately, gently biting your lip, as if he were claiming you again and you felt that familiar sparkle in your body that appeared whenever he was touching you so gently. You brought your hands to his shoulders to feel his body closer to yours and he obliged, slightly hovering over you.

Soft crying from the bassinet interrupted you, and before you could even begin to worry about your daughter, Rafe had already pulled away, but not before giving you that promising look and moving in her direction. 

“Hi, pretty girl.” He cooed, taking her in his arms and lifting her up in the air. She looked so tiny compared to him and you felt another wave of tears coming in. “Sh-h, it’s okay. Are you hungry or did you just want someone to hold you, hm?” Rafe placed her on the crock of his arm and started swaying from side to side. Her cries slowly calmed down, as she was looking up at him with big blue eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

“You’re so natural with her, i’m kind of jealous.” You laughed, wiping the leftovers of your tears. Rafe smiled back at you and sat down near you on the couch, wrapping his free hand around your shoulders to bring you closer. 

“Not as good as you. You’re an amazing mom. We love mommy so much, right, princess?” He tickled your daughter's belly and she giggled, looking between both of you happily. “I meant it when I said it, Y/N. I want you to move in. I want to have you both with me 24/7, because I cannot do it like this anymore.” Rafe almost begged, turning his head in your direction. Your eyes searched for his and the look that you saw there made your heart flutter. 

The thing about Rafe was that he was bad at expressing his feelings, but his eyes always showed you what you wanted to know. And now, when there was nothing but pure love and admiration, you knew that it was true. 

“Okay. I want it too.” You smiled, peacefully resting your head against Rafe’s shoulder, as the worry inside of you finally calmed down.

[reallyromealone]

Can you do a long fic where bakugou has a baby brother like maybe 2 years old?

Title: sibling bonding

Fandom:my hero Academia

Warnings: male reader, baby reader, fluff, big brother Bakugo, soft Bakugo

Notes: I can't promise a long fic as my fic lengths are based off of how much steam I have but ill write what I can

☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️

Bakugo was happy to have the house mostly alone, his parents in Milan for two weeks he had off for a fashion show.

Why was he mostly alone?

Well they couldn't take his little brother, the two year old didn't do planes well and it was just easier to find a sitter or let him stay with someone for the time, usually their aunty. "Uh-oh" (name) said as he dropped his sippy cup carefully lifting it back up before wandering to his brother "ka!" He said happily as he climbed onto the couch "what squirt?" Katsuki said to the young tot who looked at his phone "what do?" He asked as Katsuki got notifications from discord "I'm texting a few friends, they're coming to visit later for a movie" he was always so soft with his brother, sure he was loud as the rest of his family but his baby brother took more after their dad so he always tried to be gentle.

"Oovee?" He asked curiously and Katsuki nodded "yeah a movie, we gotta get some snacks for you and me before it" he said to the boy who smiled "cake!" "No cake but we can get you a cake pop when we get our walk home drink" Katsuki knew how to compromise with the boy who clapped his hands excitedly.

Katsuki helped (name) put on his shoes before putting him on his shoulders, it was easier to do than hold his hands and (name) got to have fun.

The two went to the convenience store as (name) pointed to various snacks, Katsuki having to hinder the boy with the fact he wanted /everything/ the store had to offer but did compromise with some ice cream and little treats for after dinner and such.

"Cake!" (Name) was absolutely thrilled when Katsuki handed him a cake pop, the teen holding the snacks with one hand and had (name) on his hip as they walked home, (name) eating his treat contently, the boy taking a sip from their drink occasionally.

(Name) loved helping his brother, the tot getting to help put things together for the hang out "you get to watch a movie then it's bath time alright?" Katsuki said to his brother who did a little dance before running off to go play with his toys 'weird kid' Katsuki thought fondly as he finished prep.

"YOOOO BAKUBRO!" Kirishima said as he and a few other classmates entered the Bakugo house, Kaminari whistling at how nice it was inside "whose ready to paaaarty!" Mina said as her, ochaco and Momo came inside with snacks "let's watch some scary...shoopuff" mina halted when she saw the two year old in Katsukis arms, little (name) looking curious but recognized Kirishima from a few visits "little man!" Kirishima ran and grabbed the boy and lifted him "what's up!"

"Hiiii!"

"Whose the kid?" Kaminari asked as (name) spoke nonsense to Kirishima but it was probably his day if any context about "walk" and "cake pop" were to go off of "that's my brother" Katsuki said gruffly, a slight glare on his face as his friends looked at the babe curiously.

During the movie, the teens would notice Bakugo would be soft with the boy even when he scolded him "oi, leave that alone" "but you're smelly!" (Name) argued back, holding a book in his hands "put it down and park your ass and watch the movie or its night time" Bakugo said to his brother who huffed but complied "you're not my favorite brother anymore!"

"Ah? And who is?"

"Dad!"

The movie went on well, the group putting on a hero movie and before they knew it, it was (name)s bath time "bubububbub!" (Name) was pleased with the bubbles as he played with his toys, his older brother working around him to wash him "head back" the teen said gruffly as he put a visor on the boys forehead and rinced out the shampoo before repeating it with the conditioner "kaa! Ducky!" The boy squirted some water at his brother who rolled his eyes "wanna see something cool?" He asked his little brother who looked curious "ya!'

Katsuki put his hand in the water and activated his quirk, just enough to give a jacuzzi affect "whoa!" The boy said excitedly as Katsuki pulled his hand out "now, out ya go!"

"Nooo!"

"None of that! Come on, let's brush your fucking teeth and get you to bed brat"

(Name) cuddled into his brothers shoulder as he wore his fuzzy pajamas, the other teens waving him goodnight as Katsuki brought him to his bedroom and tucked him into bed "hah? What's this?" Katsuki held up a small handmade plush of him in his hero suit "Die'ite!" (Name) grabbed the plush and Katsuki felt a small smile creep on his face as his little brother hugged the toy "he a hero you like?"

"He's the bestest!"

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

First Impressions

Based on this requested prompt: Reader is friends with/related to Rossi in some way (niece/neighbor) and goes to visit Rossi at his house after he recently got in injured etc in the field. Rossi is looking after Jack for Hotch when he suddenly realizes something about the case so leaves Jack with reader etc. Jack finds out that reader teaches ASL for a living and Jack asks for her to teach him something and she asks what he wants to learn and it's along the lines of "you are my superhero dad, I love you". Aaron's reaction to meeting reader, having been ready to be angry or something bad to have happened but instantly liking and being attracted to her and his reaction to Jack signing to him.

Note: Loved everything about this request by the way. 🥰🥰

"Knock knock uncle!" you announced boisterously as you unlocked and opened the front door to your favorite relative's house. Him being your only uncle had nothing to do with that of course, you only liked him for his funny wit and cringy dad jokes.

"In here Gioia Mia!" his voice replied from the kitchen. Once you rounded the turn, you spotted him, dressed in a cooking apron, injured arm in a sling, trying to open a jar of tomatoes.

"Zio, you're gonna either drop the jar or hurt your arm again by doing that, let me help."

It wasn't until you went over to take the jar from him that you noticed a little boy no older than 6 sitting at the kitchen island, drawing on some scratch paper. You remembered your uncle occasionally mentioning watching his boss' kid from time to time but never actually got to meet him.

