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4unnyr0se · 3 months

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❥ apple cider | tobio kageyama

warnings: timeskip! university! tobio, f! reader, she/her pronouns, virgin! tobio, cunnilingus, tit-sucking, hickeys, sub! tobio, cowgirl position, praise, needy! tobio, unprotected sex, hinata mentioned

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 6.2k

a/n: okay yeah lowkey i lost the plot a little bit but its tobio soo... also sorry if he's ooc i tried so hard

❥ song: apple cider - beebadoobee

Biology class was a pain in the ass, no matter what your major was. Whether it was an elective course or required for a biology major, it was god-awful. At least, it was god-awful for Tobio. He needed it for a science credit, and that class was the only one that wasn’t open. And it was a 6 PM-9 PM lecture, which was the greater of the two evils. So basically, he got the worst time slot for the worst possible class. And all because he slept in once class registration started for college sophomores. It's totally unfair.

But it wasn’t the stupidly long and late classes that pissed him all the way off, no. It was his annoying, stuck-up, sickeningly smart classmate who was the textbook definition of a know-it-all. Literal and metaphorical; you even dressed like one. Neck-length black turtlenecks with round nerd-like glasses and ankle-length skirts in tones that complement your skin so well. He hated you. He hated how you were better than him. And you were so smug about it. Your stupid little smirk would grace your features every time the professor praised you for getting another correct answer. Or when your professor praised you for “Breaking the curve yet again, spectacular! You’re going places.” God, that pissed him off—little miss brilliant, perfect you.

So one could imagine the rage he felt in his stomach when your professor made the both of you stay after class, well after the other students left, chattering about how lame the homework was and what parties were happening on Friday.

“Tobio, I asked you to stay after because your grades are…less than satisfactory,” your professor pushed up her glasses, gesturing to the piles of papers with his name scrawled out in chicken scratch. “I’m worried about your performance. If you continue on the path you’re on now, you’ll probably have to retake the class. That means you’ll fail three credits short and might have to graduate later than the others.”

Tobio shrugged, shoving his hands in his loose jeans pockets. “I can always take a class in the summer, can’t I?”

Your professor shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. I don’t work during the summer, and I’m the only professor that teaches this biology level. Besides, I know you have volleyball to attend to when you aren’t in class. It must be stressful, dealing with sports and academia.”

Tobio didn’t know what academia meant, but it sounded like school. “So, what? Are you going to tutor me after class or something?”

“Oh, no. As a professor, I cannot help students past my office hours. That’s why I’ve appointed my best student to tutor you until your grades are satisfactory,” she gestured to yourself. “She’s maintained a high ninety throughout the semester, so she should have no problem tutoring you.”

You waved at Tobio, smiling softly.

Tobio sighed and rolled his eyes. “No offense, professor, but is there any way that I can get somebody else to tutor me?”

“Do you two not get along well?”

“We just don’t know each other, that’s all. I think Tobio is just shy,” you stood beside him. “I promise I’ll do my best to help you improve your grades, honestly.” you flashed him another soft smile.

He thought the show you were putting on for your professor was impressive. “Fine, whatever.”

“Great!” your professor happily clapped her hands together. “In that case, why not start tutoring him tonight? I’m assigning an online quiz tomorrow that isn’t open note, so I hope you’ll score better than 60% this time, Tobio.”

You covered your chuckle with a false cough. His highest grade was a 60%. Oh, that’s pathetic. Adorably pathetic. “Yeah, we can walk to the library. Unless you have something else that you need from us, professor.”

Your professor shook her head and bid you two off, closing the classroom doors behind you. You and Tobio walked awkwardly to the library, his blue eyes glued to the ground below you.

“So, you play volleyball?” you tried to break the silence. He didn’t respond. “Did you hear me? I asked if you play volleyball.”

“Just shut up and walk. You hate this as much as I do. Stop pretending to like me. Our professor can’t hear you. No need to suck up anymore.” he brushed his black bangs out of his face.

You were taken aback by his words. “Okay, that’s fucking rude. Sorry for wanting to get to know you better, jackass.” you played with the necklace dangling from your neck, your eyes darting to look over at Tobio occasionally. He was tall, taller than you were. Built, too. You heard that he played volleyball in high school and won nationals a couple of times, and he was only a college sophomore. You thought he must work out regularly to keep his shoulders broad. He definitely had abs, too, rippling just under the compression shirt he wore-

“Oi, we’re here. Did your brain leave your head or something?” he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from slamming face-first into the library doors. “Watch where you’re going. Next time, I’ll just let you break your nose.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel so protected,” you sighed, walking to an empty study corner. Tobio took the beanbag, and you took the couch, taking out your flashcards and highlighters. “So, we’re currently on the human anatomy unit. This is one of the more complicated units, so I can’t blame you for struggling. One of the reasons I’m doing so well is that my high school offered human anatomy during my third year. I was good at it.” you praised yourself.

“Wow, really? Karasuno didn’t offer that.” Tobio leaned back in the bean bag, resting his arms behind his head.

“You went to Karasuno? I didn’t know you were from Miyagi.”

“I thought it would be obvious to you since you’re so smart or whatever.” he rolled his eyes, leaning forward. “Let's just get this over with. I have other shit to do besides getting babied by the class know-it-all.”

You slammed your flashcards down on the table, shooting him a glare. “Look, it’s not my fault you’re bad at biology. But I’ve been appointed as your tutor and won’t give up on you just because you’re mean to me. I’ve been called worse things. So suck it up and let me help you, you asshole.” you tossed your textbook at him. “Read this passage, and then I’ll show you the flashcards. Is that okay with you, or do you need further instruction, moron?”

Damn, he liked when you talked to him like that. He knew you were faking that kindness act just so your professor wouldn’t get upset with you. He was right. Tobio knew you had an attitude under all that nerd attire that made you look so fucking sexy. Wait, did he think you were sexy? No…right? You were his tutor. You were a total loser who dressed like that basketcase from The Breakfast Club. So why did he suddenly have the overwhelming urge to slam his lips against yours when you told him off? He shook his head, trying to erase the sinful thoughts from his mind as he read the passage in the textbook that lectured about menstruation. Ew, gross. Well, he guessed it wasn’t gross. It was natural. Besides, you would probably punch his lights out if he said it was gross. For once in his life, it was better to keep his mouth shut.

“Have you finished the paragraph?” your words snapped him out of his thoughts—a twinge of pink dusted his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he responded, closing the textbook. “I can’t believe you have to go through that every month.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “You get used to it eventually. At least I don’t have endometriosis,” you shuffled your flashcards, taking one out of the deck. “Okay, can you tell me the average amount of days that a person with a uterus gets their period?”

Tobio thought for a moment. “Uh…five?”

You slowly nodded. “Well, it’s closer to a week, but everyone is different, so I guess you’re technically right,” you pulled out another card. “Why do people with uteruses get cramps when menstruating?”

“Um…because the muscles in the vagina contract to…”

“To what?”

“To get rid of the lining…”

You clapped your hands together. “Very good! Did you already know some of this stuff?”

Tobio nodded. “I have an older sister. She gets really bad cramps, and the whole house turns into chaos whenever she gets her period. Chocolate usually helps…I would always make her chocolate milk.” He smiled to himself.

“Aw, that’s really nice of you. Your older sister is lucky to have a nice little brother, even if he’s a jackass to his biology tutor.” you snickered, putting away the flashcards. “Well, it’s been an hour already. I think we should wrap up. I’m hungry.”

“I’m not a jackass, shut up!” Tobio grew defensive, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “I have to get to practice anyway. Hinata will start spamming my phone any minute if I’m late. He’s so annoying.”

You put your items in your bag. “Hinata? Like, Shoyo Hinata?” you pushed your glasses up to your face. “I know him. We eat lunch together sometimes. He’s hilarious.” you smile, and Tobio felt a jealous wave wash over him. You were the cutest girl he had talked to in a long time. Why did Hinata get to talk to you, too? Was he about to try something? Fucking Hinata.

“He’s actually really fucking annoying. He makes weird noises when he receives the ball like a toddler.” Tobio smirked, brushing the dust off his jeans. “But if you think he’s funny, you must be right. After all, you’re the smart one.” he teased.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Don’t get pissy with me because you have a shitty grade in biology. So, what if you know how the menstrual cycle works? I bet you’re awful at the reproductive part of human anatomy.” you placed a hand on your hip. “We’ll meet here tomorrow at the same time. You get to learn about the vagina, which should be fun for you since you’re obviously a fucking virgin.”

