#anyway this turned out really lovely and I love her

[onlyhyunjin]

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒!

(♡) - my personal favorites (🔞) - CONTAINS NSFW CONTENT

NEW BEGINNINGS - @ikeuverse (flirting with your brother's brother-in-law wasn't in your plans after returning from studying abroad. it wasn't something you were going to stop either since heeseung was the epitome of beauty. but when there's another woman's name in the story. what happens? you don't want to be caught between a betrayal… or so you thought.) (♡)

MARRY ME - @ikeuverse (ever since you met lee heeseung, he told you that the two of you were going to get married. all the time, at every opportunity, he reinforced it until one day, drunk, you accepted. was he dreaming or did it really happen? it wouldn't be so bad to fall for his jokes for once.)

TIDES OF REGRET - @pprodsuga (in the year since heeseung first rejected your love confession, you've tried everything to get over him. a trip to europe makes you realize you miss your former best friend more than anything, and it makes heeseung realize he's got it all wrong.) (♡)(🔞)

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER - @i2sunric (your daughter asks heeseung to tell the greatest love story of all and he takes the chance to narrate how he met you, the love of his life.) (♡)

JUNE BLOSSOMS - @soobnny (synopsis. as the month of may ends, you wonder what june holds for you and heeseung (especially with no more need to fake date.)

LATE SUMMER LOVIN' - @4am-enha (you desperately want to spend your last summer here in town with your friends, only to find out almost all of them are away on vacation. that is, all of them but heeseung. the one friend you’d never really been that close with.)

BITE ME - @drunkhazed (“I’m kind of confused still.” You admit, anxiously shuffling to sit without making eye-contact. Heeseung chuckles plopping down by your side, arm slinging back over your shoulder to keep you pressed against him.)(🔞)

COFFEE & CREAM - @ham-st4r (one chilly night after a long work shift, you’re unfortunately forced to walk home. Cause you left your bag at work, half way through your journey you stumble across a homeless man who you naturally offer money to, and he though he refuses. You give it to him anyway, and down the road, you’ll find that those two dollars changed not only his life but yours as well.) (🔞)

IT'S CUPID, STUPID - @mygnolia (To hell with Lee Heeseung, you couldn't find someone you hated more than the boy who's by your side no matter what. You figured that maybe the summer before university would be the best way to finally let go of him, and to leave the hate you have in your childhood- but no. What do you mean you have to spend ALL summer with him?)

FUCK BUDDIES - @dimepdf (y/n and heeseung and fwb after heeseung win in his football match y/n gives him the best reward)

TEETH - @gyuuberryy (you were not thrilled about the move in of your new neighbour. mostly because he was so strange and seemed to be hiding something dark. and partly because you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him because of your unwanted attraction. you were determined to expose his dark secret and get rid of him once and for all. but, it was proving to be a difficult task because he was just so irresistible..and needy.)

PLAYER RANK: PLATINUM - @simpjaes (You’re not sure what’s worse, your sister’s boyfriend or your sister’s boyfriend’s friends. What you thought would be a great deal in living with her throughout college turns into a major game of cat and mouse, where you’re unsure if your moral compass is pointing in the right direction solely because you suspect someone is wearing a giant sex magnet to throw it off.) (🔞)

RUDE - @4wkjun (heeseung has never loved anyone as much as he loves y/n. y/n’s father has never hated someone as much as he hates heeseung. but it doesn’t matter, heeseung’s gonna marry y/n anyway.)

I OFFER YOU MY EVERYTHING - @heegyukeluv (You never cared about sex, until you did. You grew too afraid of it, scared of disappointing the other person or showing your inexperience. But then you met Heeseung, the hot basketball captain that stole your heart and became your biggest fantasy. ) (🔞)

VERBOTEN - @heesbaby (a bad stroke of luck saw lee heeseung, your dads coworker, moving into your small apartment until he found his feet again. emotionally unavailable and a workaholic, you were going to try your absolute hardest to make him loosen up. even if it meant breaking a few of the house rules he'd set out.) (🔞) (♡)

10 DAYS TO FALL IN LOVE - @luvyeni (you and heeseung used to be bestfriends as children — he even told you he'd marry you one day. but then you went to highschool and things changed , he dyed his hair and started hanging out with a new group group of friends. through all that his love never changed for you — has yours changed for him?)

RENT A BOYFRIEND - @jayujus (in which jeon y/n is desperate to find a boyfriend ASAP because she needs a date for her family's mixer. her best friend, ningning, introduces her to a website perfect for this situation!)

CHERRY CHAPSTICK - @angelwonie (ever since you met lee heeseung, he told you that the two of you were going to get married. all the time, at every opportunity, he reinforced it until one day, drunk, you accepted. was he dreaming or did it really happen? it wouldn't be so bad to fall for his jokes for once.)

[darnell-la]

I can't stop thinking about how Logan would be like "yeah those boys are not enough for you you need a man like me to take care of you" pleeeese do a story based on that <3 Love you guys works btw

note: Logan Howlett is an eater.

———

Logan had originally come to y/n’s apartment to drop off dinner. Wade had told him she hadn’t been eating proper food because of her study hours, so he cooked and packed it, ready to foul her up.

When he arrived, he heard noises from the young woman’s room. Two voice. Hers and someone else’s. A man’s. A boy.

He held himself together, understanding that she was young and experimenting. At least she better be. She shouldn’t be dating right now. He won’t allow it.

The man went to turn around and leave, maybe come back in an hour, but he heard a moan. Her moan. “Fuck no,” the man said, changing his mind about experimenting after he heard her with another man.

“Y/n!” The man knocked on the door hard, making the two jump in the bed. “Fuck, that’s Logan — M-My friend’s friend. My friend. J-Just get dressed,” y/n got up quick as well as the boy.

“Goddamnit,” he cussed, angry that he didn’t get to finish after touching y/n for the longest to get her wet. “Can you just like shoo him away or somethin? I’m fucking hard,” the boy said.

“I can’t, he’s like family. And he wouldn’t leave anyway,” she said, making the boy roll her eyes. “Get him outta here or I ain’t comin’ back,” the boy said, making her roll her eyes, but she was also horny now. She needed something.

Y/n cracked the door, hoping to talk with Logan for a quick second before sending him off, but he pushed open the door, causing Y/n to fall back.

“You ain’t comin’ back. Get the fuck out,” Logan snapped at the boy. His attitude was unacceptable. Even his appearance in her room was unacceptable.

“Dude, get out of here — We just got-“ Before he could say anything, Logan grabbed the boy by his collar and pulled him out of her room. “Don’t come back, or you’ll regret it,”

Logan shut the door and then turned to look at y/n who was embarrassed. “Logan, I-“ she went to say but he cut her off. “You what? Fuck boys during your study time?”

“What!? No, I- I mean — Logan, why are you here?” She asked, trying to switch the conversation which made him chuckle. “To give you dinner that you never have time to eat. Now I see why,”

Y/n felt bad. Now Logan knew she didn’t show up on Friday nights because she was fucking some random boy.

“You ditch family for a boy that can’t respect you? Let alone, properly make you wet!?” The man asked, shocking y/n. “H-He does make me wet,” y/n said, not knowing why she would tell Logan that. She just felt defensive.

“Oh, really? You know I can smell ya, Bub. Right?” Logan asked the young lady as he placed her dinner down on a desk before walking towards her. “And you’re already all dried up,”

“Logan that’s- That’s very inappropriate,” she said as she backed up, the back of her legs hitting her bed. “Is it? Then I must be a nasty son of a bitch, because I smell for you every time I’m around you,”

Y/n didn’t know how that got her on her bed, spread open for him, but she was, legs spread and cunt leaking as he stuffed his face in between her legs.

“So fuckin’ tasty. Gotta lick that son of a bitch off of you,” Logan groaned onto her heat as her hands tangled in his hair. “Oh god, Logan,” y/n threw her head back as her bud swole.

“Sweetest pussy that lives, baby. So fuckin’ good,” Logan couldn’t stop eating at her. He lifted a hand up and used two fingers to push at her entrance until he could curl in the right spot.

“F-Fuck,” y/n cried, making him lean back to watch her as he finger fucked her cunt. “You like that?” Logan asked as she nodded, head still leaned back and eyes closed.

“Yeah? Gonna start callin’ me instead of the boys?” He asked her, making her nod quickly. “Yeah, these boys aren’t enough for you. You need a man like me to take care of you,”

Y/n whined as she grinned at his fingers, chasing her orgasm. She was close, and he had just started. He was definitely better than any boy she’d been with. He was even better than herself.

“Give it to me, baby — Cum on my face — Need my face drenched,” the man looked into the girl's eyes and began to cross and roll back.

“C’mon, baby, give it to me — Give it to your man,” Logan kitty licked her bud to give her a better sensation that Wii jot sent her over the edge with a loud moan.

Logan latched his lips around her lips as he continued fingering her, humming into her cunt to get this amazing feeling in.

She tried to push the man off and close her legs, but he kept slapping her hands away and speeding her legs further with his free hand.

“G-God, Logan,” y/n cried out, feeling a bit embarrassed, and he felt it. He slightly loved the idea of her being shy from now on. The animal in him loved the look of a deer in headlights.

[papaya-twinks]

my little bookworm - l.n

Warnings: cuteness

Pairing: Lando Norris x uni!fem!reader

A/N - based off of @cheriiepies, you inspired this and this is for you x

Lando loved you. He really did. You were his perfect little angel of a girlfriend, sweet and nice and just everything he could ever want all bundled up into one adorable little person that he loved more than he loved anything. But sometimes he did find it a little saddening to watch the girl he was so in love with to have her nose buried into a book.

Not that he didn’t understand why. He knew what he was getting into, when he asked out the smartest (and prettiest) girl he’d ever met, he knew you’d have to continue with your studying. Benefits and not so good parts of dating a bookworm, anyways.

“Y/N,” Lando said, his voice very nearly close to being a whine as you finally tore your eyes from the book you were studying. “I’m finishing my studying, Lando,” you said to him with a little huff, annoyed he’d interrupted you.

“You’ve been studying for ages, though,” he said, “and you said you were ‘nearly done’ a whole hour ago,”. God, it was ten minuets ago. And here Lando was, performing his Grade A drama shit. Good on him, anyways? Back up career if F1 didn’t work out.

“You’re so needy,” you said, flicking him as you went back to jotting down your maths equations. “What the hell does that even say?” Lando asked, eyeing the questions with wide eyes. “It’s basically means-,” you started, only for Lando to cut you off.

Jeez, would he even let you get a word in? Christ. “No, no, you’ve lost me, I’m gone,” he said, and you could swear you saw his pupils dilate just the tiniest bit just staring down the equations on your textbook.

“I’d rather be dumber than dumb than know that,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “If I finish this page,” you said, “will you stop having a go at me?”. Lando hummed for a second, almost as if he was contemplating it (though him and you both knew he’d definitely say yes anyways).

“Fine,” he said, moving to sit on the bed, kicking his sneakers off as he stared at you, eyes travelling down your body. “Stop staring,” you said with a huff as Lando shrugged. “I’m not staring,” he said, even having the audacity to continue staring as he said that. What a jerk. In an affectionate way.

“Finally,” he sighed, watching as you put the book down. Lando didn’t even hesitate, wrapping his arms round your torso and bringing you into his side, a giggle on your lips as he did so. “Took you ages, Y/N,” he huffed.

“Sass me again and I’m going back to reading,” you said, flicking him as if to say ‘cut the attitude!’. “Sorry,” he sighed, shaking his head, curls fluffing against your cheek as he did so. “You’re so gorgeous,” he mumbled, his eyes on your face, tracing the contour of your face, the way your eyes sparkled…wow.

“You’re handsome too, mister,” you said, a little smile on your face as he pressed a kiss to your jaw. “Love you,” Lando said, as you smiled to him, lips pressed to the edge of his own. “Love you too,” you said, the last word lost between Lando’s lips as he pressed to you.

“So gorgeous,” he mumbled, lips moving across yours, his tongue peeking out to dampen your lips as well as his own, pressing between your lips, diving into your mouth. The feeling was almost unrealistic, having Lando turn you slightly so he was above you.

“Love you,” he repeated, almost like a chant as his tongue explored your mouth, delving into every crook of your own perfect little mouth. “So pretty,” he gasped, his eyes squeezed closed as you wrapped your arms round his neck, his body to yours.

It was like a harmony, both of you pulling back simultaneously to reach for air, before reaching back to the other, desperate for contact. It was almost like a reward when you finished your work, ready for your countless exams in university.

That was the price to pay for being gifted with such impressive brains. And you knew, at the end of the day, Lando always had your back, whether you failed them or not, he'd be there for you, to hold you and hug you through the night, kiss your pretty lips, wipe your tears away.

But you'd never fail anyways.

[ramirezmindset]

❝ 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 ❞

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . tyler owens x fem!reader .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° .

→ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: yourself and tyler go way back, further than you'd like to admit, but after a brutal end, it's been years since you've spoken. until one night when your roommate brings him home.

→ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: ANNNNGGSSSSTTTT, talks of fighting and yelling, reader and tyler having history, use of feminine pronouns and description, awkward asl atmosphere, sexual implication, longing, flashbacks will be in italics. ↳ wc: 4671 (not sorry)

→ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this came to me when i was sat on the couch with MY roommates hahahaahah - requests are open!

↳ ❝ [ i shouldn't have called, cause we shouldn't speak. you do make me hard, but she makes me weak - save all the jokes you're gonna make, while i see how much drink i can take. then be my mistake ] ❞

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Y/N, Emmie just texted me, she's found a male at the bar and he's coming back here" Your roommate Caroline slaps a hand over her mouth, biting back a laugh as you shake your head and chuckle. "I knew we should've joined her, but for some reason you refuse to go into that bar!"

"Carol, you know why I don't go there!" You scoff back, a playful smile on your face. You put the teaspoon in the sink and take a sip of the tea you just made, pushing a mug over the kitchen island to where Caroline sits. "I know that he tends to go there a lot and I just- I don't really want to be bumping into him and getting all weird and sad when I'm supposed to be having fun with my best girls"

"Yeah, yeah, Tyler this, Tyler that" You give her a disapproving look. "Ok, I'm sorry, that was rude. But I'm serious, Y/N, it's been four years. We never even met the guy, or even saw a photo! Surely if you were that spent on keeping him locked up in that little brain of yours for your eyes only, it can't have been that serious?"

"Oh, it was serious!" You defend, laughing and holding up your arms in mock offence. Carol wraps the blanket tighter around herself and leads you towards the couch, settling with her cup of tea, urging you to sit in front of her. "It was on and off like a strobe light, but I was crazy about him. And as far as I know, he was crazy about me. We just didn't mesh well. I mean, we had been together since we were fifteen, we grew out of each other, I guess"

"But you still have a photo of him in your wallet?" Your eyes widen at this statement, your face growing pale. "Relax, girl, I went in there to put your Costco card back and I saw a photo of some guy from the back. I assume it was him anyway and not some secret guy you've been hiding from us"

You bury your face in your hands in embarrassment, chuckling lowly to yourself. "That's Tyler alright"

"Y/N/N, will you just get in the truck?" Tyler said, holding his hand out for you to take. "Please?" You could never resist those puppy dog eyes, the one's you fell in love with all those years ago.

You smile at him, taking his hand and letting him lead you down the stairs of the porch towards his beat up old truck. Opening the door for you, he helps you climb in, a smile plastered across both your faces.

"Ty, where are you taking me?" You laugh, shaking your head at him as he just winks and shuts the door behind him, walking round the truck to slide into the drivers side.

"Now what would I gain from ruining the surprise, hm?" He turned the keys in the ignition and sped off down the dirt track of your parent's ranch, but instead of turning off onto the freeway, he heads in a different direction.

Deciding not to question him, you sigh and lean back into the headrest, staring at his side profile as he concentrates on the road. The furrow of his eyebrows, the clench in his jaw when he hits a particularly rocky piece of track, the slight smirk that flicks at the corner of his mouth when a song he likes plays on the radio.

"What are you staring at, pretty lady?" He jokes, glancing over at you and placing a hand on your thigh. "Something got your attention, hm?"

"Just my gorgeous boyfriend" You smile once again, interlocking your fingers with his hand that rests on your leg. "Thinking about how lucky I am to have such a beautiful man that loves me and drives me around and surprises me and buys me flowers and doesn't let me spend a dime."

"Yeah, you are pretty lucky" You both erupt into a fit of laughter as the truck pulls to a stop. He takes his hand off your thigh to take the keys out of the ignition and hops out the truck to open your door. "Here we are"

You look around you, confusion etching your features. "Tyler, this is the woods" He tuts at you.

"I knew you would say that. Just come with me" He takes your hand, leading you into the trees down a makeshift trail that's been made through hikers over the years. "You maybe know about this place, you maybe don't. I'm hoping don't"

You're walking for about 15 minutes before he tells you to close your eyes, grabbing your other hand to help you balance and show you the way. "Tyler, I am going to die out here!" You joke as you stumble over what feels like a branch.

"Relax, oh my Christ!" He laughs back, he pulls you into a stop as you find your feet on somewhat smooth ground. "Ok, keep your eyes closed. No peeking!" He lets go of both your hands and you feel him walk away, the crunch of his feet getting slightly further away before coming to a stop.

You take a deep breath, you arms still held out to the side slightly to keep your balance on the unfamiliar terrain.

"Ok, open" You open your eyes to find yourself on a wide cliffside at the edge of the woods, a picnic blanket sprawled out a few feet away from you where Tyler stood, and a basket full of what looks like all your favourite foods. A bottle of wine and two glasses sit comfortably on the blanket, and the city lights from below you glittered as the sun set below the peaks of the mountains miles away.

"Tyler, this is-" You place a hand on your heart, and you move your eyes to meet his, slowly walking towards where he was standing. "Tyler, this is incredible" You put your arm around his waist, pulling him in closely as you admire the intricacy of the set up. He places a kiss to your temple.

"I thought considering I'm leaving tomorrow for that storm, we could have a nice final date" He smiles, letting you go to sit down on the blanket.

"Nice?!" You exclaim, feigning offence. "Tyler, this is more than nice. This is perfect"

"Only the best for my girl" He winks, reaching for the wine and the corkscrew. "Now are you gonna sit down and enjoy this picnic with me, or are you gonna stand there staring?" He jokes again, fiddling about with the wine.

Before he could pester you again, you reach into your bag for your polaroid camera, an old thing Tyler got you for your seventeenth birthday that travels in your bag with you everywhere. Snapping a photo of him from behind, sat on the picnic blanket, the sun creating a silhouette of his frame, and all you could think in the moment was how beautiful he was, and how beautiful this could be.

"Earth to Y/N!" Caroline snaps her fingers from the couch opposite you. You flick back to reality, shaking your head and sheepishly apologising. "You OK?"

"Yeah!" You reply a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a bit tired"

"Do you mean tired or Tyler?" Caroline giggles as you half-heartedly fling a throw pillow in her direction. "Sorry, sorry! But seriously girl, it's been this long and he's still on your mind? He must've had you whipped, you haven't even been on a date since!"

"Yes I have!" You defend, placing your tea down on the coffee table and crossing your legs under your blanket.

"Fucking some guy on the gross sinks of the club handicap stall is not a date" She got you there. Suddenly, you hear the front door open, and Emmie's laughter echo around the hallway. "Christ, here she comes" Caroline sits up on the couch and fixes her hair, as if Emmie and her mystery man would come in the room anyway.

You were proven extremely wrong when the door is pushed open and your second roommate strolls in, three beers in hand. She throws one at you and one at Caroline, using her foot to keep the door open.

"I come bearing gifts!" Emmie exclaims, holding her own beer in her hands as you try biting the lid off the beer open. "We're gonna chill in here for a bit with you guys, Tyler's just taking his shoes off"

"Who?!" Caroline exclaims, as you choke on your own breath. "Who is gonna chill in here for a bit?" She looks between the two of you as you scramble on the couch to find the missing beer cap.

Confusion etches across Emmie's face, staring at you as you frantically sit back up, pushing your glasses back up your nose. "Oh shit!" She exclaims, her eyes widening in realisation. "Oh shit!"

"Oh shit what?" that all to familiar voice asks from behind her as he strolls into the living room, making eye contact with Caroline before turning towards you. His eyes grow wide, his hands immediately reaching to take his hat off and hold it to his chest. The hat that you bought him. That stupid, stupid hat that you spent a stupid, stupid amount of money on, but somehow all seemed worth it to see that stupid, stupid smile on his stupid, stupid face.

It seemed like forever that he was staring into you before Caroline broke the silence by clearing her throat. "Um, it's nice to meet you, Tyler. How are you, Tyler? What's going on, Tyler?" She raises her eyebrows at him, as you shoot her a glare.

"Uh- yeah, I'm good, you must be Caroline" He finally tears his eyes away from you to spare an awkward, tight-lipped smile. A familiar gut-wrenching embarrassment fills your body as you look down at your lap as it hits you that your ex-boyfriend is in your apartment, with the intention of fucking your best friend, and you're sat on the couch in your pyjama's drinking tea at 10pm on a Saturday night.

Emmie awkwardly sits on the couch next to Caroline, slipping her shoes off and mouthing a 'Sorry', reaching into her pocket to pull out her phone.

I'm so sorry, she texts you. I had no idea that was the Tyler, I'm gonna ask him to leave, tell him I don't feel well. I'm so sorry

You reply: you don't have to do that, i'm just gonna take myself off to bed

No this is my mess, Emmie's next text reads. I'll sort it all out.

Tyler's still standing awkwardly in the doorway as you launch yourself off of the couch and into the kitchen, pouring your beer down the sink out of pure humiliation. He still wore the same cologne, you could smell the sandalwood on his skin as you pushed past him, his warm flesh brushing against the bare skin of your arm. He still had that same look in his eyes all those years ago when he looked at you, that one of adoration.

You rub your eyes and look out the kitchen window of your apartment at the city lights, the rain pattering slowly against the glass panes as you sigh and lean your back against the counter. It was almost like mother nature was mocking you, laughing in your face as the memories of your last meeting with Tyler flooded your mind.

"Baby, just come back inside, we can talk!" He bellowed from his porch. "It's storming, Y/N, just come inside!"

You continue down his front path as the rain and hail slammed on the pavement. You didn't know what you were doing, your house was a forty-five minute walk from Tyler's place, but you knew you'd regret it if you gave in. Suddenly, his hand grabbed your bicep from behind, twisting you around. He saw your bloodshot eyes and puffy lips and immediately his features softened.

"Darlin', I'm sorry, please just come inside and we can talk it all out" His palm came up to cradle the side of your face, and you had to fight the urge to lean into his warm, tender touch.

"There's nothing to talk about, Tyler" You replied, shaking your head. Another tear rolled down your cheek, unrecognisable as the rain hammered down on your head. "You made your choice, let me make mine"

Tyler's eyebrows furrowed. "My choice? I choose you! I always chose you, I will always choose you!" His hand left your face, falling limp at his side.

"Tell that to Boone" You shook you head. "Tell that to everyone on that stupid fucking tornado chasing team! That's what you'd rather be doing!" He scoffs, wiping a hand down his face. "What? It's true! All I've done for the last decade is support you, I let you go off and do whatever it is you do in that stupid truck, I supported you in college when you didn't have a clue what you were gonna do with your life, I came with you on chases even though I fucking hate thunder, and I hate the danger, I do everything for you! And what do I get?"

"You get to be with me!" He cut you off, you were both yelling now, drawing attention from the neighbours as lights in the houses around you slowly turned on. "Isn't that enough? Am I not enough?"

"Don't you dare turn this on me!" You turn your back on him, wiping your face. You're too far in to let him see you cry. "Tyler, of course you're enough. I'm in love with you, I have been for ten years, but all I do in this relationship is hurt. I don't feel loved, I feel like you're not satisfied until you've got your adrenaline fix on some tornado hundreds of miles away from you. Am I supposed to sit on the porch knitting, waiting for you to show back up? God forbid my boyfriend cares about me and what I want!"

"If that's how you feel, maybe we shouldn't be together!" He exclaims, his hands flying into the air as the rain beats down harder and harder.

"Maybe we shouldn't!" Your shoulders slump as you stare at him, the hurt in his eyes clouding over as any ounce of hope he had in his body to remedy this is blown away by the wind and washed away by the rain. "We're not fifteen anymore, Tyler. I can't keep doing this, I can't keep hoping and praying that you'll come back to me alive. I just can't."

"Hey" Emmie's voice sounds behind you. You turn your head towards the kitchen door, where she's shutting it behind her. "I told Tyler I wasn't feeling well, and if I'm honest, he couldn't get out of here fast enough" She awkwardly chuckles and walks over to you, giving you a hug. "I'm so sorry, Y/N/N, I didn't know that was your Tyler. I would've never have spoken to him, let alone brought him home if I knew-"

"Emmie, relax" You reply, a dry laugh leaving your throat. "It's fine, there's no need to apologise. I was just shocked to see him, that's all. It's okay, I'm okay, I promise."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You climb out of the cab, Caroline and Emmie hot on your tail as the three of you link arms and giggle as you stumble towards the bar. The three bottles of wine you had in the refrigerator went down a treat as Emmie and Caroline coaxed you into drinking with them, and you let them convince you going to the bar that Tyler frequented was a fabulous use of your time.

It had been two weeks since your encounter with him, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't all you thought about. The look on his face, the smell of his skin and that goddamned hat that he still refused to part with all these years later.

You'd spent the majority of the past few weeks reminiscing on the relationship, thinking about what everything was and what it could've grown into. Where would you be today? On your own ranch, like your parents, but bigger, and would you finally have gotten that ring, maybe a couple of kids? Even today, when you pictured your future, it was always with him by your side.

The atmosphere in the bar was lively, music blasting out of the jukebox as you had to elbow your way to the bar for a drink. Your eyes take a scan of the room, but he wasn't in sight. A twang of disappointment struck you, as if you would've approached him anyway.

"What can I get you?" The bartender asks, but before you could open your mouth, someone responds for you.

"Black label, on the rocks" Tyler slides up beside you, the slight redness in his eyes indicating he was just as buzzed as you were. "Hey" He rests his elbow on the bar, passing the bartender his card and shooting you a smile.

He looked somewhat the same, his shoulders were broader and his smile no longer reached his eyes, but he was still your Tyler. The mischievous glint in his eye was gone, and he had grown some stubble, even with all the differences he was still just as charming as he was all those years ago.

"Hi" you reply, taking your drink from his hand and throwing it all down.

"Woah, slow down there, cowgirl" He laughed, his old nickname for you making shivers run up your spine. You glanced over your shoulder to find Emmie and Caroline, but they had scuttled off to a dark corner of the bar, no doubt to watch this interaction.

You had never felt more awkward in your life. All of a sudden the top you thought was cute three hours ago is too much for the atmosphere you're in, and your makeup is too perfect to be ruined by the tears that would inevitably fall within the next fifteen minutes.

Tyler nods his head towards the door, taking your hand delicately in his as he led you to the deck of the bar. Sparks shot up your arm and through your body at his gentle touch, his grasp far from firm, as if you were glass that would shatter. You follow him out and perch at an empty table overlooking the street.

"How are you?" He asked, looking at you, as if he could see inside your brain. You stare back, eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm fine" You reply, nervously licking your lips and twiddling your fingers on your lap. This is so fucking awkward.

He gives you a knowing look. "No, you're not" He looks away from you and wipes his face with his hand, something he always did to stop himself from crying. "I know you're not, because I haven't been fine since we broke up. And we're cut from the same cloth, you and me, we've been interlinked since we met"

You were sat on the back porch of your parents ranch. It was a sweltering summers day, sweat licking at your skin as you shifted uncomfortably in the deck chair. Your friend Hannah was over, bringing a bottle of some sort of dark liquor with her as she sat next to you, pouring you both another glass.

"Say, when is your brother gonna be home?" She smirked at you as you playfully swatted her arm. "What!? He's hot!"

"Hannah, behave!" You laughed. "But it should be any minute now" You winked at her, reaching for your glass. Usually you wouldn't condone any of your friends getting with your twin brother, but Hannah had liked him for years and you kind of just wanted her to shut up.

As if on cue, the french doors of the patio slid open and your brother walked onto the porch, grabbing Hannah's glass and downing whatever concoction she had made for herself. She playfully giggled, and the sight made you sick to your stomach, but you laughed along anyway.

"Hello, Hannah" Your brother gave her her glass back before turning to you and grimacing. "Hello....thing...."

"Hello, ugly" you responded, pulling your sunglasses on top of your head and sitting up properly to face him. "Why did you have to come out here and ruin my time with my friend?"

"Um, it's hot, you fucking idiot, and the AC is broken, so Tyler and I are gonna chill out here. I see you have liquor, so we're gonna be enjoying that just as much as you are" He pulled up a chair opposite Hannah, so close to her that their knees touched. You wished he'd swallow his pride and make the first move, because you knew damn well Hannah wouldn't.

"Tyler?" Hannah asked, her eyebrows furrowing. "Who's Tyler?"

"I am" he said from behind you, a shadow was cast over your face as he moved to stand next to you. You looked up, and there he was, the most beautiful man you'd ever seen, and probably would ever see. "And you must be Y/N?" You nodded. "I've heard a lot about you"

"Good things I hope" You joke, a laugh bubbling out your throat as your brother clears his throat. "But if they're coming from my brother, I can't imagine it's anything but slander"

You all erupt into laughter, and that was it. After that day, Tyler never left your side.