Smiling, you gave him a little wave when he looked up at you. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Jack," was all he said. He was polite but clearly shy. After opening the jar and handing it back to your uncle, you took a peek at what he was drawing.

"My name's Y/N. Rossi is my uncle. Whatchya drawing?"

Pulling his marker away, he slid the paper for you to see. "Superman."

You were honestly impressed with his artistic ability. From the flowing cape Superman wore to the big cartoon like letters that spelt out HERO he included, you knew he must be a very smart boy.

"Oh wow, that looks so good. I actually really like Batman," you told him, trying to relate.

"Batman is cool too." He didn't look you in the eyes when he said it, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he went back to drawing. Turning your attention to your uncle, you watched him walking back and forth from the stove to the pantry, grabbing different spices and ingredients for whatever it was he was making. All while checking his phone every 2 seconds.

"Got a hot date?" you teased, taking a plum from the little fruit basket on the counter.

"Ha ha. No, I'm actually waiting for some very important details to a case the team is working on."

You squinted your eyes in suspicion, which he caught onto and huffed. "I'm not doing any strenuous activity fragolina, I'm just helping out where I can. I staying out of the field, I promise."

"Yeah, and you opening jars and cheffing it up in the kitchen like a madman isn't strenuous?"

He made at you to pass him the salt by your hand, which you handed over. "Not when you compare it to breaking down doors and arresting criminals."

You couldn't help but laugh a little at his dramatic comparison. "Yeah, ok Zio. When's the last time you broke down a door? Isn't that the job for that Morgan guy you talk about?"

"Yeah. Well who do you think tells him to break the door down? Me."

He taste tested what you assumed was sauce he was making before adding a heaping load of garlic powder to it. You decided to not to bust his chops anymore and took a seat next to Jack.

"May I borrow a marker?"

He grabbed the pack of colorful tools and placed them in between the two of you before also handing you a proper piece of paper instead of the bill envelope you were planning on doodling on. Your heart melted at his caring act. The two of you scribbled together as you made small talk with your uncle before his phone rang. As he talked with the person on the other line, you noticed a shift in his disposition.

"Are you sure? No, don't worry about it, I'll head over there myself."

Ending the call, he looked around the room as if to gather his bearing and go over a plan in his head before speaking.

"Hey fragolina. I need to leave real quick to just check on something super imperative to the case. Anyway you can watch my buddy here for a little bit? I'll be back within a half an hour."

You glanced over at Jack who was looking at the both of you, a confused look on his face. You tried sounding as least bit intimidating as possible. "Yeah of course. Only if it's ok with you Jack. I know we just met."

"Jack, you can trust her, she's my closest friend. And I'll be back quickly," your uncle added while turning off the stove and removing his apron.

"Sure," was his short reply. It was a reply you could tell he wasn't completely sure about but said it to be polite, knowing his friend needed a favor. You gave him a smile and handed over the purple marker for him to finish coloring in his planet.

"Alright. I'll be right back. Y/N, you have my number, call me if you need anything."

"Sure thing Zio."

Walking around, he gave you a kiss on the head and an affectionate rub on the head to Jack before grabbing his keys and leaving.

The room was quite for a second as it settled in that the two of you were alone but continued drawing, not too bothered by the silence. When you absentmindedly signed for the color blue, he gave you a look of bemusement.

"What was that?" he asked, looking at your hands. Then it hit you that you had signed to a 6 year old boy who was still learning English vocab, let alone ASL.

"Sorry, it's a habit I have sometimes. I teach sign language for my job and when it gets quiet, I sometimes sign instead of talk."

"You know sign language?"

He asked the question with enthusiasm which surprised you. "I do. Do you know how?"

He shook his head. "No, but there's a kid at school that does. It looks cool."

You smiled at his answer, happy that he didn't think it was weird. Most 6 year olds wouldn't be so interested in the matter.

"Would you like me to teach you something? Anything you want."

He nodded excitedly and then took a second to think about it before speaking. "Can you teach me to say, you're my superhero dad, I love you?"

You could've cried right then and there if it wouldn't have made you look like a crazy person. How sweet this little guy was that he thought of his father instead of some silly inappropriate phrase any other boy would have asked for.

"Of course I can!"

So for the next 15 minutes or so, you two sat there and went over the motions, him mirroring you as well as he could which was quite well if you were being honest. It had taken way longer for some of your students to learn one word, let alone a whole phrase like Jack was doing.

"Ok, now I'm not gonna show you this time. You show me," you instructed, having all the faith in him. Slowly, he began signing each word slowly, focusing hard on what motion came after the next, looking down at his hands, practically getting it completely correct by the end of it.

"That was so good Jack! Wow, I'm so impressed. You are so so smart."

He beamed at your compliment, meeting you halfway for a high five. You both ended up moving into the living room and you watched one of his favorite cartoons. Wanting him to be more comfortable with you, you made sure to ask a bunch of questions about the show, loving how his personality was starting to come out the more he talked.

It wasn't much longer that you heard the front door open and multiple voices ring through. One particular voice that you didn't recognize, called Jack's name.

"Dad!" Jack hopped off the couch so quickly, Flash would've been proud and ran over into the arms of who you assumed was his father.

"Hey buddy," his dad greeting, looking over at you with a neutral expression. He was dressed in a full suit that fit him quite well and sported an expensive looking watch. You stood up from your spot on the couch and walked over, feeling a bit nervous at his intense vibe.

"See Aaron, I told you everything was fine," your uncle spoke, giving you a comforting wink. Wanting to be as polite as possible to your uncle's boss, you extended your hand out with a genuine smile.

"Hi, I'm Y/N, Rossi's niece. Everything's been good here, Jack is such a great kid."

He returned the handshake with a professional smile, taking a second to look at you, no doubt profiling you entirely, deeming whether or not you were a right choice to watch his son.

"Aaron Hotchner. Thank you, he is great. What did you guys get up to while we were gone?"

Thankfully, Jack ended up answering for you, saving you from falling over your words while trying not to crumble under his dad's strong gaze.

"She taught me sign language dad!"

He looked down at his son, a look of surprise on his face.

"Here, let me show you."

Everyone watched as Jack began signing to his dad, that same adorable concentrated look on his face. By the end of it, his dad was actually grinning. Teeth and all.

"It means, you're my superhero dad, I love you," Jack explained.

His dad's whole demeanor changed, becoming a whole lot softer and inviting as he bent down to hug his son. It took everything in you not to tear up at the loving interaction.

"That was awesome buddy, I love you too."

You caught a look from his dad, this time a bit more favorable, you now assuming he had made the decision that you were alright. Afterwards, Jack's dad told him to gather his things so they could leave as your uncle went into the kitchen to start the oven, leaving you and Mr. Hotchner alone together.

"I apologize if I seemed a little rude earlier. I'm just very protective of Jack," he explained.

You smiled and waved him off, not admitting that he did have shaking in your boots a little at first. "Oh, you weren't rude. I totally get it, he's your boy. I'd be the same way if he was my kid."

The minute that passed by as you two waited for Jack to return, you could feeling him looking at you again. This time you weren't sure if he was still sizing you up or what but it didn't prevent the raise in blood pressure and slight tinge of pink in your cheeks.

Soon after, Jack came running back, his jacket put on half hazardly and his superman drawing in hand.

"Here. I want you to have it," he told you, handing over the piece of paper. You noticed that he had signed his full name on the bottom corner with a little smiley face. It was definitely the best gift you had gotten in a while.