“I am not!” Tobio huffed, staring daggers as you walked away. He wasn’t technically lying to you, but it also wasn’t the truth. Sure, he had done things with his mouth and hands, but he never went all the way. And Tobio was almost positive that you would bully him relentlessly if you knew that he was a virgin. And he also knew, way deep in his gut, that he wanted you. For whatever reason, he had to have you. You were so full of yourself and painfully smart, smarter than he would ever be. Tobio needed to fuck you so good that you would not doubt in your mind that he wasn’t a virgin.

The library was relatively empty, but it was a Saturday afternoon. Students who lived off campus were at their parent's house, and those who lived on campus were probably asleep in their dorms or doing other activities. It was a lovely atmosphere, especially without all the annoying frat guys using the library as a place to make out with girls in the nonfiction section. You and Tobio sat in the usual spot, except you both sat on the couch this time. Even though you didn’t particularly care for him, he was getting better at human anatomy, which you felt proud of.

“So, are you ready to learn about how we reproduce?” you opened your textbook to the bookmarked page. “I know we already learned this in high school, but it’s still an important part of the unit to review, just in case there’s a question on the exam next week that’s a curveball.”

Tobio sighed and took out a highlighter he bought exclusively for your tutoring sessions. “I can’t believe we have to go over this. We’re in college. We know how to fuck.” he blushed, tapping the uncapped highlighter on the thin paper of the textbook.

You cleared your throat. “Just because we know how the process is done doesn’t mean we understand the risks that come along with it. There are sexually transmitted diseases and ectopic pregnancies…there’s a whole list of things that can go wrong during sex. Luckily,” you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “Those things are relatively rare. Well, except for the STD portion. That’s why condoms are important, even when your partner is on the birth control pill.”

Tobio smiled slightly. “You seem to know a lot about this. Is there something I should know?”

Wow, he was never this smooth when it came to flirting. Usually, he was an awkward mess who stammered over his words and made a fool of himself.

You rolled your eyes and looked at him. “My high school just thought that being properly educated when it came to sex was important, that’s all. I’m not some sexual deviant if that’s what you were wondering. Would a sexual deviant dress like a librarian?” you gestured to your outfit.

Tobio’s eyes wandered to your tight-fitting sweater that fit snugly around your breasts and waist. The skirt you wore was thigh-length and oh-so-snug, and the stockings you wore underneath made you look like the prettiest librarian he had ever seen. “Do you want me to be honest, or is this one of those questions where I’ll be wrong no matter what I say?”

You closed your textbook. “No, be honest. Let me know what you’re thinking.”

Tobio took a deep breath, refusing to make eye contact. You were pretty, but damn, were you terrifying. “I…I think you look really fucking sexy when you dress like a librarian.” he squeezed his knuckles on his lap, looking down at his feet with a furious blush on his face.

You chuckled. “So you have a thing for librarians or something?” you moved closer toward the bumbling setter. “That’s not a bad thing, you know. Even though you’re incredibly stupid, you are…kind of cute.” you placed your hand on his trembling thigh.

“Don’t touch me there. It’s sensitive,” he whispered.

“Aw, you really are a virgin,” you softly purred, finding this whole ordeal amusing.

“I told you I’m not,” Tobio continued to lie. “I’ve…I’ve had sex.”

You sighed, pulling your hand away from his thigh. “You know, it’s okay if you are a virgin. I know I tease you about it, but it’s really nothing to be ashamed about.”

Tobio crossed his arms and grumbled. “My teammates say otherwise, especially the upperclassmen.”

You rolled your eyes yet again. “Tobio, they just say those things because of toxic masculine culture. You have to ask yourself if you honestly think you’re ready to lose your virginity if you’re emotionally ready for it.”

Tobio raised an eyebrow. “Why would I have to be emotionally ready? Don’t people fuck because they’re horny?”

“Well, yes, but it’s a very intimate act. You have to be mature enough to be vulnerable with your partner. This is why sex education is so important.”

Tobio racked his brain, thinking of what to say next. “Do you…want to come over tonight? T-to study, obviously. I have to get my grades up, or it’s my ass.”

You smiled, packing up your things. “We can just study in my dorm. I live alone, so it’ll be nice and cozy. Maybe we can do a practice quiz on female anatomy? I’m guessing you already know a lot about male anatomy.” you give him a suggestive smirk.

Tobio frowned. “Did you just say that I jerk off a lot?”

“You’re a nineteen-year-old in college. Of course, you jerk off a lot.”

“Shut up! God, you’re so pretentious.” Tobio shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning back against the couch.

“At least I’m not failing biology,” you stuck your tongue out playfully. “Come by my dorm building around nine. It’s the one by the dining hall, you can’t miss it. I’ll be waiting to buzz you in.” With that, you left, humming to yourself as if you didn’t give Tobio a million ideas on how to spend his time in your dorm. What if you brushed against his shoulder when going over terms, and his hand just happened to slide around your waist? Oh, it would be absolutely terrible if you got on top of him, caging him under your body as your lips trailed down further and further until they landed on his needy cock. Fuck, Tobio was hard just thinking about it. He grabbed a nearby throw pillow and whistled to himself, waiting for his erection to go down so he could walk to his dorm and prepare for tonight. In reality, nothing would probably happen…right?

It was 9:02 in the evening. The crickets played a tune outside your dorm hall as you sat down on one of the many chairs they had scattered on the lawn that were usually used during the springtime. The moon shone brightly in the sky, and the fireflies danced with the stars. Truely it was a perfect evening.

Except Tobio was fucking late. Sure, it was only two minutes, but what if he forgot? You didn’t have his contact information; emailing him was out of the question because that would be outdated. And so, you waited patiently outside for him to arrive. You couldn’t wait to lecture him.

“Yo,” Tobio waved. His backpack hung over his shoulders, and his cell phone practically dangled from his grey sweatpants. “Sorry, I’m late. My roommate was being an asshole, and we were yelling so much that I lost track of time.”

“You’re two and a half minutes late, dick,” you brushed the dirt off your knees, stretching. “I was considering going back inside and leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Tobio scoffed. “It’s only two and half minutes, damn. You really need to learn how to relax.”

You opened up the dorm building with your keycard. “If I relaxed, I wouldn’t be at the top of my class. Now, would I?”

“Whatever. Can we just get this over with? I hate studying.” he said defensively. It wasn’t technically lying; Tobio didn’t like studying, but he liked studying with you. He would never admit it, but you made the material easier to remember, and you actually cared about him getting decent grades for whatever reason.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, princess. I live on the third floor, and the elevator is broken, so we’re taking the stairs.” you took off your hoodie and wrapped it around your waist, revealing your low-cut tank top. “C’mon. I don’t want to waste more time than we already have.”

“It was barely three minutes…” Tobio muttered under his breath as he followed you up the stairs, trying his best not to trip over the steps as his eyes constantly darted to your exposed cleavage. Fuck, you looked so fucking good. Did you even know what you were doing to him? Probably, you loved teasing him. Maybe if he got enough answers correct, you would let him bury his face in your breasts and suck little hickeys onto them.

“Okay, we’re here,” your dorm room was just at the end of the hall, nice and secluded. You jiggled the key in the doorknob and let him inside, the dorm walls decorated with posters ranging from your favorite TV shows to stupid ones you found while thrifting. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get my laptop to do online flashcards. If you get them right, you get to feed your little monster pet. Isn’t that fun?”

Tobio chuckled. “You have to rely on a game to study? And there I thought you were just books and, uh, other things.”

“Wow, so smooth.”

“Shut the hell up.”

You giggled and sat on your bed, patting the spot next to you. “Make yourself comfortable. This could be a while.”

“As long as it’s less than an hour, I don’t care.” he sat beside you, mindful of the space between. If he was any closer, he might be unable to help himself.

“Oh, honey, did you think you would be in and out of here in a tight thirty minutes? You could not be more wrong,” you mocked him, opening the flashcard application on your computer. “This will take maybe two hours so that you can learn all there is to know about the female body. Unless, of course,” you leaned in closer. “You don’t think you can handle it.”

Fuck, this is where Tobio dies. He’s going to die, and it’s because this sexy fucking nerd won’t give his virgin ass a break.

“I-I can handle it! I can totally handle it!” Tobio sounded so sure of himself, but the crimson blush decorating his cheeks gave it all way.

“If you say so,” you clicked on a flashcard. “Alright, what is the labia?”