You lean back into your chair, avoiding eye contact with Tyler. He wasn't lying, you two were eerily similar, and he'd always been the one person, aside from your brother, who could read you like a book. There was no denying your souls were hand crafted for each other.

"How's your brother?" He asks, a lame attempt at conversation.

"I thought you would know" You turned to look at him. "He married Hannah a few months ago. I was half expecting to see you there"

Tyler shook his head. "Corey hasn't spoken to me since we broke up. I think he's angry I broke his sister's heart"

Your lips form a tight line. "What do you want from me Tyler? Have you dragged me out here away from my friends to make pointless small talk or did you have anything of value to say to me?"

"Is it so wrong to want to talk to you?" He asks again, hurt brushing over his features before he regained composure. You roll your eyes and stand up, making your way back into the bar. Before you could walk in, Caroline runs over and slams the door to the deck shut in front of you, Emmie furiously pointing at Tyler, mouthing "fucking talk to him!"

You sigh in defeat and turn around to see Tyler smiling, shading his eyes from the heat lamp burning down on his skin.

"Guess you have no choice" He joked. "But I can't talk to you knowing your roommates are staring at us"

"Well, what do you propose?" You asked, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. You were not leaving the bar with him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You left the bar with him. You found yourself strolling down the street, buying a case of beer from the gas station and suddenly, twenty minutes later, you were sat on the cliffside Tyler took you to years ago, moderately buzzed from the mixture of beer and hard liquor.

"I still carry your photo in my wallet" You admit, looking at him on the other side of the bench. "The one I took of you here, in this exact spot, when you made us a picnic before you left on a chase"

"I'd be lying if I said I haven't done the same thing" He reached into his pocket and pulled a polaroid out of his own wallet. It was crumpled and faded, but you could still make out your own face in the moonlight, smiling up at the camera, eyes squeezed shut with Tyler's hat adorning your head. You laughed to yourself.

You settled into a comfortable silence, the subtle admission of lost love still hanging in the air, weighing down on you.

"Why?" He asked. You looked back at him. "Why did you keep it?"

"Why did you?" You retaliate, raising an eyebrow at him in suspicion.

"Why do you think?" He sighed and shuffled ever so slightly closer to you. "I remember when you broke up with me you told your brother I was the biggest mistake of your life. He came banging my front door down, probably ready to beat me to a pulp. I would've let him. But as soon as he told me that- as soon as he told me that you said I was a mistake, every bit of anger in me just dissipated. I was in love with you, hell, I am in love with you, and all I could do was question how I managed to fuck up so bad that our decade together felt like a mistake to you."

"You were never a mistake, Tyler" You whisper softly, choosing to ignore the fact he just admitted his love for you all these years later. "I was mad, mad that I let go so easily, and it was easier to blame you than admit that I broke up with you over something so- so mundane"

He had moved closer to you, his thigh pressing against yours on the bench as he leant down to put his empty beer bottle on the floor. He sat back up, putting one arm around you as you rested your head on his shoulder. You fit in the crook of his neck like a missing piece of a puzzle, and a satisfied sigh left your lips.

"Tyler?" You say, he hums in response. "You're in love with me?"

His shoulders tense as he sucks in a sharp breath. Maybe you should've continued to ignore it.

"Of course I am" he replies softly, lifting your head up and cupping your jaw. Finally, you lean into his touch, a smile tugging at your lips. "I have been for fourteen years. I could never love anyone like I love you, you're it for me"

You stare at him, allowing yourself to fall deeply into his gaze. His features had considerably softened since you first saw him in the bar. The glint of hope in his eyes had returned, and the crease in his brow has gone. The slow breeze pushed his hair slightly back, and you had to resist the urge to run your hands through his blonde locks.

He was slowly leaning in, and before you knew it, your eyes were fluttering shut as you felt his lips lightly graze yours. His other hand found the other side of your face, cradling you like you were the most precious jewel. Your hand instinctively goes up to hold his wrist, his skin rough against your palm.

"Can I- can I kiss you?" He whisper's against your mouth. You nod.

His lips finally pressed against yours, gentle and full of years of love. He tasted the same as he always did, the distinct flavour of vanilla from his chapstick he carried around in his back pocket. His lips slotted against yours perfectly as your arms made their way around his neck. For the first time in years, you felt at peace.

Tyler reluctantly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. "What do you say?" He whispered. "Be my mistake."

[randomdragonfires]

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Part Three

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him. 

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader

WORD COUNT | 24.5k [I'M SORRY]

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!  

A/N | By now it's obvious. I really don't beta read things -_-

She starts with small changes. 

She takes different routes around campus, chooses study spots on the opposite end of the library, and declines any parties where she might run into him. They’re usually in different parts of the campus anyway, so avoiding him should be easy. But it isn’t. They run in the same circles, and all her friends know him. She has to be mindful, strategic, careful not to linger in places where their paths might cross.

The one shared class they have is her biggest challenge. She slips into the lecture hall just as the professor begins, taking a seat in the back, hidden among the sea of students. She keeps her head down, her attention fixed on her notes, refusing to let her eyes wander to where she knows he’s sitting.

But she feels his presence, even without looking. She can sense the way his gaze lingers on her, like a weight pressing on her shoulders. It takes every ounce of her willpower to ignore it, to pretend she doesn’t notice, that she isn’t affected by it. She keeps her mouth shut, barely even acknowledging the professor, just so Aemond won’t have a reason to notice her.

But he’s seen her. She knows he has. And yet, he hasn’t made any attempt to approach her. He hasn’t tried to talk to her after class, hasn’t texted, hasn’t even sent a cryptic message through a mutual friend.

The silence from him is both a relief and a torment. On one hand, she’s grateful that he’s giving her space, that he’s not forcing her to confront what happened. But on the other, she can’t help but wonder why. Why hasn’t he reached out? Does he understand that she needs space, or is he simply indifferent?

The conflicting thoughts whirl around her mind, making it impossible to focus. She’s avoiding him, yet she can’t stop thinking about him. She wonders if he’s reached the same conclusion she has - that whatever happened between them was a mistake. Or maybe… maybe the girl he’s seeing is back, and he’s realized that what they had was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment that he regrets.

The thought makes her skin crawl.

It stings more than she’d like to admit. It’s ridiculous, she tells herself. She should be glad that he’s keeping his distance. It’s what she wanted, after all. But the doubts creep in, feeding the anxiety that’s been gnawing at her ever since that night.

Her finals don’t help either. The pressure to perform well, to maintain her grades, is a vice around her chest. She spends long hours in the library, her nose buried in textbooks, trying to drown out her thoughts with the relentless march of deadlines and exam schedules. But he is a constant presence at the back of her mind, and she cannot shake him off.

The final exam of the semester passes in a blur, each answer she scribbles onto the paper feeling more mechanical than the last. When it’s over, she walks out of the exam hall with a numbness that clings to her. The weight of the past weeks - the stress, the sleepless nights, the constant battle to keep her emotions in check - finally catches up with her.

She spends the entire day holed up in her flat, the blinds drawn to keep out the bright summer light. The silence is thick, the hours stretching on as she flits from one distraction to another. She tries reading, but the words blur together on the page. She turns on the laptop, but the shows barely hold her attention. Even scrolling through her phone feels empty.

As the afternoon fades into evening, a slow realization dawns on her: she can’t keep hiding forever. The exams were a temporary distraction, an excuse to avoid dealing with everything she’s been running from. But now that they’re over, she’s left with nothing but her thoughts - and the gnawing certainty that she can’t keep avoiding Aemond.

He’s likely finished his exams too, probably somewhere out there, living his life as if nothing’s changed. The thought brings a fresh wave of frustration. He hasn’t reached out to her, hasn’t made the slightest effort to clear the air.

It’s almost as if he’s content to let things remain as they are. But she's not.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that waiting for him to make the first move is futile. He’s not going to reach out, not after the way she’s been avoiding him. And maybe he’s thinking the same thing - that she doesn’t want to see him, that she’s already moved on.

The idea of confronting him terrifies her, but the thought of continuing on like this - of pretending that she can keep dodging him forever - is worse. She can’t live in this self-imposed exile, trapped by her own fears and doubts. If there’s any hope of moving past this, of getting closure, she needs to take the first step.

With a deep breath, she makes up her mind. The decision brings a strange sense of calm, like a weight being lifted from her chest. She can’t predict how it will go, but at least she’ll be taking control, no longer at the mercy of her own avoidance.

The evening sky outside her window is turning shades of pink and orange, and for the first time in days, she feels a spark of determination. She’s not going home for the summer, and neither, as far as she knows, is he.

There’s no more running, no more hiding.

Her eyes settle on Aemond - sprawled across his bed, completely at ease, as if he’s got not a care in the world.

The familiar scent hits her first - weed, strong and pungent, curling through the air and invading her senses. She pauses at the threshold, taking it in, before leaning against the doorway.

He doesn’t notice her at first. He’s too absorbed in the book he’s holding, his fingers lazily turning a page. She can’t make out the title, but she recognizes the Valyrian text on the cover, the ancient script curling elegantly along the spine.

For a moment, she watches him. There’s a strange, almost surreal quality to the scene - like she’s an outsider looking in on his life. His face is calm, his expression softened in the dim light, but there’s a tension in his posture, a quiet restlessness that she can’t quite place.

“So this is what you do when you’re high? Read Valyrian books?”

“They’re interesting,” he replies, his voice casual, detached. He doesn’t look at her, his eye still roving over the page, words spilling out as if she wasn’t there. Almost as if they hadn’t been icing each other out for weeks.

She doesn’t know what to say. The weight of their silence presses heavily down on her chest. She hesitates, her mind racing, but before she can form a coherent thought, he gestures toward her, a lazy wave of his hand as he adjusts himself on the bed.

“Come here.”

It’s not a request; it’s a command, spoken with the kind of casual authority that’s so inherently him. She swallows hard, the tension in her stomach coiling tighter. Part of her wants to resist, to stay rooted in place, but there’s another part of her - smaller, more vulnerable - that aches for the familiarity of being close to him again.

She pushes off the doorway, her steps slow and hesitant as she crosses the room. The air feels warmer near him, the scent of weed and smoke mingling with the faint smell of his cologne, a combination that’s both comforting and disorienting. When she reaches the bed, she pauses, unsure of what to do, where to sit, what to say.

Aemond looks up at her then, his gaze locking onto hers. There’s something different in his eye now, something softer, more aware. It’s like he’s really seeing her for the first time since she walked in.

He nods and she gives in, sitting down beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. There’s a tension between them, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment, but for now, it holds.

She hesitates for a moment, then slowly lies down next to him, feeling the warmth of his body radiate through the thin fabric of her shirt. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts slightly to make room for her, and as she curls into the mattress, he slips an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer.

His hand rests on her side, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns on her skin through the fabric, the movement steady and soothing. She feels his breath against her hair, steady and calm, and for a moment, she closes her eyes, allowing herself to melt into him.

She takes her time, letting her gaze drift over him, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The book is still in his other hand, balanced carefully as he continues to read, the pages illuminated by the dim light of the bedside lamp. He’s so absorbed in it, yet his hold on her is firm, as if he’s anchoring both of them to this moment, this shared silence.

She shifts slightly, her head resting on his shoulder as she glances at the book in his hand. “What are you reading?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers stilling on the page as he looks down at her. “It’s called The Last Embrace.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

He chuckles softly at her remark, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through his chest. "It’s a Valyrian classic," he says. “I know someone who can find the premium first edition copies.”

“Hm.” She moves into him, and his hand roves over her clothed back, warmth seeping through. She nestles against him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “Read to me?” She asks softly, almost shyly, as if the request might shatter her pride.

He considers her for a moment, then gently adjusts his position, making sure she’s comfortable as he continues from where he left off. With his arm still wrapped around her, holding her close, he begins to read. The words flow from his lips - his voice deep and rich as it carries and fills the quiet space between them. She listens, captivated by the way he brings the story to life.

One word in particular catches her attention, its lilting syllables intriguing. She stops him, her gaze curious. “What does that mean?”

He looks down at her, his gaze tender and slightly dazed. “Gevie means ‘beautiful,’” he explains, his tone mellowed by a subtle high. She repeats the word, her attempt tentative. “Gevie.” Her pronunciation falters, and he gently corrects her, his voice a soothing murmur. “Gevie,” he reiterates, his lips curving into a soft smile.

She tries again, her voice more confident, “Gevie,” and he nods in approval, his hand squeezing lightly on her arm, a touch that sends a shiver down her spine.

The reading continues, and she’s captivated by another word. 

“Jorrāelagon,” she asks. “And this one?”

“It means ‘love.’” He replies, his eyes soft and hazy, the high giving his voice a languid quality that almost lulls her to sleep. She echoes. “Jorrāelagon,” but her pronunciation is awkward at the first try. He guides her gently, his voice dropping as he enunciates the word.

 “Jorrāelagon.”

She repeats the word again, and he nods, pleased. She doesn’t want to dwell on how pleasing him feels.

When they reach 'Vūjigon', she leans in closer, her curiosity and desire blending seamlessly. “What does this one mean?”

“To kiss,” he murmurs, his gaze growing more intense. She wonders if she’s seeing the slight red on his cheeks, or if it’s actually there. She repeats, “Vūjigon,” her pronunciation faltering again. He corrects her, his voice a velvety whisper.

As she practices the word, the anticipation builds between them. Her body shifts, aligning with his, and she straddles him, her movements deliberate and sensual. The mattress dips under her weight, and she feels the heat of his body radiate through the thin fabric of their clothes. His hands find her sides, gripping firmly but tenderly, his touch sending electric currents through her skin. She leans in closer, their foreheads touching, and she inhales deeply. The scent of his cologne mixes with the distinct smell of the weed. The high he's on adds a dream-like quality to his touch and his gaze, making every sensation more vivid and intense.

“Vūjigon,” she whispers, her voice husky with desire. The correct pronunciation flows from her lips, and the air between them is heated and heavy.

His eye darkens with desire as he gazes at her, the effect of the high amplifying his senses. He responds to her unspoken invitation, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that is both urgent and tender. The kiss deepens quickly as his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, the heat of his touch igniting a fire within her.

His hands tighten on her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she can feel the hard line of his desire pressing against her. The sensation sends a shudder through her, a wave of heat that pools low in her belly.

This is happening, this is truly happening-

His kisses are a heady mix of passion and need, his tongue exploring her mouth with a fervor that leaves her breathless. She responds in kind, her own desire spiraling out of control as her fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently as she presses herself against him. The weight of him beneath her, the feel of his body so close, so real, is intoxicating.

With a low, rough sound in the back of his throat, he flips them over, his body covering hers, pressing her into the mattress. His hands are everywhere - roaming her sides, cupping her breasts, sliding down to grip her hips. The urgency of his movements is matched by the haze of the high, adding a surreal, almost dream-like quality to the moment.

She arches into him, her back curving as she seeks more of his touch, more of the heat that’s building between them. His mouth leaves hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, until he’s tugging her shirt aside, his lips finding the sensitive skin beneath. Every touch, every kiss, feels amplified, the high making her hyper-aware of every sensation.

He’s moving with purpose now, his hands tugging at the waistband of her pants, sliding them down her hips with a practiced ease. She helps him, kicking them off, leaving her bare beneath him. He follows quickly, discarding his own clothes until there’s nothing between them but heated skin.

His hands are back on her, rough and gentle all at once as he positions himself between her thighs. She feels the blunt pressure of him at her entrance, the anticipation so sharp it almost hurts. She meets his gaze, his eyes dark and blown with lust, the effect of the high making them seem even more intense. He pauses, just for a moment, his breath ragged. “I’m on the pill,” she murmurs, as if sensing his hesitation.

He thrusts into her with a single, powerful stroke.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that has her gasping, her hands clutching at his shoulders as he fills her completely. He stills for a moment, letting her adjust, his forehead pressing against hers as he takes a shuddering breath.

Then he’s moving, his hips snapping against hers in a rhythm that’s fast and unrelenting. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting through her, the friction, the heat, the intensity of it all pushing her closer to the edge. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her own hips meeting his in a desperate attempt to keep up with the pace he’s set.

His breathing is ragged in her ear, a rough counterpoint to the smoothness of his movements. She can feel him tensing, the way his thrusts grow more erratic, more desperate, as he nears his own release. His hand moves between them, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

With a low growl, he slams into her one last time, his body tensing as he comes hard, the force of his orgasm shaking him. He rides it out, his hips still moving in shallow thrusts as he chases the last remnants of pleasure.

But he doesn’t stop. Even as his breathing slows, his hands remain on her, one sliding down her body until his fingers are slipping between her folds, finding the wet heat there. He pulls out of her slowly, and she whimpers at the loss, but the sound quickly turns to a moan as his head dips between her thighs.

His mouth finds her, his tongue licking a slow, teasing stripe up her center before his lips close around her clit. He sucks gently, his fingers pressing inside her, filling her again as he works her with a relentless, skillful rhythm. She’s already so close, her body still buzzing from the intensity of what they’ve just done, and it doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build again, fast and unstoppable.

As his mouth works her, his tongue drawing her closer and closer to the edge, he lifts his head just enough to murmur against her skin, “Gevie… ao gevie issi, jorrāelagon.”

His voice is thick with desire, the words rolling off his tongue with a reverence that sends shivers down her spine. She’s too far gone to try and grasp the meaning, her mind clouded with the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving her. But something about the way he says it, the heat in his voice, makes her gasp.

“What… what does that mean?” she manages to ask between moans, her voice breathless, shaky.

He doesn’t answer right away, his mouth returning to her with renewed focus, his fingers curling inside her in just the right way. The pleasure is dizzying, her body trembling as she’s pushed closer to the brink. When he finally speaks again, his words are low and guttural, vibrating against her skin.

“Gevie… beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with lust as he looks up at her, his eye dark and filled with heat. “Jorrāelagon… love.” His hand moves in sync with his words, drawing more moans from her lips, her mind barely able to process the translations as the pleasure intensifies.

Her body arches into him, desperate for more, needing more, and he gives it to her, his fingers working her relentlessly. She’s on the edge, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps, when he murmurs one last word against her skin.

“Vūjigon,” he says, the word slipping from his lips like a caress, his voice deeper, rougher, as he lifts his head to look at her, his gaze burning into hers.

“Kiss,” she breathes, finally understanding, the realization sending a fresh wave of desire crashing over her. Her body moves of its own accord, her hips grinding against his fingers as she chases the release that’s just out of reach.

He doesn’t give her time to dwell on it, his mouth returning to her with a fervor that’s almost too much to bear. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and need that builds and builds until she’s teetering on the edge, her mind a haze. Her hips lift off the mattress, seeking more, needing more, and he gives it to her, his tongue and fingers moving in perfect harmony until she’s falling over the edge, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. She cries out, her hands fisting in his hair as he pushes her through it, his mouth never leaving her until she’s trembling with the aftershocks, her body spent and sated.

When he lays back down and his lips meet hers, she thinks there could be no better feeling than being held in his arms.

The fact that he may still have another woman in his life slips her mind completely.

Tonight, he is hers.

The morning after, he's gone off for an early class, leaving her to rest. She finds The Last Embrace on his nightstand and picks it up, her nimble fingers turning the pages as she scans his notes scattered throughout the book.

Love is a disease of the mind, but one we willingly suffer for.

It’s the kind of observation she can easily imagine him making aloud, his voice detached yet tinged with a subtle irony. She almost pictures him writing it, pausing to consider the implications of the passage before inscribing his thoughts with careful precision. It’s a stark reminder of how his mind works - always a step removed, always observing from a distance, even when he’s most deeply involved.

It’s so very Aemond, the way he can reduce something as chaotic and overwhelming as love to a mere intellectual curiosity, and yet, in doing so, reveal more about himself than any grand declaration ever could.

A small smile plays on her lips as she closes the book, gently smoothing the folded corner.

She least expects it, but it hits her with the force of a brick wall when it does.

She finds herself at Aemond's apartment again, perched on the familiar countertop in his kitchen, picking at a bowl of leftover pasta he’d casually reheated for her. Aemond stands at the stove, his attention focused on a kettle of water beginning to steam. He moves with his usual grace, every action deliberate and precise, but there’s something slightly different about him today—a subtle energy that she can’t quite place.

Almost offhandedly as he reaches for a mug, he speaks. “I might not be around tomorrow night. I’ve got…plans.”

He says it so casually, the words slipping out as though they’re of no consequence. But there’s a flicker of something in his tone, something that makes her glance up from her bowl, her curiosity piqued.

“Plans?” she echoes, trying to keep her voice light, nonchalant, though a strange tightness begins to form in her chest.

“Yeah,” he continues, filling the mug with hot water before turning back to her, his expression as composed as ever. “Dinner, actually. With someone.”

The way he says it - "with someone" - is so deliberately vague, so carefully chosen, that it sends a chill through her, the pieces beginning to fall into place. The quiet confidence in his voice, the way he doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t feel the need to explain. It’s a subtle giveaway, but one she can’t ignore.

“Oh,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping back to her bowl, her appetite suddenly fading. She forces herself to take another bite, though it tastes like ash in her mouth. “That sounds…nice.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his tone so matter-of-fact, so indifferent, that it stings more than anything else. “It should be.”

For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say, the silence between them suddenly feeling heavier, more oppressive. The realization settles in slowly, a painful clarity that makes her heart ache. To him, what they have is just…convenient.

He isn’t even trying to hide it. The ease with which he mentions his plans, the lack of any concern for how she might feel about it—it all points to one thing. 

Casual. Non-exclusive.

Then again, he made no promises.

The realization - reminder, if she was being practical - is a bitter pill to swallow, and she fights to keep her expression neutral, not wanting to betray the sadness that’s creeping into her. She allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to this. But now, sitting there on his countertop, she sees it for what it truly is.

“Enjoy your dinner,” she says, her voice sounding distant to her own ears as she pushes the half-eaten bowl away and slides off the counter. She offers him a small, strained smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Thanks,” he replies, his gaze flicking over her briefly before returning to the kettle, as if her words are of no particular importance.

As she moves to grab her bag, her movements slow and deliberate, Aemond turns to look at her. The casual indifference that colored his words just moments before falters when he sees the expression on her face - something distant, guarded, as though she’s trying to shield herself from the truth that’s just settled between them.

“You’re upset,” he says, not as a question but as a statement, his tone flat. He’s always so direct, so infuriatingly precise in his observations, as if everything in the world can be neatly cataloged and understood.

She hesitates, her back to him as she reaches for her bag, fingers brushing over the strap, but she doesn’t pick it up right away. She can feel his gaze on her, sharp and assessing, waiting for her to respond.

“It’s nothing,” she murmurs, forcing herself to keep her voice steady, even though the words feel like they’re sticking in her throat. “Just…you could’ve mentioned it before.”

There’s a beat of silence, the air between them taut with unspoken things. She knows he’s searching for the right words, something that won’t sound like an admission but also won’t deny the reality she’s trying to ignore.

“You always knew there was someone else,” he says finally, his voice low, almost gentle, as if that can soften the blow.

She swallows hard, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag as the truth of his words settles in. Of course, she knows. There’s always been something in the way he holds himself slightly apart from her, something that hinted at the boundaries she was never meant to cross. And yet, she crossed them anyway, hoping—foolishly—that maybe he would meet her halfway.

“Did I?” she asks quietly, her voice trembling just enough to give her away. She turns to face him then, her eyes searching his, looking for something - anything - that will contradict what he’s just said. But there’s nothing. His expression is calm, measured, as though they’re discussing something inconsequential.

He doesn’t answer, but the silence that follows is more telling than anything he could say. She can see it now, how he’s always been careful with her, careful not to let things go too far, careful not to give her any false hope.

But he never really needed to, did he? Because she already knew, deep down, that whatever they had was just a small part of his life - a convenience, a passing thing that will end the moment someone else comes along. Someone more important, more permanent.

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, the sound heavy in the quiet of the kitchen. “Right,” she says, nodding to herself as if that will help make sense of everything. “I guess I did know.”

She hesitates, the words tasting bitter on her tongue as she adds, almost too casually, “Daeron texted about coming to Oldtown over the weekend. I probably have plans with him anyway.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, and when she dares to meet his gaze, she catches the subtle shift in his expression - a small, almost amused curl of his lips. It’s as if he can see right through her, peeling back the flimsy layers she’s tried to build around herself. The realization that he sees her so clearly, that he understands her attempts to guard herself, makes her feel smaller, more exposed than she ever intended.

His smile fades, replaced by something darker, more contemplative, and the weight of his gaze makes her want to shrink away, to hide from the way he’s dissecting her. He steps closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing as his presence looms large, overwhelming. She feels like she’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something that could shatter her if she’s not careful. But she doesn’t move, rooted to the spot by the intensity of his gaze, by the way he’s looking at her like he’s trying to decide if she’s worth the effort of breaking down completely.

The resignation in her voice must cut through him because he shifts, leaning back against the counter, his eyes never leaving hers. But he doesn’t move toward her, doesn’t try to reach out. It’s as if he knows that any attempt to comfort her now would only be hollow, empty of meaning.

She can smell the faint scent of the coffee still lingering on him, mixing with his cologne, and it makes her head swim, makes the room feel smaller, more suffocating. Everything feels too close, too real, and she needs to leave before she says something she can’t take back.

“Look, it’s fine,” she says quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I should get going anyway. I’ve got things to do.”

He doesn’t stop her. He just watches as she slings the bag over her shoulder, his gaze cool and detached, like he’s studying her, trying to understand why she’s making such a big deal out of something they both knew had an expiration date.

But just as she turns to leave, he reaches out, taking hold of her hand. The contact is brief, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to make her pause. There’s something in his touch—something that feels more like pity than affection. It twists in her chest, making her feel even smaller, more exposed.

“Take care,” he says, his voice polite, almost distant, as if the gesture was merely obligatory.

The words sting, made worse by the way he immediately lets go, his hand slipping away as if it never held hers at all. She walks away.

She pauses for a moment, hand on the doorknob, before glancing back at him. There’s so much she wants to say, but she knows it will all sound pathetic and desperate, and she refuses to let him see her like that.

“Yeah,” she replies softly, her heart aching in a way that feels almost physical. “You too.”

She sits on the edge of her sofa, her fingers idly tracing the patterns on the faded fabric. 

She stares at the shadows, feeling them stretch and distort, like her own thoughts, twisted and knotted.

The apartment is a mess - books splayed open, cold coffee mugs scattered about, and a half-burnt vanilla scented candle that hasn’t seen use in days. The quiet hum of the city outside the window is distant, almost surreal, as if it belongs to another world entirely. Inside, it’s as if time has stopped, leaving her in a stagnant pool of self-pity that she hates like nothing else.

Her mind drifts to Aemond. She can’t shake the image of him talking with his date. The warmth of his voice, the way his eyes subtly light up - it all feels so tangible, yet so out of reach. She imagines him in those moments of connection, and each thought pulls her deeper into the mire of her own emotions. The more she dwells on it, the more isolated she feels.

The room feels colder now, the silence pressing in on her from all sides. She wraps her blanket tighter, but it doesn’t offer much comfort. Her phone buzzes on the coffee table, jolting her out of her reverie. She hesitates, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling inside her. It’s probably not Aemond, she tells herself, but she can’t help the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, it is.

She reaches for the phone, her hand trembling slightly. The screen lights up with Daeron’s name. She swipes to open it, her heart pounding as she sees the photo he’s sent. It’s Daeron at Oldtown Airport, his face lit up with a smile that seems to brighten the whole frame. A text follows.

Lunch tomorrow?

She smiles.

She waits outside Moonbloom, the café's warm, inviting light spilling onto the pavement. She watches as people bustle by, each face a fleeting moment in the urban blur. Her nerves are a tight knot, and she checks her phone for the umpteenth time, though she already knows Daeron will be on time. She hears his voice before she sees him.

"Hey," Daeron says, a smile tugging at his lips as he approaches. His eyes, as familiar as they are, carry a weight that wasn’t there before. They embrace awkwardly, and it makes her bristle.

Inside, the café is bustling with midday energy. They choose a corner table, its cozy atmosphere offering some solace from the crowd. Daeron settles into his seat, his movements slightly hesitant. She follows suit, their conversation initially faltering as they tiptoe around the more profound emotions that linger between them.

“So, um,” she begins, fidgeting with the menu, “have you been to this place before?”

“Not really,” Daeron replies, his fingers tapping nervously on his coffee cup. “I mean, I’ve passed by, but I’ve never actually been in. It’s...nice.”

“I love the way they’ve decorated it.”

Daeron looks around, taking in the mismatched furniture and the array of quirky knick-knacks. “Definitely. It’s kind of...charming. I guess I didn’t expect it to be this warm.”

She smiles, relieved to have found a neutral topic. “Yeah, it’s cozy. I come here when I need to get away from everything for a bit.”

“Sounds like it’s a good spot for that,” Daeron says, his voice warming slightly. “I could use a little escape myself.”

They both pause, a slight awkwardness settling over them. The menu sits between them, a practical distraction from the underlying tension. Daeron glances at it, his brow furrowing as he tries to decide.

“So, have you tried anything here that’s a must-have?” Daeron asks, attempting to steer the conversation back to safe ground.

She looks at the menu thoughtfully. “The avocado toast is really good, and the latte is pretty great too. It’s one of those places where you can’t go wrong with pretty much anything. Oh and they have a really good cheesecake!”

“Sounds good,” Daeron says, nodding as if making a mental note. “I’ll have to try both then.”