"Thank you so much Jack. I will put this up in my class so all my students can see how talented my new friend is."

He just smiled in return, taking his dad's hand in his. With his available hand, Mr. Hotchner offered another handshake accompanied with a small friendly smile.

"It was good meeting you. I'm sure this won't be the only time we meet."

You knew he meant it as a cordial statement but you couldn't help but let your girly imagination run wild. I mean the man was tall, professionally accomplished, and downright handsome. Every woman's dream.

"I hope not Mr. Hotchner. It was nice meeting you and spending time with Jack."

"Please. Call me Aaron."

You could've screamed. But instead, you held it together, just smiled and watched them leave, yelling a goodbye to your uncle before closing the door behind them.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding and fanned your face.

"Setting up playdates already?" you heard your uncle tease from the kitchen entryway. Being a profiler himself and you a terrible keeper of emotion, he knew what was going through your mind.

"Not another word Zio."

He laughed and threw an extra kitchen apron at you. "C'mon. Help me with the zucchini, lovebird."

[hoseoksluna]

PROMISES | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x f. reader

genre: fwb au / angst, smut

word count: 9.3k

summary: when you needed your social battery recharged by your fuck buddy yoongi, you didn't expect to have your undiscovered feelings for him reciprocated. 

pin: promise / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: strong daddy issues, slight dd/lg, manipulation, tiny rough treatmeant, edging, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), teasing, mixed feelings, oc is confused abt her feelings and the whole situation, fight, yoongi counts down, unprotected sex, pussy spanks, nipple play.

note: this has to be my worst work in the whole hoseoksluna universe. i'm terribly upset, disgusted, unmotivated. i wrote this all week, hated every second, and i'm sorry to say this is my last smut for a while. i'm really struggling mentally, i'm struggling with writing, and i don't know what to do anymore. i'm posting this a day early because i can't stand this fic anymore. i can't stand smut. you're free to skip this one until i get better.

You were a folded swan, drifting upon the smooth, glittering surface of a river that led nowhere—a dead end, bearing the face of a man you’ve been casually seeing for the past few months. A man that clutched adrenaline and tenderness in his fist like a bouquet of the prettiest woodland wildflowers, on top of which perched a note signed in your name. Scratchy Latin letters, doused in ebony ink, they had more life than you did at this moment; poetry-woven experiences that had you feeling life like life should be felt—drastically, enthusiastically and delightfully. Every vowel depicted the closure of each night you spent with him: mouth parted agape, through which the sweetest moans would erupt and saturate him in a certain kind of fatherliness, pride and manliness. 

It’s what you need, laying as you are on the linen sheets of your bed, dressed down to your lacy underwear that you thought would make you feel better, somehow would recharge your dead battery that was stuck on zero percent for longer than you care to admit. Father issues, dissatisfaction at your workplace, at your home life, at life itself. You were tired, your concentration running thin as you were watching your well-loved K-drama that you have seen a hundred times before. Through your vision, your own non-romantic interest would fly by, smiling down at you in your dejected state and form. Your body knows him more thoroughly than your heart, stirring erratically at the memories that would begin to flood your system. Tongue, lips, hands. His cock that he would tease you with, giving it to you and not giving it to you purposefully because he enjoyed the sight of your desperation for someone like him—a person who has seen the worst of life, its characteristics engraved upon his skin, and yet you still yearned for him, yearned for those scars. You didn’t have to tell him, but he knew. 

He knew by the way you would so very often trace the scar upon his shoulder, either with your fingertips or your lips. You were friends, fuck-buddies to be more precise. You were aware that someone entangled in a special friendship such as this shouldn’t do something like that, but you couldn’t help it. Yoongi taught you many times to listen to your body and you were doing just that. 

Following your body’s inclination to sink into his soul that he wasn’t too scared to let you inside of. 

He allowed you to do it to such an extent that the threat of his quick orgasm would appear and he would slip out of you, distract himself between your legs, make you come twice in a row—perhaps as a playful punishment, or perhaps as a reward. 

He saw you—and right now you need to be seen, folded in your forest-scented exhaustion while the river flows on, the trees sway on and everyone else passes by while you remain fixed on the same spot, stooped in your ungratified, seemingly unnamed problem. 

You can text him, ask for a quick fuck, something he’s very well acquainted with, used to at this point—so much that everytime you leave his place stuffed full of his cum, he stuffs you with something else as well. 

A promise for the next time.

A package of something to make you look forward to your tight-knit time spent with him. The last time, he had promised to take you to a running sushi restaurant, where you didn’t linger for long because you got fed up with the way other people would steal the sweet plates you wanted to try. He had fucked you in his car to make you feel better about your innate misanthropy and while he was balls-deep in you and you struggled to catch your breath, he promised you ice cream. With each thrust that squeezed your soul, he described how you’d enjoy each lick, the details of the flavor and how he’d buy you any ice cream you wanted. You hadn’t realized it then, within the stupor of your mind-numbing pleasure, but now as you are recollecting it, you perceive how bothered he was by the way other people ruined your night with him. 

And that rips open the restraints around the butterflies in your stomach. 

You want some ice cream—and more than that, you want to see him. Close your mouth around the adrenaline he’s always so willing to fill your life with. 

You don’t know what he’s doing at seven PM on a Thursday night. You usually meet him on Fridays or during the weekend if he’s working the day before. You’ve never shown him your neediness—and there’s a certain dangerous feel to it, baring yourself naked in this way, despite the fact he’s seen, touched, and licked every inch of you. And it’s hard for your brain to comprehend that you yearn for him when your social, emotional and physical battery is dead. If anything, you should be resting as you are, get right in order to be at your best for the next time you see him. 

But alas… 

With a sigh, you turn to your other side and reach for your phone that you’ve been charging, gliding your hands down the cable, imagining it’s his arm. And with a frustrated furrow of your brows, you tap on the circle above your messages. A pinned picture of him that you took, his face caught in his gummy smile against the dark backdrop of his car interior, filtrated with the twinkling lights of Seoul’s city buildings. Another sigh leaves you, one that exasperates you because why are you so needy for him? Why can’t you be a normal girl, independent, okay with your own company shared with the fictional people that you love? You’ve spent your girlhood like this, and happily so. Why does growing up mean you need the male energy more than your own? 

Biting your lip, your anxiety spikes up, but your desire for Yoongi overwhelms it, wins. And that settles a layer of calmness over it, gives the command to your fingers to type what they need to type. 

hi

what are you doing 

The bubbles don’t emerge from the dark motive of your chat until a few minutes later, the green of his message brightening up your phone—and your life, too. 

About to have a concert. Having a shot right now for your health. 

Oh, shit. A strange concoction of disappointment and a deep, low, murmuring stimulus rises in you. The swan in you elongates her neck, interested, but still dispirited considering her options. She will have to fold back into her form, and continue on her long, somber voyage back from the dead end, dwelling on the thrill of the flirtation of the man that she likes a little bit too much. 

Staring at the thick canvas of trees and shrubbery that aren’t letting you in to see him, you think about what to type, your thumbs hovering in the air. Life dislikes you; life wants you to suffer—

A ringing tone of your phone tugs you away from your distressed thoughts. The Latin letters of Yoongi’s name expand across the screen behind that picturesque and private shot of him, enlarged, stirring your heart. Silence spreads through your mind and your thumb quivers as you slide it across the bar to accept his call, placing the device against your ear. 