Tobio thought for a moment. “Uh, it’s the folds of skin around the vaginal opening…right?”

You smiled. “Very good! You get to give the little monster a treat now.” You handed him the laptop. “You can click on what food you want to give him. I personally like giving him the rice cakes.”

Tobio chuckled at the tiny digital creature chewing on the snack. “This is kind of cute. I can see why you like studying now.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Studies show that making learning fun actually helps the material stick in your brain for longer periods of time. Who knew?”

You clicked on another flash card once Tobio had finished feeding the virtual monster. “Oh, this is a fun one. How rare is the female orgasm without clitoral stimulation?”

“...why do I have to know this?” Tobio looked flustered.

“Just answer the damn question.” he looked cute when he was embarrassed.

“Uh, common…I think. I don’t know, I’m not a girl.”

You sighed and adjusted your glasses. “Wrong, sorry. It’s actually incredibly rare for a female to orgasm without proper clitoral stimulation. We often time have to fake it to please our current partner.”

He looked down at his socks. “That doesn’t sound very fun. Why do guys cum more easily than girls?”

“Because the sperm fertilizes the egg, and women don’t need to orgasm to produce the egg, obviously.”

“And how was I supposed to know that?”

You rubbed your temple. “Because the textbook is right in front of you, dummy. Anyways,” you looked at Tobio. “Don’t feel bad. We have sex toys and stuff so we can get proper orgasms.”

Tobio scratched the back of his neck. “Has…has anyone ever made you cum?”

You were silent for a moment. “No, not even once. I had a boyfriend who was convinced he knew where the clit was…he always got it wrong.”

“Sorry to hear that,” why did Tobio feel bad? He wasn’t your boyfriend…did he want to be?

“S’not your fault, don’t apologize.” you pat him on the back, the faintest shade of ballerina pink on your cheeks. “Well, we should probably get back to studying now.”

Tobio closed the laptop. “We could study a different way…o-only if you want to.”

“What do you mean? Like, without flashcards?” you were faking your innocence. You knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Are you seriously going to make me say it?” Tobio forced himself to look at you, drinking in your natural beauty. Holy fuck, you were so gorgeous.

“Yeah, I really am,” you leaned forward, licking your lips. “Go on, tell me how we can study a different way. I’m so eager.”

Tobio groaned to himself at the sight of your pink tongue licking your bottom lip, making you seem even more tempting. “We could, dammit, we could have sex a-and you could show me how to…y’know, make you feel good. O-only if you want to, I would never force you to. It’s not like I’m desperate for sex or anything. Who said that? Not me-” You cut him off by placing a manicured finger on his chapped lips.

“If you want to fuck, then let’s just fuck. I’ll teach you along the way, alright Tobio?” you placed your laptop on the dresser beside you, climbing into his trembling lap. Your soft hands cupped his flushed face, the scent of your vanilla hand cream filling his nostrils with a pleasant aroma. “Do you want me to fuck you, Tobio?”

“God, yes,”

With his approval, you gently pressed your lips against his. He quickly melted into the kiss, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist so your chest was flush against his. His lips moved slowly against yours as if he was terrified to do something that would upset you. You giggled into the kiss, shifting in Tobio’s lap to get more comfortable.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands squeezing your hips with feather-light force as your tongue bore into his mouth, dancing with his own before pulling away. Your arms secured themselves around his neck, fingers tugging on the loose strands of midnight black hair. “Did you like kissing me, Tobio?” you purred, your petal-like lips trailing kisses down his thick neck.

“Y-yeah, I really fucking liked that,” God, his whimpers would be the death of you.

“Do you know what a hickey is, Tobio?”

“Not really…” he felt ashamed of how little he knew.

You frowned at his downtrodden tone, rubbing his cheekbone with your thumb. “Hey, don’t say it like that. It’s okay if you don’t know what a hickey is. I’m your tutor, don’t you want to learn?” he nodded.

“So why don’t you let me show you then, hm? I’ll be gentle, I promise.” you kissed up and down his neck until you found a spot that made Tobio gasp. “Is this where it feels good?”

His sweatpants strained. “Yeah..really good,”

Your teeth nipped at the skin. “This might hurt, so tell me if it’s too much. Can you be a good boy and do as you’re told?”

Another whine escaped his puffy lips. “Yeah, I’ll be good for you.”

Your lips descended onto the previously marked spot, taking his skin between your teeth and sucking ever so slightly. His once light grip on your hips strengthened as you bit down on the sensitive flesh, sucking the tiniest purple bruise that would surely blossom into a beautiful hickey. You pulled away, catching your breath and brushing your hair out of your field of vision. “How did that feel, pretty boy?”

Tobio’s cock was painfully hard in his boxers. The grey sweatpants were not doing him any favors in terms of concealing his throbbing erection. “Shit, that felt so fucking good,” his hands traveled down to the bottom of your shorts, fidgeting with the cotton fabric. “Can I have another one, please?”

You pecked his nose. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

His head craned to the side to give you better access as you bit at the other side of his neck, suckling on the same place opposite the first hickey. Whimper after shallow whimper fled his lips, his calloused hands from years of volleyball sliding under your shorts to toy with the fat of your ass.

You gasped at the sensation, pulling away prematurely. “Somebody’s certainly handsy tonight.”

“S’not my fault,” Tobio looked away. “Just wanted to feel more of you, that’s all. Not my fault that you’re pretty.”

“You’re cute,” you pecked his lips, your glasses pushing up against the bridge of your nose. “Tobio, do you wanna continue being a good boy for me?”

“So fucking badly, please. I’ll do whatever you want. Just make me feel good.” Holy fuck, he was sure he had never been more embarrassed in his whole life. He would never say something like that. The power you held over him was unmatched.

You rolled yourself off his lap, propping yourself on the bed by your elbows. Teasingly, your hands reached under your shirt and pulled it off, your bra following after. The cold and arousing air of your dorm room grazed your tits, your nipples perking up at the temperature change. “Why don’t you take that shirt off too, hm? Don’t be shy now.”

Tobio didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ripped his shirt from his body. You didn’t even get a chance to admire his toned form before his lips were on yours again, his muscular body caging yours as his rough hands left trails of molten lava on your breasts.

“Fuck, Tobio,” you moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his slender waist. “D’ya like what you see, pretty boy?”

He didn’t answer. His lips wrapped around your nipple, eagerly sucking at the sensitive mound while his other hand toyed with the supple flesh. You let out a content sigh as his mouth alternated between breasts, not leaving one abandoned for a moment.

“Fucking love these tits,” his voice rumbled against your cleavage, covering your scorching body with sloppy open-mouth kisses. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Your hand danced between his messy hair. “Good boy. You’re being so good, Tobio.”

His hips rutted against yours, his clothed erection desperate for any kind of friction. “Wanna make you feel good,” he groaned as he tore his mouth away from your breast. “Please, teach me how to make you feel good.” he didn’t even care how desperate and pathetic he sounded. All he knew was that he needed you.

“Take my shorts and panties off,” you lifted your hips off the mattress. Tobio didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled your soft shorts off and tossed them on the ground beneath you, your panties soon dangling over your ankle. “That’s it. You’re such a good student, Tobio.”

Fuck, your body was to fucking die for. Your glistening heat was so incredibly tempting. He wondered what you would taste like…if you would permit him to taste you.

“Do you know what oral sex is?”

“Y-yeah, of course I know. I’m not an idiot.”

You nodded in satisfaction. “Now, do you want me to show you how to make a girl cum on your tongue?”

His nod was a bit too quick.

You chuckled. “Alright then,” your delicate hand spread over your pussy, circling your clit. “This is the clitoris. When you apply enough pressure to the clitoris, that’s when your partner will probably orgasm. Fingers sometimes do the trick,” you looked deep into his gunmetal eyes. “But the best thing to do is to suck on it with your mouth. Can you be a good boy and do that for me, Tobio?”

“Mhm, I-I can do that. I’ll make you feel so fucking good, I promise.” he lifted your hips so they rested on his thighs for support. The hot breath from his tongue sent electric shocks throughout your body, complimented only by his whimpers as he flattered his tongue against your soaking heat.

“Fuck,” you sighed, tossing your head back against your plush pillows as Tobio slowly dragged his tongue up and down, occasionally stopping to suck on your clit. Your hands flew to his unkempt hair as he grew greedy, quicking his pace. The calloused tips of his fingers squeezed the supple skin of your thighs as his nose brushed against your most sensitive bud, lapping at your sobbing cunt like a man starved.