She chuckles softly, trying to ease the nervous energy between them. “You won’t regret it.”

The menu arrives, and they both laugh over the choices—an easy distraction from the real conversation they know is coming. They talk about trivial things first: the new book she’s reading, Daeron’s latest coffee obsession. The conversation is light, almost too light, as if they’re both waiting for the right moment to dive into the deeper waters.

As their meals arrive, Daeron takes a deep breath, his fingers absently tracing the edge of his coffee cup. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this. You.”

She looks up, surprised by the shift in tone. “Yeah, moving away does that to you.” 

Daeron’s gaze meets hers, a mixture of nostalgia and hesitation in his eyes. “It’s like, I’ve been so caught up in trying to manage everything that I forgot to appreciate these simpler things. I’ve been trying to figure out what really matters, and I think...I think that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Her curiosity is piqued, the earlier awkwardness giving way to a more genuine connection. “What do you mean?”

Daeron hesitates, fiddling with the edge of his napkin as he searches for the right words. “Floris and me. You know, things seemed okay, but I was always looking for the next problem, the next thing that might go wrong. I never really stopped to appreciate what we had, or how well things were actually working.”

She listens intently, her eyes softening as she senses the depth of his struggle. “And?”

Daeron sighs, his gaze meeting hers with a sincerity that tugs at her heart. “I’ve realized that I need to take a step back and figure things out. It’s why I came to stay here for the next month. It’s not just about getting away from everything. It’s more about taking the time to understand myself better. I want to be in a better place for her - when I go back, I want to be someone who’s really ready.”

The café hums around them, the sounds of chatter and clinking cutlery providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation. She absorbs his words, feeling a mix of sadness and a surprising sense of relief. “You’re actually going to do this?” she asks quietly.

Daeron nods, a small, hopeful smile touching his lips. “Yeah, I think it’s what I need. Just some time to be with myself, to figure out what really matters. I want to make sure I’m not just rushing through life, looking for the next thing. I want to be present for her, for myself. You know?”

There’s something endearing about Daeron, who he’s grown into, and his willingness to admit he needs to take time for himself. It is eons ahead of the boy she knew. For a brief moment, she sees Aemond in him, and she takes a deep breath before she lets her thoughts carry her away.

“I think that’s really brave,” she says softly. “It’s not easy to take a step back and admit you need to sort things out.”

She wonders if her words are for him, or herself.

Your Starry Sept postcards are at my place.

The afternoon sun hits just right as they walk through the market with their condensing iced coffee cups in hand. The stalls around them are alive with the scent of fresh bread, spices and flowers. It’s been days since she’s seen Aemond, and she ignores his texts and any chance to see him like the plague.

They sip their coffee, exchanging easy smiles as they pass by vendors selling everything from handmade jewelry to antique trinkets. The atmosphere is relaxed, yet a tension lingers beneath the surface. Daeron, seemingly content, glances at her and notices a shift in her demeanor as they approach an antique store.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, his tone light. “You’ve been a bit...off today.”

Now more than ever, she hates how well the Targaryen brothers know her. Her heart skips a beat.

“Uh, it’s nothing,” she says, her voice a bit too high-pitched, betraying herself. “Just...a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Daeron raises an eyebrow, his concern deepening. “Come on… We’ve known each other long enough. You can tell me if something’s bothering you.”

She looks away, her eyes darting over the colorful array of vintage items displayed in the store’s window. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The prospect of confessing her recent history with Aemond is daunting, especially since she had poured out her feelings to Daeron not so long ago.

If anything, it makes it all feel a lot less valid if she thinks of it that way.

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

The question hangs in the air, and Wylde feels a lump form in her throat. She swallows hard, weighing the consequences of her next words. She recalls the emotional turmoil she experienced when she admitted her feelings for Daeron and how vulnerable she felt. The idea of now revealing that she’s been seeing Aemond—his brother, no less—feels like an insurmountable hurdle.

She takes another sip of her coffee, trying to buy time. “It’s just...I don’t know how to explain it. There’s been some...changes, you know?”

Daeron looks at her intently, sensing her hesitation. “Look, if you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s okay.” Her heart aches at his genuine concern. She knows she should be honest, but the fear of how Daeron will react clouds her judgment. She finally meets his gaze, the weight of her secret pressing heavily on her shoulders.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s...complicated.”

Daeron’s expression shifts from concern to confusion. “Someone? Who?” She sees his frown lift into a smile.

“Who… that’s not relevant.” 

Before he can interrupt and charm Aemond’s identity out of her, she continues. “He was already with someone, but I caught feelings for him anyway. Then we hooked up, and I worry that I just…”

“You worry that you’ve made a mistake.”

“Among other things. I…” She sighs. “I just want someone that’s mine, you know? It is a bit of a shame that the boys I like always belong to someone else.”

He chuckles. “I’m going to ask you to think well and be honest. Do you know him well enough?”

“Very well.”

“Do you think he’s the type to cheat?”

“Definitely not.”

“And did you ask him about this? What he wants from you, and what his situation with the other person is like?”

“I guess.”

“And what did he say?”

“He made no promises. He said I always knew there was someone else. I… I messed up. I shouldn’t have encouraged him, to be frank. He always knew what it was. He always knew, and I… did too. Just took a while for it to sink in. And… I was slightly foolish in hoping that he’d be just for me… for a while there it felt like… the last few months, it was all building up to it.”

“And you’re sure a fling is what he wants?”

“He went out for dinner with this other girl yesterday. Safe to assume.”

“I guess the question is…” He sighs. “Having as little of him as he can give you… is that something you’re willing to have? Because if not, you’ll have to push him away entirely. Protect yourself.”

She closes her eyes and brings a hand up to her mouth in resignation. “I feel so stupid.”

Daeron places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it takes two to make something work. Don’t beat yourself up if he isn’t.”

When she walks back to her flat that night, Daeron’s words echo through her mind like a fast growing wildfire.

Is he worth it? 

She knows the answer long before she even ponders on the question. It is simply a question of whether or not she can handle it.

There’s more cheesecake in the fridge.

She avoids Aemond and his texts for the next few days, her thoughts spiraling as she wonders what he really wants from her if he’s seeing someone else. Every time her phone buzzes, she tenses, half-hoping, half-dreading it’s him. 

Of course he won’t say he misses her. He won’t say he wants to see her. That’s just not his style.

She stares at the screen for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard before she decides to leave him on read. Her heart pounds, but she doesn't know how to respond. It’s easier to focus on Daeron, easier to avoid the growing confusion that Aemond has brought into her life.

They lie on the blanket, the sound of waves crashing below the cliffs filling the comfortable silence between them. The sky above them shifts in shades of pink and orange as the sun inches closer to the horizon. It’s a scene that could easily be romantic if things had turned out differently between them.

“You know,” Daeron starts, his voice light but thoughtful, “we’re pretty compatible.”

She turns her head to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, we are. It’s kind of a shame things didn’t… I don’t know, grow between us the way they could’ve.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, his tone carrying a hint of wistfulness. “It just never… happened.”

With you, she wants to add. I loved you for so long, you just didn’t love me back.

They both know there’s no regret in those words, just a shared acknowledgment of something that could have been but never was.

“I remember the first time I realized I had feelings for you,” she says, her voice softer now as she gazes out at the sea. “I was probably eight years old. That day on the school grounds, when you and Luke fought because he was bothering me. In my defense, I was eight years old and that was the most romantic thing ever.”

Daeron laughs, a genuine sound that makes her smile. “Eight years old, huh? Wow, I didn’t know I was such a charmer back then.”

“You weren’t. I was just an idiot.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, you had your moments,” she teases, nudging him with her shoulder. “But really, it was just a silly crush. I got over it eventually. Wasn’t great, but I managed it somehow.” The gravity of underselling her feelings hits her, but she’s not quite upset about it anymore. Daeron is a thing of her past - how much power can feelings from the past hold anyway?

“It all seems silly to me now.”

Daeron nods, understanding. “I get that. I always thought you’d make an awesome girlfriend, though.”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah?”

“You’re cool and smart, and we always have a good time together. But I just… never felt much more than that. I do love you, just…”

“You’re not in love with me. I don’t blame you.” She sighs. “At least, not anymore.”

“You know what I mean,” Daeron says, chuckling. “We were close, and it always felt like we could’ve been something more, but it never felt… right. I think I just always saw you as my best friend.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it? We’re practically perfect for each other in so many ways, but the spark was never really there. No matter how much I used to want it.”

“Practically perfect,” Daeron agrees, smiling as he echoes her words. “Maybe we’re too practical.”

“Or maybe too perfect.” She grins, looking at him through her sunglasses.

“On paper, definitely.” They both laugh, the sound mingling with the crashing waves. They’re not sad about what could have been; they’re content with what they have.

She realizes she quite likes it this way.

“Hey, you know what?” Daeron says, his tone suddenly playful. “If we’re both still single at forty, we should just get married.”

She snorts, covering her mouth as she laughs. “Seriously?”

“Why not?” he says, grinning. “We’d make a pretty awesome couple, don’t you think?”

She looks at him, pretending to consider it. “Yeah, perfect on paper.”

“Come on, indulge me.”

“Fuck no. What if I’m actually single at forty and have to follow through?”

“It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

“If I’m still single by forty, I’d rather throw myself off this cliff.”

“Be a little brave for once. It’s just a far off possibility.”

“Ugh, fine. You have a deal.” Just as she says it, she extends her hand to him.

“Deal.” He laughs, and the realization is devoid of any pesky feelings as she thinks this is the best laugh she knows.

Hearty, boyish and pure.

Came by the flat, it’s locked. Tell me you’re okay. It’s been more than a week.

I’m fine.

She doesn’t want to see him till she knows exactly what she wants to say. He’s made his stance very clear - that this is very casual to him, and that he doesn’t take what they have as seriously as she thought. She envies him, in all honesty. Why can’t her heart be as straightforward as his?

Daeron had met Aemond and their uncle Gwayne for a game of tennis at the Hightower Townhouse and invited her - but she refused politely and chose to not dwell. A few days later, he takes the private jet to Essos to visit Helaena during her exchange year and she clings to him in a tight hug before letting him go.

Like Daeron, who has chosen to relax this summer, she knows that first-year internships aren't mandatory. If she wanted one, she could easily get it - her name carries significant weight in the world of art and history. Her great-great-great-great-grandmother, Coryanne Wylde, left an indelible mark on the Westerosi art scene with her scandalous and groundbreaking series of erotic paintings titled A Caution for Young Girls. The collection - now cared for at the Citadel in Oldtown - is notorious for its bold sexual depictions, and is considered a turning point in the history of Westerosi art. That, coupled with her family’s considerable wealth - she has the luxury to forgo work during the first year holidays and focus solely on herself.

This summer, she’s embracing that privilege fully. Her days are spent immersed in books, wandering through museums, and exploring the city. She takes day trips to quaint coastal towns, armed with her sketchbook and ready to draw.

Summer will come to a close in less than a fortnight, and she’s grateful for the rest. As much as she loves studying art history, it does take a lot of energy out of her to channel that interest into wading through a structured syllabus that doesn’t run on her own time or pace.

Mornings begin with walks through the city, sketchbook always in hand, capturing the delicate lines of the older architecture or the vibrant chaos of modern installations. She takes her camera too, and each photograph she takes feels like a small rebellion against the uncertainty that has plagued her thoughts.

Afternoons are reserved for exploring the smaller towns along the coastline. She finds solace in the simplicity of these places—the way the sea breeze carries the scent of salt and wildflowers, the way cobblestone streets wind past charming cafes and artisan shops. She sits by the harbor, sketching boats bobbing gently on the waves, or wanders through quaint markets, photographing the scenes. She lets the local old women near the port weave flowers and shells into her hair, and wears loose fitting bright gowns that she finds in smaller stalls.

As the weeks pass, Aemond’s messages become sparse. When the texts stop altogether, she feels a pang of guilt she can’t quite shake. She knows it’s probably for the best, that she needs the space to sort out what she wants from him, but the silence echoes in her mind, leaving her to wonder what she might have done differently.

In every possibility, she realizes she wants him. But she never dwells in her thoughts long enough to understand what that means for them.

One evening, a few days before the next semester is set to begin, she finds herself at the Quill and Tankard, a charming little pub nestled in a cozy corner of the city. The warm, dimly lit space is filled with the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. She orders a drink, the amber liquid swirling in her glass, and settles into a secluded booth. The conversations around her blur into a comforting background noise as she sips her drink, the alcohol loosening the tight knot of anxiety in her chest.

As the night wears on, her thoughts drift back to Aemond. She has tried so hard to avoid him, to drown out the questions and doubts he has stirred within her. But here in the pub, the memories feel sharper, more insistent. She glances around the room, watching other couples laugh and share stories, and wonders why her own connections feel so fraught with uncertainty.

Her phone buzzes on the table, a reminder of the texts that have long ceased. She glances at it, feeling a pang of longing and frustration. The lack of communication from Aemond leaves her with unanswered questions and unresolved feelings. She takes another sip of her drink, the warmth spreading through her, and feels a surge of impulse.

With a deep breath, she reaches for her phone. Her fingers hover over the screen for a moment, trembling slightly. She knows she shouldn’t be doing this, that reaching out might only reopen wounds she isn’t ready to face. But the need for some semblance of understanding is too strong to ignore.

Finally, she presses the call button and holds the phone to her ear. The familiar ringtone feels both comforting and jarring in the quiet of the pub. She takes another sip, steeling herself for whatever comes next.

"Hey, can I come over?”

Despite living a stone’s throw away from each other, she hasn’t seen him in a month - and the moment she lays eyes on him again, she’s struck by how effortlessly captivating he is. Aemond sits at his desk, a stack of papers spread out before him, his focus completely absorbed by whatever it is he’s reading. The dim white light from his half-open laptop casts a soft glow on his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity in his expression. He’s in his element, completely at ease in the quiet of his own space.

She realizes, not for the first time, that it’s easy to stare at Aemond. Easy, because he’s always so absorbed in whatever task demands his attention. His head is often down, his gaze fixed on the papers, books, or screens in front of him, making it simple for her to observe him without the risk of getting caught. But more than that, it’s easy to stare at Aemond because there’s something about him that draws her in. He doesn’t have the easy, effortless charm of Daeron or the overwhelming presence of Aegon, but his appeal lies in the subtleties.

There’s a sharper, quieter beauty in Aemond that reveals itself in the smallest of ways. The way his brow furrows slightly when he’s deep in thought, the almost imperceptible lift of his lips when something amuses him. His beauty isn’t meant to be obvious or attention grabbing; it’s there for those who take the time to notice, for those who can appreciate the details that make him who he is. It’s the kind of beauty that makes her wonder about the thoughts that flicker behind his stormy eye, those that he keeps so carefully guarded.

In many ways, Helaena is much the same. There’s a quiet elegance to her, a softness that’s easy to overlook but impossible to forget once you’ve seen it. The two of them, siblings with such contrasting temperaments, share this unspoken, understated allure. They leave a lasting impression, like a delicate piece of art that grows more intricate the longer you look at it.

She stands there for a moment longer, taking him in - the way his long fingers trace the edge of the paper, the way a few stray strands of hair fall across his forehead. The familiarity of this scene almost comforts her as she leans into the doorway, unsure if she’s ready for this confrontation, but knowing it’s inevitable.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” she murmurs, the words slipping out like a secret, barely more than a breath. They drift into the space between them, fragile and hesitant.

“I told you to,” he replies, his voice steady, almost indifferent. His eyes remain fixed on the papers before him, the rustling of the sheets filling the silence between them.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “What are you working on?”

“Going through some numbers, drafting reports for Otto,” he answers, still without looking up.

“Did you work with your grandfather? For the summer?” she asks, grasping at the small talk like a lifeline.

“Yes, father wanted me to train with him.”

“Hm.”

The conversation stalls, and she moves away from the doorway, retreating to the kitchen as if the physical distance might help her regain her composure. She rifles through his fridge, finding a slice of cheesecake and brewing a pot of coffee. The mundane actions feel almost grounding, but the tension remains, coiled tight in her chest.

As she watches the coffee drip, her mind races. She’s tense at his curtness, but a part of her knows she deserves it after avoiding him for so long. Still, she can’t help the anger simmering beneath the surface. She left to protect herself, but he’s acting as if her absence was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

She walks back into the room, determined now. She nudges herself between him and his work desk, leaning back with her palms pressing against the surface. He finally looks up, his gaze sweeping over her from top to bottom, assessing. His hand rests over his lips, elbows braced on the armrests of his chair. The quiet intensity of his stare sends a shiver down her spine, but she doesn’t back down.

“What are we doing?” she asks, her voice low but firm.

“You disappeared for weeks on end, and now you’re back,” he responds, his tone maddeningly calm, as if nothing has happened.

Her nostrils flare in irritation. “What were we doing before I left?” She’s not letting him off that easily.

“Hm.” He takes a deep, audible breath, the kind that makes her want to scream. “We slept together, and you walked away to sort yourself out.”

“Are you serious right now?” she scoffs, her voice rising in disbelief. “I left because we slept together, and then you told me you were still seeing someone else! Something I asked you about, and you never bothered addressing!”

The frustration bubbling inside her threatens to spill over. She feels like a petulant child, but she knows she’s not entirely in the wrong. Yet his infuriatingly level-headed tone only makes her feel more on edge.

Without warning, he stands up, looming over her like a dark shadow. His presence is overwhelming, and when he steps closer, she can feel the heat radiating from him. His hands slam down on the table on either side of her, caging her in. Their breaths mingle in the small space between them, and she refuses to break eye contact, challenging him with every ounce of defiance she has left.

“Did you, for once, consider that I may not have wanted to wreck whatever it is you have with this other girl you’ve been seeing? For more than a year too, if I might add?” Her voice is laced with bitterness, but there’s an edge of vulnerability there too, one she can’t quite hide.

“Hm.”

His nonchalant response is the final straw. “Do you have nothing to say to me?” she nearly pleads, her tone wavering. It’s borderline pathetic, and the entire situation feels far messier than she can handle. “You blindsided me.”

He watches her for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he finally speaks. “Do you regret it?”

Despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her, that answer is easy. “I probably should, but no.”

Her words hang between them, and for a moment, neither of them moves. Then, almost imperceptibly, his hand brushes against hers where it rests on the table. It’s a tentative touch, the barest graze of his fingers, but it’s enough to send a jolt of electricity through her. She inhales sharply, her breath catching in her throat.

He leans in closer, the distance between them shrinking to nothing. She can feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the tension thickens, wrapping around them like a vise. His gaze drops to her lips, and she feels her resolve weakening, her anger melting away into something far more dangerous.

“Aemond…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

He tilts his head slightly, his lips almost brushing against hers. “Wylde,” he murmurs, the sound of her name on his lips making her heart stutter. His eyes darken, and she knows there’s no going back now.

She can feel the tension, heavy and palpable. And then, without another word, he closes the final gap between them, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. 

It’s messy, complicated, and far from perfect, but at this moment, he is all that matters.

His lips find the tender skin of her neck, trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses down to her collarbone. The wet warmth of his mouth sends shivers down her spine, his breath hot against her skin. His hands are everywhere - exploring, claiming, running up and down her sides under her shirt, fingers pressing into her flesh as if trying to memorize the feel of her.

“Been too fucking long,” he murmurs, the words flowing like water.

She pulls his head up, capturing his lips with hers in a fierce kiss, a desperate melding of mouths that leaves them both breathless. They move together with a practiced urgency, her shirt sliding over her head, his following a second later. Her bra is discarded just as quickly, tossed aside without a second thought, as their bodies come together, skin to skin, the heat between them searing.

But when she reaches out, shifting his papers aside to sit on the edge of the desk, he laughs quietly, a low rumble that sends a thrill through her. He shakes his head, amusement flickering in his eyes, and lifts her effortlessly, his hands strong and steady beneath her. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, holding on tight as he carries her toward the bed.

“Those papers took me a while to organize,” he murmurs sharply, his tone laced with mock seriousness. If she didn’t know him better, she might think he was truly annoyed.

But she does know him, knows the way his eyes glint with barely concealed mirth as he lowers her onto the bed. The cool sheets contrast with the heat of their bodies, and she arches up into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him down for another kiss. 

Aemond’s hands trail down her body, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her pants as he pulls away slightly, eyes dark and intent. She watches him, breathless, as he slides her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, the cool air hitting her skin making her shiver.

He kisses his way down her body, lingering at her hips before settling between her thighs. The anticipation coils tight in her belly, her breath hitching as he looks up at her, his expression unreadable but undeniably hungry. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she feels the tension in her body build with each brush of his lips against her skin.

When he finally touches her where she needs him most, she gasps, her hips arching off the bed in response. He holds her down gently, his strong hands firm on her thighs as his mouth moves with skillful precision. The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending alive and thrumming with pleasure as he takes his time, drawing out every gasp and moan that slips from her lips.

She threads her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as she loses herself in the feeling, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His name slips past her lips, a breathless plea that only seems to spur him on, his tongue and lips working in tandem to push her closer and closer to the edge.

It’s a slow build, a steady climb toward something that feels almost too intense to bear. 

When she finally falls over the edge, it’s like the world shatters around her, a white-hot burst of pleasure that leaves her breathless and shaking, her hands gripping his hair tightly as she rides out the waves of her release. He stays with her through it all, his mouth still moving against her until the sensation becomes too much and she gently pulls him up to her, needing to feel his lips on hers, to ground herself in the warmth of his kiss.

Her breath is still uneven as she pulls him closer, her hand sliding down his chest, tracing the hard lines of his torso. She meets his gaze, eyes dark with desire, and murmurs, “I need you.”

Without breaking eye contact, her hand slips into his slacks, finding him already hard and straining against the fabric. He hisses at the contact, his jaw tightening as she wraps her fingers around him, stroking slowly, deliberately.

But it doesn’t last long. With a low growl, he pulls her hand away and stands up, quickly shedding his slacks and boxers, the clothing falling to the floor in a heap. The sight of him, fully bared to her, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through her.

He’s back on her in an instant, his mouth on hers, urgent and demanding, as he positions himself between her legs. She wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, and when he enters her in one smooth thrust, eliciting a gasp from them both.

He stills for a moment, buried deep inside her, his breath hot against her neck. Then, with a groan, he starts to move, slow at first, each thrust measured and deliberate, as if he’s savoring the way her body reacts to him. It doesn’t take long for the pace to quicken, the room filling with the sounds of their bodies moving together, the bed creaking beneath them.

She clings to him, her nails digging into his back as he drives into her, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. His grip on her hips is firm, his movements powerful and unrelenting, as if he’s intent on losing himself in her.

“Ae-mond…”

Their breaths mingle, their bodies slick with sweat as they move together, the world outside fading away until all that exists is this. A conversation is due and far from over, but her mind is clouded by thoughts of him, him, him-

She breaks the kiss, her head falling back as her body tightens around him, pulling him deeper as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He buries his face in her neck, his breath ragged against her skin, and with one final, languid thrust, he comes in pleasure as he moans into her skin.

For a moment, they remain tangled together, their breaths harsh and uneven, the aftermath of their release leaving them both dazed and spent. He stays inside her as long as he can, as if reluctant to break the connection, before finally pulling away and collapsing beside her, pulling her into his arms.

Her head rests on his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath her ear. His arm is draped over her back, holding her close as if to keep the world at bay for just a little longer.

But as the silence stretches on, the reality of their situation begins to creep back in, and she feels the familiar weight of her thoughts clouding her mind. What are they really doing here? What does any of this mean? The questions swirl in her head, tugging her back to the uncertainty she’s been trying to avoid.

He notices the change in her immediately. The way her body tenses slightly, the furrow that forms between her brows. He’s seen this look before - when she’s lost in thought, when something’s weighing heavily on her. His grip tightens around her, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, trying to anchor her in the present.

She tilts her head up, meeting his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that makes her chest tighten. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the air thick. His hand comes up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch lingering on her cheek.

Her heart skips a beat as she tries to find the words to express the tangle of emotions inside her. But before she can speak, he abruptly breaks the silence.

“It’s never going to be exclusive or long-term with her. That’s not what we have.” he says, his voice steady but laced with something she can’t quite place. “You’re not destroying anything.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and final. He’s said them almost as if to preempt whatever she was going to say, as if to take away the guilt and confusion that’s been gnawing at her since this all began. His eyes search hers, gauging her reaction.

She blinks, trying to process what he’s just said. The admission should bring some relief, should ease the turmoil inside her, but instead, it leaves her feeling more conflicted. The clarity she sought doesn’t come; instead, she’s left with a hollowness that only deepens the questions she’s been grappling with.

“You think saying that makes this easier?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying it because I don’t want you to feel guilty,” he replies, his tone firm but not unkind. “This—whatever this is—doesn’t have to be complicated. It can be just us, without any strings attached.”

She bites her lip, the words sinking in. He’s offering her an out, a way to keep whatever they have without the burden of labels or expectations. But is that really what she wants?

Especially now that her heart skips a beat whenever he comes around? 

“You were in love with him for a long time. This is what you need. Something that won’t trouble you.” His hand trails down her arm, grounding her in the moment. “You don’t have to overthink it,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “We want each other.”

She likes him. More than she should, if a fling with her is all he wants. But she can't bring herself to push him away.

“We can just be.”

She looks up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but there’s none. He’s being honest with her, laying it all out so she can make her own choice.

“You're saying you've been seeing a girl for more than a year, but she's alright with you sleeping with me?”

“Think that's how an open relationship works. Don't you?”

She wants to ask who it is, but she has a feeling that's more trouble than it's worth.

“And what if I don't want this?”

“You can stop anytime. But you won't.”

His functional eye narrows and there's knots of muscle in both corners of his jaw, a slight twitch of the eyebrow. She likes him when he's like this.

She likes when he knows her. She likes that he's indispensable to her. She likes that he knows that too.

She kisses him and goes to sleep in his arms.

Does any of it matter if she gets to have him like this?

The room is quiet except for the faint rustle of pages as Aemond flips through her sketchbook, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders. She traces absent-minded patterns on his chest, the tip of her finger skimming over the faint lines of his muscles, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

The dim light filters in through the curtains, casting a soft glow over them, highlighting the contentment on her face. Her head rests against him, hair fanned out over the pillow as she relaxes into the moment, her mind drifting aimlessly. 

Aemond’s fingers lazily flip through the pages filled with rough pencil strokes, some finished, others abandoned halfway. His gaze pauses on one drawing in particular - a silhouette of a woman standing at the edge of the sea, her figure gazing out toward the endless horizon.

He runs his thumb over the page, his voice low. “What’s this one?”

She turns her head, glancing at the sketch. Her lips curve into a small smile, though her mind drifts back to the scene that had inspired it. “I was hanging out at the Sunset Sea for a few days. I’d been studying Jaeron of Lys in my class with Professor Rivers, you know, the old painter?” He shifts slightly, and she shifts along with him. “His work was all about those distant, far-off humans in his portraits, always framed by these huge, sweeping landscapes.” 

Aemond listens intently, his fingers still resting on the paper as she speaks. He turns his head slightly toward her, encouraging her to continue.

“It’s why his work is so widely discussed. The people in his paintings are always so still. Silent. You barely notice them at first, almost like they’re not even the focus. But the longer you look, the more you wonder what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling. He made the audience do the work to comprehend them.”

Aemond’s brow furrows slightly, intrigued by the thought. “I’ve seen some of his work in the books. There’s this tension in it, like the figures are waiting for something, even though the rest of the world moves on around them.”

She nods. “Exactly. That tension is what makes it brilliant. What’s even more tragic, though, is what happened to him.” Her voice softens, the weight of the story pulling her deeper into it.

“Jaeron went blind in his later years. He couldn’t paint, couldn’t create for years. The grief of not being able to see art, beauty… it destroyed him. He never touched a brush again, not until he was on his deathbed. And even then, he wished for one last chance to paint.”

Aemond turns fully to face her now, propping his head on his hand, captivated by the story. “And did he?”

She nods, her gaze distant as she recalls the details from her class. “He did. Blind and frail, he recreated his first-ever painting—a woman looking into the sea. It was perfect, down to the smallest detail. His final masterpiece.”

“The class was about muscle memory in art,” she continues softly. “How creativity, no matter how burnt out you feel, is what makes you… you. Even after all that time, even when he couldn’t see, his body remembered. His hands knew the strokes, the curves, like he’d never left it.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s noncommittal sound hums through the air as she turns her head, her eyes searching his face. “It is,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “I think about that sometimes - how you can leave something behind, but when you pick it back up… it’s like it never left you either. You just know.”

His thumb traces slow, soothing circles over her hand, his attention fully on her as she sighs, lost in thought.

“A lot of it translates into real life,” she continues, her voice softer now. “Like cycling, or swimming… even driving. Things that require focus and rhythm.”

She pauses, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s like learning to be in sync with something, or someone.”

Aemond’s eyebrow quirks up slightly at her words, a hint of curiosity flickering in his gaze as she drops her eyes, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath her cheek. She presses on, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Like how we didn’t see each other for the entire summer,” she says, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin, “but when we came back together… the chemistry, whatever it is. It was there. You didn’t forget what I liked, and I didn’t forget either.”

Her words hang in the air, the silence stretching. She feels a pang of doubt, wondering if her attempt at lightness had been too blunt, too revealing, too… stupid. She glances up at him, ready to brush it off, but Aemond is staring straight ahead, his fingers threading gently through her hair, the weight of his thoughts visible. She can see the wheels turn in his head.