It feels as though you’re pressing the side of your head against his, especially so once you hear the warmth of his raspy voice pronouncing your name in his accent, marked by the liquor he drank prior to your messages. 

Enlivened, your body is. Just from that. 

“What’s up with you?” Yoongi asks, and the swan sails a little bit more swiftly, her tucked-in wings fluttering against her feathery body. You play with your necklace, your trembling so, so terribly evident. You’re glad he didn’t video call you, but the phone call is much more intimate and pleasant. 

You huff out a noise of desperation without meaning to and cringe at yourself, crunching up your features. Yoongi calls you by your name with a tiny hint of alarm and you curse yourself, silently. Your misanthropy gets pointed at you. 

“Noth—”

“Should I cancel my concert right now?” he suggests, cutting in, and you can hear the drunken playfulness in his voice, the one you have enjoyed on many occasions. Even acted out on your pleasure from it by making him, physically, feel good about it. You wish you could suck his dick right now, right before his concert, so he gives out his best for his fans. 

The sighs are ceaseless and you don’t bother to stop them at this point, your enlivened body soaking up in a swelling, unmet desire. 

“You’re sighing,” he notes, and you discern a cube of ice clinking in his glass, then a swallow of his throat, as if the indication of your yearning got him going, got him needing that burning liquid. “Are you horny for me?” 

Enlivened, your butterflies are, starting a war just from that sole question: desire versus your mental health. 

And using the vanilla scent of their wings, they remind you of the fact that you’re an adult woman and that you’re allowed, and more than allowed, to do whatever your body asks for. And if it’s asking for Yoongi, you’re going to go the extra mile to get him. 

Brazenly and femininely—and a little bit slyly. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m really craving that ice cream you promised me,” you say, lowering down your tone, and you play with the lacy lining of your bra. Think you can tease him with it for a good effect. “I’m wearing a nice lacy set right now.” 

Yoongi sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sigh that is entirely redolent of you, making your mouth curve in a soft smile. “What color?” 

Your expression of a muted joy expands as you tell him. “Red.” 

He swears, raspily, and the shade of your lingerie becomes more vibrant in the dimmed yellow light of your bedroom. And there you feel it—a more intense tendril of lust slithering down your sternum, moving your body side to side against your sheets in need. And the whimper that comes out of you is more primal than it is forced. 

At the sound, Yoongi pauses. You imagine him biting his lip, the gears in his brain turning, and he doesn’t disappoint you. He never does. 

“Do you have a dress of the same color?” he asks, small pants escaping his mouth, and you smirk. 

“I do.” 

He chuckles in personal delight. “Wear it for me. The set, too. I want to see it. I will pick you up after the concert and get you that ice cream.”

Your butterflies spring to your lungs, making it hard for you to breathe. And you don’t know whether to be glad, to be happy, to jump on your bed or to get ready. All those emotions simultaneously gather in you, spreading sparks of excitement down your nerve endings. And most of all, you want to hug him. 

You want to hug your adrenaline-infused angel. 

“Okay,” you agree, prolonging the vowel, the muscles in your cheeks aching. “How long is the concert?”

His delight leaks out through a deep hum, one that causes you to tense your body in feverish eagerness. “Two hours. Can you wait that long for me without touching yourself?” 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Think you can wait however long for him, just as long as you get to see him. “I can, but my panties will be ruined. Sticky and uncomfortable.” 

The hum is strangled by his strained intake of breath, turning you woozy, your fingers itching to slide beneath your said panties, knowing his noises alone would make you come in seconds. You weren’t wet before he called, but now you can feel the center of the fabric dampening the longer you talk to him. 

“I’ll take them off as soon as I can. I promise. Hold it out for me.” 

And you believe him. You compress that promise into your hand, warming it up with your body heat before you tuck it safely into the chambers of your heart—and you wait. 

You wait for him to fulfill the myriad of his promises. 

You did hold it out for him, and brilliantly so. You watched one episode of your drama with a little bit more vehemence, despite the fact Yoongi swam past your thoughts more times than you can count. You’ve never watched him perform in real life as his own private life was always kept in secrecy from his fans, but your curiosity led you to search him up online and watch a playback of one of his more upbeat songs. Dressed in a long black coat, white shirt and a tie, your mouth was wide open, as well as your eyes, as you took in his ferocious energy, enhanced by his passion, and you never looked at him the same as before. He became someone else, a figure of brutal yet tender power and it made you want him even more zealously. 

The memories of that performance resurfaced in your mind every now and then, and his Agust D persona would melt into the male interest of the show, deepening your desire for him as you dreamed. 

Dreamed of reaching different highs with him. More profound, more devastating. 

A dream that could never come true. A promise that would never flow past his mouth. 

You didn’t let that ruin your night, however. As the second hour wrapped around you and your body lacked the heat it needed, you shut your laptop and stood up to your feet, walking over to your closet. Your fingers found that red dress you had spoken about first before your eyes did, silky and sleek amidst the thick, woolen fabrics of your winter clothes. It was the only nice dress you had, one you haven’t worn before, and you were thrilled you got to wear it for him tonight. 

It fit you like a second skin, hugging your curves just right, fading into the lacy linings of your lingerie. One would have to sharpen their gaze in order to notice it—and you wondered if Yoongi was going to scout it with his eyes first or with his fingers. 

The unknown excited you, so much that your panties gained that stickiness you mentioned in the phone call. And when you sat down to slide your feet into your black strappy heels, the feeling was so intolerable that you cringed—and your brilliancy ended there. 

How were you going to sit against your cold arousal for another hour? 

The awaited text didn’t come through until you were dousing yourself in your vanilla perfume. Yoongi was downstairs, waiting for you in his car. Left my lights on for you, he had typed to reassure you because he knew how anxious it made you, looking for his parked car in the dark when you couldn’t see anything. 

Your heart blossomed two times bigger when you checked it from your window. Yoongi in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, the headlights filtering through the mist of the deep of the night. You smoothed a hand down your tummy, calming your butterflies, and, reapplying your lipstick, you grabbed your coat and went outside to meet him. 

He spotted you long before you lifted your head to smile at him and he reached over to the side and opened the door for you. The motor was running, keeping the warmth intact for you, and you sighed in relief when you entered it—only to realize that Yoongi had turned on the seat heater for you. 

You melt into the leather, closing your eyes, the ambience of the present moment nestling upon you like the most delicate layer of snow that dissolves when you feel a swift breath along your neck and it’s Yoongi, lengthening his arm and closing the door while keeping his twinkling gaze on you and giving you a pleased smile. 

The butterflies kick against your stomach. 

“I was going to do that,” you say because you truly were—it’s just that the snug, comforting heat he prepared for you made you want to stop and bask in it as the short walk from your apartment building to his car numbed your bones to such an extent that you needed the time to defrost. And he quickened the process by placing an even warmer hand upon the nylon of your inner thigh that the slit of your dress and your trench coat exposed. “It’s just so cold.” 

He fondles the fabric of your tights on the top of your thigh with his thumb. A gesture of comfort that diffuses life down your legs and colors your cheeks in a shade of pink that irradiates the subdued atmosphere of the car. It’s hard to breathe—and it’s hard to resist him, keep yourself cool and not swing your leg over. 

Fuck the ice cream. You want something way creamier. 