“T-Tobio, fuck!” you cried out, arching your back further into the mattress as his pace quickened like a man on a mission. His tongue and lips worked against your core in a fierce heat, not being able to think of anything else except pushing you over the edge, just like you asked him to. Your thighs clenched around his head as his thumb found your clit, swirling electric circles. “I’m so fucking close, don’t stop!” his name fell like a mantra from your lips as he continued his brutal pace, groaning as you tasted too incredibly sweet on his tongue.

He lifted his head from between your thighs, his mouth covered in your slick. “Am I doing a good job? Do you feel good?”

You shoved his head back down. “Yes, just keep going. I’m so fucking close, Tobio, please.”

The sound of you begging was all he needed to drive you over the edge. He buried himself in your heat, his thumb being replaced by his middle and ring finger as he drew rough circles against your clit, his tongue darting up and down like a madman. With one final cry of ecstasy, you came crashing down as your orgasm sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout your molten figure. His tongue worked you through your orgasm, lapping up every last bit of your release.

You pulled him up by his hair, your face flushed with the deepest shade of pink he had ever seen. “Fuck…that was so fucking good. You’re such a good boy. Do you want your reward now?” Before he could answer, you flipped over so he was under you, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His sweatpants were discarded, and boxers hung on his ankle.

“What are you doing?” Tobio whined as your thumb teased his throbbing cock, gathering precum on it as you tasted him. “Fuck, it feels so fucking good.”

You hovered above his length, aligning it with your entrance. “Shh, just think about how good I’m about to make you feel, okay?” you lowered yourself down onto his cock, hissing as your greedy pussy swallowed his length.

“What about, oh fuck, what about condoms?” Tobio whimpered, his hands finding your hips as you sat on his pelvis, the walls of your cunt squeezing around his cock.

“Well, you’re a virgin, and I’m on the pill. It’s safe to assume that you’re clean.” you groaned as you lifted yourself, the head of his throbbing cock sitting snug in your walls before you slammed yourself back down.

“Holy shit,” Tobio rasped, squeezing his eyes shut as you began to slowly bounce on his cock. “Y-you’re so fucking tight, oh my fucking god.”

You leaned down to kiss him, whispering sweet nothings against his lips as you raised and lowered your hips, creating a steady pace that filled you up so nicely. “Yeah, you like me fucking you?”

His grip on your hips tightened as you set a relentless pace, your dorm room filling with the echoes of skin smacking against skin as his cock disappeared in and out of your cunt. “Shit, I’m not gonna last if y’keep that up. Fuck!” he shouted as his cock brushed against your cervix. The sight of your bruised breasts bouncing in his face only drove him further to the edge of euphoria, taking your nipple in his mouth as you continued to ride him.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you harder, Tobio? So fucking greedy.” you were met with a wanton cry as you slammed down even harder, his cock twitching inside of you. Your pace grew sloppy as he continued to suck on your breast, his calloused hands roaming up and down your backside, desperate for purchase.

“M’not greedy!” Tobio whined, practically sobbing into your harsh kiss as your walls clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth. “Gonna fucking cum, fuck! Can I cum inside? Can I please cum inside your pussy?” his pride has long since been thrown out the window, his release the only thing in his head. Tobio didn’t even wait for you to respond before his climax crested, shooting white hot ropes of cum into your pussy, his hips bucking up into yours as he rode out his incredible high.

The warmth in your core enveloped you as your bouncing ceased, letting him recover from the aftershocks of euphoria. His mouth was agape, and his gorgeous blue eyes could barely be kept open.

“You’re so cute,” your hands cupped his cheeks, kissing his nose as you got off of his ruined cock. His body was scooped into your arms, fingers drawing random shapes and patterns on his chest as he recovered. “Did that feel good, pretty boy?”

Tobio could only grumble in response. “So good, so fucking good. Love that pussy,” he whispered, curling up deeper into your arms as you tended to him.

“Do you need anything? A glass of water, a snack?”

“I’m not five years old…” he sighed, peeking up from your arms. “Can we just cuddle or something? I don’t wanna leave just now.”

You raised a brow. “No one said you had to leave right away. Where that stereotype came from, I will never know.”

Tobio shrugged. “I dunno either. It’s stupid, anyway. You’re so warm.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the same guy who was being such a hard-ass a couple of days ago?” you chuckled, fluffing his hair.

“No! Shut up,” he frowned at you, pecking your cheek. “Let’s watch a movie so I don’t have to keep looking at your stupid, pretty face.”

“Hey, Tobio,” you whispered in his ear. “If you get a good grade on that quiz next week, I can show you what my mouth can do.”

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#kageyama tobio #kageyama smut #kageyama x reader #kageyama x reader smut #karasuno #tobio kageyama

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months

Note

AITA for not having time to read my mutual's writing?

Met a mutual on here, bonded through fanfic, have been tight with them for a few years with pretty much no bumps in the relationship, just overall had a really good time hanging around them when I could. We both write a lot and share our writing, and occasionally we talk about that writing/workshop it in passing.

In the past few years I've gone through a ton of life changes. Most notably I went from a multi-person household to a single-person one, and I've been living alone in a prohibitively costly city for a while now working 40 hour weeks and barely scraping by. As soon as the transition started I spent the last of my free income on a shitty little laptop so I could still write, putting down words on my bus/train commutes in the morning and quite literally writing on my breaks at work because I feel insane when I can't create. I bring this up to really stress that I don't have the time for the hobby, I force myself to make the time and even then it never feels like enough.

The only thing I can really stand to do with my 3 hours of free time at night is hang out with my moots online. I'm an extrovert so being around people recharges me. If I don't have designated social time I get super depressed and can pretty much feel my soul withering away. I also feel like I should probably mention that I kinda have a slew of mental issues, personality disorders and PTSD and AuDHD and the works. Point being, shit is rough my dude, but I am a person who likes to work hard and face challenges head on and even though we strugglin, we doing it with a positive outlook.

But! I am an incredibly solution-oriented person and I have found what I personally believe to be a good balance. No one should have to live like this, but I do, and I have found a way to be happy. My writing and my social time is all load-bearing. It is not something I just choose to do on a whim, it's all planned and scheduled and I adhere to those routines very strictly because, I cannot stress this enough, I will go fucking bonkers if I don't.

I'm mutuals with a lot of writers obv, and I sadly don't have time to read their work anymore, unless I get some extra time on my days off or something gets cancelled or like, I end up taking a vacation. I carry a great amount of guilt for this, though, even though I logically know it's reasonable. I try to support them where I can, cheer them on when I see them writing and tell them how cool their ideas sound, hype them up even when I can't actually read & review.

One of the things I do is sometimes I leave a kudos on fic I haven't read. I'm not trying to be ingenuine, and if they asked me I'd tell them like 'Oh I didn't read it yet, just wanted to show support!' but to me it's kinda like ripping a paper tab off a poster so that other's feel inclined to do the same. Plus my pals get a little email and a hit of serotonin.

Except one of my acquaintances, the one I mentioned at the start here, saw that I left kudos on a couple pieces another mutual of mine wrote this year. They more or less blew up my DMs with a ton of accusatory (like, literally presented like a 'GOTCHA!') stuff about how I was selective in who's fic I read, more or less implying that I secretly held some sort of grudge or negative feeling toward them and was making the conscious decision not to read or interact with their writing because of. Something, I don't actually know what they were trying to say. They also told me they vented to their friends about this MULTIPLE times, but they never once approached me to let me know they were feeling paranoid or neglected, they literally just took the most bad faith reading of it possible and then presented that to me like it was something I intentionally did, while the whole time I was unaware.

I tried to explain to them the kudos thing, that I didn't do it to every story, just ones I caught/noticed in my busy schedule. And I laid all this out and asked, multiple times, what free time am I supposed to read with? They didn't answer, and doubled down, kept trying to show me 'proof' that I was shorting them and no one else. Once they started to realize how wrong they were they backed down, but they didn't really apologize, or admit they were wrong, and they tried to end our relationship and left every single server we were in together. Because of some other unrelated stuff going on in my life, I didn't really consider them to be a close friend, but they were someone I really held dear and would've walked through hell for if they'd asked.