“I wouldn’t want to forget anything about you,” he says. His voice settles deep within her chest.

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she’s at a loss for words, the intensity of his statement catching her off guard. A flush creeps up her neck, coloring her cheeks, and she feels the fluttering in her chest threaten to overwhelm her.

Desperate to lighten the mood, to distract herself from the way his words made her feel, she lets out a shaky laugh, trying to mask her flustered mind. “You’re being fucking pretentious now,” she jokes, but her voice betrays her, a bit too breathless, a bit too forced.

Why say things like that if you don't mean them?

Aemond doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady on hers. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, just keeps looking at her with a quiet intensity that makes her heart race. The flutter in her chest doesn’t fade, and the realization hits her, taking her down with the force of a well-aimed punch to the gut.

He’s seen right through her.

When she wakes, she glances at the clock—her classes start in an hour or so, but Aemond's are earlier, and he’s already gone. The quiet of the apartment feels warm, almost comforting.

She heads to the bathroom and steps into the shower. As the steam fogs up the glass, she notices faint traces of where his fingers must have absently brushed across the condensation, drawing random patterns. 

Proof that this isn’t a dream, he was hers last night.

After her shower, she rummages through his cupboard to find something to wear, but instead finds a shirt she left behind long ago, forgotten until now. She pulls it on, feeling the fabric cling to her still-damp skin, and shimmies into the same pants from yesterday. The hunger hits her suddenly, and she practically inhales the toast, eggs and coffee, savoring every bite.

As she prepares to leave, she looks for the keys to lock the apartment. By the keystand, a small note catches her eye. She picks it up, her heart giving a small flutter as she reads the familiar handwriting.

Remember your postcards.

She finds the small stack right next to the note and smiles. She picks it up and almost walks out, before she walks back in and takes the note along with her too.

They sit across from each other at one of the long, narrow tables, the polished wood catching the golden hour light filtering through the tall windows.

Months have passed, and classes have begun again. Their time together has been good, even great, filled with moments that make her heart flutter more often than she’d care to admit. But with each passing day, a nagging feeling settles deeper in her chest - a constant reminder that they’re not dating, that her feelings for him shouldn’t matter. It’s something she has to tell herself over and over, especially when he does something that makes her smile in his own subtle way.

She’s focused on her laptop, typing away at her latest assignment, but her concentration wavers every now and then. She can’t help but sneak glances at Aemond, who’s engrossed in one of his textbooks, his brow furrowed in that familiar way that tugs at something deep within her.

Every so often, his foot nudges hers lightly under the table, a small gesture that sends a tingling sensation up her spine. It’s almost as if he does it without thinking, but the effect on her is anything but casual. She tries to keep her mind on her work, but the reminders keep coming - small touches that feel too intimate, like the brush of his hand against hers when they both reach for their coffee, or the way he sometimes squeezes her knee under the table, just for a moment, before going back to his reading as if nothing happened.

The thoughts swirl in her mind, making it harder and harder to focus. She needs a break, something to pull her away from these confusing feelings. So, she stands up, mumbling about needing a book for her research. Aemond doesn’t look up, but she can feel his presence, his quiet attention, as she walks away from the table.

She wanders through the rows of books, her fingers brushing along the spines as she tries to steady her thoughts. The library’s quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of pages and the distant hum of conversation. She’s been walking for a few minutes when she suddenly stops, feeling a familiar presence behind her.

His shadow falls over her, unmistakable in its solidity, in the way it looms, tall and certain. Even without turning, she knows it’s Aemond. There’s something about the way he stands, the way his silhouette feels different from anyone else’s—broader, more composed, with an intensity that seems to fill the space around him.

She senses him draw closer, the warmth of his body pressing gently against her back. Her breath catches in her throat when she feels his hand brush her hair aside, the strands falling softly over her shoulder. Aemond’s fingers graze the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. He leans in, his lips just barely touching her skin, teasing her with featherlight kisses that make her knees go weak.

“Hi,” she faintly murmurs. He grumbles just slightly, his voice low and rough in her ear, laced with a quiet amusement that makes her heart skip a beat. His breath is hot against her skin, and she can feel the faint rumble of his laugh as his lips travel along the curve of her neck.

Her breath catches as one of his hands slides under her skirt, fingers brushing over the curve of her ass, squeezing lightly before venturing lower, teasing the sensitive skin at the top of her thigh. The other hand moves up, slipping beneath her shirt. His touch is firm, confident, as his fingers trace over the fabric of her bra, finding the sensitive peaks of her nipples. He brushes over them, his touch sending a shudder through her that she can’t hide.

“Aemond…” she whispers, her voice a mix of plea and warning, but it only makes him smile against her skin.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says softly, his voice full of a challenge she’s not sure she can meet. His fingers pinch lightly, just enough to make her gasp, the sound swallowed by his quiet groan of approval.

But she doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, she leans back into him, her body betraying her mind as it seeks more of his touch. His hand on her ass tightens, pulling her against him, and she feels the heat of him, the way he presses against her as if he can’t get close enough.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs, his lips trailing back up to her ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. “You know that, right?”

She nods, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts as his hand beneath her shirt continues its slow, deliberate torment.

“Say the word,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble that makes her insides twist with want. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

But the words won’t come. Instead, she turns her head slightly, catching his gaze out of the corner of her eye, the intensity there stealing whatever resolve she thought she had. His eyes are dark, filled with something deep and consuming, and it’s in that moment she knows she’s lost.

“Aemond…” she breathes again, but this time, it’s not a warning. It’s an invitation, and he knows it. His hand leaves her ass, sliding around to her front, pulling her even closer, and she feels the low, satisfied hum in his chest as he kisses the side of her neck, harder this time, more insistent.

The hand slides further down, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. His fingers move with agonizing slowness, tracing the curve of her before dipping into the heat between her thighs. She bites down on her lip, trying to stifle the gasp that escapes her as his fingers brush over her entrance.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs against her ear, his voice thick with desire. His fingers start to move in slow, deliberate circles, teasing and tormenting her with a touch that’s just enough to make her want more but not enough to satisfy the growing ache inside her.

She grips the edge of the bookshelf in front of her, knuckles turning white as she tries to stay quiet, but every slow, precise movement of his fingers makes it harder. Her breath hitches in her throat as he presses harder, moving against her in a way that makes her whole body tense with need.

“Please, Aemond,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she’s feeling. She wants more, needs more, and she knows he can give it to her.

A low, dark chuckle rumbles in his chest as he withdraws his hand, making her whimper at the loss. But before she can protest, he’s turning her around, his movements quick and deliberate, as if he’s been waiting for this just as much as she has.

He pushes her back against the shelves, his body pressing into hers, trapping her between the cool wood and his heat. His mouth is on hers before she can say anything else, kissing her hard and deep, swallowing the moan that escapes her as he reaches between them to tug her panties down. His fingers work deftly, the fabric falling to the floor around her ankles as he frees himself from his pants.

He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze dark and filled with something primal. “It’s a shame,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I quite like it when you scream.”

Her breath catches at his words, the anticipation tightening in her stomach as he leans in, his lips brushing against her ear. “But you’re going to have to be quiet, or they’ll hear you.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he’s lifting her leg, wrapping it around his waist as he guides himself to her entrance. She gasps as he pushes into her slowly, stretching her inch by inch in a way that feels both torturous and utterly perfect.

She bites down on her lip to keep from crying out, the intensity of the sensation almost too much to bear as he fills her completely. His hand slides under her shirt again, pushing the fabric up and palming her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a way that makes her arch against him, her body desperate for more of his touch.

He begins to move, thrusting into her with a slow, steady rhythm that has her head spinning. Each movement is deliberate, controlled, as if he’s savoring every moment, every sound she makes. She can��t help the small moans that escape her, each one muffled against his shoulder as she clings to him, her body trembling with the force of her need.

But even her attempts to stay quiet aren’t enough to satisfy him. He kisses her again, harder this time, swallowing her cries as he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against hers with a force that makes the bookshelf behind her rattle. The sounds of the library fade away, leaving only the echo of their ragged breaths and the wet, slick sounds of their bodies moving together.

“So fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips brushing against her ear as he pounds into her, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

She can feel the tension building inside her, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. Her fingers dig into his back, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

“I need you,” she gasps, her voice a desperate whisper against his neck. “Please, Aemond… don’t stop.” The thrill of being caught only seems to make her want more.

His response is a low, guttural sound that sends shivers down her spine. He shifts slightly, changing the angle just enough to hit that perfect spot inside her, and suddenly she’s teetering on the edge, every nerve in her body alight with sensation.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice a dark command that she can’t resist.

And she does. Her body shatters around him, her release crashing over her in waves that leave her trembling and breathless. He kisses her again, swallowing her cries as he thrusts into her harder, faster, riding out her orgasm until she’s nothing but a quivering mess in his arms.

Aemond isn’t far behind. With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself deep inside her, his body going rigid as he finds his own release, groaning her name against her lips as he spills into her.

They stay like that for a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their bodies pressed together as they come down from the high. He kisses her softly, his lips lingering on hers as if he’s reluctant to pull away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of them, lost in the aftermath of what they’ve just shared.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a look in his eyes that she can’t quite place, something intense and raw that makes her heart skip a beat. He smooths her hair back, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before helping her adjust her clothes, his touch now tender, almost reverent.

When she’s done with adjusting herself, she brings her hands over her mouth and lets out a long, shuddering breath - disbelief, over what they’d just done. He seems quite unfazed, almost as if he constantly engages in semi-public sex and she can’t help but wonder.

Has he done this with her too?

When he pulls her into his chest with an arm over her shoulder, she smiles. She smiles and smiles and smiles until her lips go taut and her dimples are seemingly permanent.

Aemond pushes open the door to her room, stepping inside with a quiet creak of the hinges. He pauses, his gaze taking in the chaos that greets him: clothes scattered across the floor, stacks of books and sketch pads teetering on the edge of her desk, and an assortment of half-packed bags and boxes cluttering every available surface. 

Raising an eyebrow, he surveys the scene with amusement. “You’ve been busy,” he says, his tone both teasing and intrigued.

She glances up from where she is hunched over a suitcase, her hands busy stuffing garments into it with an absentminded efficiency. “I am,” she says with a sigh, straightening up and brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’m packing to go back home next week. One of my older half-brothers is launching his business, and my dad called me today. He’s got plane tickets for me, so I thought I’d just stay at King’s Landing until the Targaryen Charity Benefit.”

Her eyes flicker over to him, a hint of apology in them as if she were embarrassed by the state of her room. “I’m taking my classes online while I’m there.”

Aemond hums, his gaze drifting to the cluttered bed as he sits at the edge. He runs a hand through his hair, still processing her news. “You’ll be gone for three weeks.”

She leaves the mess behind and stands in front of him, between his legs. Almost as though it’s second nature, she straddles him, her legs wrapping around his waist. His hands settle on her hips, holding her in place, and she smiles. “Yes, whatever will you do without me?”

Aemond’s grip tightens around her hips as she straddles him. He lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender. Without a word, she leans down, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s gentle at first. His hands roam up her back, steadying her against him, while her fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the sharp angles beneath her touch. She melts into him, savoring the warmth of his chest and the familiar feel of his arms around her.

Her mind betrays her, hitting her with the sudden realization of how much she cares for him - how her feelings have resurfaced in full force despite everything. She told herself before that this was casual, but now, pressed against him, it's impossible to ignore the tenderness of the moment, how much it means to her.

Just as she's about to lose herself entirely, Aemond pulls back slightly, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks softly. “Come with me… to the Targaryen Charity Benefit.”

She blinks, his words cutting through the haze of her thoughts. “What?”

He meets her eyes, his thumb stroking her side. “Come with me.”

“As your date?” She raises her eyebrows, knowing very well that going with him to public events is probably not a safe bet to make.

“As whatever you’d like.”

Her heart skips a beat, the invitation sending a flutter through her chest. For a moment, she hesitates, her mind whirling. She can see herself there, on his arm, but doubt quickly gnaws at her. What about the other woman? The one she knows he’s seeing? Wouldn't that complicate things further?

But she pushes the thoughts aside, smiling softly at him as she whispers, “Okay.”

Before she can overthink it, she leans down and kisses him again, her lips urgent against his, as though trying to drown out the uncertainty lingering in her mind. But as the kiss deepens, the doubt creeps back in. Can she really be the girl on his arm without stirring up more trouble? Will his other entanglements only complicate things further? What are they even doing?

She can’t shake the feeling that it’s not as simple as he makes it sound.

Pulling back from the kiss, her breath still mingling with his, her fingers still on his chest. The question that’s been nagging at the back of her mind breaks through, and she can’t keep it at bay any longer. “What about her?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “The girl you’re seeing… is that not going to be a problem?”

Aemond’s expression shifts ever so slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze. He sighs, his hands resting lightly on her hips as he looks down, avoiding her eyes for a moment. “It’s not what we do,” he says, his voice soft but edged with a weight that makes her heart sink. “We don’t… go out.”

There’s a heaviness to his words, something almost resigned in the way he says them. It breaks her heart just slightly, the realization that this other girl—whoever she is— isn’t someone he even takes out in public. But why? Why would he hide someone if she wasn’t important to him in some way? Why come to her if she was important?

Her brows knitted together as she looked at him, searching his face for answers. “Why?” she asked softly, the question slipping out before she could stop herself. “Why hide her if she’s not…?”

He met her gaze then, his expression hard to read. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, as if weighing his response. “It’s complicated,” he finally said, his voice low, almost distant. “It’s not what we do. We can’t… it’s not what we do.”

The way he said it, the way the words hung between them, sent a pang through her chest. She had no idea what he was dealing with, but it was clear that whatever this was with the other woman wasn’t as simple as she’d imagined. Still, it left her wondering if she’d ever really have him, all of him, or if he was always going to be torn between worlds she couldn’t fully understand.

She looked away, trying to process it all. The warmth of his body against hers, the comfort of his arms around her—none of it could quiet the confusion that swirled in her mind. Aemond’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on her hips as he noticed the way her expression shifted, the light in her eyes dimming.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He lifted a hand to cup her face, gently turning her head so she’d look at him. His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek. “It’s not what you think.”

She held his gaze for a moment, her expression guarded, but the doubt lingered in her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Aemond exhaled, feeling the weight of the moment press down on him. “It’s not like that with her,” he said, his voice low, steady. “She won’t mind.”

She won’t mind. She won’t mind. She won’t mind. She won’t-

Her time with him was all because this other girl did not mind. And if she did? What then?

The words echoed in her mind, reverberating off every wall of her thoughts until they drowned out the sound of Aemond’s voice, the warmth of his touch. She won’t mind. It burned into her, the reality she had been pushing aside - her time with him, their moments together, the intimacy they shared, all hinged on the indifference of another woman. Her existence in his life was allowed because someone else didn’t care enough to stop it.

But what if she did? What if this other woman, whoever she was, suddenly decided she did care? What if, one day, Aemond had to choose? She already knew the answer, and it made her stomach twist painfully.

Her mind raced, flicking through every moment they’d shared - every touch, every kiss, every lingering glance - and she saw it clearly now. This arrangement, whatever it was, wasn’t the casual thing she had imagined. It was precarious, temporary, held together by his convenience and Aemond’s careful balancing act between her and someone else. And if that balance tipped? If the other girl did mind?

The thought is ugly, but she can’t help it.

She’ll be the one left behind, a brief chapter in his life, an afterthought in the wake of his real relationship. The thought makes her sick. She doesn’t want to be with someone who can’t put her first, who keeps her around because it’s easy and doesn’t disrupt his life. She doesn’t want to be the girl waiting in the wings, always wondering when it’ll end, when she’ll be discarded because something else took precedence.

Aemond’s touch no longer feels like a comfort. His words, however sweet, now seem hollow. She wants him, yes—wants him desperately, but not like this. She doesn’t need him. Not so much that she would destroy herself, let herself be diminished, just to be with him.

She doesn’t want to help him keep up his image while he spends the entire night waiting to go back to her.

The realization hits her like a wave, flooding her with a clarity she hasn’t grasped before. She’s been clinging to him, holding on to the fragments of what they have because she thought she couldn’t let go. But now, she sees it for what it is. She deserves more than being someone’s second choice, someone’s convenience.

She exhales softly and looks at him, really looks at him. His sharp features, silver hair falling slightly into his eyes, his expression holding mild confusion as he notices her shift. He’s beautiful, enigmatic, the kind of person who draws you in without even trying. And she loves him. That much is clear. But she loves herself, too. And this—this isn’t good for her.

For a long moment, she stays silent, her heart thudding in her chest as she gathers the courage to say what she knows has to be said. Her eyes search his face, memorizing him, this moment. Because after this, everything will change. There will be no going back.

All of this is happening on borrowed time - she deserves more.

Before she can fully process her resolve, Aemond moves. In one swift motion, he lifts her effortlessly, a startled gasp escaping her lips as he throws her back onto the bed. Her body bounces lightly against the sheets, her heart pounding as she looks up at him. He looms above her, a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for a second, everything else fades away - there’s only him.

His thumb grazes her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, as if he’s committing the feel of her to memory. She can’t tear her gaze away, her breath hitching when he leans down, pressing his forehead against hers. The warmth of his skin, the closeness of his breath - it’s intoxicating, and despite everything, despite her earlier resolve, she feels herself crumbling.

“Come with me.” His voice is low, a quiet plea she can't resist. Their foreheads press together, breath mingling, and for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath.

Her heart wavers, but the word slips out before she can stop it. “Okay.”

And then he's on her, kissing her with an intensity that steals her breath. His hands roam her body, rough yet tender, like he can't get enough of her. She melts beneath him, her hands tangling in his silver hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

Their bodies move together, a rhythm they know too well. He pushes into her slowly at first, drawing out her pleasure until she's arching into him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His hands grip her hips, holding her steady as his thrusts become more urgent, more insistent.

She moans, her nails digging into his back under his shirt as she rides the waves of her release, trembling beneath him. But he isn’t done.

Before she can catch her breath, Aemond flips her over, positioning her on all fours. The cool air hits her back, sharp against the heat of his touch, and she shivers. His lips trace her spine with sweet kisses before he grips her hips again, pulling her back towards him.

Without warning, he thrusts into her hard and deep, and she cries out, her fingers clenching the sheets as he fills her completely. His movements are rough, every thrust powerful, almost desperate, as he chases his own pleasure. She can feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers dig into her skin, the low growl escaping his lips as he loses himself in her.

Each thrust sends her reeling, her body arching as he pounds into her, the bed creaking beneath them. The pressure builds again, her senses overwhelmed by the roughness of his touch, the way his body dominates hers. It’s primal, raw, and she gives in to it, letting the pleasure wash over her once more.

He moves faster, harder, his breaths ragged as he pushes them both to the edge. His fingers tighten on her hips, pulling her back into him with each powerful thrust, his control slipping. She feels him tense behind her, his rhythm faltering as he reaches his peak, his final thrusts erratic and frantic.

With one final, forceful push, he groans, his body trembling as he spills into her, his grip tightening as he holds her close. She gasps, her own body quivering from the intensity of it all, pleasure mingling with the rawness of what they’ve just shared.

Aemond shifts beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulls her into his chest. His warmth envelops her, the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothing against her skin. She nestles closer, feeling the way his body fits perfectly around hers, his arm draped possessively over her stomach.

The room is quiet, just the sound of their breathing filling the space. She stares at the wall, her mind still spinning from everything—the way he held her, the feel of his body against hers. It feels so real, so perfect, and it terrifies her.

"I'm hungry," she whines.

And then, he laughs. It’s quiet, just a low chuckle, but she feels his whole body move behind her, his chest pressing into her back as his shoulders shake slightly. She doesn’t need to see his face to know how he looks when he laughs - his lips upturned slightly, the sound soft but genuine, his whole body leaning forward with it. It’s rare, but she cherishes it every time.

She smiles to herself, her heart swelling in her chest. She likes him too much, more than she ever thought she would. Maybe she even loves him. The thought sends a pang through her, bittersweet and undeniable. Loving him wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this, but it’s too late to deny it.

But she’ll leave soon. And when she comes back, she’ll tell him the truth. She needs to know if there’s space for her in his life, or if the woman he guards so fiercely already holds that place.

Her chest tightens at the thought. She wants to be the one he turns to, the one he holds like this, the one he laughs with. But she can’t let herself be second. Not again.

She closes her eyes, breathing in the moment, memorizing how it feels to be wrapped in his arms. Because when she returns, everything will change.

One way or another.

She sits cross-legged on Arianne’s living room floor, nursing a glass of wine as she absentmindedly swirls the deep red liquid around in her glass. The cozy, dimly lit flat is filled with the soft sounds of an old record playing in the background, casting a nostalgic haze over the room. Arianne, always effortlessly composed, lounges on the couch, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she watches her with a knowing look in her eyes.

"You sneaky little bitch," Arianne says, narrowing her eyes playfully, lips curving into a teasing smirk. She exaggerates a cross-eyed look, making her wince and laugh in guilt.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner,” she mumbles, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass.

“Yeah, you should have,” Arianne huffs, tossing a pillow at her. “I would’ve liked to know you were fucking Aemond Targaryen, for gods’ sake! Girl, you should have told me!”

She winces again, guilt gnawing at her. “I’m sor—"

“Aemond. Fucking. Targaryen of all people,” Arianne says, incredulous, her eyes wide as she takes a gulp of her wine. “He doesn’t seem like your type, though. What’s going on there?”

She blinks, a little taken aback by that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Arianne begins, leaning back into the couch with a lazy smile, “he’s Aemond Targaryen. The man calls Facebook ‘Book of the Face,’ for crying out loud. Posh, arrogant prick.”

“He’s posh? You’re a bloody Martell!” She retorts, raising her glass to her lips. “And for the record, he’s not even on Facebook.”

Arianne rolls her eyes dramatically. “Weird. I’d have thought the youngest one, Daeron, would’ve been more your type. The life of the party, you know?”

Of course, she’d say that. Arianne has known the Targaryens for most of her life. The Martells, like the Targaryens, are part of Westeros' seven most prominent families—the others being the Starks, Lannisters, Tullys, Tyrells, and Baratheons. In these circles, it’s not just about wealth or influence; it's about legacy. Apart from the reclusive Starks, the children of these families grow up in each other's orbits, attending the same elite schools, galas, and events that reinforce their status at the top.

Wherever life takes them, they find one another, keeping close within their exclusive, almost impenetrable social circle. Friendships and rivalries are passed down from generation to generation, their connections as powerful as the fortunes they control. She understands this better than anyone. Her family, after all, has sat on the board of Targaryen Consolidated for generations, their fates intertwined with the silver-haired dynasty. It’s a world where the personal and professional are inseparable, where trust is as valuable as the wealth that surrounds them.

She shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, Daeron’s... charming in his own way, but he’s basically Aegon if he wasn’t trying to screw anything in a dress.”

Arianne bursts into laughter, loud and unfiltered, leaning her head back. “Aegon’s fun though! I’ve hooked up with him a couple of times, and the sex was goo-ood!”

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “Ew, stop!”

“I’m just saying,” Arianne continues, completely unbothered. “Aegon may be a bit of a mess, but at least he knows how to have a good time. Aemond, on the other hand…” She trails off, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by the whole situation. “I can’t believe you’re with him.”

She rolls her eyes, though a small smile tugs at her lips. “It’s not like that. Not really.”

Arianne scoots closer, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

She sighs, taking a deep breath before the words tumble out. “I think I’m falling for him, Ari. But... It's so confusing. I mean, I was in love with Daeron not even a year ago. How does that even look? Like I’m hopping from one brother to the other.”

Arianne’s teasing expression softens at that, and she reaches out, placing a hand on her knee. “You…” she says gently, her voice lacking its usual playful edge. “You’re not hopping from one brother to the next. You’re figuring out what you want. It’s okay to change, to grow. And it’s okay to love someone new.”

Arianne tilts her head, considering her words carefully. “Look, if Aemond thought you were confused, he wouldn’t be spending all this time with you. He’s smart—too smart to waste his time on something that doesn’t matter to him. And from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he does care about you.”

She lets the words sink in, her chest tightening. “But it’s so much more complicated. He’s seeing someone—or was seeing someone. I don’t even know. He says it’s not serious, but…”

Arianne lets out a sympathetic sigh, pulling her into a side hug. “You need to talk to him. Really talk to him. Figure out where you both stand.”

She leans into her, resting her head on Arianne’s shoulder. “I’m scared. What if telling him ruins everything?”

Arianne rubs her back gently. “And what if it doesn’t? What if this is exactly what you both need to figure out where you’re going? You can’t keep avoiding it.”

She takes a deep breath, nodding. “You’re right. I’ll talk to him when I get back.”

“And if it’s real,” Arianne adds softly, “you won’t lose him. But if it’s not... you’ll be okay. I think you deserve better anyway.”

“Stop!” She whines. She then smiles, feeling lighter. “Thanks, Ari.”

“Anytime,” Arianne grins, nudging her playfully. “Now, can we please watch something trashy and stop talking about your Targaryen boys? My brain needs a break from all this drama.”

She laughs, grateful for the distraction. “I brought soda and chips!”

Arianne cheers, grabbing the remote. “You know just how to spoil me.”

“Ae-mond, please…”

On their last night before her flight back to King's Landing, they move slowly together, every touch deliberate and heavy. Their bodies come together with a fervor that’s almost desperate, as if they’re trying to hold onto something that’s slipping through their fingers.

Each kiss feels like a search, an attempt to erase the lingering traces of someone else’s touch from his skin. She wonders if she’ll ever fully wash away the imprint of another’s fingertips, or if she’s merely adding her own layer to him. Every caress, every kiss is an exercise in forensics, a quest to mark him with her own brand, hoping that her touch will replace any remnants of someone else.

As he presses into her with a familiar, almost instinctive harshness, she can’t help but wonder if the other girl’s body was fuller, more curvaceous. The way he handles her, the way he’s rough and gentle all at once, speaks of an experience that goes beyond her. His touch is meticulous, as if he’s dedicated to exploring every contour of her body with a reverence she feels he must have practiced before.

She’s acutely aware that he isn’t new to the art of adoration. His hands, his lips, his entire presence seem to carry a certain expertise—each stroke, each touch is a testament to a history of worshiping a woman’s body with precision and care. He seems to know exactly where to touch, how to press, as if he’s memorized the map of desire and is determined to chart every inch of her.

With every touch, she is reminded that there is someone else. It breaks her like nothing else.

Aemond’s hands roam with purpose, tracing every curve, every hollow with a skill that leaves her breathless. She can’t shake the thought that this is a ritual of sorts, a final act of devotion before she departs. Each touch, each kiss feels like an affirmation of what they’ve shared, an attempt to seal their moments together into something tangible, something she can carry with her.

As she nears her release, her body arches and shudders beneath him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He follows soon after, his movements urgent and final, his breath ragged against her skin.

Afterward, they lie together in the dim room, the sounds of crickets chirping softly through the open window.

“How are you getting to the airport?” His voice is soft in a way that she wishes she can bottle up and take with her.

“Dad’s sending a car to the flat,” she replies, her voice muffled by the pillow and his embrace.

The room is filled with the subtle buzz of the lamp and the gentle rustling of the curtains in the night breeze. Aemond pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her as he kisses her shoulder tenderly.

When they wake, he says nothing as she takes a shower in a hurry to leave. He cooks a quick breakfast for them both with whatever he could find in her fridge, and she eats like a woman starved. He kisses her gently before he lets her go, and she cannot help but think.

She’s leaving every inch of Aemond to another woman exclusively for three weeks. What if he decides he does not want her when she comes back?

Then the thought at the back of her mind resurfaces - that she’s the other woman. No matter what Aemond says, she knows that much to be true.

“Aemond…?” She murmurs, quickly debating whether or not she should tell him now, if only so that he’d be tempted to not push her aside completely in her absence.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” 

The words die on her tongue, just like a piece of her heart does when she gets on the plane.

The weeks pass by in a blur, and soon she finds herself standing in a crowded event hall, meeting her half-siblings after what feels like an eternity. Two of them are launching their new venture in the city, and the occasion has brought them all together. She interacts with them as much as she can, offering polite conversation and smiles, but she can’t help but feel a quiet astonishment at how little she truly knows about them. Despite the shared blood, they seem like strangers bound only by a distant connection.

It isn’t surprising, really. Jasper Wylde’s five children by his first wife had been adults long before he met her mother, and by the time she was born, the youngest of them was just leaving for college. The age gap, the separate lives - they had grown up worlds apart. There’s only so much they could have in common, and that knowledge weighs heavily on her as she exchanges pleasantries with them, feeling the disconnect more keenly with each passing moment.

She watches them closely - the way they move through the crowd, how they speak to each other with an ease that she’s never known with them. They have their own inside jokes, shared memories, and a rhythm that she’s never been a part of. It’s like watching a family dynamic she can’t quite break into, one she’s always been on the outskirts of. Even as they make small talk, she feels the invisible walls between them, the years of absence and unfamiliarity creating a distance that no amount of cordiality can erase.

But she plays her part—engages when they speak to her, listens as they recount their stories, and smiles when it’s appropriate. Yet all the while, she feels that sense of being on the outside looking in. They talk about their father, Jasper, with a familiarity that she can’t match, their experiences with him vastly different from her own. It’s clear that, in many ways, they had a father she never really knew.

What amazes her most, though, is how much closer she feels to the Targaryens than to her own blood. The realization strikes her with a quiet weight as she stands among her half-siblings, exchanging polite words, but never quite connecting. With the Targaryens, everything feels different—natural, easy, as though she belongs in their orbit in a way she never has with her own family.