“It’s only right I close it for you after I opened it,” he reassures, the deep tenor of his voice puncturing right through you, looking for your core, and you shift your hips, the discomfort of your wetness not allowing you to relax as much as you need. Yoongi’s eyes flick down to your movement and he parts his mouth as that distinctive smirk of his divulges his enjoyment in seeing you so horny for him. “Are you still sticky for me?” 

It’s now that you take the time to fully look at him. There’s a certain glossiness to his long hair that tells you he went home and took a shower before he got inside his car and drove through the quiet night to meet you. You can smell the rosemary of his shampoo and the usual minty aroma of his body wash, blended with his natural musky pheromones and the wood, the tangerine of his perfume. He’s the synthesis of your internal woodland, the breath of the trees that your swan inhales and a punishment, all in one; and you’re not sure if you can hold out any longer. Both emotionally, both physically.

“Very sticky,” you say, wrapping your hands around his arm, descending your fingers down the bulky, wooly material of his winter jacket like you were touching your charging cord—a temporary dream come true. You enclose your palm around his knuckles, think that if he feels how wet you are, he’ll realize that you sentimentally require more than he normally gives you—that your flesh will somehow tell him and give him the bravery to do so. 

But Yoongi doesn’t move an inch. His fingers remain fixed on the inner of your thigh, digging dents into the skin as you feel the bulging of his bicep the more you push his hand towards your wetly clothed cunt. His smile falls, his eyes droop—and the energy is charged with such unnamed intensity that you let go of your pursuit, slipping your fingers beneath the edge of his sleeve as a sign of your submission. 

That quickly. 

“You promised to hold out for me, didn’t you?” he asks, waiting for your agreement, and you nod, feverish, dripping with perspiration, with this great need that towers over you. “Then, be like Daddy and keep your promise or you’re not getting anything.” 

A shiver cascades down your spine—not merely from his authoritative voice, but from the role he dipped into that immediately puts you into yours. You begin to giggle, palming your mouth as the blush in your cheeks bursts and tears of overwhelmingness add a certain glint to your eyes that sparkles beneath the yellow-tinted car interior lights. And using this fatherliness of his, he interweaves your arousal around his long, piano fingers, announcing he’s its King. 

Your essence trickles out of the confines of your panties. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whine, still giggling, you can’t help it. Yoongi takes after you, blessing you with that gummy grin of his that you adore so much. Your heart enlarges. 

“What exactly am I doing on purpose?” he challenges, kneading the flesh of your thigh, and he senses his answer right away. Your essence travels to his hand, stopping there, and once again Yoongi’s smile falls, eyes plummeting to it, hand lifting—and fingers gathering that warm slick. 

And it drips onto his own pants-clad thigh when he plunges his fingers into his mouth, shocking you to your core. 

“Yoongi—”

He hums in titillation, interrupting you, and smacks his mouth. For a brief amount of time, he seems to be in his own world as he tastes you on his tongue. And then, he takes those same fingers, turns the key in the ignition, moves forward the shift stick, and without sparing you a glance, he drives out of his usual parking spot and doesn’t hesitate to correct you. 

“Not Yoongi. Daddy.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. Think you need some kind of plug to stop your arousal from flowing down your thigh. Yoongi doesn’t mention what just happened throughout the whole drive, but you do notice his semi-hard manhood poking out of his groin area. You salivate, but don’t tempt him, squeezing your thighs together so tightly that your muscles cramp. 

You’ll save it for later. 

You listen to him talk about his concert experience of tonight while the drum in your clit matches the beat of the songs of his playlist. He speeds down the road, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and the shift stick, and he doesn’t look at you until he halts the car at the first red light. 

He smiles at you, knowingly. A dirty, dirty smile that turns your world upside down, vexes you deeply—enough for you to swivel your head in the other direction to ignore him because if you looked at him any longer like that, you’d be unbuckling his pants. But Yoongi does what he pleases. With his index finger, he whips your chin back to him, leans over and grins before he presses his lips against yours. 

A gentle, gentle kiss. One that does not mirror his demeanor. 

Your walls flutter, your whole body, too. Shock seizes you in its grasp at that gesture of affection and you can’t breathe—he’s stolen all of the oxygen in your lungs. The trees sway and bend, the swan in you dances quite buoyantly, despite the fact that a storm is coming. 

A storm of your emotions. 

He’s never kissed you like that—out of the blue, at the red light. He kisses you when he’s drunk, handsy and touchy-feely as he everlastingly is, but he doesn’t kiss you just like that when he’s sober. 

“You doing good?” he murmurs against your lips, ripping away the fingers of your shock, and it feels as though you’re waking up from a dream—only to glide, boundlessly, into another one. Yoongi waggles with your chin before he pulls away, the yellow light bathing him in its shade momentarily before the green blinks and he jumps back into his own world. 

Does he really think you won’t erupt in this storm? Disintegrate into smithereens and wipe everything clean that he is? 

“What was that for?” you ask, softly, your lips numb and aching for more of his tenderness, one that you would, in all honesty, die for. You trace the print of his own lips on yours, feel its heavy warmth, and you might as well be drunk just from that. 

You need a shot. And not just one. 

Yoongi bites his bottom lip. “You’re holding out so well. I thought you deserved it.” 

You roll your eyes back—not from raw annoyance, but from the pristine pleasure you receive from the dominant, fatherly energy of his words. Suddenly, you don’t know what to do with your hands, what to say, what to think. What you do know is that you surely will be crying into his pillow by the time this night is over and he’s fast asleep. 

But you can’t cry much. Can’t wake up with puffy eyes. Can’t reveal to him the gravity of your feelings. 

You don’t even remember the moment you realized you loved him. Think you loved him the first time you laid your eyes on him, but you buried it deeply in you—so deeply that you didn’t even recollect your feelings when Yoongi told you, straight away, that this was just a friends with benefits kind of arrangement. Truth be told, this business is the sole kind of relationship you can give him as you hate men. Always hated them. But you don’t hate him. 

He’s not them. He’s different. 

You may have wanted adrenaline and joy tonight, but as you dwell in this state of mind of yours, you slouch deeper into the leather and come to a heartbreaking understanding that you’ll never be happy in this life. 

The night-clothed streets pass by you in soft shapes in colors, disappearing instantly out of your view. And the woodland, the trees and the swan, they disappear, too. Shrouded by the fog of your abysmal sadness. 

***

Yoongi took you to such a small hotel that its luxuriousness pierced your eyes with its glorious light. You thought you were dining and ending the night at his place, but once Yoongi ordered your favorite shots of sweet rum with cocktail cherries, you perceived you were staying here. Perceived he was unknowingly giving you the opportunity to drown your feelings in alcohol as well. 

You almost didn’t wait for him to take his own shot before you downed yours, but hearing the click of his tongue, you stopped midway. And to make sure you did wait, he placed his palm upon your wrist, bringing your arm down onto the table as he ordered your dessert. 

Chocolate ice cream, just for her. Thank you. 

He made everything worse. 

You weren’t sure why you wanted to be so good for him, listening to every order of his that came to his mind. Why you wanted that validation, that praise. You could just do whatever you desired—it wouldn’t scratch your relationship with him. You could be bad and he wouldn’t mind. Hell, you think he would even enjoy it. But why is it your inert yearning to please him so much? It’s devastating—and it’s your personal ruination. Because the more you do things that caress his ego, the deeper the abyss of your feelings for him goes. 