I still feel like there is something I'm missing here, and that's why I wanted to ask if I'm TA. I'm a pretty good communicator but one of the things I told myself when talking down my disordered thoughts (guilt about this prior) was "no one in their right mind would use reading fanfic as a metric for friendship." Now that I've had that exact thing happen, I'm starting to think maybe those thoughts weren't so disordered. Maybe this IS a big deal, and I should think about it more, but I don't even know what the solution to that would be. I just. Don't have time to read something lovingly crafted and appreciate it for what it is. All the hours in my week are used up, I'd have to lose sleep for this and with my mental health the way it is that is not an option.

Feel free to be a brutal, my skin is thick. Thanks!

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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randomdragonfires · 16 days

Text

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

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regencyrosalie · 28 days

Note

Could you write some Anthony bridgerton x wife reader angst with a happy ending

i love a happy ending. thank u for the req! here’s husband!anthony and his four braincells fighting for his life

To say Anthony has been stressed would be an understatement. The sheer amount of paperwork he’s had to do within the past week would put any regular man into an early grave. Not to mention that Hyacinth has attracted enough suitors since her debut to keep him busy and on edge every time there’s calling hours.

His wife has been trying her best to help, even organizing his papers when he’s busy, to which he would thank her profusely. She’s also been busy with the social season, arranging dinners and parties and visits to the modiste.

They never fight. (At least not since they got engaged). Which was why Anthony was so out of his element when he accidentally snapped at her one evening.

“Dear, would you like me to bring you a cup-“ she opened the door to the study, clad in her night-things.

“Could you spare me your rambling for once in your life?” he chastised, trying to add costs on paper with his exhausted mind.

She just stared at him for a moment, and he tensed, before backpedaling.

“Darling, I did not-“

But she had already left, and shut the door behind her, teary eyed and angry. He had never spoken to her in such a way, especially when all she was trying to do was assist him and bring him tea.

Anthony followed her out instantly, “My love,” he called desperately, but the hallway was empty, and she was nowhere to be seen. He raced down the corridor to their bedchamber, but it was empty. It did not even register until then that she may be in her own bedchamber.

And that she was, she was sat on her bed, weeping silently. She secretly prayed that he would find her, and muster up a tolerable apology because she could not bear to sleep without him. The sheets she was perched on had very likely not been changed since before she arrived at Bridgerton house, as she never spent more than five minutes in her own room each week. Much to her dismay, and the dismay of her pride, she was spiraling at his words. For how long had he believed her to be rambling? Was her presence so bothersome?

There was a knock on the door, like an answer from the divine.

“My love, are you there?” Anthony’s voice cut through the mahogany door.

“No,” she called back, trying to stop her voice from shaking. She wanted him to know she was there, but also to prove a point. Mostly to watch him suffer.

There was a sigh of relief as he found her, and he tried the door handle, to no avail.

“Please, darling. I am dreadfully sorry. I did not mean it. I was foolish. Please do not shut me out,” he pleaded from the other side of the door.

She did not make any reply, but she stood from the bed, crossing her arms over her chest, as if she knew she would be opening the door soon.

“My love,” he called, trying the door again “please. I love you. I cannot go through the night without you, you know I cannot. I will beg, if that is what you wish. I cannot be parted from you.”

She debated for a moment, and stayed silent, pacing around the room.

“What are you doing?” he practically whined through the door.

“Sparing you.”

He groaned. “No, love, please. That is the last thing I want. I did not mean it. You must know I did not. I have just been so busy, it has taken a toll on me. I did not mean to say such things to you, dearest. You know I do not feel so.”

That soothed her slightly, and she stopped in front of the door.

He heard her get closer, and he continued his begging. “Please, my love. I do not wish for you to spare me from anything except your contempt. I relish in your conversation, I crave it. Do not do this to me. I cannot bear it. I need you desperately. You know I do. I adore you. I adore everything you do, everything you are. I love you so dearly I feel as if it may kill me at times. And it very well might if you do not open this door.”

A smile tugged at her lips as he pleaded with her, and she wiped her eyes before unlocking the door and pulling it open.

Anthony looked a mess, his cravat was half-tied, his hair was disheveled, as he had probably been running his hands through it incessantly, and his eyes were glassy and pleading.

She almost giggled.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said incredulously, with a hint of a smile.

“Perhaps a bit,” she replied, letting him pull her into his arms.

“You evil woman,” he chuckled softly, before pulling back to look at her face, frowning at her puffy eyes, “I am so sorry. Words cannot express my regret. I did not mean to cause you pain. I was foolish.”

“Yes, you were. But I forgive you,” she replied.

“Thank you, my love. I do not deserve your kindness.”

She kissed his cheek. “You do not need to earn my kindness. I know it has been tiring, with all of the work. But it is not my fault.”

“I know it is not. Of course, it is not. You give me nothing but strength. I adore you. I love you.” he murmured into her hair.

“I love you,” she replied softly, with a hint of amusement.

“Let me show you,” he mumbled, lifting her off the ground, “let me show you how much.”

She giggled.

“Anthony Bridgerton you are insatiable.”

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton x fem!reader #bridgerton fanfic

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loudstan · 2 months

Text

(67) Days of Whatever the Fuck that Was (Epilogue)

Summary: Chenle wasn't interested in committed relationships until he met the one. The problem is that now she is the one who doesn't want to commit to him.

Pairing: Werewolf! Chenle x Siren! Female reader

Warnings: Toxic behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamic, smut, angst, daddy Chenle supremacy, breeding kink, overstimulation...probably other stuff too, I don't remember.

AN: This is to give our toxic couple a happier ending. But you know me, I needed some angst. Things work out this time though, so I hope you guys enjoy it!

__________________________________________

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Chenle reprimanded you as soon as you both entered the penthouse. He took his shoes off and loosened his tie, glaring at you indignantly. “What were you even thinking?!”

“You told me to try to enjoy myself,” you replied nonchalantly, taking off your high heels and walking past him.

He grabbed your arm and you sighed. It meant he wasn’t done talking.

“Is that how you enjoy yourself? Getting wasted and flirting with my pack brother who, I cannot stress this enough, was the groom?!”

“I was sober,” you corrected him.

“Would it kill you to behave for once?” he groaned. “The entire pack was there–fuck, this is so humiliating–”

“Then stop trying to make me attend events and fit in your life, Chenle–”

“You are part of my life!” he exclaimed. “We’ve been mated for 3 months, Y/N. Get over it!”

“Because of a connection that you forced,” you spat angrily, pulling away from him and making your way to the bedroom.

“Oh, there you go again,” Chenle groaned, following you. “I tried to do things right with you, but you’re the one who started this fucked up dynamic we have!”

“Blame me all you want,” you said calmly, sitting in front of the dressing table and taking your earrings off. “It doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t choose to be stuck here with you.”

Chenle’s furious eyes met yours in the mirror. He then glared at the handmade seashell necklace that adorned your neck. “What happened to the necklace I gave you?”

You pointed at the closet vaguely and he opened it to find a paper bag full of little boxes with all the jewelry he kept giving you.

“I like this one better,” you said, taking the necklace off and placing it on the table gently. “It was a gift from my best friend, who I don’t get to travel with anymore because of you,” you commented passive-aggressively.

“It covers my mark,” Chenle complained.

“Perfect. That was the idea,” you said, turning around and staring at him challengingly.

Sex with Chenle always started with a fight. At least that’s the way things have been since you two became official. You kept provoking each other until one of you would snap and pull the other into a kiss, which led to rough, angry sex.

Today was no exception. The stunt you pulled at Doyoung’s wedding made him turn red with anger and jealousy. He didn’t want to ruin the event so he laughed it off in front of the others and gave your thigh a warning squeeze under the table. But once you were finally home he could release all that pent-up frustration by pounding into you relentlessly.

Now your hands were tied behind your back with his belt and your chest was pressed on the wooden surface of the same dressing table you were sitting at earlier. You both were still fully dressed; you with your tiny dress pulled up so the fabric rested wrinkled on your back and your panties had been moved to the side to allow the pleasurable intrusion. He was still wearing his half-unbuttoned shirt and his pants and underwear pooled on the floor around his legs. There had been no time to get undressed. When you both were this angry you needed each other fast and rough.

“That’s right, princess,” he grunted when he felt you tightening around him. “I’m the one who gets to take you home and fuck you this good.”

You wished you could scoff at his arrogance but he was fucking you good.

“Right t-there!” you moaned instead, trying to communicate that he was hitting the perfect spot to have you cumming in seconds, but he already knew that. He knew your body very well. You were incredibly compatible in bed.

…If only you were compatible in other ways too.