With the Targaryens, she doesn’t feel like she’s on the outside looking in. She belongs. In their world, she’s more than just the youngest child of a man with a complicated past - she’s someone who matters.

Being home has made her feel strangely untethered. It’s not that she isn’t used to it—this distance from Aemond—but somehow, this time it feels different. Maybe it’s because she knows she’ll see him again soon, in just a matter of weeks, but it feels like the days are dragging by, each one marked by the weight of missing him.

She lies in bed late one evening, her phone resting on the pillow next to her, waiting for the familiar buzz. It’s become a routine—Aemond calling just before she falls asleep, his voice the last thing she hears at night. When the phone finally lights up with his name, she answers without hesitation.

"Hey," she says, trying to keep her voice casual, but her heart picks up the pace as soon as she hears his breath on the other end.

"Hey," he replies softly. There’s a brief pause, and she can hear the faint sounds of his apartment in the background—the muffled hum of traffic, the creak of his chair. "How’s home?"

"Fine, I guess. Quiet." She smiles a little, thinking of how everything feels slower here. "I saw my half-siblings today, for the launch thing."

"How was that?" His tone is neutral, but she knows he’s asking because he cares, not out of mere politeness.

"It was... weird. I don’t know, I barely know them. I guess I’m just realizing how distant we are." She pauses, feeling the words settle in the quiet between them. "I feel closer to your family than to mine. Maybe because yours is the better family. Although, I do have the better father."

He’s quiet for a moment, and she imagines him leaning back in his chair, considering her words. “I can assure you, your family is just fine. You don’t want mine.”

She laughs, a little caught off guard by the softness in his voice. "Yeah, maybe."

They fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking about nothing in particular—work, the weather, what he had for dinner. It’s all so simple, so familiar, and yet she finds herself hanging on every word, savoring the sound of his voice, the way he says her name. It’s the closest she can get to him right now, and it isn’t enough.

There’s a pause, and then Aemond asks, "So, how long now? Two weeks?"

She bites her lip, her heart skipping a beat. "Yeah, just about."

"You’re counting the days?"

She can hear the smile in his voice, and she feels her cheeks flush despite herself. "Maybe."

"You miss me," he says, his voice gentle, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, and it lands with a weight that she can feel in her chest.

"Maybe I do," she admits quietly, her heart pounding. There’s a moment of silence, and in that space, the truth presses at the edges of her thoughts, threatening to spill out.

When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more serious. "Aemond, we need to talk.”

She hears him shift on the other end, a subtle rustling of fabric. "What is it?"

She hesitates, not ready to say it yet. "A conversation best had in person."

"Alright," he says, his voice low, almost tender. 

She hangs up, her heart racing, her fingers still gripping the phone tightly. The warmth of his words lingers, solidifying her resolve. When she sees him again, she’ll tell him. She’ll tell him everything.

The event takes place in a grand hall, tucked away in the heart of the city but worlds apart from the modern, bustling life outside. The walls are lined with rich mahogany wood, centuries-old oil portraits of stern ancestors in gilded frames, and shelves stacked high with leather-bound books whose spines are worn with age. 

She steps inside and is immediately enveloped in the hushed murmurs of conversation, the gentle clinking of crystal glasses, and the soft rustle of fabric as guests move gracefully through the dimly lit space. Despite the outward calm, there’s an electric tension in the air as the auctioneer lifts the gavel to announce each winning bid. There’s a certain satisfaction, almost smug, in the faces of those who come away with a prized possession, as if they’ve secured another piece of their heritage. For the others, there’s no outward disappointment—just a cool, composed silence, knowing there will be another opportunity to prove their worth.

She sits back, observing it all, feeling both a part of this world and strangely removed from it. The dark paneling on the walls, the rich smell of leather and smoke, the soft glow of the fireplace at the far end of the room - it’s all familiar, yet there’s something about it that feels performative, as if the evening is a carefully constructed illusion. The charity, the good intentions, seem secondary to the ritual of it all. As the final item is brought out - a centuries-old manuscript in a glass case - the room stills. In the end, the manuscript is sold for an astronomical price. The gavel falls with a sharp crack, and polite applause ripples through the crowd, though it’s more a gesture of respect than enthusiasm.

As the final round of applause fades, the grand oak doors at the back of the room swing open, and Viserys Targaryen steps forward. His presence is immediately felt, even if he looks frail and thinner than ever before. She heard from Aemond that he’d taken up residence at Dragonstone now, having bought an apartment for himself to stay after his parents' secret, unofficial separation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice is smooth, warm, and commanding all at once, carrying easily over the subdued murmur of the crowd. "What a night this has been. I’m not sure what’s more impressive - the art we’ve auctioned off or the fact that some of you managed to keep your bids as discreet as you did. Subtlety, after all, is an art in itself," he says with a slight chuckle, eliciting polite laughter from the audience.

"Your generosity tonight is overwhelming," he continues, his tone shifting to one of sincere gratitude. "These contributions will go a long way in supporting the causes we hold dear, ensuring that history is preserved for future generations to appreciate - something I think we all understand better than most."

"And now," Viserys adds with a glint of amusement, "I know you’ve all been quite serious about your bidding, but it's time to relax a little." The room hums in agreement.

"Please," he gestures toward the doors leading to the adjoining ballroom, "join me for a night of music, dancing, and, of course, more wine. I think we’ve all earned it after such a spectacular evening."

With a final smile, Viserys steps down from the podium, the soft clapping of the crowd filling the room as guests begin to rise from their seats, gathering their evening coats and handbags. The heavy double doors to the ballroom swing open, revealing a space even grander than the auction hall. The light spills out, golden and inviting, as the soft strains of a string quartet begin to play from within.

She takes her father’s hand and walks in with him, their pace in tandem with each other. 

Do you think we’ll make it through this evening without someone bringing up a new investment opportunity?" she murmurs, her voice laced with dry amusement, eyes scanning the sea of chandeliers, gilded mirrors, and finely dressed people mingling as they enter the ballroom.

Jasper Wylde glances down at her with a half-smile. "Doubt it," he says. "There’s always someone with a 'brilliant' idea that just needs a little backing."

She lets out a soft chuckle. "Maybe we should place bets on who brings it up first."

"Ten crowns on Lord Massey," he says, his tone casual, but the glint in his eye betrays his amusement. "He’s been circling us all night."

"You're on," she replies, feeling lighter as they reach the grand archway leading into the ballroom. The gentle strains of the string quartet swirl around them, and she allows herself to soak in the surroundings.

Their moment of ease is brief. As soon as they step fully into the room, a cohort of middle-aged men in dark suits, all clutching glasses of whiskey, make their approach, their faces lighting up at the sight of her father. She can see the shift in his demeanor - the casualness dropping ever so slightly, replaced by a more guarded, professional air.

"Ah, here we go," Jasper mutters under his breath. 

One of the men, a stocky figure with graying hair and a booming voice, claps her father on the shoulder. "Ironrod, just the man we were looking for!" he says, raising his glass. "We were just discussing the latest venture down in Storm’s End. Care to weigh in?"

Her father gives her a rueful look, the corner of his mouth quirking as if to say I told you so. "Duty calls," he says softly to her, before turning to the group with a more affable expression. "Gentlemen, lead the way."

And just like that, he’s swept up into the conversation, nodding and exchanging knowing glances with the men as they disappear into a corner of the ballroom. Before she can fully orient herself, Daeron appears at her side, his usual easy grin plastered across his face.

"Well, look who it is," he says warmly, pulling her into a quick embrace. "I thought I'd have to search the entire ballroom to find you."

She laughs lightly. "I wasn’t hiding, just waiting for you to make your grand entrance. How was Essos?"

Daeron’s face lights up, and he launches into a recount of his summer abroad with Helaena, his energy infectious. "It was wild. Good time with Hel, she took me along to the coastline and we went around looking for almost-extinct bugs in Lys." He rolls his eyes but there’s fondness in his voice.

She smiles at the thought of Helaena. "Sounds like her. Where is she tonight?"

"With our grandfather and Aemond, somewhere over there," Daeron says, nodding toward a nearby cluster of people. Sure enough, she spots Helaena waving enthusiastically, her face alight with joy as she talks to Otto. Aemond, standing next to her, gives a small, almost imperceptible nod when their eyes meet. His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it should, and her heart stirs in response.

She can’t help but smile softly, and, on a whim, she winks at him. She’s had a bad feeling about this night ever since she woke, but it all dissipates massively the moment his gaze meets hers. He doesn’t react outwardly, but there’s something in his posture that shifts ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment.

Daeron catches the exchange but remains oblivious, laughing as he gestures to the ballroom. "Come on, let’s take a look around. It's the same as always, but a little darker, don't you think?"

“Perhaps,” she remarks dryly, glancing around at the decadent decor.

As they stroll through the room, their eyes catch Will Tyrell, who is deep in conversation with an older man near the far end of the ballroom.

"Ah, Will," Daeron says, grinning as he gestures toward him. "His father's expanding their business, you know. Will's been training to take over soon. Everyone's talking about it."

"I’ve seen him around campus," she replies, keeping her voice casual. "We almost hooked up once, actually."

Daeron raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Really? What happened?"

Her stomach twists at the memory, a flash of the panic that had overwhelmed her that night. She remembers calling Aemond, his voice steadying her over the phone as she told him where she was. He’d picked her up, no questions asked. The bitterness that rises in her throat is unexpected, but it’s there, sharp and real.

"Don’t even ask," she mutters, her voice tight as she glances away, trying to shake off the heaviness of the memory.

Daeron, sensing her shift in mood, just nods, his usual carefree demeanor faltering slightly. He doesn’t push for details, instead flashing her a soft smile as they continue to walk through the room, the tension between them dissipating into the hum of the ballroom.

"Oh look, it’s the little runts," Aegon drawls, his speech a bit slurred. He saunters toward them, an empty champagne flute dangling from his fingers, Sara Snow by his side. She’s looking slightly amused, though there’s a softness in her expression that suggests she's trying to rein him in.

"Aegon," Daeron greets him with mock surprise, a grin spreading across his face. “Dude you’re already drunk, mum’s going to kill you.”

"Give it time," Aegon quips with a lazy smirk. "The night’s still young, brother."

Sara stifles a laugh, though her eyes are warm as she glances up at Aegon. "I’m doing my best to make sure he behaves," she says, her voice carrying a playful edge.

"Oh, please," Daeron rolls his eyes. "Aegon behaving is like...what, dragons coming back to life?”

"Exactly," Aegon retorts. "No fun at all."

"Yeah, you're all fun and no taste," Daeron jabs back. "In...well, pretty much everything."

Aegon dramatically clutches his chest as if wounded. "Excuse you, I happen to have impeccable taste."

"Oh really?" she chimes in, unable to resist the tease. "Let's not forget the time you tried to convince everyone that that neon green sports car was ‘classy.’ Or when you spent a fortune on that God-awful abstract painting that looked like a child had spilled paint on a canvas."

Aegon raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Hey, that car is an acquired taste, and the painting? It’s avant-garde. You wouldn’t get it."

Daeron bursts out laughing, shaking his head. "Right, keep telling yourself that."

But before anyone else can jump in, she adds with a smirk, "To be fair, Aegon has great taste in women."

Sara, who had been quietly listening, suddenly blushes furiously, her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. She ducks her head, trying to hide her smile, but it’s clear she’s both flattered and embarrassed by the comment.

Aegon, however, grins wickedly. "Ah, finally, someone recognizes my true genius," he says, draping an arm around Sara, who shoots him a look but doesn’t pull away.

"Yeah, genius is the word I’d use," Daeron deadpans, earning another round of laughter from the group.

Aegon, noticeably tipsy and grinning like a Cheshire cat, leans in close to Sara, his words slightly garbled. "You know, Sara, I just remembered I left something...um, somewhere. How about we go find it together?"

Sara looks at him with a mixture of amusement and mild concern, but before she can respond, Aegon takes her hand and starts to guide her toward the door.

"Careful with that one," Daeron calls out, his tone light and teasing. "I’ve seen him turn a charity event into a rave before."

"Ah, don’t worry," she replies, her voice tinged with a hint of laughter. "I think he’s already got plans for a private after-party."

With a final chuckle, Daeron watches as they exit, the door closing behind them.

She turns back to Daeron, her gaze thoughtful. "By the way, what’s up with Floris? I haven’t seen her around tonight."

Daeron’s expression shifts, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. "Oh, um, we broke up," he says quietly, almost as if he’s still coming to terms with it.

Her heart twinges with genuine sympathy. "I’m really sorry to hear that. I hope you’re okay."

Daeron nods, managing a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks. It’s been...a lot. But I’ll be fine."

"Where is she, then? At the event, I presume?"

"Yeah, she’s here," Daeron confirms. "Probably with her parents and sisters. It was a bit weird to be honest.”

“I can imagine.” Just then, a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes comes by. They each take one, and Daeron is about to take a sip when he is called away by Otto Hightower.

As Daeron makes his way through the crowd, she turns to find Arianne Martell approaching her, her presence immediately drawing attention with her striking elegance. “You look amazing, Ari!”

Arianne’s eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief as she greets her. “So do you. But let’s cut to the chase. That’s not the Targaryen I was expecting to see you with tonight.”

“I haven’t told him yet. The time isn’t right. Soon though.”

“You mean you keep putting it off.”

“No, I just… I don’t know.”

“Look around you, babe. Half of these people are on the lookout - and those Targaryen kids? All their mothers are training their girls to get one. If my father had his way, I’d be throwing myself at Aegon!”

“Ari! Don’t be so crude.”

“I’m being realistic. Make your move.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your best friend.” 

As they talk, she feels a strange unease settling in her stomach. Her gaze drifts across the room, taking in the opulence and the perfectly polished ambiance of the ballroom. Something about it all feels off, like there’s an underlying current she can’t quite grasp.

Noticing her silence and distant look, Arianne asks, “Is everything okay? You seem a bit… off.”

She hesitates for a moment before responding, “I don’t know. It’s just… something feels off. I have this gut feeling, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Arianne’s brow furrows in concern. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just the atmosphere. Everything is so perfect, almost too perfect.”

Arianne’s brow furrows in concern. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if it’s just me being paranoid or if there’s actually something going on.”

Arianne nods, her expression thoughtful. “It’s in your head babe. Calm down alright? You’ll be fine!”

Aemond finds them, cutting through the crowd with an ease that only someone accustomed to these events could manage. His presence alone seems to command attention, and she feels her heart flutter as he approaches. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, his breath warm and comforting. “You look pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and genuine.

Her eyes follow him as he straightens, unable to help herself from shamelessly ogling him. The way his dark suit fits him so perfectly, the sharp cut of his jaw, the glint of his eyes—it’s all so striking that she finds it hard to look away. He’s right in front of her, and yet he feels like a distant star that she can’t quite reach, but desperately wants to.

Arianne, ever perceptive, catches the look on her face and raises an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, her tone dripping with teasing. “You know, give you some space.”

She winks at them both before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and slipping away into the crowd. Her departure leaves a space between them that feels both comforting yet like too much. “You look very nice,” she says.

Aemond’s lips curl into a faint, enigmatic smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he replies, his tone a mix of aloofness and affection that she finds utterly endearing. “Though I must say, I’m quite taken with how you look tonight.”

She catches his gaze, her smile widening. “Well, I’m glad I managed to impress you.”

His eyes twinkle with mischief. “You always manage to.”

There’s a pause, a moment of quiet intimacy, as their eyes lock. Aemond’s hand on her back feels reassuring, grounding her in the present. He then wordlessly gives her his hand, and she takes it. She always will, she is his.

With a gentle but purposeful tug, Aemond guides her through the maze of the ballroom, leading her into the darker, quieter corridors of the estate. The soft hum of distant conversations and the clinking of glasses fade as they move further from the main event.

Eventually, they reach a secluded room, dimly lit and private. Aemond closes the door behind them, cutting off the noise from the outside world. Without a word, he steps closer, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens. Aemond’s hands find her waist, his grip firm and possessive. 

His lips are demanding, their kisses fiery and passionate. She responds with equal fervor, her hands sliding up his chest to grip the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. The connection between them is raw, almost desperate, as if they’re trying to make up for lost time with every touch.

Aemond’s hands roam over her back, his fingers pressing firmly against her skin, as if he’s trying to imprint her presence into his memory. She can feel the heat of his body through the fabric of their clothes, the tension in his muscles as he holds her tightly.

She gasps into his mouth as he pulls her even closer, his touch igniting a fire within her. His hands travel down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, his lips trailing hot, urgent kisses along her jawline and down her neck. She arches into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him back to her lips with a desperate hunger.

Gods, she likes him too much for her own good.

Finally, their lips part, and they break away, both gasping for breath. The room is filled with a lingering tension, the air heavy with the intensity of their embrace. They take a moment to collect themselves, their faces flushed and eyes still locked in a shared, heated gaze.

Aemond gently brushes a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender despite the fervor of their earlier kisses. “I have to go shake more hands,” he says, his voice reluctant. He offers a small, apologetic smile, his knuckles lingering on her cheek for a moment longer before he pulls away. “I’ll find you later.”

She nods, her heart still racing from their encounter. “Okay,” she replies softly, her voice a touch breathless. She watches as he turns to leave, and the moment he does - the feeling of unease comes back.

She walks back into the ballroom, smoothing down her dress and taking a deep breath to calm the rapid beat of her heart. The lingering warmth from Aemond’s touch is still on her skin, but the feeling of unease that had vanished in his presence now returns in full force.

As she steps further into the room, she spots a familiar face from across the crowd - one of the curators from the Westeros National Museum. He strides toward her with a knowing smile, gesturing to a nearby exhibit of her ancestor Coryanne Wylde’s paintings. “I was just about to ask if you’d seen these,” he says as they exchange pleasantries. “It’s rare to come across someone with a direct connection to the artist.” She smiles in response.

The curator nods in appreciation, and together, they walk over to the group of art enthusiasts who are gathered around the paintings. As they approach, she immediately recognizes someone else among them: her professor Alys Rivers. The professor’s sharp gaze softens slightly when she spots her, clearly surprised to see her here.

“Professor! So good to see you here, I wasn’t expecting you! Are you with someone?”

Alys chuckles lightly, offering a polite smile and points her finger beyond her shoulder. “That’s my brother.” She raises her eyebrows as she follows her gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Your brother’s Headmaster Strong?”

“My half-brother, yes. Which explains the different surnames.”

“Wow, small world.”

“We were just discussing some of the first-edition Volantene classics that we’ve been trying to source for the museum,” one of the curators says, a note of excitement in his voice. “A few Valyrian classics as well. It’s been quite the hunt.”

Her interest piques at the mention of Valyrian literature. The conversation drifts toward a particular Valyrian classic, The Last Embrace, and her attention locks in immediately, memories of Aemond reading it to her still vivid in her mind. One of the curators leans forward, adjusting his glasses.

“It’s such a beautiful work,” he says. “That passage where they talk about love being both a gift and a curse? The language is so intricate, it’s no wonder it’s one of the rarest Valyrian texts we’ve managed to preserve.”

Another curator nods in agreement. “Yes, I believe the exact line is something about love being a disease, but one we choose to suffer from?”

Before Wylde can speak, Professor Rivers steps in, her voice measured and calm. “Love is a disease of the mind, but one we willingly suffer for. It’s one of the most poignant lines in the entire text.”

Wylde's breath catches at the familiarity of the words. It was the same phrase he had marked, tracing the words as he read.

“That line,” Professor Rivers continues, “it’s always struck me. The complexity of love in Valyrian culture—how it could be both destructive and profound at the same time.”

The first curator smiles thoughtfully. “It’s fascinating how much depth there is in just one sentence. That’s what makes it a masterpiece. We’ve been trying to source a first-edition copy for years now.”

Rivers nods. “It’s difficult to find. I was lucky enough to own one of the first editions. Loaned it to someone close a while back, actually.”

Her chest tightens. The same line. The same book. She tries to push the thought away, but it grips her, the unease from earlier settling deep in her bones.

I know someone who can find the premium first edition copies, he had said.

But she doesn’t even teach him. And he’s Aemond Targaryen - he probably knows a hundred people of resource who can find him all the books he wants.

But there’s only three known copies of the first print in Westeros…

The feeling of unease that she had pushed aside the entire night comes back in full force - she doesn’t know why. It is a nagging feeling that refuses to go away, and she does not know what she’ll do about it.

Before she can dwell on it further, an attendant addresses her. He tells her that her father is asking for her from across the room. She excuses herself, turning away from the group with a polite smile. As she moves, she catches a fleeting glimpse of Professor Rivers’ necklace, the light glinting off the familiar design. Her breath falters.

She recognizes it.

A few months ago, she had seen that very necklace at Aemond’s apartment. She remembers asking him about it, how he had alluded to it belonging to a woman that he’s seeing. At the time, she hadn’t pressed him, unsure if she even wanted to know the details.

One of the curators points out the necklace, commenting on its unique craftsmanship. “That’s a Strong family heirloom, isn’t it?” he asks with admiration. “Quite the rare piece. One of a kind, if I’m not mistaken.”

Alys smiles, her hand brushing over the pendant. “Yes, it is. Passed down through generations. Only one of a kind.”

She feels like the ground is shifting beneath her feet. She can’t stop the flood of thoughts now, the connections falling into place. Her chest tightens as she pulls away from the group, her steps unsteady, her mind whirling with possibilities she doesn’t want to entertain.

No. It’s not what you think. It can’t be.

“It’s very beautiful, professor,” she says. “It was… uhm… it was nice to see you here. I’m going back to… my father’s expecting me.” The torrid nature of her thoughts shows on her face, and she can feel her palms sweating as the music and the crowd threaten to overwhelm her.

“Are you alright, Ms Wylde? You seem quite disoriented,” her professor says. She holds her onto her elbow to help steady her even if she hasn’t quite careened to the floor yet. Her skin burns where she holds her, and she wonders if she knows.

She looks her professor straight in her eyes, hoping to find any recognition. Then again, she doesn’t want to know too. 

“No, just… you know how these things can be. They tire you out quickly I suppose. I’m just going to…” 

She walks out of the ballroom and into the vast expanse of open gardens. She breathes and breathes and breathes.

It can’t be.

MASTERLIST

NO TAG LIST. PLEASE FOLLOW AND TURN ON POST NOTIFS FOR @randomdragonfics for fic updates!

[wandaslittlebird]

As The Summer Ends

Wanda x Natasha x Reader

As the summer comes to a close, you and your girlfriends celebrate with one more day in the sun.

CW: Pure fluff, R calls WandaNat Mama/Daddy but only like once.

Word Count: 1.3k(ish)

A/N: Happy last day of summer everyone! I hope everyone had a wonderful season, and you’re all excited to see what wonders the fall brings.

It was your first year ever attending Pepper Potts’ yearly “end of the summer” pool party: the celebration she had every year the day before it was time to cover the pool for the winter. You’d been invited as Wanda and Natasha’s plus one, as you still didn’t really know Pepper, or anyone else in attendance.

Much to your dismay, none of the other women seemed too eager to actually be in the pool. In fact, aside from you, Natasha was the only other person in the water. And she wasn’t even swimming. She was leaned up against the side of the pool talking to Maria.

Sure it was a little cold, as it was late September and there was a growing chill in the air, but you never got to go swimming. You did so love the water.

Wanda’s heart swelled with affection as she watched you from a beach chair, flopping around the water like a fish. Your child-like nature knew no bounds. You didn’t seem to have a care in a world about what the adults around you were doing, despite being one yourself. You swam laps around the pool, did handstands in the water, dove off the side and swam to the bottom of the deep end. You seemed to be keeping yourself entertained well.

However, as time wore on, Wanda could see you getting restless. You tried to join Natasha and Maria’s conversation, but they didn’t seem interested. Wanda frowned as she watched you try to talk, only to be ignored and talked over by her wife and her friend. Your joyful disposition cracked into one of isolation as you slowly began to feel like an outsider in this group of people.

She huffed, tempted to go over and have a word with Natasha about ignoring you. But, as she remembered how much you had had playing in the water, she got a better idea. She sat down on the lip of the pool, putting her feet into the cool water.

“Honey!” she shouted, making you turn your head as you popped up out of the water. She curled her fingers, beckoning you towards her. Obediently, you stopped everything you were doing to join her on the edge of the pool, laying your head on your hands next to her to avoid getting her wet.

“Yes?” you asked, innocently looking up at her from the water.

She lifted your head and bent over to whisper in your ear. “If you can knock Tasha over in the water, I’ll get you ice cream on the way home.”

You nervously turned around to find Natasha where she’d been this whole time, talking to Maria by the side of the pool. Her top half was completely out of the water. She hadn’t even gotten her hair wet. “But she’s talking to Maria. It would be impolite to-” you attempted to explain.

She cut you off with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, little love. I’m sure their conversation is drier than a sack of flour anyway. Go make your daddy actually have some fun.” She winked, lightly pinching your cheek.

A smile slowly grew across your face as you turned away from Wanda. You planned your approach carefully, deciding to launch yourself off the side wall and throw yourself into the back of her knees as hard as you possibly could.

Natasha stumbled as you knocked against her, immediately annoyed. “What the-” She glanced down at you in the water, then up at Wanda, smirking smugly by the side of the pool. She rolled her eyes and picked you up out of the water.

You squealed as you were caught, disappointed but not surprised that your first attempt had failed.

“Hold on, Maria,” Natasha joked. “I gotta teach this little punk a lesson.” You tried to squirm out of her grasp, but you were quickly thrown ass over head into the deep end of the pool.

You squealed again with excited delight. Wanda smiled, watching as you quickly turned tailed to go for Natasha’s feet again. Once again, you were dragged out of the water and tossed back into the deep end. Natasha had no difficulty dexterously dodging your attempts to knock her down, but you didn’t even really care to be losing the bet. It was reward enough to finally have somebody to play with, even if you were devastatingly out matched.

You were getting out of breath after a few rounds of fighting Natasha just to be effortlessly tossed back into the water again. You grabbed at the side of the pool, breathing heavy. Natasha was laughing now too, enjoying your frazzled and breathless face. She was glad that Wanda could at least pick a game that took way more energy out of you than her.

You turned around, ready to make another pass at Natasha. You didn’t actually think you'd ever be able to knock her down, but you liked it when she threw you into the water. You grabbed at her legs again. However, this time, before she could grab you and pull you out of the water, you saw two scarlet tendrils wrap around her ankles. She shouted before she was quickly pulled under the water.

You stood up, a little dazed, to find Natasha coming out of the water as well, completely and utterly soaked. Her nicely curled hair was now flat and wet against her head.

“You got her!” Wanda laughed.

“Oh it’s on,” Natasha challenged, quickly making her way to the end of the pool, where Wanda sat. Before she could reach her, though, she was wrapped with more scarlet tendrils that hoisted her out of the water, carried her to the deep end of the pool, and dropped her in.

You shrieked with joyous surprise, making your way back to Wanda as well. She let you approach, knowing that, unlike Natasha, you would never dream of pulling her into the water. “Mama, can you throw me next?”

Wanda’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You want me to throw you in the water like Tasha?”

You nodded eagerly.

She wrapped you up in her magic, pulling you from the water and carrying you across the pool. You giggled as the magic disappeared and you were dropped into the water.

Natasha climbed out of the water, grabbing a towel and drying herself off before sitting down next to Wanda. She laughed as you eagerly swam all the way back to them, looking up at Wanda expectantly.

“Again?” Wanda chuckled.

You nodded, laughing uncontrollably as she picked you again and threw you into the water. She went a bit higher this time, not dropping you until you were a good ten feet above the water.

She threw you a few more times, changing her tactics a little every time. Sometimes she dropped you in upside down. Other times she would hold you still above the water while you waited in anxious anticipation to be dropped. You were roaring with excitement and laughter the whole time.

It wasn’t long before you were completely and utterly spent, physically exhausted from all the swimming. Natasha stood next to the steps, a fluffy towel in her outspread arms. You breathlessly climbed up into her arms, allowing yourself to be dried off.

Wanda made a space for you to sit in between her legs. You happily sat down, putting your feet back into the water as she pulled you so your back was flush to her front. You cuddled into her tiredly.

Somebody tapped your shoulder from behind. You turned your head to find Pepper, holding a waffle cone with chocolate ice cream. “I heard ice cream was on the line. And it looks like you won the bet.”

You smiled and took the ice cream, eagerly licking at it before it could melt in the sun. “Thank you, Mrs. Potts.”

“Of course, kiddo,” she said, playfully ruffling your hair.

Wanda laughed as you proceeded to get the ice cream all over your face. She periodically wiped it away with a towel.

You would miss days like this as the air grew colder. There would be no more pool days, no more opportunities to comfortably spend the days outside in the sun. But fall brought new excitement of its own.

You could only hope you’d be tucked between these same arms by the fireplace come winter.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

half return.

katsuki’s decides to go home for the weekend, he invites you to come with him.

im back !! yall it’s been a while since ive written a full lil fic and this has been itw for a lil bit so i hope yall enjoy ! requests are still otw ! but i figured I’d write a little something to celebrate mha ending :(( tysm mha you will forever be my most beloved animanga in the whole world..BUT ANYWAY SAD STUFF ASIDE yall know i had to bring back my childhood friends to lovers on em,,cmon NOWW ITS JUST MY FAV TROPE YALL 🤧🤧🤧🤧 Anyways, i hope yall enjoy, much luv xxx

SUPER childhood friends to lovers (MY BIG ONE), MHA MANGA SPOILERS (post war and katsuki in rehab !),kissing and being in lubbb bleurghh, soft suki, sleeping in the same bed, mitsuki and katsuki lol, masaru being a sweetie, cooking, lemme know if i missed sum else <33 !!