You shouldn’t. Not in the construct of your friendly relations. For the sake of your well-being.

You pry his fingers away and take that shot, watching his eyes grow large in their surprise. You never slide the cherry along with the liquor into your mouth, so once you swallow it, you open it wider and begin to chew it. His brows twitch, his own mouth parting at the sight and he leans back into his chair, completely submitted and enthralled by your act of defiance. 

And it feels good, going against him like that. Living your life by your own decided rules, and not his. 

You don’t hesitate to gulp down the other shot, but it’s not the slight burning of the liquid that gives you the buzz. It’s the way he seems to be completely pleased by your self-will, smiling lazily at you with his head tilted to the side. It propels you to steal his shot, too, and the brief facade of his pleasure collapses. A dark tendril of concern lines his eyes and those brows that twitched furrow, casting a dusky shadow over those slits. 

Now he’s aware of it, the tornado that spins within you. But he doesn’t know the cause of it, the decadent poetry verses that cover it. 

And he’ll never know—he’ll never read them. Because you’d much rather keep it in secrecy than risk losing him for all eternity. Feelings can be hidden, feelings can wander off, lose their bearings until they no longer remember that your body used to be their home. But Yoongi… he’s a person that you meet once in a lifetime. And losing him would mean that you lost not just your life, but the blood pumping in your veins as well.

It’s wrong, being attached like that to someone, regard him this way. And you’re cognizant of the fact it’s temporary—and for that sole reason, you bask in it. Because your life would be prosaic, and not poetic, if you didn’t. 

That is the motto you carry in your pathetic, but strong heart. 

And the darkness of his concern, it intoxicates you more than the last shot you take. 

The backdrop of dining and chattering people sway, just like your past trees, behind him. Manifestations of foreign lives you’ll never witness twice in your life, that are a part of you today and will part from you tomorrow. Yoongi, in the middle, remains stable. A beacon of light, unmoving, a great pillar of fixedness and steadiness. He peers at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, his aura solemn, no longer playful. Your sighs emit out of you in a constant stream while your eyes roam at everything in motion but him and he seems to strongly, strongly dislike that. 

“What’s up with you?” he asks for the second time around this evening, but the question has a loftier ring of seriousness to it. It passes through you, puncturing you until it pokes out of your back and transforms into a pair of monumental wings. Ones, upon which your feelings are mockingly hung, for his eyes to see, but not to recognize.

And the swaying of your body brings forth wetness to your eyes, for it is an anamnesis of the inner world you lost due to the comprehension of your feelings. 

“Nothing,” you say for the second time around, too. A hefty blanket of silence is thrown across the table, scattered with empty shot glasses that were meant to be shared between the pair of you. Unable to look at him, your eyes drop to them, count them—one, two, three, four—and then your irises wind up at his clenched fist. At the white valleys of his knuckles that are composed only when his fingers are wrapped around a microphone. And the blanket of the silence is warmer than the warmth he has given you—a sweltering layer of heartsickness that you can’t bear. With your drunk brain, you think you should pierce it, as if with a needle, with a response to a question he didn’t ask you. “I haven’t eaten much today, that’s why I’ve gotten drunk so quickly.” 

Yoongi runs a tongue down the inner flesh of his cheek. Ponders the information you have given him before he scolds you. “You didn’t eat and you drank four shots in a row. You won’t tell me what it is, fair enough, but I know you’re hiding it behind the pretense of you being horny.” 

His head swivels to the side, sensing a presence. And he watches as the waitress puts down an ornamental plate of two scoops of chocolate ice cream in front of you. You don’t pay her a second of your time. You set your eyes on Yoongi, on the darkness of his energy that you are ever so slowly and magnetically pulled to. 

Yes, he sees the problem, but doesn’t recognize it. He sees the shape of your wings, but he can’t recognize their color. 

The solidness of his call-out quivers. You’re not sure if you’re hiding it; you’re no longer sure about anything at this moment, but you don’t care. You have to stick to your secrecy, you have to keep your feelings safe and tucked away, no matter how far on the edge of the cliff they are. 

“I’m not hiding anything. I was horny,” you retort, not caring that the waitress is still present, picking up your shot glasses. Yoongi gives you a look while you tip your chin down and gaze at him through your long lashes—just like he did. A taste of his own sweet poison. And then you lift your foot and rest it between his outstretched legs, the sole of your stilettos pressing lightly against his soft groin. 

This is fun. This is the adrenaline you were seeking. Who would’ve thought you would be your own provider of that. 

Surprised by the abruptness of your act, he doesn’t let it show on his face, but his hands drift upwards from his thighs before he settles them around the bridge of your foot. He waits for the waitress to finish her job and, sensing the pressure, she scurries away without asking if you wanted to order another round. 

And in her absence, Yoongi begins to touch you. 

He sails his fingernails from your toes up to the thin strap of your shoe, wrapping them around your ankle. He squeezes your limb once, warning you about something you don’t know, his eyes tiny, tiny slits. Perhaps if you keep up with this, the night won’t end so prettily like it normally does. 

But you don’t believe it. You refuse to. And to be frank, you can’t. 

You shall have your fun. 

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” he orders like the father he is, pointing at the dessert with his irises. 

You look at it, at the bits of the chocolate bars jutting out of it, then back up at him. “Feed it to me.” 

The slits break, his eyes enlarging. His reaction spreads all across his face—brows curling upwards, mouth parting, his thumb absentmindedly swiping across the skin of your shin, exposing how much he liked your request. Such an intimate place for that to happen. 

Then, he examines his surroundings. Then, he gets up from his chair and sits next to you on the booth, taking a hold of the spoon and your leg simultaneously, hooking it over his thigh. Scoops the ice cream and turns to you, his arm suspended in the air. 

“Open,” he rasps, and your eyes wet first before your mouth complies, opening wide for him. Yoongi slides the spoon into your mouth with expert gentleness, careful not to hurt you, and your first tear of the night cascades down your cheek when your mouth closes around the silver, your tastebuds cheering due to the chocolate flavor that overwhelms them. 

Yoongi, the man that could never disappoint you. Yoongi, the man who has given you more fatherly love than your own father ever did. 

How could you not love him? How could you not want more from the casualness of your relationship with him when he treats you like this? When he prepares a warm faith in men within your chest, a wet soil—out of which the tenderest sprout of joy shall grow? 

The second tear cascades down. The ice cream melts on your tongue. You swallow. 

Yoongi sighs, dropping his hands, the corners of his eyes rounding in an emotion you’ve never seen upon him. “You have to tell me what’s going on.” 

Your wings, swan-like, flutter behind you, ruffling the hair on the crown on his head. “The ice cream tastes good.” 

You brush away your tears, lamenting your foolish mistake, and fold your hands on your lap. Give him a teary smile that you can’t hide and open your mouth for him again. Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he continues to feed you and frown at you, not until another waitress comes and asks if you wish to order another round. His anger is evident in his voice as he turns her down, stating you won’t be drinking any more than you have. 

And again, he makes everything worse when he wipes your mouth clean after you finish the dessert. Pats your head to reward you. 

You hold your tears, watch him pay for you, give him your hand when he leads you towards the elevator up to the room where you’ll be staying tonight. 

Him, completely sober; you, drunk out of your mind. 

He doesn’t let go of your hand, even as you and him stand side by side, the silence as thick as death. You can’t stand it, can’t do anything else but to break it all over again. Though this time, you don’t do it with words. 