“O-oh…,” your voice shook with pleasure. “Don’t stop, don’t stop–”

“Bossy, aren’t we?” he teased, but he complied. And with a few more thrusts he had you coming with a loud moan.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked when you were coming down from your high, admiring the multiple hickeys and love bites he had left on your neck and shoulders.

You lifted your head with difficulty and locked eyes with him in the mirror. “I…,” you croaked weakly, “I belong to no one.”

Chenle pulled you by your hair making you hiss.

“What did you say?”

“I’m not fucking yours,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

A subtle smirk formed on Chenle’s lips. He pulled out of you, despite not having had his release yet, and forced you to sit back down on the chair.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, casually walking away.

“Aren’t you going to untie me?” you asked with a scoff, watching his movements in the mirror.

“Who said we were done?” he replied with another question, turning around to show you what he had gone to find in his nightstand drawer: a hitachi wand.

“Chenle,” you warned him, trying to give him an intimidating glare, but he either didn’t notice or he didn’t care, pulling a chair to sit right behind you, spreading his legs to fit you between them, and placing the vibrator dangerously close to your crotch.

You locked eyes in the mirror.

“Anything you wanna say?” he asked with fake innocence. “Do you finally want to admit that you’re mine? Or do you maybe want to apologize for being a brat at the wedding?”

You defiantly clenched your jaw.

He arched his eyebrow expectantly.

You didn’t say a word.

So he turned on the toy and pressed it against your clothed cunt harshly.

You gasped and quickly closed your thighs but you ended up trapping the vibrator between them and increasing the stimulation.

“Chenle!” you breathed out, squirming defenselessly with your arms still tied behind you while he held you against his chest with one of his arms around your waist. “You…Y-you asshole!”

“Who do you belong to?” he asked you again.

“No one!” you yelled.

“Wrong,” he countered, turning up the intensity.

You don’t know how many times he made you cum like that. He kept going until your body was glistening with sweat, and your brain had turned into mush. Your spent body was leaning pliantly on his chest while he teasingly grazed the wand against your clothed clit.

He moved his hand from your waist to your chin, to make you look at his reflection in the mirror.

“Who do you belong to?” he whispered looking into your dazed eyes, but your eyes rolled back as another orgasm hit you before you could respond.

Chenle chuckled. “You look so cute like this,” he murmured. “So docile. Now all you have to do is say you belong to me and you’ll be my perfect little princess.”

You let out a soft whimper, but that wasn’t the answer he wanted. It was cruel how he placed the wet toy on your abused pussy again and started moving it in circles. A silent scream escaped you, followed by pathetic sobs.

“My poor Y/N,” he whispered, kissing your tear-stained cheek. “Let me help you. All you have to do is say ‘I’m yours’. C’mon, princess, say it.”

“I-I’m y–...haa,” you babbled incoherently.

“Almost there, Y/N, you’re doing so well,” he praised you without stopping his hand from tormenting you with the vibrator. “Say ‘I’m yours.’”

“I’m y-yours…,” you choked out.

“Louder,” he groaned, nibbling on your neck.

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, trembling because of a new orgasm approaching.

“Louder!”

“I’m yours, daddy–,” you cried, with a breathy, high-pitched moan, squirting all over the toy and his hand.

Chenle’s eyes widened and he dropped the hitachi wand in shock. Did you just call him daddy?!

He released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding and he slowly untangled his arms from your body to make three discoveries:

He had come untouched. A generous amount of sticky white liquid decorated the back of your wrinkled dress.

You were about to pass out, so he quickly untied your wrists and picked you up to take you to the bed.

He had marked you. Again. As soon as he gently lay you down he saw a fresh wound on your neck, barely an inch away from the one he gave you months ago.

He quickly went to grab a wet towel to clean you up with one hand, while holding his phone with the other to call Jaemin.

“Hello?” Answered Jaemin’s sleepy voice.

“I bit my mate,” Chenle blurted out anxiously.

“…Yeah,” the older wolf’s voice replied after a moment of silence. “That’s what we do…”

“I mean—I bit her again. I gave her another mark,” Chenle explained.

“Congratulations,” Jaemin yawned.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Chenle asked nervously. Jaemin was a healer so he surely knew what to do in this case.

“Chenle, it’s fine. We only need to mark our mates once to bond them to us, but an extra bite or two is not unheard of.”

“…So it’s not dangerous?”

“It’s not,” Jaemin assured him. “Now, calm down and go to bed. It’s 3 AM.”

Chenle mumbled a ‘thank you’ and hung up the phone.

He continued cleaning your body carefully. Then he changed your clothes into something more comfortable; one of the silky PJs that he had bought you and you refused to wear. Finally, he removed your makeup and applied some ointment on your sore wrists while you slept peacefully.

Trying to not wake you up, he lay down on his side of the bed after taking a shower. He was about to fall asleep when he felt your body’s warmth closer to him and one of your arms hugged his waist.

“Y/N?” He whispered, but there was no reply. You were asleep.

Chenle sighed and turned to his side to face you, gently accommodating you in his arms and caressing your hair. It wasn’t the first time that you got close to him in your sleep.

He only wished you acted like this when you were awake too.

A couple of days later you received an unexpected visit.

You were coming out of the shower when you heard the bell ring followed by distant voices. You assumed they were Chenle’s friends who you weren’t interested in meeting so you continued getting dressed and drying your hair nonchalantly until Chenle entered the room.

“Can you come out when you’re ready?” He asked quietly.

“Why?” You asked back monotonously.

“Taeyong hyung and Doyoung hyung are here.”

Ah, yes. You remembered them; the one who’s about to be a dad and the one who just got married.

“So?”

“They said there’s something they need to discuss with both of us.”

You sighed. “Do they also want to tell me off because of what happened at the wedding? It was a harmless joke.”

“I don’t reckon they’re here to give you an award,” he deadpanned.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you shrugged, going back to applying lotion on your legs.

“Y/N,” he paused to take a deep breath in and exhale slowly, trying to avoid an argument in case his pack members heard. “Please,” he said through gritted teeth.

You sighed and muttered an annoyed ‘fine’, finishing your beauty routine while Chenle went to entertain the guests. You heard the sound of their animated talk and laughter, but it stopped abruptly when you came out of the room to join them.

Taeyong was the first to see you. His mouth opened in shock and his eyes widened. Right after, Doyoung looked your way and gasped. Finally, Chenle followed their eyes and understood what had caused such commotion: your tank top exposed all the recent marks Chenle had left on your body. From the purple and greenish bruises all over your neck and chest to your still reddened wrists.

He quickly stood up and dragged you back to the bedroom.

“What are you doing?!” He whisper-shouted.

“You told me to join you,” you reminded him.

“When you’re ready.”

“I am ready,” You replied confusedly.

“I mean—,” he sighed defeatedly. “Can you cover up, please?”

“Cover up?” You scoffed.

“Unless you want to show off my marks.”

“As if,” you deadpanned.

“Then put on a proper shirt before you join us,” he said, leaving the bedroom to go back to his guests.

There was an awkward silence in the living room.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Chenle finally said.

“Looks like you mauled her,” Taeyong commented.

“She could easily convince the police you kidnapped her with those wrists,” Doyoung added.

“It was just…sex stuff,” Chenle quickly assured.

“Even the extra bite?” Doyoung asked skeptically.

“Google says it happens sometimes,” Chenle defended himself with the knowledge he gathered from the internet. “Jaemin said so too.”

“If you’re feeling desperately possessive, yes,” Taeyong nodded slowly.

Before the younger could reply, you joined them again, this time wearing a t-shirt that covered you a little better. You sat down on the same sofa as your mate but in the opposite corner.

“Hey,” Taeyong greeted you with a polite smile. “I don’t know if you remember us. I’m Taeyong and this is Doyoung. We’re Chenle’s pack brothers.”

“How’s it going, Y/N?” Doyoung asked, smiling too.

You thought about it for a second. Should you tell him you hated your life here and while Chenle googled if it was okay to bite his mate more than once you googled how to get rid of the mating bond?

“All good,” you said instead.

“Is Chenle treating you well?” Taeyong asked this time.

“Of course I am,” Chenle scoffed.

“I’m asking her.”

You paused again. To be fair, he cared for you a lot. He was always making sure you ate and trying to remember the things you like to get them for you. The only problem was that your only form of communication was arguing or yelling at each other.

“Yeah, fine,” you shrugged.

Taeyong and Doyoung exchanged worried looks before Doyoung spoke up.

“Okay…don’t panic but this is an intervention.”

“A what?!” both you and Chenle shrieked.