“i’m goin’ back home for the weekend.”

these are the first words spoken in a couple of minutes. you were content with sitting in katsuki’s dorm room back at the height alliance, simply sitting in the same space doing your own thing. things slowly taking back their normal course despite you all still having a lot of work to do.

you look up from your phone to look at katsuki who’s eyes have not drifted from his. “oh yeah ? that sounds nice.” you smile, you’re sure his parents must want nothing more than to spend time with their son who saved the world. and you think secretly, he wants to go home too.

he grunts in response, continuing to scroll through his feed. and after a pause he adds “hag asked if you wanted to come with.”

you blink at him, it has been a while since you’ve properly spent time with katsuki’s parents. the last times you did it was when they came to visit you in the hospital to wish you well and offer you some sweets, not exactly the most joyous of occasions, but you loved seeing them either way.

you blink up at him, “are you sure that’d be okay ? i mean, it’s a family thing, no ?”

katsuki shrugs in response “‘s not up to me, she wants to see you so bad.” he glances at you “you gonna say no to her ?” you snicker at his teasing. mitsuki was a sweetheart, but she still intimidated you a little bit since she was a rather..intense woman.

“well i’d hate to disappoint her.” you jest, katsuki snorts, soft smirk pulling at his face as he rolls his eyes. he finally turns to look at you “you don’t have to, i could just tell her you’re busy.” your heart shakes at his subtle reassurance, but you shake your head.

“that’s fine, it’s been a while since i’ve been to your house anyway.” you scooch closer to your boyfriend, laying your head against his chest as he wraps his arm around you immediately. you want to get as close to his heart as possible, wanting to hear even the faintest of sound. to make sure he’s really there with you at times.

katsuki’s hand is warm as he softly rubs up and down your arm, “yeah it has, hasn’t it..” he sighs, and you think he was talking for both of you.

katsuki's house feels no different from when you were a kid.

the house still smells the same, mitsuki always told you that she liked the soft fresh scent she sprayed through the house. she always liked to leave at least one window open because she said it felt too stuffy, a habit that you recognised in your boyfriend, but that was also probably because he ran hotter than most people.

it calmed her, she said, and with how rowdy katsuki was lord knew she needed it. katsuki always complained when his mother would try out new air fresheners, and you remember his distain for a particular strong lavender one. (although you didn't like it much, either.)

the couches are still the same, all the pictures hanging around the house are unchanged as well. pictures of mitsuki and masaru at their wedding, of katsuki getting a big all might figure for christmas, and of you both at your elementary school entrance ceremony. you giggle every time you see it because katsuki's face hasn't changed much aside from it's pudginess. his expression fierce and you could even see how tight he was gripping your hand in the picture. (katsuki doesn't find it as funny as you do.)

katsuki's mom has always been very youthful, her face hasn't changed much from the years you've known her aside from some wrinkles appearing with age, she still looked as gorgeous as ever. you've always thought she was stunning. she greets you just as excitedly as she did when you were six and came over to play. although she can't scoop you up in her arms anymore she still embraces you so tightly, she stills comments on how big you've gotten and how you manage to look prettier every time she sees you, you feel just as warm.

as usual, katsuki is quick to try and drag you to his room as soon as he gets the chance, not before getting an earful from his mother for not responding to her texts and not telling him how he was doing. they quickly get to arguing, like usual. and masaru quickly comes to your aid so you don't have to sit in the middle of the two loud blondes.

his voice is as gentle as you've always known it to be as he asks you if you're okay, if you're starting up school well. his soft tone and the care he has for you makes you feel warm too.

katsuki manages to swiftly get you two out of the living room, stomping up the stairs and mumbling to himself about his damn old hag. you giggle and he turns to glare at you, squeezing your hand hard and scoffing.

you see katsuki visibly slow down the closer you get to his room, his expression visibly more calm than a few moments ago. serene, like he's taking it all in. you squeeze his hand tighter and he squeezes back, you don't think he realises it.

it takes you back too, the sound of your footsteps in your ears reminds you of your socked feet running around the hallway chasing each other, padding softly against the floor when you would try to sneak a cookie late at night 'cus katsuki told you you were too chicken to go. you can almost hear your loud laughter and soft giggles in your ears. you're griping katsuki's hand.

katsuki sighs before opening the door to his room, the window is already open, his mom most definitely did this to greet him back in her own way, he stays quiet about it. you see how he scans around his room like he hadn't been there in years, a lot of stuff he had in here before was sitting in his dorm room now, but it's still his room. black sheets replace his previous one's, the one's that were used to replace his even older all might themed one's. you'd really seen it all, it makes you even more nostalgic.

"hasn't changed much." you hear him mumble, he looks around at the posters on his wall. the look in his eyes is a foreign one, it's a sort of peace you don't see often in him.

"did you expect it to ?" you tease, taking slow steps like you're exploring a museum. his room is no different, it shouldn't be. but you think maybe it's because you're both a bit more different than the last time you've been in here, maybe you've both grown up a bit more. katsuki plops down onto the floor, leaning against his bed, you follow suit.

"guess not," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. you both sit in silence, your eyes fixed on a poster on his door. it's crinkly and it's a bit torn up around the edges. you lean your head onto katsuki shoulders and inhale, breathing the room in and close your eyes. you feel him wrap his arm around you after a moment. after the experiences you've both had, being able to relax like this with him is more than you could ever ask for. he squeezes your shoulder and you snuggle against him more when he presses his nose to your hairline, pressing a kiss to it shortly after. you feel warm all over again.

you've sat on this floor more times than you could count. laying on you're back as you laughed with your best friend, on your stomach as you read comics together. you'd eat snacks too, but katsuki never liked eating on his bed because he'd get bothered by crumbs, so you were on the floor most often. laying on it too much made your stomach hurt, and you knew your butt would be sore. but you'd go through any pain to be with katsuki, and with everything you'd been through a sore butt was absolutely nothing.

you sit there for longer than you should in a room that hasn't changed, that wasn't left untouched for long. you have memories with every thing inside this room, katsuki still the all might bobble head you'd gotten him as a joke in your room. you see the fake golden first place medal he'd gotten when your elementary school had track races. so much that you've shared with him, so much more you want to share.

right now in his room frozen in time, you feel like you have all the time in the world. it's foolish, but it's nostalgic, and it fills you with hope that everything will be like usual again.

"you're peeling those all wrong."

the sound of slicing stills as you look over at your boyfriend. you tilt your head "i'm not."

"you are, unless you actually want to cut your fingers off." he fights, rolling his eyes. you turn your nose up at him, frowning down at the potato in your hands. it looked good, you knew you were doing good.

"asshole." you grunt, you hear katsuki grunt next to you, the clattering of his own knife cutting carrots (you’re surprised he’s still that good at it despite only having one arm) catches your attention before you feel him press behind you. you stiffen, you try not to let him see the effect he has on you because you know he gets annoying about it.

when you were kids, katsuki always thought it was funny to say you needed him, joking that he was your knight in shining armor because you kept clinging to him, his words not yours. despite it seeming like he was clingier than you.

he places his hand over yours, it’s warm as it cover yours and guides you. you feel your heart pick up when he speaks closer to your ear. "you shouldn't cut towards yourself. and you slice too damn fast," he leans into your shoulder "ease up a bit."

you swallow, your heart beats in your ears "okay. thanks, mr. know it all." you mutter bitterly. katsuki continues to move your hand for you, you don't stop him.

"you should be glad i am, otherwise i would’a let you keep hacking at shit like a maniac." he chuckles.

your throw your head back and groan "ugh, you're so annoying."

you've known it for years. katsuki has been your best friend since you were in diapers and despite how much you love him, you will be the first one to complain about how fucking annoying he is.

even when you were babies. your mom told you that katsuki would take your pacifier and shove it in his own mouth while you wailed helplessly. he'd tug at your hair and poke you in class. you're sure you've called him every name in the book ; a meanie, a big bully, annoying, a jerk, an asshole, a dick head, every mean word you'd learned over the years. it makes you a bit nostalgic, but he's just so irritating.

he huffs, shoving his head into your shoulder. his hand still over yours, and he slowly lowers it into the counter. you drop the knife to turn to blink at him with wide eyes. he keeps his eyes on yours and returns to his earlier position so you don't see this embarrassment covering his cheeks. he wraps his arm around your waist tightly, pressing against you harder making up for the one that can’t. you snort at his antics.

you're sure katsuki will be an irritating know it all for the rest of his life, he's been for as long as you've known him after all. but one thing he always hated was making you upset. he always claimed it irritated him when he went too far and you'd ignore him, but in the few times he made you cry, you always saw how apologetic he looked. how his eyes were just a bit a glossy when he'd tuck his head into your shoulder in shame. he never said sorry often unless his mom forced him too when she caught you two arguing, but you always knew he was with the way he insisted on sharing his snacks with you, how he let you play with the better controller, how if he was feeling really sweet he'd kiss your cheek and look away with a bright red face.

as irritating as he is, you do hope he never changes.

you wish you could stay here for longer, just a bit longer, but you worry one of his parents (most likely his mom) would walk in and see you both. you pat at his arms, squeezing them softly "i think i got the hang of it, katsu." you utter softly. he grunts, staying against you for a moment longer before moving away, squeezing your side, to which you squeal in surprise, you see him smirk and he goes back to his own cutting board.

so irritating, you think. yet you bite your lip to hide the smile growing on your face.

“hey, bathroom’s free if you want it.”

katsuki’s still drying his hair with his towel when he pads into the room, his room.

you tear your eyes away from one of his many all might figures, running your fingers across it’s details “oh okay, thanks.” you stretch, arms and all might rising along with you. you hear katsuki scoff and he stomps over, ripping the figure out of your hand.

“be careful with that.” he growls, you giggle apologetically “sorry, sorry..” he rolls his eyes, placing it back neatly on his shelf, posing the arms exactly as he likes them.

what a nerd, you think. you giggle to yourself.

katsuki’s bathroom reminds you of sleepovers. of being sent up to brush your teeth before bed and racing to see which one of you could do it the fastest and get their teeth the cleanest, you both could never agree on it. it reminds you of how much katsuki hated the flavor of the toothpaste and would make such an ugly face when he’d taste it you’d fall over laughing. it reminds you of gargling mouthwash and competing on who could do it the loudest.

katsuki was always the one who started those ridiculous contests and was always the sorest of losers, but you never backed down from his challenges. it made things more fun, he made things more fun.

you’d known this bathroom for your entire life, if the picture book filled with pictures of you and katsuki in the bath together didn’t prove that fact. (though katsuki likes to pretend they don’t exist.)

the kid’s scented shampoo is gone now, the one you’re using doesn’t make as many bubbles as the other one did, and it doesn’t smell as fruity sweet. things change, just like you.

you feel cozy in your pyjama’s. katsuki had insisted you sleep in his room, looking at you like you grew another head when you told him you’d sleep in the guest bedroom. “don’t piss me off, you’re sleeping here.” is all he’d offered you.

and sure, you always have. katsuki hated being separated from you and you from him, so you sleeping in his room was mandatory. but besides on a few occasions, you still haven’t slept with him alone since you were a kid. it’s stupid, but it makes you a bit nervous. it’s stupid, but you hope you don’t look weird while you sleep and you hope to every god you don’t drool.

katsuki looks up at you when you walk through the bedroom door. you smile at him and he jerks his neck to signal you to come in, scooting over to make more space for you. you close the door softly behind you, not wanting to disturb katsuki’s parents you’d already wished goodnight to, you softly pad over to him and he snorts.

“why’re you creepin’ like that ?” he smirks, clearly amused.

“i don’t want to disturb others by stomping around like a behemoth, unlike you.” you sass. katsuki scoffs, glaring at you.

“fuck off,” he snarls “you look stupid. lookin’ like you’re about to steal christmas.”

you gasp, walking over to his bed, and smacking his arm, he barks out a loud laugh and you shove him, he shoves you back with his good arm and you continue to scuffle and poke at the other’s stomach and sides until you push his arms away and scoot back. he huffs proudly, always the arrogant bastard. the sorest of losers.

you make your way to lay down next to him, there’s a bit of a distance though. because you feel petty, but also because it’s strange thinking you’ll fall asleep with him like this willingly. it won’t be accidentally like it happened a few times in his dorm room and you’d begrudgingly go back to your own room. you nervously rub at your legs.

“the fuck’re are you doin’ ?”

“what ?” you huff, trying to mask your embarrassment with annoyance. katsuki only raises a brow.

“yer actin’ fucking weird.” he scowls, you scowl back.

“am not !”

“are too.”

“i’m not doing this with you.” you sigh petulantly, crossing your arms. “i’m just fine.” you hear katsuki scoff next to you.

“sure, weirdo.” your side eye makes him laugh, he leans his shoulder against his headboard “come over here.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re shuffling to his side embarrassingly fast. katsuki leans his head into your neck, pressing a peck there and two to your cheek. which he proceeds to bite once, then leans even more in your space to bite your nose to make you laugh. he grunts at something blocking him from pulling you closer, which ends up being his own arm.

“move that for me, yeah ?” he grumbles, looking down towards his arm. you blink at him before slowly reaching for it. you can tell it wants to flinch with the way the muscles between his thumb and pointer finger tighten and how his breath hitches. he doesn’t stop you when you grab a hold of it. it hangs limply as you draw shapes across it.

“how are you doing here ?” you whisper, he’s close enough to hear you like this. his eyes don’t look away from yours fixed on his hand.

“‘m startin’ to feel it better..an' i can move my arm some, can't move my hand at all though.” he mutters lowly, lidded eyes on you “doc says it’s good progress.”

“that’s good.” you smile, relieved. you’d been a bit worried about katsuki denying a prosthetic but you immediately hated yourself for doubting him. he had his own reasons for refusing it and if he thought he could handle therapy, then that meant he could.

"that's really good."

you trust him, you always have. you trust him with your life, and you’ll trust him when he tells you he’ll always come back to you, even if he scares the shit out of you. you trusted him for trust fall when he promised he would catch you and he did, even if he did scare you. you trusted him on your first day of school when he said he’d keep holding your hand the whole day and when he said he would be your best friend forever.

you’ll trust he’ll be okay, as usual.

“yeah, sure.” he spits, glaring at his arm.

“katsuki..” you sigh, you place a hand against his cheek to get him to look at you. he huffs, face turning to you but his eyes won’t. “it is great progress. especially with what you went through. shit, the doctors thought they’d have to cut it off at first !”

“it still sucks.” he utters bitterly, closing his eyes he inhales, eyes darting towards the end of the room. “it’s—i don’t know—weird, i guess. feels weird as shit knowing you just can’t use your arm anymore when you could your entire life.” the fist he manages to squeeze shut clenches and so does your heart.

you know he’s probably most angry at himself for putting himself in that situation, in his eyes. but he’s a hero in yours. you can’t help but feel for him. his hand that gripped your tightly to ground you, that squeezed your nose for saying dumb shit, even the one that’d pull at your clothes to drag you away.

you’d been with it your whole life, so you can’t even start to imagine how he felt.

“i know,” you start sweetly, he sighs against your hand, eyes still downcast “i mean—i don’t think i’ll ever understand how you feel. but i want you to understand that this is just all part of the process..” his eyes flit up to you as you speak.

“you’re a hero, katsuki.” and you don’t say it like it’s the job he wants. not like it was written on his provisional hero license. you say it like when you were both 5 years old watching tv and katsuki proclaimed loud and proud he wanted to be just like all might, and at ten when he said he’d be even better than him. like when izuku would come over to play and you’d all sing the theme song together.

you say it like it is, his dream.

“and nobody can ever take that away from you, but now your body needs rest. a lot of it.” you continue, nodding to yourself. katsuki softly huffs in amusement in your hand. it’s soft but it’s there and it makes you smile. he looks up at you now.

“and it’s frustrating right now, i’m sure. but you’ll get it. you’ll get there, just give it—give yourself time.” you let go of his hand and press both of your hands against his cheeks now, because you need him to listen. he’s always had this horrible habit of going to the extreme for what he stands for. and though you looked up to him for it, sometimes it was extremely self destructive, and you want him to know he has the time. that he has to give himself time.

he heaves a long sigh, nodding against your skin. he grunts, pressing his mouth to your hand. “mhm,” he responds, and that’s more than enough for you. he grabs your wrist with his good hand, leans in, and kisses you. you meet him halfway like you did when he first kissed you goodnight on your front porch when you were 15. back then, he’d gone beet red and swiftly walked away, hands in his pockets muttering a quick ‘see you’ but he’s gotten more comfortable throughout, way more comfortable. he kisses you easily now, and his cheek still shine pink, but he doesn’t look away, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

“thanks,” he utters softly. they come out easily when he used to have a harder time forcing them out before. “i, uh—i’ll get better, wanna hold you properly.” he mumbles, a small pout on his face. you giggle, sure he’s more comfortable now, but he still gets just as easily embarrassed when he has to speak his mind. and that was okay, you’d wait for him, you’ll give him the time he has yet to give himself fully.

“then do your best, yeah ?” you encourage. you kiss his nose and he scrunches it up, but a smile twitches onto his face. “dummy,” he mutters affectionately, leaning in to bite your nose. you laugh, pushing at his chest, and he silences you with a flurry of kisses to your mouth.

he uses his good arm to press you to him and pull you down onto his bed, he grunts when you squeal in surprise, he makes himself comfortable and pulls the covers over you both.

“so damn loud, thought you said you didn’t wanna bother my parents.” he teases, you roll your eyes. your smile is still so ultimately fond of him as years ago, despite how irritating he was, he was still your best friend.

“shush.” is all you offer him, getting more comfortable against him, getting more comfortable with the idea of falling asleep with him like this.

katsuki remains quiet for a few minutes. “hey,” you look up at him and you can see how hard he wills himself not to look away from you.

“love you.”

your eyes widen, you blink. and it’s quiet. katsuki looks around the room “c’mon. say it back, will ya ?” he utters grumpily, tucking his head into your shoulder and his bordering on whiny.

“right sorry,” you chuckle “not used to it yet.” you say sweetly.

this was something new, something he told you just recently. that he loved you, that he was too pussy to tell you before because he’d loved you all these years, is what he told you. the thought makes your heart feel warm all over. everything he’s ever done over the years had i love you poured all over it all along, it makes you unbearably giddy.

you love him so much.

so you tell him, “i love you, too. so much.” he shoves his nose harder into your shoulder at your last words and you giggle.

“i’ll keep sayin’ it ‘till you get to used to it. do it forever if i have to.” he mumbles out and you’re giddy, impossibly so, because you can’t wait for forever.

“okay..” you hum.

you think maybe things will never truly go back to how they usually were. the world has changed and so have you, so have you both. and there’s still so much to do, but you want this new normal to come with katsuki, you want your forever with him. you want him to stay your best friend forever like he’d pinky promised you, even though he thought those were girly and stupid, he still promised and katsuki was somebody who never went back on his word.

so you’ll trust him, you’ll trust that he’ll always be yours and that you’ll be together forever. that he’ll tell you he loves you forever, and that you’ll get used to it.

[candied-heartss]

“i might let you make me juno!”

(stanford!art donaldson x fem!girlfriend!reader)

summary: art loves his sweet, little girlfriend, but thinks she'd look even better with a baby at her side!

cw: penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't be fools wrap your tools, y'all), praise kink, missionary position, "baby-trapping" and references to pregnancy/bearing children (reader & art have talked beforehand), reader is fem and is referred to w she/her pronouns, slight size kink(?), inspired by sabrina carpenter's ‘juno’, really short n not exactly proofread so pls bare w me 😭😭

word #: 544 words

a/n: hey y'all!! guess who's back from the dead perchance lmao anyways sorry for basically being mia, classes have been kicking my ass 😭😭 anywhosies enjoy this self-indulgent brain vomit xx <33

"art, honey... i think i wanna try it..."

ever since those words fell from your lips all those weeks ago, art has been nothing but driven completely wild.

almost every night, after coming home from a particularly long practice match or studying, it would always end the same. you bent over or laid up on the nearest piece of furniture while he pounded into you like no tomorrow.

now, of course, you loved it all. the sloppy, almost clumsy nature of his hastily timed thrusts, the tight, but loving grip he held on your hips and thighs, and the praise that would fall off of his tongue like sugar.

"doin' so good, sweet girl... love this cunt, love you s'much... wanna give it to you..." he would murmur into your ear, hips colliding with yours.

"want it... please, art... want it sooo bad." you would cry out softly, only to gasp whenever he would inevitably give in to your pleas and press you tight up against him.

"you feel that? that's me..." he would boast with a quiet, almost prideful chuckle as his hand ghosted over your lower abdomen where he could feel your cunt greedily clenching and taking him in, "god, i just... wanna put a baby in you, you'd look so damn pretty pregnant." and the mere thought of it, you all round and swollen, your breasts tender to the touch and your nipples so easily malleable, especially under art's touch, made you shiver with need.

and each time, he always seemed to know when you were on the brink of a mind-numbing orgasm, as if he had a six sense designated for your pleasure, only.

"c'mon, sweetheart... lemme feel it." he would practically moan in your ear, his thrusts becoming more harsh and punctuated, making the occasional choked whine slip from your throat.

"a-art!... coming, 'm gonna come..." you would practically shriek, clutching onto him as if you were afraid he'd disappear if you didn't. your eyes then rolled back as the buildup finally came crashing down, rendering you in a dazed state and turning both your bones and brain into a melted puddle. art then swiftly followed with a groan, leaning his head back in pure, unadulterated ecstasy as your cunt milked his cock for all its worth.

as you began to come down from your prolonged high, you could still feel him thrusting inside of you, desperately chasing a release of his own, before he finally came with a hoarse grunt, shaky, pleasured sighs leaving the both of your mouths as you felt him from you up entirely with his cum.

and when he pulls out, it only then spurs on the incentive to finish what he started. moving back in between your thighs, he leans in close to your aching, swollen cunt before dragging his fingers through the spend that dripped out of you before carefully plunging them back into you, causing a weak moan to fall out of your mouth.

"careful, baby," art then muses with an almost playful smile painted on his lips, "we're not finished 'til you can make me a daddy, okay?"

and, god, you swore that if you could, those words could definitely make you fall in love with him all over again.

[angelliicc]

don't call me again

“to be honest, i don’t care anything about you

baby it’s true, we’re already done”

masterlist

a/n its 11:30 as i type this lmao. guys i used to hate this song 😓 don’t come for me. anyways ENJOY

warnings not proofread, ex-gf!ellie

ellie was your dream girl ever since you laid her eyes on her. you thought you’d be the luckiest person in the world to date her, unfortunately it wasn’t the case. your relationship with ellie was rocky. constant arguments over stupid shit, not responding or talking to each other for days and so much more. when you attempted to strike up a conversation, all she’d do was scroll on her phone and say “mhm” without eye contact. you couldn’t keep up with this, so you called it quits. she had no reaction and honestly could care less when you told her, which led you devastated.

it was 3 am. you couldn’t sleep because you had to finish homework. “ugh, why didn’t i skip conditioning today.” you said with regret. your phone rang as it said ellie williams. “didn’t i block her? how did she get my number?”

you answered. “hello?”

e: “missin u like crazy. need u.”

e: “ hello? you’re not gonna fucking answer?you still mad at me? get over that shit and lets restart. i still love u.”

your face turned bright red with embarrassment, r: “sorry, you were cutting out, im here.”

you thought of two things. 1: play with her feelings for a bit or 2: text her and block her. you decided to have a little bit of fun before you wanted to block her. ellie after a certain time was a different person.

r: “missing me that bad you had to call me?”

e: “yeahh”

r: “how bad do u fr miss me, be honest.”

e: “you all im thinking about all day at any time. i miss you so much baby.”

r: “how’d you even get my number?”

e: “i have my ways.”

r: “i bet you do.”

e: “the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you smiled over the phone, “don’t worry about it.”

silence filled the call for a few seconds that felt like hours.

r: “don’t you have a girl?”

e: “yeah, but she don’t need to know about this. let this be our little secret.”

r: “should i take you back?”

e: “please.”

r: “nah, ive moved on. don’t call me again.”

you hung up and hit block quickly before she called you again. damn, that bitch was a home wrecker. and you didn’t want to be the cause of something. you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. you really fucking hated ellie williams.

“oh, there was a lot of talk and a lot of trouble

your story and mine are really over now”

[liloinkoink]

hey guys, someone just sent me a weird ass ask claiming my incredibly close friend cherri @cherrifire secretly hate me and is talking abt me behind my back. i was not the only person to get one of these identical slanderous asks. i’ve already blocked the anon but like. open letter to them, and for the benefit of anyone else who gets an ask like this….

1) anon, you’re genuinely fucking stupid

2) hysterical to send this when i was actively chatting w her, while we were in the process of fleshing out yet another renchanting au, something we have done all day every day for… gosh, how long has it been now? nearly two years? i would say that it was really bad timing to send this ask to me while i was actively chatting aus w her but there really isn’t any moment you could have sent this that i wouldn’t have been.

3) if you thought i wasn’t gonna call bullshit and snitch immediately you don’t know shit about me or cherri, which, granted, is evident by the ask in general, but you really are stupid

4) if a gc like this existed—which it does not, bc cherri is not like this and would not do this—i would be in it. this idiot doesn’t even know im cherri’s emotional support writer. do you have any idea how many gcs and servers she’s dragged me into w her.

5) get your facts right cherri talks shit about me to my face. this is mutual. fake ass fan. if you were a real cherri friend you would know this smh

6) no, actually, you’re right, she definitely hates me. that’s why i met her irl literally like 3 months ago on her invitation, we hung out for a genuine week, spent basically the whole time arm in arm or hand in hand. this is also why we were planning a second meetup last night. you idiot. you fool. you complete and utter moron

anyway, if anyone gets this ask:

it’s complete bullshit. theyre sending this to cherri’s best friends for some godforsaken reason. it’s very weird and deeply cringe. also incredibly poorly planned. idk how many ppl you sent this to, but a few of us are in a gc and we have been making fun of this ask for like an hour (anon, im one of cherri’s friends and she’s been telling a small group of friends about you— lol. lmao even)

anyway like. to reiterate. cherri’s one of my best friends, she’s absolutely lovely and i’m lucky every day to know her. we hang out and chat constantly and we’ve met irl and it was an incredible experience i would love to repeat. i have told her things i have not fuckin told anyone else and you could not otherwise waterboard out of me. i love talking to her all the time and i miss her when she’s busy for even like, an hour. i love writing w her and creating things w her. she’s an incredibly bright spot in my life, often the first person i think of upon waking and the last i think of before i sleep. she is kind and funny and i love her a lot.

i’m a bitch tho so like @ this anon go fuck yourself. you better hope that when you die that the devil finds you before i do. sending this ask to a bunch of our friends, trying to turn the people she cares about against her, and for what? you clearly don’t know her well enough to be talking like this. trying to ruin my friend’s reputation and friendships w a vague as hell and entirely baseless copy paste is super fucking weird. why would you do this? and like, do you think we were born yesterday to fall for this? i’m insulted for her for whatever it was you were trying to pull and i’m insulted on behalf of myself and everyone else you sent this to that you think we’re as stupid as you are. what is your damage. get a hobby.

[wandixx]

I'm not much for naming things but: Danny's associated with green and M'gann's a White Martian, so... Spearmint (like the green and white mint candies)? Just a thought.

Prompt: Magic removed Amity Park from the map. JL didn't notice, but in an Alderaan type moment (Star Wars ref. yay!) The martian on Watchtower monitoring duty heard the residents get silent unanimously.

Of course they need to be investigated! So M'gann gets her watch partner to take over and flies there, discovering an odd green rift of death energy doing a black hole effect and it sucks her in. Danny gets landed on/ flown into when she tumbles through the rift. She tried getting a message through to JL when she felt herself getting sucked in, but the message was not received due to ectoplasmic interference.

So Danny has to figure out how to get her AND Amity Park back home!

(Just a thought. I'm curious how you flesh it out if you do!)

This is such an interesting idea, and it definitely deserves much more story than I can write in single prompt, so this here is just a beginning and I will continue. I hope it's up to your expectations

Also, I really love the Spearmint idea

*****

M’gann understood the importance of monitor duty in Watchtower, she really did. She also understood why they were taught it while still in this gray area between fully dependent sidekicks and fully independent heroes, that was the main reason the Young Justice Team even existed.

It didn’t make it any less boring. Even when she had a decent duty partner. Don't get her wrong, Green Arrow was a much better option than Batman or Superman, it was just awkward. At least he seemed equally done with it and didn't scold her for jumping between satellite cameras just a bit too fast to actually ‘monitor’ anything.

And it was only twenty minutes into the two hour shift.

One of the sixty (or so) screens, the one directly in front of her, blinked to the view of the American Midwest. She was about to skip further, when a sudden movement caught her attention. She clicked a few keys to review the footage and asked, still unsure if her eyes weren't deceiving her.

“Did the entire city… just disappear?“

Green Arrow nodded, equally stunned.

“I'm going to check this out” she spluttered, already flying out of the room and doing her best to get Zeta to send her as close as possible. It was a bit tricky when she couldn't see the keyboard. She managed though, so before the adult hero even finished yelling that it was above her skill level, she was out.