You do it with your actions. 

Stumbling on your feet like a freshly-born fawn, it’s only then that Yoongi looks at you. Holds you steady as you move in front of him to face him. He doesn’t swim along the current of all these brown shades of the elevator, but you can see a deep emotion waving through his ice-cold eyes that heat up, melt and droop when you envelop your arms around his neck and press your face against the side plane of his, kissing him there a hundred, a thousand times. You sink your fingers into the hair at the nape, tracing circles along his scalp and Yoongi shudders, breathes evenly against you, and it reminds you of the wind that swept past your woodland—the one that made your trees sway. 

All of that is gone because of your mistake. 

And something tells you that nothing will ever be the same. That something groundbreaking awaits you once these elevator doors open. 

And they open too quickly. 

Breaks your wordless actions that speak your gratitude for his fatherly behavior by gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of the elevator. Doesn’t let your aching feet touch the ground until the snugness of the tiny room welcomes you in. A queen-sized bed, a mirror across the wall that faces it, a round table by the balcony. It would be stifling if you were here alone, but Yoongi, somehow with his domineering energy, enlarges the room—makes it his. 

He empties out his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. A white lighter and a pack of cigarettes. His jacket follows next, hooking it around one of the chairs, and once he notices your wavering feet, he sits down at the edge of the bed and sheds your trench coat, throwing it over his own jacket. Bends at the waist and takes off your heels, one by one. Only then, when you’re comfortable, does he set you down in the center of his lap. And you realize that the mirror is right in front of you. 

You watch him through it. Watch his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck; watch your own form disappear into the buffiness of his body as his hands begin to roam. His watch glints in the dim light of the room and his own being coalesces, becomes one with the murkiness. 

You want to do that, too. Forget who you are. Forget what you’re feeling. 

Tears prick at your waterline and you let out a pained sigh. Another foolish mistake of the night, one you’re about to pay for. 

“Talk to me,” he begs, a wisp of a tiny whiny weaving into his voice inconspicuously, but you catch it—and it vibrates through you, weakening you. It makes it so much harder for you, his unyielding need to know what’s troubling you, but how can you tell him? How can you risk never seeing him again? 

You remain silent, painfully so. 

Yoongi lifts his head from your neck and stares you dead in the eye through the mirror, chilling you down to the bone. 

“You truly think I’m just a guy you fuck?” he spits, his anger on full, unabashed blast that you should’ve seen coming with your restrained behavior, but it’s better to take his anger than to take his absence—and you shall devour that emotion of his. His question causes a hiccup to ensue in your chest, the secrecy of your feelings leaning over the edge of the cliff. Dangerously, dangerously close. “That you can’t confide in me? You think I’m just gonna fuck you and pretend I didn’t see you cry?” Your eyes dart away, a heavy load of agony settling over your heart, but Yoongi prevents you from looking away. Makes you look at him by grabbing your chin and keeping your head still, facing the mirror. “Is that what you want? You want me to be this kind of asshole?” 

You bite your lip, not knowing what to say, not knowing who you want him to be, not wanting to be in this situation at all. But Yoongi can’t stand your silence. Can’t stand the privacy of your trouble, as if he inertly knows that it has something to do with him. 

He softens his touch, but he doesn’t do the same with his voice. 

“Answer me.” 

You cry out in unnamed desperation, which propels Yoongi to lift your head up to him, so you can look at him—so you can see how much this matters to him. The emotion in his eyes vivaciously thumps, urging you to speak to him. He holds you to him like this, gripping your cheeks with the littlest amount of pressure, sucking in small breaths and you can’t. You’re going to explode if he keeps at it, and you’re going to die.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tiny cries emitting out of your throat, and it’s almost a cry for help. You bunch up his T-shirt in your trembling fist, seizing the solidness of him like your fear seizes you, and you don’t know whether to run or stay put on his lap like this. You’re appalled about where this is going and you’re certain that the same dead end is impatiently seeking you—

Yoongi shushes you. Averts his hand and caresses your hair down. Kisses your forehead, where he lingers a few long seconds that subdue the expression of your storm. Waits until your breathing evens out, so he can unravel the words swelling in him. 

“Even if you asked me, I couldn’t be this kind of asshole to you,” he reveals against that plane of your face, punctuating his sentence by pressing his nose against yours. And you can’t believe his actions, you can’t believe the kind of affection he’s bathing you in; it lessens your fear, slashing it apart until there’s nothing left of it. “Something is hurting your heart and that bothers me. And what pisses me off most of all is that you think I can’t help you.” 

You sniffle and slide your hand upwards to his neck. Try to memorize every inch of this paintwork that your life is graced with as tomorrow won’t have the same paints, the same brushstrokes—

“I’m not gonna fuck you. If you want to be touched, I’ll touch you, but don’t think for a second you’re coming tonight, not if you won’t talk to me,” he murmurs and you gasp, lowly, your wings slumping limply.

The promise of him fucking you was your only salvation for tonight. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, your mouth falling agape, unbelief clutching you at the intensity of his stubbornness. 

And you want to know the meaning behind it. 

“Why?” 

He scoffs, kissing your cheek as if you were a baby he’s cradling, and you can’t take it anymore. You untangle yourself from his grasp and stand up to your feet, your back against the mirror. Yoongi peers at you disapprovingly and then he shakes his index finger at you. Your legs mimic the same movement, trembling, weakening at that. 

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he says and flattens his lips, pauses before he opens his mouth again, but you stop him, despite how much you like it. 

“No, Yoongi. Why are you treating me like this?” 

He props his knuckles against his thighs. A powerful, powerful stance. Curls his lips around his teeth. “Like what?” 

You reflect him. “Like I’m something more.” 

Yoongi chuckles, humorlessly, at that. You spewed it out so rapidly that you don’t realize what you said until he lets out that noise that returns the drum to your sensitive parts. And briefly, as if you uttered something stupid, you grow smaller and smaller—until his following words change your life once and for all. 

“Because you are and because you always have been,” he rasps, the corners of his mouth downturning for a split second, exposing his own secrecy that brings you to your knees. They scruff against the white carpet, stained by time, and Yoongi’s eyes flash with light to see you in this position. 

Your heart hammers with more life than it ever had, with a kind of adrenaline it never felt before, and wetness clouds your vision, misting this situation in a cloud of disbelief. Your lungs fail you, shuddering underneath his hard gaze, and they swell greatly when Yoongi clasps your face in his hand, the one that pointed at you so fatherly, so devastatingly. 

“You’re not just a girl I fuck and I know I’m not a guy you fuck. What we have is irreplaceable, what we do has always been something more, beyond the label we gave it and I regret it,” he lets out, a pained sigh—just like yours—wafting over your features, and Yoongi leans over, propping his elbows on his knees, his other hand joining your face, fingers gripping your hair on each side. “I should’ve treated you more properly, with respect. Take you out on dates. Get to know you. Wait before you let me touch you… because that is what you deserve. You’re not a girl to mess around with. You have a dignity that needs to be taken seriously, that needs to be respected and I wish I had done that. I wish…” he trails off, clicking his tongue in ultimate regret, and you break. You break, break, break. Sob in his hands that hold you so steadily, that give you life, adrenaline and a new meaning to your whole being. Suffocate under his watch, the earth-shattering notion that this has changed the course of your trajectory of your relationship with him forever constricting your throat. “I wish I had allowed myself to court you like you deserve. I wish I had been better mentally, but I’ll make everything right if you want me to. If you want me as much as I want you, I’ll make it right. I’ll try my hardest.”