“We know that the way your relationship started was…unusual,” Doyoung explained, choosing his words carefully. “But we were hoping you would be getting along by now.”

“And you’re not,” Taeyong declared. “It’s been months and you don’t seem to be able to stand each other.”

“Because we hate each other,” you agreed.

“No, we don’t,” Chenle contradicted you quickly. “We’re just going through a rough patch.”

“This entire relationship is a rough patch!” you rolled your eyes.

“Maybe if someone wasn’t so stubborn–”

“This is exactly what I mean,” Doyoung intervened. “Even if you imprinted on each other…maybe you two–...”

“Maybe you two shouldn’t be together,” Taeyong said with a sigh.

There was a dead silence in the room.

“That’s ridiculous,” Chenle murmured. “I imprinted on her.”

“I know,” Taeyong nodded with sad eyes. “But maybe you shouldn’t have.”

Chenle opened his mouth and closed it dumbly again. Taeyong, a hopeless romantic who firmly believed in imprinting and destiny, was telling him that you two were the exception. Your relationship was bad enough to make him question The Moon’s choice of mates.

“We’re already mated,” Chenle insisted.

“There are ways to undo it.”

“Do you want me to suffer to death?” Chenle finally snapped. “You know damn well a wolf can’t survive for long if they part with their mate.”

“There are wolves who have never met their mate and they live a good life,” Taeyong informed him.

“But we already met!”

“That can also be undone.”

You, who had been quiet the entire time, finally spoke up. “...What do you mean?”

“It’s…uncommon,” Doyoung spoke cautiously. “Memory-erasing spells are against the law…But there are cases in which a partial memory block is allowed if taken to court–”

“What are you talking about?” Chenle growled, glaring at Doyoung like he had just insulted him.

“If you two forget you ever met, the bond will break easily and you two can go separate ways,” Doyoung explained.

“No,” Chenle shook his head stubbornly. “We’ll fix our problems ourselves.”

Taeyong sighed before turning to you and calling your name softly. “Y/N, what do you think?”

You stared at him blankly. You had been actively looking for ways to break the bond but losing all memories of Chenle was so…permanent. You looked at Doyoung, and then at Chenle, who was watching you intently.

“And then what?” you finally asked. “My crew left a while ago and I don’t know anyone here. What becomes of me once I forget the reason I’m here?”

“You could contact someone you trust—a friend or family member, and we can wait until they get here to take care of you before proceeding,” Taeyong said. “If you want to proceed, that is.”

You nodded absentmindedly, under Chenle’s incredulous eyes.

“If this is something you both want to do, I’ll handle your case myself,” Doyoung assured you. “I know a few people that could speed this up a bit.”

“But,” Taeyong added, “you must understand that once it’s done there’s no way back.”

You nodded again. Chenle remained silent.

“Can I think about it?” you finally asked.

“Of course,” Taeyong said. “This is a very important decision, so please take as much time as you need.”

You thanked him. Chenle didn’t.

Even when they were finally gone, Chenle wouldn’t speak. It was only when you were lying in bed, your eyes closed as you tried to fall asleep that you heard his quiet voice from beside you.

“I can’t believe you’re considering it.”

You turned your head to the side and opened your eyes. He was staring at the ceiling.

“Is it really that surprising? All we do is fight,” you said.

When he didn’t reply for a whole minute you assumed the conversation was over and turned to lie on your side, staring at the wall.

“I don’t hate you,” you heard him murmur after a while.

“I don’t actually hate you either…,” you replied, not daring to look at him. “I just say stuff sometimes.”

“Sometimes I can be…mean, too.”

You smiled bitterly. “Quite the pair we are, huh?”

“Could be worse.”

“Have you seen worse?” you asked, turning around again to look at him. He was already staring you back.

“...No,” he admitted.

You snorted and he laughed softly too.

“We suck,” he said lightheartedly like the situation was so bad all he could do was laugh.

“But at least I’m quite good at sucking,” you teased him.

“Can you not give me a hard-on right now?” he groaned. “We were having a moment.”

“Not my fault you’re not as good at sucking as me,” you shrugged.

His eyes lit up and you could distinguish the hint of a smirk on his face despite the dim light in the room.

“Yeah?” he breathed out.

Sex with Chenle always started with a fight. This was probably the only exception. Both of you playfully pleasuring each other with no aggression driving your actions was just new. But you definitely didn’t hate having your mouth on his cock while he had you sitting on his face.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, determined to make him come first. He gasped and his hips chased your mouth, but when he heard you giggle he quickly focused back on his task of getting you off first. He licked long stripes up and down your pussy and you moaned around him. Now was his turn to chuckle.

“Having fun?” you breathed out, pulling him out of your mouth momentarily.

He hummed, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue playfully.

You let out a choked moan. Cheeky bastard.

But you weren’t going to lose. You quickly took him back in your mouth and deep-throated him as far as you could, trying to ignore the uncomfortable stretch. He moaned loudly, but soon retaliated, grabbing onto your ass cheeks and pulling you down forcefully towards his face.

Your eyes rolled back as you moaned, bobbing your head up and down. He was equally desperate, moving his head up and down, and then side to side to let his tongue stroke your cunt in all the right places. Soon you both lost control; you rode his face mindlessly, and he fucked into your mouth eagerly; both of you holding onto each other’s thighs and letting out lewd, wet, loud sounds until you saw white and were trembling with pleasure.

“F-fuck…,” he whispered when you both were lying side by side, trying to catch your breath.

“You didn’t have to go that hard,” you mumbled, still unable to stop your legs from twitching.

“You sucked the soul out of me,” he countered.

“I won by the way,” you said.

He quickly turned to look at you, frowning. “You did not. You came first.”

“Ha! You wish, pup. You came first.”

“You fucking liar!”

…Sometimes, sex with Chenle also ended with a fight. And then your relationship would go back to being as unpleasant as usual.

Until it got worse.

“I talked to Yeosang,” you casually said one day, interrupting the awkward meal you were sharing.

“Who?” he asked, uninterested.

“Yeosang,” you repeated. “One of my crew members. My best friend.”

Chenle hummed. “The one who worked with you at the bar?”

“Yeah. He’ll be here in about three weeks.”

“He’s visiting?”

“Sort of,” you murmured. “Taeyong said it would be better for someone I trust to be near when we…you know…”

Chenle’s entire body tensed. He stared at you in surprise before his expression turned cold.

“We’re not doing that,” he said curtly.

“Chenle–”

“I said no,” he declared going back to eating.

“I made up my mind,” you said.

“So did I.”

“I already told Taeyong.”

“Wha–” he choked on his own words, looking betrayed. “This is something that concerns both of us! You can’t– Damnit!”

“All we do is fight, hurt each other, and fuck, Chenle,” you sighed.

“So you decided to forget it all?! Forget you ever met me?”

You blinked your tears away. You didn’t want to forget Chenle, but you also couldn’t continue in a relationship like this.

Chenle mistook your silence for an answer and decided to end the conversation by standing up abruptly and leaving the apartment.

He came back at about 4 in the morning, trying not to make too much noise so he wouldn’t wake you up.

He mumbled a dry sorry when you sat up in bed to watch him enter the room.

“It’s fine,” you said tiredly. You hadn’t been able to sleep because you were worried something had happened to him. “Come to bed.”

He wasn’t in the mood to fight anymore, so he obeyed. He took a quick shower and put on something more comfortable before sliding into bed with you.

“I won’t stop you,” he croaked. His voice sounded like he had been crying.

“Hm?”

“I’ll sign the documents,” he explained. “Jisung told me not to do it…but I’m exhausted,” he sighed defeatedly. “Do whatever you think will make you happier.”

“We’ll both be happier,” you corrected him. “Thank you,” you added softly.

He didn’t reply so you closed your eyes, ready to finally fall asleep when he spoke up again.

“Jaemin’s gonna be a dad,” he blurted out.

“Jaemin? The healer?”

“Yeah…his mate’s pregnant. Well, she’s also Jeno’s mate, so maybe Jeno’s gonna be a dad. Not sure how that works. I think they’re both the dad…” he trailed off.

“They can’t both be the dad,” you said, frowning.

“Not biologically,” he shrugged, agreeing with you. “But they don’t seem to care about that.”

“Weird, but good for them, I guess,” you conceded.

“Taeyong hyung’s pup will be born soon too,” he rambled, and you swore you heard his voice crack. “I never cared much for kids, but–,” he paused.