From there, getting to the disappeared city was a piece of cake.

She stopped right in tracks when the thing came in view. M'gann had no idea how to describe it. It was a green and white and black storm but not, glass, see-through dome but not, deep space but also decidedly not. It made her want to run away but also come closer, almost like it was tugging at her. Like some pseudo, mental in nature, gravitation.

Oh, wait, no. It was an actual, physical force that after a quick test turned out to be inescapable for her.

Green Arrow, perhaps, maybe probably was kinda right. It was so high above her skill level that a balled napkin from this height would cause serious damage. Thank Batman for comms that she could use to call a backup!

The comms, that, of course, didn't work the one time she needed them.

She sent the message anyway, describing everything to the best of her ability, even though it was only a tip of the iceberg. Just in case, if the magical storm thing just made her comm one way communication only. It was highly unlikely, but who was she, if not an optimist.

She barely closed her mouth, when she was jerked sideways before the whole world became blurred.

She later would have a hard time telling anyone how it felt, to be inside the thing. She was basically powerless, thrown around randomly despite clearly keeping all of her abilities. She couldn't see, couldn't tell which way was up and down, couldn't change direction even a little bit. The rumble of the thing was so loud she couldn't hear her thoughts, throwing her brain so off the loop she forgot what her name was. She was crying probably, almost puking, her limbs hitting any and every part of her body.

At first, she didn't even realize she was out, so dazed from the ride. She didn't even see the flying boy until a while after she crashed into him, throwing them both off the sky. Neither of them caught them before they slammed into the ground. Somehow she ended up cushioning the boy's fall. M’gann couldn’t breathe for a moment. She kinda deserved it for ramming into him in the first place though.

By the time she could use her lungs and behave like a social creature again, the boy scrambled off her and just crouched, intensely staring, anxious and awestruck at the same time. She sat up and gave him once over herself.

He was around her physical age, but much skinnier than her or anybofnher teammates, build like a twig. He had fluffy, white, almost glowing hair, caucasian complexion, and wore a black and white jumpsuit with a tool belt. Big ‘P’ on his chest indicated he was someone from a hero/villain scene, and from general vibes she got, M’gann was leaning towards a hero. He was kinda cute. She coughed awkwardly when she realized how long they just sat in silence.

“Hi?”

Apparently it was enough to release an incoherent babbling from the boy.

“Hi, um… Miss Martian, ma'am? I'm Phantom. What are you doing here? Is the rest of your Team going to fall off the sky too? Justice League?”

“Not right now probably”

She was ignored. Phantom just kept panicking.

“Is this some of your villain's schemes? Are you alright? You crashed pretty hard, sorry I landed on top of you by the way, do you–?”

“I'm fine, don't worry I got worse”

“Sure…”

“Sorry I threw you off the sky”

“Not your fault, really, it's fi–”

“You asked what I'm doing here. I went on my own to investigate when I saw the city blink out of existence and got sucked in. I'm not sure if my report from site made it through, but they know where I went, so they'll soon come to help, don't worry”

Phantom did not stop worrying.

“Alright, cool, cool” he ran his hand through his hair, tugging at them “The Justice League knows you mysteriously disappeared along with an entire city. This is fine, totally fine, absolutely–”

“You're panicking”

“No shit Sherlock. Someone kidnapped my city again and I have no idea how to fix it because my usual tactic is ‘punch the cause of the problem into submission’ and this time I can't punch the storm. Now you're here so if something happens, I’ll have pissed of Justice League to worry about because, of course, it will be my fault. You could be overshadowed and I have no clue what's going on but I have to fix it as soon as–”

“Breathe Phantom“ she interrupted again, projecting what the Team called ‘calming vibes’. Since it didn't involve outright entering someone's brain and humans almost didn't react to it, it was an okay thing to do without asking even on non-villains. “Remember, I'm a hero, not a damsel in the distress you have to protect non stop”

“Of course, you're not. You're Miss Martian. You're amazing, but it doesn't give me any more of an idea on what's going on nor what to do with Justice League when they come, obviously furious because everyone in Amity and their mother will testify that it was somehow my fault, especially if–”

“Hey, hey, none of that. I know you're a good guy and they’ll too. I will vouch for you if for some reason they get misled”

Phantom looked her in the eyes as if he was trying to read her mind himself without even an ounce of psychic powers. She could tell if he used it.

“I could be a bad guy,” he said seriously after a moment of silence.

“I know you're not”

“You don't know me”

“You spent almost all of our interaction agonizing over how to save your city. It's not typical bad guy behavior”

“I could be acting”

M’gann didn't even dignify it with her response other than an incredulous stare.

“ Alright, if I've been acting, I would be a lot cooler but still… I could be acting!”

“I'm a literal psychic, remember? I didn't read your thoughts, don't worry, I know it's invasive for humans. But I got a general overview of who you are, and your vibes matched pretty well with the vibes of good guys”

“Sure, of course, why not,” he muttered, taking a moment to reboot “Why is this my life now?”

M’gann decided it wasn't to her and well… Phantom wasn't wrong, she didn't know him, so however she'd try to answer it was pretty much hit or miss. But from what she'd seen of him, she was curious to learn more.

“Nevermind, let's get you a Specter Deflector before anyone tries to use you as a meatsuit” he said, catching her wrist to drag her somewhere.

She let him lead her. He still didn’t have any nefarious reasoning, and hey! Maybe she'll finish this adventure with a new teammate!

[Sure M’gann. Just a teammate. Don't worry, Danny won't be a panicked mess all of the time here]

[ak319]

Weird Yan Cousin x reader (Platonic)

//Warnings: Mentions of prostitution, human trafficking, kidnapping, weird behaviour but not incest, gore)

Your life had taken such a twisted turn for the worse this year, leaving you wondering if you were cursed. First, your parents died tragically in a fire that destroyed their home. Then, you found out your partner had been unfaithful. Since you shared an apartment, you had to move out, but they stayed, and the two of you were still arguing about selling it to split the money.

As if that wasn’t enough, you lost your job just three days after the breakup--allegedly for poor performance, which was completely untrue. None of this was your fault, yet everything seemed to be spiralling out of control. You were teetering on the edge when you received a strange phone call.

It was from someone claiming to be a distant cousin, Nova Salem. The name struck a chord--she was from your father’s side, the daughter of your uncle Ralph. But you had never met her or any of that side of the family. Your father had severed ties with them long ago. Ralph was only his half-brother, born from your second grandfather, Edmund Salem, whom you’d also never met.

Her sudden call made you feel uneasy, but you were desperate for help, and she offered it without hesitation. Pushing aside all the questions swirling in your mind--about your family dynamics, her abrupt contact, and the series of unfortunate events that felt like a row of dominoes crashing--you packed your bag. The next day, Nova's chauffeuse, Robyn, picked you up from your friend's place.

Robyn was an odd one, giving you mostly one-word, cryptic answers to anything you asked. What really threw you, though, was the route she took. You’d assumed Nova lived somewhere in the city, but Robyn just kept driving... and driving.

Now, here you were, standing in front of a massive estate in the middle of nowhere. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Robyn suddenly spoke from behind you.

"Let's get you inside, ma'am." Robyn's voice cut through the eerie silence as you gripped the strap of your bag, letting out a nervous chuckle. "Um, are you sure this is--"

"Yes, it's the Salem estate."

You glanced around, trying to keep your nerves in check. It could easily pass as a horror movie set, noting the distant tree line, the stormy skies, and the endless dirt road behind. Was this even the right choice? Panic started to creep in. What if she's not my cousin and just stalked my family tree to lure me here?! I am so stupid!

"Welcome, cousin."

Your eyes snapped forward to see a tall figure standing in the entrance, finally registering. Nova, no doubt. She stood taller than you, with short, thick black hair neatly styled, wearing a black turtleneck beneath a long cloak-like robe, paired with black pants...and bare feet?

Before you could even react, she closed the distance and pulled you into a tight hug, muffling your greeting and leaving you a bit breathless from the unexpected embrace.

"I can't believe you're finally here! You see this, Robyn?!" Nova exclaimed, her large hand gripping your head and shaking it playfully. "My little sister is here at last!"

Robyn merely nodded and silently took your other suitcase inside, leaving just the two of you.

"S-sister?" you stammered, taken aback. Her eyes gleamed even brighter, if that was possible, the intensity in her gaze at odds with her composed appearance.

"Indeed, my soror," she affirmed, her hands now firmly grasping your shoulders. "I never got the chance to feel the love of siblings, and with all the family drama and stuff, I was always left out. I never had the chance to have any real connection with family. You’re the only cousin I have."

Her words tugged at your heart, though you couldn’t shake the underlying suspicion.

"No other cousins at all?" you asked, cautiously.

"Nope. My mother was an only child. Anyway, let's get you inside." Nova kept her hold on you, gently steering you toward the entrance. Just before stepping in, she paused, making sure you took off your shoes in the porch. "Enter humbly," she said with a strange conviction. "We are born of the earth, and to the earth, we will return. It’s only right that we honour our origin, for soil should never fear soil."

What? The statement left you puzzled, but you decided to go along with it, stepping inside the dimly lit hallway.

Candles? Really?

"Um, why are the lights off?" you asked, your voice slightly shaky.

"Electricity? Oh, I forgot--you’re a city girl," Nova replied, her tone almost teasing. "I'll ask Robyn to have the switch on for your room--the fan, the lights---but the rest of the house operates without it."

"Why, though? In this day and age? Like, nothing at all?"

Instead of answering, she simply let out a low, eerie chuckle, leaving your nervous laugh hanging awkwardly in the heavy air.

"Let me show you your room." Nova's voice echoed down the dimly lit corridor, where candle flames flickered against the walls, casting long, dancing shadows. The mansion’s interior had an unmistakably gothic feel, with dark wood panelling, high arched ceilings and classic, aged furnishings. The air was thick with an old-world charm as if you had stepped into a place frozen in time. The paintings on the walls, though faded with age, exuded an eerie beauty, depicting somber figures mostly of a woman--always the same portrait of her--and forgotten landscapes

You stepped inside the room, expecting more of the same gloomy charm, only to freeze in disbelief.

What the hell is going on?

"Why is it… all… pink?" you asked, blinking at the sight before you. The walls were plastered with Barbie stickers that looked as vintage as the rest of the house. The bed was oversized and covered in frilly pink bedding, surrounded by plush toys that had seen better days.

"Isn't this what girls love?" Nova said with a wide, innocent smile. "Like little sisters?"

You spun around, trying to process everything. "Hold up. I just met you for the first time ever, so can you please stop calling me your little sister? We're cousins and barely even know each other." Your voice rose as you gestured at the pink explosion around you. "Also, do you think I’m 12?!" The moment the words left your mouth, you felt a pang of regret. Nova’s smile faded, and she looked taken aback. Guilt set in as you realized how harshly you had reacted. She had offered you a place to stay during a rough time. Maybe you could have been more understanding and patient, especially considering she provided you with a bed and a roof over your head.

"Oh my God..." For Nova, that was the most adorable thing she had ever witnessed.

"Um... I--"

"ROBYN! ROBYN!" Nova’s voice cut through the air, making you back away nervously. Her gaze remained fixed on you as she continued to shout.

"Yes, ma'am? How may I assist you?"

"(Y/n)..." Nova grabbed Robyn by the collar, shaking her with surprising force. "My sister--sorry, soon-to-be sister--just had her first tantrum! All thanks to you, Robyn, you absolute genius!"

What in the world--is she being excited or just passive-aggressive? You couldn’t tell.

"It’s okay! I mean, I like it... It’s good."

"You do? You don’t want another room?"

"Um, if... it’s available th--"

"No, it isn’t."

"...this is it then... I guess."

"Robyn, get the food ready. My cousin needs her evening nourishment."

"Aye."

They left you standing in the room, utterly dumbfounded. Everything about this day--and about her--was making you feel dizzy. The way she carries herself, the way she speaks--it’s all becoming a blur. Something in your heart warns that this is going to be a nightmare.

But at least you’re not in some serial killer’s clutches, as you feared before entering. Being an only child and living in such a large mansion might have messed with her mental health, but you hoped it hadn’t gotten worse than this.

The sudden flicker of the lights jolted you from your thoughts, making your soul feel like it had left your body. The room’s colour was now painfully vivid, almost too much to bear. Honestly, the dim glow of the candles was easier on the eyes.

You soon found yourself dining with Nova in the grand dining hall, the two of you beginning to learn about each other. Mostly, you listened to her recounting her adventures. It was impressive how many languages she knew and the places she had visited, though she seemed completely oblivious to modern slang and anything related to media, which you found a bit amusing.

"Anthropologist, huh? Isn't it boring?"

"Boring?" She cackled, her laughter echoing through the vast room. "Absolutely not! I get to travel, explore, and find fascinating things." Judging by the eclectic items scattered around the room, she was certainly telling the truth.

"You seem to have a fondness for skulls."

"Oh! Haha! Aren't they so symbolic in their own way? They are empty, yet their hollow eyes seem to gaze into the essence of mortality itself. Each one holds the silent echoes of a life once lived, a reminder of our own fleeting existence and the stories that we leave behind."

"Are they real?"

"I leave that to the admirer to decide. What do you think?"

"Fake or maybe both, judging by how much you’ve explored."

"You think I’d bring skulls from my adventures?"

"Umm..."

Her laugh interrupted you again. "You’re so naive, (Y/N)."

Just as I suspected.

"Anyway, what about your love life?"

"I don't feel attracted to the idea of being subjected to bodily fluids, particularly in moments of passion. " You felt your appetite slip away.

That’s a rather...unique way to say you’re asexual and single...?

"Cool. But doesn’t it get lonely here?"

"Loneliness isn’t something I mind. Besides, I’m not alone--I have Robyn and now you. A little-"

"Cousin."

"Indeed, a little cousin." You picked up your phone and then realized something. "Oh, I need the Wi-Fi password."

"Sorry, but that might not be possible."

"What?! Don’t tell me you don’t use Wi-Fi! That’s atrocious."

"You see, this technology that the youth have become so attached to has many malevolent effects. I cannot let you be subjected to that."

"What do you mean?! I need to find a job! And how do you do your own work?" Her calm demeanour remained unshaken as Robyn appeared behind you, slamming a newspaper down in front of you. The suddenness startled you. What is it with these people and their jump scares?

"This is today’s paper and your source for finding work."

"Are you kidding me? I need Wi-Fi for my job. I do half of my work online!"

"I’ll need to observe the signs this week. If they are favorable, you might get access. Farewell, cousin. Have a good sleep. Robyn, please escort her to her chambers." You clenched your jaw as she walked away. "WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! WHAT SIGNS?! SO YOU DO HAVE WI-FI?!"

God, what is going on? Is this a fever dream?

You were absolutely enraged in the following days. Apparently, the signs were negative, which meant you were stuck with no FUCKING Wi-Fi!

"Maybe the signs will be positive next month."

Whatever that means. In the meantime, you faced a series of bizarre occurrences that only deepened the unsettling feeling about your stay here and made you question reality. Despite her insistence on not using electricity, the candles lit themselves as if by some hidden mechanism. You were certain she used Wi-Fi--how else would she manage her research and extensive travels?

Her behavior was equally bewildering. She walked barefoot, even in the muddy grass outside during the rain, and would spend hours out there.

Some events left you sleepless for nights.

You once saw her talking to a pillar in the lawn from your bedroom window at night. At first, you thought she might be on a call, but no. She was facing the pillar the entire time. And then there was the incident where she literally smelled your... period.

"Eat this," she said, offering you a bowl of literal pickles. You swatted it away.

"What the fuck, dude?!"

"It’s to relieve menstrual pains. Although not scientifically proven, it is a good remedy."

"I’m fine. AND HOW THE FUCK DID YOU DO IT AGAIN?!"

"Just a matter of having good senses."

In the evenings, she always visited you for tea, bringing her two black hounds along. Despite your protests, she continued to bring them inside. You hated how they always seemed to sniff under the bed, her dark, void-like eyes trained on them as if she wanted them to find something.

Wouldn't want her cousin hiding something, would she? Perhaps thinking she could slip away, unnoticed, back to her old life?

Due to the lack of Wi-Fi, you spent most of your time reading books and exploring the mansion, trying out the strange array of activities Nova had set up for you. She instructed Robyn to teach you various skills like shooting, wrestling, and knife throwing....? You enjoyed it though but yes, you were shocked to discover that Robyn wasn’t just a driver, chef, or butler but seemed to be some sort of retired hitwoman. She never confirmed nor spoke about herself, adding to the mystery.

Despite the chaos and strangeness, you found yourself adapting to this bizarre new routine, almost treating it like a vacation and unexpectedly lifting you out of your depression.

You tried finding jobs but with no success. Every time you found a promising ad, something mysteriously went wrong with the car. It always seemed to break down, as if on cue. The phone in the estate barely worked, with your friend's voice garbled into unintelligible fragments or the call cutting off entirely before you could get a full sentence in. It was as if the house itself refused to let any connection to the outside world slip through.

One day, you had had enough of watching Nova work on her COMPUTER in her study while you languished in boredom.

"Look, I appreciate your hospitality, but it seems I’ve actually found a job, and it's time for me to-"

"You haven’t," Nova said, her voice smooth but chilling as she stepped closer, her face half-hidden in the shadows. "Don’t lie. I despise liars."

"Nova, I’ve had enough of this. I’m sorry, but living here is overwhelming with all the bizarre restrictions, the eerie silence, and the lack of contact with anyone! I can’t stay here. I need to go out and find a job! I didn’t come here to live permanently."

"And you think you have a say in that, cousin?"

"Wha-" Before you could finish, a cloth soaked in a strong, suffocating chemical was pressed against your face. The world around you blurred and faded as you struggled to breathe, slipping into unconsciousness.

"You are not going anywhere, Duif." (dove, in Dutch)

You woke up to the unsettling sound of floorboards creaking and the ominous clinking of metal against metal. Your body felt unnervingly cold, and you soon realized you were bound to a chair with ropes.

"Awake, (Y/N)?" Nova's voice, as smooth and chilling as velvet, made your blood run cold. You shivered uncontrollably as you saw her standing a few feet away. Robyn was in another corner, methodically sharpening a row of gleaming knives.

God, no. This can't be happening...

"Please... Nova, what is happening?! THIS ISN'T FUNNY! Please!" You didn’t care that you were pleading and sobbing in front of this lunatic. Fear clutched at your heart, twisting it painfully. You regretted everything that had led you to this point. You’d already lost your parents, your partner, your job--was your life now slipping through your fingers as well?

"Shush. Don't be scared. I just want you to listen to me. And carefully." Nova said as she grabbed a stool and sat in front of you. Where are we even? Is this some hidden room? Your eyes darted around frantically, taking in the grim surroundings, chains hanging from the bloody walls, a nailed coffin standing ominously in the corner, a table cluttered with various torture tools that Robyn stood beside, and, bizarrely, a fucking jacuzzi in the corner.

"Listen, it's time I tell you the things you need to know. About me, this family and even yours. You see (Y/N), my father, Ralph Salem, he wasn't a good man. He was involved in all types of bad things. Especially regarding...women. I was a teen when I found out he was involved in trafficking girls, the reason he fucked around with lots of women and... young girls, simultaneously abusing my mother mentally and physically. When he caught her leaving with me, he killed her... in front of me. Imagine that, I couldn't do anything." She paused with a dry scoff, "You have seen that pillar right? The devil buried her under it. I couldn't stand it. I wanted to die but he kept me alive because I was his heir, with his fucking disgusting blood inside of me. So I waited, I became the perfect heir for him only so that I could kill him in the most brutal way...which I did," You whimpered at her dark chuckle as she wiped your tears.

"Do you know where you come in?" Nova's voice was icy as she continued. "I began researching you the moment I discovered your existence. I wanted some form of familial love, even after I convinced myself I didn’t need anyone." Abruptly, she rose and moved to Robyn, taking a freshly sharpened knife from her hands.

"Guess what I found? Your parents were my father's business partners at one point. You see these skeletons here?" She gestured to the grim collection. "These are the people I hunt, (Y/N)--the ones my father worked with, those entangled in this... industry. And I continue hunting them. So I did to your parents what I did to all of them. Robyn, show her."

The butler pulled a lever, causing a hidden closet to open. Inside, the bodies of your parents were revealed--half burned, half slashed, with their limbs gone, only torsos-making you scream in horror.

"The bodies at the crime scene weren’t theirs. I used my connections to save them for you--along with another surprise," Nova said, her voice dripping with cold satisfaction as she slid the door open further. There, your partner’s corpse was revealed, grotesquely nailed to the wall like a butterfly, their chest open and hollow, blood eagle...which Nova once told you about. Without warning, you threw up to the side, your legs trembling uncontrollably. You could barely breathe, each gulp of air shallow and shaky, and you felt the world closing in. Please just let this be a nightmare. Wake up (Y/n), wake up!

"Did I mention that I eliminate bad partners too? How could I let them live after what they did to my dear...cousin?" She stepped closer, the knife gleaming in her hand. You shook your head desperately, unable to form coherent words. With a swift motion, she cut the ropes binding you, forcing you to stand. Her gaze was fierce, unyielding.

"You, however , were innocent, unaware of your parent's past. So from now on, you are a Salem. You will live here, as you are meant to." Her gaze darkened. "This is your place, your family. And I won’t have you trying to run away."

You slammed the trunk door shut and turned to Nova, who was meticulously removing her gloves.

"He was quite the noisy one," she remarked with a nod. "Indeed, sestra. Though you did a commendable job tracking him, little nerd. Now, let’s head back. My favourite part awaits in the mansion."

Ah, yes, it was Wednesday--skinning day.

From a software engineer to an assistant to a serial killer cousin with an intriguing butler, you found yourself strangely enthralled by this new life.

‘I want this world to be rid of those like my father, who mirror him in even the slightest way, together with you, my dear cousin.’

(AN: I realised that Nova might have put her own childhood plushies in the reader's room, which tugs my heart😭my baby)

[smilingangel582]

The chase

Hi guys, I am madly in love with this character. And guess what, this is Naruto and Sasuke'a VA! In Japanese. I seriously wrote this tk fic as they speak in Japanese. Omg! I love them even more. Ps. We need more lee!kinich... I summon it!

Summary: Paimon is convinced Kinich is scary, but Aether thinks otherwise. It was a quiet day in Natalan until Aether started a bet with Paimon to prove her wrong. New discoveries were made, and unsurprisingly, a certain dragon lord commits betrayal.

Warning: Spoilers for the nataln archon quest and Kinich's quest, tickling, cuteness overload, Aether and Kinich are very close, but mind you, it's a platonic relationship (can't ship them yet)

"So you Paimon is supposed to believe that Kinich is actually... uh... a sweetheart?" Paimon crossed her arms in confusion. Floating around as Aether walked through the city of mountains, the scion of the canopy.

Aether shrugs, giving her a confident smirk "Well... he may appear blank but he's very nice and he doesn't hide it... not like a certain wanderer ..."

Paimon guessed Hat guy from Sumeru might have sneezed by that mention.

"But he's so cold and Paimon can't really see the guy smile..." Paimon huffs now, as if its the biggest worries for her, "its frightening how blank Kinich is..."

"What's frightening about me Paimon?"

A soft voice made Paimon shrill in surprise making her gasp and wheeze. Aether mildly turns back with a less-reactive surprised expression at seeing the saurian hunter.

"Hi Kinich,"

Kinich greets them politely, "Traveler, Paimon how do u do?"

Paimon recovering from her shock, groans, "Jeez Paimon almost got a heart attack! Stop sneaking up on us like that... your quiet anyway unlike your pixel-poop-mouth!"

Ajaw snarls, "Who are you calling poop-mouth, tiny ant?"

"Oh and Paimon's bigger than you!"

They continue bickering making Aether sheepishly give Kinich an apologetic look, "Sorry about that..."

"I should be the one to apologise..." kinich replies solemnly, making Aether like this guy more for his awkward informal side.

"Ajaw, do you want another time out?"

Ajaw turns to kinich, his mouth dropping in anguish. "Grrr! Fine, fine! I won't torment the anaemic ant!"

"Hehe" Paimon smirks. "Know your place little dragon lord!"

Aether rolls his eyes, "Paimon... behave"

Paimon pouts, looking sideways, "awww alright im sorry Kinich... and maybe Ajaw"

"Maybe??"

Ignoring Ajaw's short snap, Kinich shakes his head, a hand to his chest. "Don't be Paimon. You're actually a kind companion to the traveller..." he adds deliberately after casting a look at Ajaw, "It makes me jealous"

"Huh? I'm more powerful ya know! Oi! Kinich!"

Aether hears Paimon floating towards Kinich, "Kinich, you don't smile much, do you?"

Kinich slightly astonished responds, "I beg your pardon? I do..."

"When?" Partly challenging and partly curious.

"Like... right now?"

They all stared. Even Kinich seemed uncertain about what he just said. Paimon huffs, mildly irritated, "OK so... laughing? Ever dont that before..."

Ajaw floats around Kinich, his pixel hands patting his shoulder, "Haa hahaa would love to see that embarassing sight."

Kinich shrugs him off, the bandana making him seem like he's angry but he's just frustrated with Ajaw.

"All the more reason why I should not"

Ajaw being slightly pushed away but regains balance in air comes swirling back to him with a cunning sneer, "Uh oh someone's a little defensive... afraid I'll exploit a weakness?"

Aether sense tension, usually he would've stepped in to stop Kinich's discomfort with Ajaw but knowing the topic he was curious where this was going.

Paimon is no better now - contrast to Ajaw's scheming malice - she steps in to prompt Ajaw's hint, "Oooh does this mean he does laugh?"

Kinich folds his arms, somewhat wary where this was going. Yet he failed to notice where Ajaw just disappeared.

"I do, but not all the time -"

"Yeah, just poke him like this, and he'll go gyaaahaahaa!" Ajaw swiftly pokes Kinich around the waist close to the small of his back, making him spasm in shock, gasping, "Oi!"

Silence. Paimon's eyes widened, and so did Aether's. They all exchanged glances. Now Ajaw proudly danced and shook his tail, as if he got the best victory after 500 years.

"Kinich?" Aether smirks, now barely hiding his excitement, "Are you ticklish?"

The saurian hunter now stared, knowing there's no other way to dodge the question. He swiftly seized Ajaw's tail, now activating his grappling hook. He swings off till he disappeared through the clouds.

His flight instincts kicked in. Paimon stared in bewilderment, but she was the only one until Aether began to take the one-sided challenge.

Somewhere by the top of the mountains in Scion of the canopy, Kinich cautiously looked by the trees, hoping he had escaped. He knew now or never... and his experience in running away has been helpful.

"Baa! You coward..." Ajaw scoffed, now teasing, "Were you that scared?"

"It was not fright... I just don't like the thought of showing the traveller such an absurd state" he sternly added "and you're officially in time out"

Ajaw grumbled now, waving his small pixel arms "Grr... whatever, but you know Kinich"

"What?"

"Running away doesn't always help ya... when there's a good seeker"

He frowns, looking somewhat confused by this indirect analogy. "What do you-?"

"Gotcha!" Aether swings by instantly now tackling (not on purpose) Kinich as they both tumbled to the ground.

"J-jeez traveller be careful" Kinich groan, now sounding concerned. "Don't use that hook, so lightly"

Aether chuckles straddling him. "Thanks your a nice guy... now ever heard of the saying "you can run but you can't hide" Kinich?"

Before he could struggle he already felt nimble fingers attacking his sides.

"O-ohokay w-wahait tihihihime ohohout!"

His giggles are soft and yet very childish. Aether stares in wonder... he had heard many sweet voices but hearing Kinich like this is like a dream in Nahida's world.

"Wow.. you're sensitive, Ajaw wasn't lying"

Ajaw smirks "Hehe that was one of the weaknesses that I'm proud of exploiting in him"

"You mean the only one?" Paimon scoffs.

"Ah! Took you long enough useless ant"

"You! You pixel weirdo!" Paimon stomps her foot on the air angrily and begins bickering with Ajaw.

Kinich and Aether... well they have other better matters to attend to.

"So tell me, is this spot worse than this?" His fingers creeping towards his hips making him buck in surprise, grabbing Aether's wrists which didn't help, "Ah! Aether!"

"You said my name! Nice!" He gets his hips and then back to his waist... slipping the jacket down a little bit to access the skin.

"Ahaharchons juhuhuhust stohohohop a mihihinute plehehehehease!" Kinich curls to the side, suddenly his laughter getting louder when Aether targets his ribs with swift unpredictable speed.

"Uh oh ribs? That's not good... especially since your swinging around..." Aether smirks, now tapping and prodding his ribs as Kinich jerks to his back to protect his sides. His long lashes damp with tears.

"And you won't be able to swing comfortable knowing how vulnerable here..." he pinches the highest set ribs with indication "Oh and perhaps under here?" Slipping his fingers right under his arms making Kinich let an (honest to archon) a squeak.

"You're a sweetheart"

"Ihihihi ahahahahappreciahahahate the cohohohompliment buhuhuhut y-yohohohour kihihilling mehehe!" He giggles now. Trying to cover his worst spots as much as he could.

Aether laughed, now pausing a little, instead keeping his wrists pinned on either side of Kinich's head to keep him in anticipation.

"OK ok! Sorry, I always had to break the serious guys in this world."

Kinich groans, slightly huffs of laughter now calming down at the small break.

"Ajaw said Kinich has a weak neck!"