Your own words, your heartstrings tangle up in a complex manner. Your tongue twists, your speech held back, and you have no control over what comes out of your throat. You’re crawling through a limbo that has no end and each movement you make, the way back gets erased. You need to keep going before it swallows you, but you need him to lead you. You need him inside your skin, inside your heat, inside your mouth. You need to be connected to him in a way you’ve never been connected to him before. You need his breath in your lungs—and your attachment to him bursts in flames. 

Sated, elated, magnificent. 

“Fuck me and make me yours, Yoongi.” 

He sucks in a breath as if he didn’t expect you to accept his favor. The light in his eyes soaks his irises in wetness and his mouth trembles in a tender emotion before he smashes it against yours. And within that lip lock, the swan in you is reborn. 

A baby swan, learning how to sail upon this new, new river—needing her father more than ever before. 

The kiss is hard and the kiss is catastrophic. Yoongi moves his mouth against yours, sucking every bit of your old life out of you to fill you up with newness. Lifts you up and sits you back on his lap. But the kiss is too brief and you soon perceive that his anger hasn’t been shunned out. 

Wet and blue flames lick over his black pools. 

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you. What I said still applies.” 

The zipper slides down, the straps follow suit—and your silk is ripped away from your body that Yoongi turns over and moves to his preferable position, cradling you sideways like a child. And there—as he gives you a once over, studying the red lace of your lingerie, the swell of your breasts, the little valley of fat upon your tummy, the ruination of your panties and the stickiness of your thighs—there you realize that he’s as punishing you as much as he manipulating you into telling him. 

And it’s as arousing as it is bad. 

His free hand begins to roam while the other one holds you close, wrapped around your back, preventing you from running away. It ghosts over your breasts, causing your spine to arch into his palm and his throat to emit a delicious groan that drenches your panties. His fiery hand ventures down, his tongue gracing you with little praises of how beautiful you are, and when he reaches the V-line of your private parts, he discovers how much his deep voice and his touches affect you. 

He lifts his fingers and catches them glistening in the orange light. And this time, he doesn’t plunge them into his mouth. No, he sinks them inside your own. You swirl your tongue around them, coaxing that throaty noise of his that makes your hips buck up. Your tangy sweetness stupefies you and your so-loved woodland is remolded by that intimate act. By your connected gaze that could start a foreign war and bring the world down. 

“Suck on them,” he orders, and you comply. Hollow out your cheeks, make sucking noises as you find everything you ever searched for in his eyes. Stability, warmth, a father. Switch, cutely, between sucking them and dancing your tongue around them. His index and pinky fit just right between the elongated clefts of your cheeks and he coos, grows hard underneath you, kisses the tip of your nose, onto which he whispers: “Such a good little girl.” 

You moan and he reacts so trenchantly fast, withdrawing his fingers and using them to slide your panties to the side, placing them on your clit and not moving. 

“So swollen,” he comments, kissing you for a beat of time without closing his eyes, without missing this moment. “I like it when you’re like this. Swollen, dripping and so horny for me. Like I’ve never taken care of you before.” He glides his fingers down, past your lips to your hole before going back up, rooting on your throbbing clit before starting over. He etches desperation into your veins, stirs your butterflies to madness, and you breathe heavily. “No one will ever see you like this. No one, you hear me?” 

Your nod is automatic, thoughtless, and he’s pleased to the core. Enough that he begins to massage circles on your clit, your wings fluttering, no longer limp, but full of zest. And he can sense it—and it touches him so much that he deepens the pressure while the circles remain agonizingly slow. Your body writhes. Yoongi smirks down at you, grins fully when you clutch the nape of his neck and make little noises into his T-shirt. And just as soon your vision begins to blur and you reach the cusp of your orgasm, he stops.

“What’s hurting you?” 

He reciprocates your feelings, so you have no reason not to tell him. It’s more of a problem with your speech. You’re so fucked out that you can’t speak. 

Yoongi waits for a few seconds before he spanks your pussy. Maneuvers you so you can look at yourself in the mirror, your back against his chest, and he collects your arousal while he pins back your thigh, drifting all four of his fingers along your femininity, stimulating you and punishing you at the same time. Then, he lets you see your slick trickling out of his digits. 

“Look how wet you are, don’t you want to come?”

He’s a dark figure behind you while you are a small creature, spread wide, drooling, dressed in a sinful shade of red that doesn’t indicate her purity, whose smeared red mouth leaks loud, whiny whimpers when he sticks one of those fingers inside your heat, adding another one right away once you accommodate around him. He fucks you with a force that reverberates throughout your whole body and his name that pours out of your mouth like a prayer is a cry for help all over again. He pumps his fingers and pulls away, edging you in such a sinister way that drives out your tears. 

He worsens your condition—like he invariably does. But the rapidness of his pace, it unlocks your mouth, it untwists your tongue, and you begin to babble. 

Incoherent words, nonsense noises; sounds that blossom in volume when he withdraws ultimately, pushes the lace of your bra away from your breasts and kneads them with wet fingers. 

And you erupt, at last, when he flicks your nipples. You flood his pants-clothed thighs and knees, your slick streaming all the way to the carpet. And the river continues on with his words.

“I know you want this cock. I know you want it deep in you. But you’re not getting it if you don’t tell me right now what it is you’re using me to forget about,” he whispers into your ear, tweaking your nubs, his hands descending down your body and pinching your clit. You cry out, the aftershocks of pleasure dizzying you, his manipulation technique in full effect, and you’ll give it to him. Because of his cock, because of his affection. “You have three seconds. One, two, three—”

“I love you,” you confess, screaming it out of your lungs, and his eyes enlarging and his mouth parting in shock is all you see before you’re thrown on the bed.

Before your panties are ripped in half and flung behind him. 

Before your pussy is eaten and fingered in a way that makes you come in four heartbeats. 

Yoongi’s skilled tongue flicks your clit, his fingers curl in that special spot that bespeckles your vision with the stars of the night sky beyond the hotel room window. And you don’t latch onto the fact you’ve drenched him with your juices until he straddles your thigh, arches over you and kisses you with love-drunkenness, his fingers sliding back inside. 

And he doesn’t start fucking you until he confesses something, too. 

“I love you, too.” 

His digits drill you, his eyes pierce your soul and your orgasms are countless like this, not bound to time, not bound to anything at all. You squirt on him, bathe him in the newness of your relationship, cleansing off the old. And then he’s inside of you, murmuring reassuring words against your mouth about how that shouldn’t be troubling your heart. And you cry, you sob, you scream, overtaken by it all, your mouth numb by his constant hard kisses and if you ever belonged to him in the past—you didn’t. Because at this moment, as he stuffs you full of his cum, you’re interwoven into his DNA for all eternity. 

One that he nurtures as he holds you in his arms and asks you about how long you’ve loved him. And he in return tells you that he loved you the moment you first had a taste of what he could give you—laughter, guidance, and orgasms. All from the first date. 

And when you kiss him for the last time before sleep steals you away, you know that you’ll never lack adrenaline in your life ever again. As long as you’re with him, you’ll be on the receiving end. And his unchanging promises will make you look forward to each day, your batteries charged and green—like your blooming woodland.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

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