Paimon's sudden outburst on that fact made Kinich shiver. Aether turns to her first then back at him, a very mischievous smile that made Kinich shake his head a little, somewhat pitiful.

"Tch! The mighty dragon lord knows what a whimp he is but he still refuses to die.. bahahawahaha" Ajaw cackles in a sinister tone "Oh laugh to death Kinich!"

Aether rolls his eyes, "we are not killing him, just playing around... like friends"

Kinich's eyes that used to be blank slightly glistened with brightness, "Friends?"

"Yup and friends... make friends happy!" Aether wiggles his fingers right over his collarbone and throat lightly. Kinich knees kicked up in reflex, but they didn't stop Aether's fiery determination to tickle him.

"Ahaha Aetheheheher hehehee cuhuhuhut ihihit out! Hahaha ok ok y-yohohohou won! You won! Ok! Just mehehehercy! Mercy!

After that implore, Aether stopped tearfully laughing as well, falling next to Kinich, eyes bright golden and with bliss, "ohoho man that was so funny... im glad I saw this side of you..."

Kinich's breath was somewhat heavier as he managed to grab his composure swiftly as an amazing athlete "I-I uh... thank you traveler... I guess it wasn't that bad"

Ajaw growls, "Awwww, come on! I bet if you got his armpits more seriously next, he might not say that! Come on, traveler, I'm begging ya! Tickle this guy to death -g-gaaaaaaah curseeeee youuuu!"

Once more he just got confined into a space suddenly gone. Kinich sighs as he puts Ajaw away easily, resting an arm over his hip as he gets up now tired but somewhat... relaxed?

"Hey Kinich..."

He jolts when Aether poked his armpit that was exposed, making him stare in surprise "That's round two the next time we meet? And don't listen to Ajaw... tickling isn't something bad... its what friends do to have fun"

Kinich silently debated this answer... smiling genuinely. Perhaps Mualani was right... friends are amazing.

"Well come by traveler... its much livelier here with you around" Kinich offers, now giving an awkward smile.

"Aww miss me already?" Aether grins, then nudged him, "or the tickles"

"Just... you" he grunts, but looking sideways, with a timid look that seemed to have never appeared until today.

Aether will cherish that moment forever and also his laugh.

[belle-rosse]

I think wayyyy too much about the scene in s1x07 where Vi and Cait try to save each other from Jinx’s attack, and maybe simple thoughts have turned into a meaningless analysis. I’ll share it anyway.

The way Vi and Caitlyn try to protect each other in this scene perfectly reflects how they were raised, and I think it even works as foreshadowing for the scene in the rain.

Let’s focus on Vi first. The core part of her identity since she was a child has been to protect, which we see from the way she shields Powder from the horrifying sight on the bridge in the very first minute of the first episode, up to this very moment. Vi has a specific way of carrying out this protection. Unlike when she's on her own, Vi doesn’t jump straight into a fight—she first moves the person she wants to protect away from danger, then faces the battle entirely alone. Here, she follows the same process: her first impulse is to shield Caitlyn by pushing her out of the weapon’s range, not caring about her own safety. She only takes cover after making sure that no one can hurt Cait. This is Vi’s impulsive nature at its peak, as well as her absolute loyalty.

Now, with Caitlyn, there’s more to discuss. Caitlyn has been protected her entire life, shielded behind her parents and her last name. This sense of security has made Caitlyn a rebel, someone who pushes the boundaries of that protection (while following certain rules), but it also makes her very naive. Caitlyn doesn’t truly know the dangers of the world. Even though she tries to project confidence, she had never stepped on the other side of the bridge before. That’s why I believe her decision to step in front of Vi as a shield while also trying to protect herself with her arm is a pure act but rooted in ignorance. Caitlyn jumps into danger to keep Vi safe, but even if she managed to avoid the impact of one bullet, there would be more. Most likely, if Vi hadn’t pushed her, they both would’ve ended up hurt. This is Caitlyn’s identity: unlike Vi, she protects others by getting close, giving all of herself to push the problem away rather than fighting it alone. What she doesn’t realize is that, even when she has meticulously structured plans, some problems can’t be solved with one-sided diplomacy. Caitlyn is pure and well-intentioned but lacks a survival instinct due to her upbringing.

Now, why do I say this works as foreshadowing for their breakup in the rain? Simple—except for the weapons and general violence, it’s essentially the same scene.

Vi and Caitlyn face a problem that involves both of them, and in order to protect the other, they resort to the same methods I mentioned before.

Vi assumes that she’s the problem, that her anger with the council and Piltover in general will cost Caitlyn her well-being. So, what does she do? She leaves her in the middle of the rain, saying words she wishes weren’t true, hurting herself in the process just to make sure Caitlyn won’t try to find her. Throughout this scene, Vi refuses to look at her, because if she sees her sadness, she’ll likely give in and end up putting her in danger. After pushing her away again, Vi decides to confront (though with Jayce this time, not entirely alone) Silco’s industry, once more jumping into the fight only after ensuring the safety of the one she loves.

But Caitlyn doesn’t know this. She sees Vi’s actions as an abrupt and ungrounded change. “Why is Vi leaving?” must be her only thought, and in response, she tries to offer solutions they can face together because she’s unaware of what they’re really up against. She tries to get close to Vi several times, both in her words and her body language. Everything in her is pleading for the Zaunite to stay, to explain what’s happening so they can work together and share the weight of the problems. In the end, it doesn’t work, and respecting Vi’s boundaries, she lets her go. Though it doesn’t stop her, and that’s how we get her scene in the shower, thinking of the alternatives to that encounter.

I warned y’all that this would be a meaningless analysis, but I love and miss Caitvi too much to stay silent about them. Also, I adore episode seven.

[simpjaes]

i feel like a stalker reader fic with a plot twist of sunghoon being a stalker even before reader was obsessed with him (kind of like a mastermind where he plotted how and when they would meet first) AND A FREAKY ONE AT THAT is only a fic that you could possibly write

and you're right about that bc i do believe i'd slay that shit if I ever got around to it.

a/n: this was meant to just be a thought but i got a lil lost in it lmfao.

Like, the idea of Sunghoon being obsessed with you since fuckin' senior year of high school because he transferred there. He was vulnerable when he transferred due to home life stuff forcing the move, and he had close to no one save for a dad who was never home. You were the first person to say hello to him and that singular greeting made him grow attached.

and he'd like, watch week after week. sometimes you'd greet him in passing but never really approach him or anything. he would be too far attached already to approach you himself too, because he feels socially awkward. he is socially awkward. No one back at home liked him much either so his confidence isn't quite high enough to peruse you.

anyway, shoot to college. maybe....he's been like...yknow....doing his research on you since he transferred back in highschool. maybe he's doing the same degree path as you.....maybe he did some snooping to land in the same university, taking the same classes....at the same times as you.........

he's grown very smart about this tho bc like, you'd never second guess why you're always seeing that handsome guy everywhere. maybe you guys are just more alike than you could have thought. and you wouldn't grow your own little crush turned obsession until he you noticed how he ignored you.

you never saw him glance or stare. he'd brush you off any time you try to greet him, he'd always speak in class with confidence, making you feel like he's...very very very intelligent. and it's like, woah, he acts so different compared to high school. you're into him kinda....there's nothing wrong with a lil crush right?

lil crush turns HUGE crush when he ends up at all the same parties you attend. always lurking in a corner by himself looking handsome and untouchable, sometimes with other girls approaching him. these are the moments you'd catch his drunken eyes on you from time to time. Or maybe he's just catching you staring. you're not sure of yourself anymore by this point.

still he wouldn't make any moves or efforts to talk to you. little crush turns to big crush. big crush turns to you wanting to learn more about him...and learning more about him turns to you consistently checking in on his social medias that he rarely updates....asking about him around campus when you manage to land in a room where he isn't, hoping he shows up to more parties..etc.

you wouldn't realize the stalker behavior you're exhibiting til it was too late. he'd be all too fond of it though, knowing he's managed to catch your attention by giving you none at all. what a needy little doll.

It's not until you dead ass find out where he works part time and you're filling out your own application before you realize that maybe you're going a bit too far. when he ends up being there during your interview though, you're a bit too blinded by wanting to know more about him to think too hard about it.

and so, the two of you are working together, going to classes together, attending parties together...except separate. and it's driving you up a fucking wall because surely it's because he has a girlfriend right? but you never see her. you can't find any trace of someone he's with on social media. never on campus, at work, no where. so, lets say you guys end up at a party again and you really do lose it.

lots of alcohol in your system, sunghoon looming in a corner, side eyeing pretty girls who stare at him. you'd be the one staring the most, walking up to him while forgetting how to breathe, only realizing you might actually be in love with him when you try to reach for his shoulder with a brain so empty you forgot what you wanted to say. "Hm?" he'd hum at you with a raised, unbothered brow. His skin prickling at the way your shaking hand grabs at him. He calms himself through it though, having jerked off enough to the mere thought of these hands on him nightly since he met you. He knows how to calm down now. "I'm like, in love with you, maybe." You'd slur out, stupidly with an embarrassed but hopeful expression. Sunghoon's unbothered demeanor wouldn't change, but the setting would. He'd take your hand and guide you without a word, outside, into his car, and he wouldn't say a anything to you through it until he'd driven and parked somewhere entirely secluded. [He's sober btw, you make him drunk enough.] "Do you even know how much I want you?" He'd mumble so quietly you wouldn't be able to hear him over the thumping of your heart, but you stare at him, watching his lips move as he tries to speak. You watch him the whole time, feeling safe in this secluded spot with a man you've grown obsessed with. Your body reacts and moves on instinct as he sits there. You can't fucking stand being so close yet so far from him. "I don't know what you're saying to me." You'd mumble and slur out to him, far too drunk than you originally thought now that there is no loud and booming music to drown your thoughts out. "You never do." He frowns, leaning towards you and practically pinning you to your seat by energy alone. His entire body feels like it's on fire, cock twitching, heart jumping. "You want me?" You nod, breathing softly and deeply as you look at him. Of course you want him. "How bad?" He follows up. "As badly as I've wanted you?" You nod again. "You sure?" Another nod.

His eyes go vacant now as he stares at you, adjusting his body on top of yours in the cramped space of his car. You feel his nose nuzzle against your neck as he inhales deeply. He groans slightly at the scent, never able to smell you so fully except for in passing. This alone could satisfy him for life if he wanted it to. "Show me then." He nearly demands, wanting you to be the one to prove all of his work to get to this point is truly coming to fruition. Wanting you to make all of the first moves. Wanting you to do it all for him.

And, well...you do.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Grew in my Heart

It's finally done you guys!!!! This is my take on a foster Pony au, loosely based on this idea from @freak-l0rd-certifed. It's currently unedited but I'll post it here anyways, and then cross post an edited version on my ao3. @pepsicurtis asked to be tagged when it was done based on a snippet I posted earlier, so here you go. This is part 1, part 2 is fully written and will be up tomorrow.

***************

The lady on the other side of the room is watching him.

That’s okay though. Ponyboy is used to people watching him. Social workers, foster parents, group home staff, police. Everyone watches him all the time but nobody cares, cares for him or about him, so Ponyboy doesn’t mind this lady joining in. He knows he looks weird, with his sticky out ears and the patchy haircut Mr. Fuller gave him and the bruise around his eye. So he understands why this lady is watching him, and doesn't begrudge her for it.  Besides, she looks like a nice lady. Nice ladies don’t usually watch him. If they do they don’t usually look at him with the kindness glowing in the woman’s shining green eyes.

The lady smiles at him and he ducks back into his book, ears burning. She wasn’t supposed to catch him looking.

When he peeks over the top of his copy of Great Expectation a minute later, she’s still watching him, smiling in a way Ponyboy would call amusement if he didn’t know better. He quickly hides again, cursing himself for drawing notice. It’s never a good thing. Never. Better he stay quiet, stay invisible. Invisible kids didn’t get hurt.

He hopes Ms. Summers will come back soon and take him to wherever he’ll be staying next, if only so that he can leave the waiting room, escape from where this nice lady and her nice family are no doubt waiting for them to bring a brand new baby to adopt. Probably one only a few days old, something sweet and cute and new they could love and pamper. Nice people only ever came to the child services offices to pick up babies. Anyone who came to pick up kids was usually about as nice as the people who dropped them off. 

He goes back to his book. Usually it’s easy to escape into the story where he can pretend to be a knight or a hero or anything but stupid, small, unwanted Ponyboy Hewitt, but he can’t seem to concentrate today. It’s not just because of the nice looking lady with the green eyes who keeps watching him, keeping an eye on him the same way she’s been keeping an eye on the three boys who came in with her. His head is also aching something fierce. That last knock from Mr. Fuller was kind of hard. 

Hard enough Ms.Summers thought he should move again anyway.

“Quit fidgeting, Soda,” an authoritative voice from the other side of the room says, and Ponyboy can’t help but glance over. He tells himself it’s because the speaker was kind of loud, but he knows deep down that’s not the case. It’s not because the boy is loud, it’s because he’s cool. He’s a lot bigger than Pony is, and older too, with wavy brown hair and broad shoulders. He could probably look Mr.Fuller square in the face and never be scared, not ever. “We have to show we’re the perfect family or they won’t let us keep Johnny.”

“Really?” The boy who answers has golden blond hair and rosy cheeks with a dimple high in one corner. Pony never really understood what books meant when they talked about eyes twinkling until the boy had pranced into the office a few minutes before, looking like a prince straight from a fairytale. His eyes aren’t twinkling now though: instead, they’re shining with worry. His shadow, a smaller boy with jet black hair and tan skin, looks the same, eyes wide and terrified in his peaked face. “They can’t do that just ‘cause I’m sittin’ wrong, can they mom?”

He turns anxiously to the nice lady who smiles and smooths down his hair.

“Of course not honey,” she soothes, “we don’t gotta prove we’re perfect to keep Johnny, we just gotta prove we love him. And we do.”

She turns her smile on the dark haired boy who flushes and ducks his head shyly, looking unfathomably pleased. Ponyboy swallows hard and looks away, his own ears reddening. It’s not fair for him to hate the dark haired boy, he knows it isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. In that moment, he kind of hates him anyway. 

The woman’s gentle smile has confirmed what he suspected all along. She’s a nice mom, the kind he’s only ever read about in storybooks. She probably kisses those boys goodnight- even the big one, even if he pretended it wasn’t cool- and probably smells like cinnamon and bakes birthday cakes sometimes, puts bandages on cuts, and never slaps them, not ever. 

He wants Ms. Summers to come back. He wants to leave. He doesn’t want to sit here and watch a boy his own age get adopted by the kind of family he wishes he could have more than anything in the world. 

The blonde boy sticks his tongue out at the cool one and makes a fart noise.

“See Darry? They ain’t gonna take Johnny! You’re stupid and wrong!”

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis!” A man Ponyboy assumed must be the nice lady’s husband and the boys’ father boomed, “What have I told you about using that kind of language towards your brother?”

“That it's not how we speak to our family,” the blonde boy, Sodapop, says like he was reading off a teleprompter. Clearly, this was not the first time he’d heard that particular reprimand, “but dad, I was only defending my other brother.”

“Be that as it may,” Mr.Curtis said, “I don’t want to hear that language from you any more.” He sounded stern, but his eyes were still glinting proudly and there was a smile hiding somewhere near the corner of his mouth. Not a scary dad then. A good one.

“Yeah Soda,” the older boy, Darry, grinned, seeming unperturbed by the insult. He was real handsome, Pony thought. If he was Sodapop he’d never call that Darry boy stupid, not ever. “Save that language for socs. Or Two-bit when he’s playin’ poker against Dally.”

Sodapop laughed then, any traces of animosity disappearing, Johnny grinning quietly beside him. 

Ponyboy decides he’s done watching them be happy, and goes to the washroom.

He does his business, standing on tiptoe to reach the sink when he’s done because it’s meant for adults not for kids and there's no footstool. He can’t reach the soap, even when he jumps, so he just settles for rinsing extra long. The paper towel dispenser is also too high to reach so he dries his hands on his pants and goes back to the waiting room. 

“Oh honey, wait,” he doesn’t realize the nice lady is speaking to him until she’s kneeling in front of him, tugging his shirt from where he hadn’t noticed it had gotten twisted and tucked into his pants, pulling it out and smoothing it down nicely, “there you go. All handsome again.”

She smiles, looking like sunshine incarnate, and Ponyboy kind of wants to die.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, sure he must be redder than a tomato, then flees back to his chair on the other side of the waiting room. They’re all watching him now, the nice lady and her nice husband, and the three boys who are now all sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a game of cards. 

He opens Great Expectations to a random page and stares at it hard, trying very hard not to cry. He’s almost seven years old, he’s not a baby anymore. He will not cry just because one lady was nice to him and now her perfect family is staring at him. He won't. 

“Hi!” Suddenly, blonde, beautiful Sodapop is in front of him, grinning like Ponyboy is the best thing he’s ever seen ever, “I’m Soda. Wanna play cards with us?”

He wants to, more than anything, but he knows if he does it’ll just feel worse when they leave and he doesn’t go with them , or when Ms. Summers comes to drag him away to whoever will bother keeping him for the next few weeks, so he can’t.

He shakes his head, unable to actually say no, and Soda deflates, eager grin melting into an unhappy pout, shoulders curling forward, and the twinkle in his eye dimming. He looks like Pony just ruined his whole day with one shake of his head. 

“Ok,” he sighs, dramatic and world weary, and it would seem like an act if his eyes weren’t entirely genuine, “if you change your mind, you can c’mon over anytime. It would be so much more fun with another person.”

He rejoins the other two boys who shoot curious looks Pony’s way, but he ignores them, looking back at his book. He’s not reading though. He can’t. Instead he’s listening to the boys playing cards, wishing more than anything that he could join them.

“I win.” Dark haired Johnny proclaims for the third time and Soda throws down his cards with a dramatic groan, while Darry just laughs. He seems real nice, not like the big boys at the group homes who liked to steal Pony’s books and shove him around. He hadn’t gotten mad at Soda or Johnny even once, not even when they were playing Go Fish and Soda cheated by peeking at his cards. 

“You little shark,” Darry ruffled Johnny's dark hair, the smaller boy flinching a little before leaning into the touch, “how do you keep doin’ that, huh?”

Johnny shrugged. “It’s a secret.”

“You’re cheatin’!” Soda accused.

“Am not!”

“Are too! No one wins as much as you.”

“I’m just good at cards without cheatin’.”

Soda huffed. “You’re lucky you’re my brother now or I’d fight you.”

“I’d win.” Johnny boasts, and suddenly he looks fierce, chin jutting and eyes fiery, like every kid in every home who fought grownups and just ended up beaten down worse. 

“That’s enough,” Darry pulls the two apart, practically picking them each up with one hand, “quit arguin' or I’m putin’ the cards away.”

“No!” Soda throws himself to the ground, arm draped dramatically across his forehead, “I’ll die of boredom!”

“Then sit up and be good,” Darry tells him, and Soda scrambles to do as he’s told. Pony feels his own spine straightening. It’s just because he’s tired, he tells himself.  It has nothing to do with wanting Darry to look at him with the same approval he looks at Soda and Johnny with. He needs to stretch out a bit, that’s all.

“Y’know,” Darry says, disarmingly casual, easily shuffling the cards the way Pony always wanted to but could never manage, the movement too deft for his clumsy fingers, “there's so many more games we could play with four players.” 

If he didn’t know better Pony would swear Darry was looking at him sideways as he said it, grinning conspiratorially like they were sharing a joke. 

“Euchre…gin rummy…spades…signals…”

Pony’s heart jumped. He loved signals. 

It was practically another invitation right? And Soda had said he could join anytime if he changed his mind…surely one game wouldn’t hurt. 

He scoots forward a bit on the chair, considering. 

“Well?” Suddenly Darry- handsome, cool Darry- is grinning right at him, one eyebrow raised, “You in or not?”

And well….that was an actual invitation. From a big boy no less! Usually boys like Darry wanted nothing to do with him.

Pony could feel what was surely a far too eager grin spreading over his face and he nodded, quickly taking a spot on the floor in between Soda and Johnny. Darry’s grin turned triumphant, like he was the one who’d just been invited to play cards by a cool stranger. 

“Nice. What’s your name kiddo?”

“Ponyboy.” He mumbles, bracing himself for laughter that never comes. Instead Darry just nods, starting to deal cards with ease. 

“Tuff name. I’m Darry, and this here’s Johnny.” 

Pony offered a shy smile in response to Johnny’s friendly nod, earlier vitriol forgotten. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was lucky. Pony shouldn’t hate him for it. 

“You already met Soda.”

Darry gives Soda a fondly exasperated look, and Pony focuses very hard on the cards being dealt so he won’t have to look at their faces.

Unsure of what to say, he just nods. Luckily, Darry keeps talking.

“Well Ponyboy, I reckon since you just joined you get to pick the game.”

“R-really?”

“Sure.” Darry smiled kindly. Golly he was nice. “We’ll play a few rounds and then switch it up if any of us are getting bored.”

“Can-” Ponyboy hesitated. Darry nods, encouraging him to continue, “can we play signals?”

“Sure. You okay to be on a team with me?”

“Yes,” Pony could hardly believe his luck. Not only were they playing his favourite game, but Darry wanted to be on a team with him!

“Ok,” Soda chirped, “me’n Johnny are going over there so you don’t listen to us pick our signals like cheaters!”

“Soda!” Mr Curtis warned.

“I’m bein’ nice!”

Pony giggled. 

“Ignore him,” Darry advised, scooting over to sit beside him, “I wish I could say he’s just bein’ crazy ‘cause he’s excited, but the truth is he’s always like that. He ain’t really mean though, just has too much energy.”

“I know,” Pony tells him, “I seen mean before. He ain’t it. If he was mean he’d have taken my book or followed me to the bathroom and put my head in the toilet.”

A horrified gasp makes him jump. He’d momentarily forgotten all about sunshiney Mrs.Curtis, but now she’s staring at him in horror, eyes filled with rage. 

What did he do? Did she not want him to be telling her nice golden sons about stuff like that? 

“I-I’m sorry I-” he can feel his ears burning and wishes more than anything he’d stayed on that hard plastic chair where he was safe instead of getting drawn in by the light of the family in front of him. 

“Whoa, hey,” Darry catches him by the arm before he can scramble to his feet, grip not bruising like he’s used to but gentle, reassuring, “where are you going? We haven’t picked a signal yet.”

His smile is so hopeful. Hesitantly, Pony settles back down. 

“Ok.”

“Well?” Darry nudges him gently, carefully. It seems to Ponyboy that someone so big shouldn’t be able to do that and not hurt him just a little bit, but somehow Darry manages it. “What signal do you think we should do?”

Pony glances across the room at where Soda is gesturing exaggeratedly and talking at Johnny a mile a minute.

“Something small,” he decides, “something they won’t notice.”

“Good thinking,” Darry’s approval feels like sitting in the sunshine and eating ice cream and reading a book all at once, “how about…rubbing our noses?”

He demonstrates, rubbing a finger under his nose like he’s scratching an itch and Ponyboy nods, copying the action. 

“Perfect.”

He raises his left hand then. Taps his ear. Waits a few seconds. Taps his ear again.

“What are you doing?” Darry wonders. 

“I have a trick,” Ponyboy informs him.

“Oh?” Darry’s raising a single eyebrow again, looking intrigued. A swell of unearned pride starts in Ponyboy’s chest. 

“Yep,” Pony nods, “they’re watching us right now.”

Darry follows his gaze across the room to where Johnny is watching them out of the corner of his eye, while acting for all the world like he’s still focused on Sodapop. 

“So,” Ponyboy continues. He taps his ear again, “if we do a fake signal now, like we’re practicing, and then do it while we’re playing they’ll call signal and get themselves disqualified and we’ll win.”

“Huh,” Darry reaches up and taps his own ear, “good thinkin’ kid.”

Pony glows.

“We’re ready,” Soda announces a second later, dragging Johnny behind him, “and we have the best signal ever. You’ll never guess it.”

“We’ll see.” Darry challenges, flipping the first card off the deck, and the game begins.

Pony checks his own hand. Two jacks, a two, and a seven. Deciding to go for jacks he passes the two facedown and slides it left to Johnny, picking up the ten Soda placed down for him on the other side.

He passes and trades cards for a few seconds, managing to pick up a third jack on the way. When it’s been long enough it’s not suspicious, he reaches up and taps his ear, trying to make it seem like he’s scratching an itch.

The trick works. 

“Block!” Johnny cries triumphantly, pointing at him and Pony grins, shaking his head. 

“Nope!”

“What?” That’s Sodapop, “We’re out? But-but I’m with Johnny! Johnny always wins!”

“Guess not this time,” Darry grins, raising a hand. It takes a second for Pony to realize he’s reaching out for a high five instead of to cuff him, but when he does he reaches out eagerly, tapping Darry’s palm with his own.

“How did you do that?” Johnny wonders, head tilted in confusion, “I saw you tapping your ear earlier when you were making your signal.”

“It was a trick!” Pony grins. Darry is pleased, and they just won a card game, and no one here has gotten properly mad at him at all. 

Johnny shakes his head, grinning ruefully. “Well it was a good one.”

Soda declared he wanted a rematch, so they played a few more rounds, until Johnny figured out their trick and then both teams had so many fake signals and everyone was too scared to block anyone and could hardly remember their real signals from their fake ones. Darry was just proposing they switch to playing crazy eights when Ms. Summers hurried out of the office, looking harried as usual.

“Oh! Ponyboy,” She looks surprised to see him sitting on the floor, “don’t go botherin’ these nice folks now. I know you’ve had a long day, and I promise I’m workin’ as hard as I can to figure things out so just sit tight and be good a few minutes longer. I just got a few more calls to make and I’ll get you some lunch, alright? C’mon and sit properly now, that’s a good boy.” 

She pulls him to his feet, not roughly exactly, but carelessly, the way he’s used to, and he ducks his head, shoulders curling automatically as she frog marches him back to the plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room she’d parked him in at seven o'clock this morning.

“He ain’t botherin’ us!” Suddenly Soda is on his feet, glaring at Ms. Summers. “We invited him to play. We’re havin’ fun.”

“He’s really no trouble,” Mrs. Curtis smiles, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her voice is as sugar sweet as ever but there’s something hard in her eyes nevertheless as she stares Ms. Summers down, “the boys are all havin’ fun playing together and I have no problem keepin’ an eye on him for you. He’s a good boy, like you said.”

She turns the full force of her smile on him, her eyes suddenly all softness, and Ponyboy finds himself wondering what it would be like if somebody looked at him like that every day, like he was something instead of nothing.

“Well, if you’re sure, I suppose that's fine. You be good Pony,” Ms. Summers says, and then she’s gone again, back into the office, back to making phone calls to find someone, anyone, willing to take him in.

Pony stands where she left him, half dragged across the room, lost in the waiting room he’d spend what felt like half his life in.

“That lady,” Soda says, “was a bitch.”

Darry’s eyebrows shoot up, and Soda grins cheekily over his shoulder in a way that says he fully expects a reprimand, but to Ponyboy’s surprise Mr.Curtis just nods slowly.

“Y'know son, I think in this case you might be right.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Mrs. Curtis says, but it’s so half-hearted even Ponyboy can tell. Her eyes are fixed on Ms.Summers’ door, lips pressed into a thin line, and Pony gets the feeling she’s real mad but hiding it real well.

“She don’t know what to do with me,” Pony finds himself defending his social worker. She ain’t mean really, ain't even a bad person. She’s just busy. Too busy to really care. “It ain’t her fault. I cause her a lotta problems.”

“I have a very hard time believing that,” Mrs. Curtis says, “I don’t think you could cause problems if you tried.”

He could. He wasn’t like Curly from the group home, who did everything he possibly could and then some to cause problems, but Pony did create them sometimes. One time he’d burned Mrs.Delvine’s sheets when he was ironing because she hadn’t given him dinner the night before. And he’d put half a shaker of salt in Mr.Fuller’s soup after he gave him this stupid haircut. But he never tried to cause problems for Ms. Summers and he still caused them anyway.

He shrugs. “No one wants me. It’s her job to find someone who’ll put up with me. I can’t blame her for bein’ tired.”

“You’re still a little boy,” Mrs.Curtis shakes her head, and usually Ponyboy hates being called little but he finds he doesn’t mind too much when she says it, “she shouldn’t be takin’ any of her frustrations out on you.”

Pony wants to tell her that his own mother didn’t want to be stuck with him so he can hardly blame his social worker for feeling the same way. He wants to tell her about how tired he is and how much his head hurts and how hungry he is. He wants to tell her a lot of things. He doesn’t.

“Oh honey,” he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he’s wrapped in a warm hug, held protectively against Mrs. Curtis’ chest, his sobs muffled against the stretched collar of her pretty yellow dress. He’s sure he must be getting snot on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, holding him closer when he starts to squirm away and apologize, cooing to him until he settles down, “oh honey.”

She scoops him up then, because she’s a grown up and he’s still pretty small for six years old, and she sets him on her knee and kisses his forehead, and even if it won’t last and he will never feel this again after today, for once he knows what it’s like to be comforted and loved by a mother. 

Golly he’s tired.

“You just have a sleep now,” she pulls his head down to rest against her shoulder, running a gentle hand through his shorn off hair, “you just have a good sleep and don’t worry about a thing.” 

He feels his eyelids drooping. She drops a soft kiss on his forehead, her fingers never ceasing their soothing motions in his hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby,” he hears her say as he drifts off, “I promise. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

He sleeps.