You silently stared at him, noticing how he quickly wiped a tear away with his hand.

“I didn’t even know I wanted to be a dad…but when I met you I thought– I d-don’t know, I thought that maybe–” he broke down and sobbed, not being able to hide his sorrow anymore.

“Oh, Lele,” you called him the nickname that you rarely used, pulling him into a hug. He hugged you back tightly, crying into your chest loudly.

“W-why couldn’t we m-make it work?!” he lamented.

You kissed the top of his head, gently patting his back. “I’m sorry. You’ll have your own family one day, just–”

“Not with y-you?” he hiccuped.

“Yeah,” you whispered sadly and your voice cracked too. “...I’m so sorry.”

You both cried yourselves to sleep holding onto each other like you were afraid one of you would be gone in the morning. Because it was going to happen soon anyway.

There were no more fights after that night. But the reason may be that you weren’t talking to each other much anymore. Now that a decision had been made, you were both feeling…empty. Just waiting for the separation day to come.

It wasn’t until almost two weeks later that you fought again.

Chenle entered the room to see you restlessly looking for something. His eyes followed you as you opened each drawer again and again until he finally dared ask what the problem was.

“My necklace,” you replied quickly.

“Which one?”

“My favorite one!”

“The one with seashells? You wore it yesterday,” he reminded you.

“I know, but now I can’t find it,” you said, opening the nightstand drawer.

“You already looked there–”

“It has to be somewhere!” you said, irritated, trying to think of places you hadn’t searched yet when a dark thought crossed your mind. “Chenle. Did you throw it away?”

Chenle, who had opened his nightstand drawer to help you look for the lost item halted.

“...What?” he asked quietly.

“You said it covered your mark,” you accused him.

“You can’t be serious right now.”

“You hated how I always wore that one instead of the ones you gave me.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll throw your stuff away! What am I, a child?!” he asked, offended.

“Is this your way of getting revenge because I accepted Taeyong and Doyoung’s offer?” you insisted.

“Oh my god–I didn’t touch your ugly ass necklace!” he yelled exasperatedly.

“THEN WHERE IS IT?!”

“I DON’T KNOW! It’s not my fault you don’t take care of your stuff!”

You took a deep breath in. “Chenle,” you spoke more calmly. “If you have it, just please give it back. I won’t be mad–”

“I said I don’t have it!” he exclaimed. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

“What else am I supposed to think of the person who forced me into a relationship with him?” you spat pettily.

His eyes widened but he looked down before you could catch the sadness in them. In silence, he dragged his feet to get out of the room, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone.

You huffed angrily and continued looking for your precious necklace until exhaustion took over you and it became obvious that it wasn’t in the room. The warm water of the shower helped calm you down, and as your thoughts became more coherent you regretted the way you had talked to Chenle. He may be an ass sometimes, but you knew it was unlikely that he would purposely do something that hurt you. So you decided to apologize to him as soon as he came back.

But he didn’t.

You lost count of how many times you practiced the apology in your head, but your mate didn’t show up for you to say them out loud.

It was way past midnight and it was raining heavily outside. You started to worry, so you called him, but the faint vibration coming from the living room guided you to his forgotten phone on the sofa.

Now you were straight out panicking. He was out there in this weather, probably not thinking clearly after your fight, and with no way to contact him.

After a minute of hesitation, you grabbed a random hoodie and went to find him, but as soon as you opened the door you bumped face-to-face into him. His drenched clothes were sticking to his body and droplets of water slid down his face and neck. You noticed he was shivering slightly, but he took off his shoes and walked past you and into the bedroom without sparing you a glance before you could ask anything.

You only reacted when you heard the sound of the shower running. You walked into the bedroom too, nervously trying to remember the so-practiced apology to recite when he came out.

“Chenle I’m so–”

“The park,” he interrupted you curtly, again walking past you and sitting on the bed.

“What?” you mumbled, confused.

He pointed at your nightstand. “It was at the park.”

You looked at where he was pointed and saw your cherished necklace, completely wet but in perfect condition.

“Y-you…went to find my necklace?” you stuttered incredulously.

He ignored your question, getting into bed and lying on his side, turning his back to you.

“In this weather?” you continued your interrogation, still getting no answer from him. “Chenle, that park is huge!”

Still no reply.

You sighed, understanding that he was surely very hurt and needed some space. “Thanks…And sorry,” you whispered, getting into bed and accepting the silent treatment as a very deserved punishment as you tried to fall asleep.

But a couple of hours later you were woken up by a constant rowdy noise coming from Chenle’s side of the bed. As you slowly opened your eyes and got used to the darkness, you noticed that he was shivering.

“Chenle?” you whispered, reaching for his shoulder and shaking him softly. “Chenle what’s wrong?”

He didn’t reply, nor did he stop trembling, so you sat up and turned the light on, taking a closer look at him. His face was flushed and covered in sweat, his body was also sweaty and trembling and you finally registered that the constant noise was his teeth chattering.

You muttered a curse under your breath and hurried to get a wet cloth, placing it on his forehead and pulling the covers off his body. He whined, annoyed at the sudden coldness hitting him but he remained pliant, letting you take care of him. Thankfully you had some leftover medicine from a nasty cold you had gotten during your first month together. Chenle had nagged at you back then but he made sure to nurse you back into health, and now it was your turn.

When the medicine kicked in and his temperature started going down, you were able to make him sit up so you could get him out of his wet pajamas and put on a pair of clean, dry boxers. He groaned and half-complained the entire time but he let you do as you wanted.

He was kinda cute, with that faint blush on his cheeks and his lips forming a pout, while he mumbled incoherent words.

Not everything was incoherent though.

“I don’t want to forget…,” he whispered as you changed the wet cloth on his forehead.

Your movements halted for a second before you continued nursing him until he drifted back into sleep.

“I don’t want to forget you either,” you admitted. “I’ve questioned my decision many times in the last couple of weeks. I know we fight a lot but it’s not all bad…That night when you said you would sign the papers it felt like we were finally trying to understand each other and it got me thinking that if we opened up more often, maybe we could make it work…but then I ruined it again by accusing you of something you would never do. I’m so fucking sorry, Lele. I love you, I really do, but–” you paused when you noticed a faint smile forming on his lips.

“You’re not asleep,” you deadpanned.

He chuckled and opened one eye to look at you. “Go on, keep talking.”

“Looks like you’re feeling better,” you rolled your eyes, about to stand up but his warm hand grasped your wrist.

“It’s the first time you've said it,” he said with a weak voice, but somehow sounding relieved. “That you love me.”

You blushed and looked away. “Yeah, well. Hard to find a good time to say it when we’re always yelling at each other.”

“I love you too,” he said, as his thumb caressed your wrist. “I love you so, so much.”

“That doesn’t mean you should spend hours in the rain looking for something I lost,” you reprimanded him, with a sigh. “You hate that necklace anyway.”

“But you like it,” he said like it was so simple.

“Idiot,” you tried to sound like you were mad, but you didn’t look very intimidating with the tears that inevitably escaped your eyes. “You got sick because of me.”

“But now I got a sexy nurse taking care of me so I think I’m the real winner,” he joked, making you snort.

He sat up slowly, ignoring the cloth that fell off his forehead and his hands cupped your cheeks. “Sorry for worrying you,” he whispered.

“Sorry for blaming you,” you sniffled.

“Sorry for yelling at you.”

“Sorry for…the wedding thing. And all the other things I’ve done to embarrass you…”

“Sorry for forcing you to stay,” he finally said, looking into your eyes sincerely and with sorrow.

“Sorry for using you,” you sobbed, addressing your behavior before you became official.

His lower lip trembled and he pulled you into a hug. “Don’t forget me,” he begged. “Give us one more chance…”

You nodded, clinging to him and wetting his neck with your tears. “We can try.”

He slowly pulled away, holding you by your shoulders to look at your face. “Wait, really?” he asked hopefully.

You nodded again.

Chenle was about to speak again when he noticed something he hadn’t seen before. His eyes went from your face to your body. “Is that my hoodie?” he asked.

Oh.

You had hastily put on whatever hoodie you found on top of your pajamas when you had tried to go out to find him, and then you had absentmindedly gone to bed without taking it off.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, blushing and trying to take it off.

“NO!”, he quickly said, grabbing your hands to stop you. “No, god–...keep it on…,” he murmured, wondering if he was dreaming. You had said you loved him, agreed to give the relationship another chance and you were wearing his clothes? This had to be the… “Best day of my fucking life.”

You blushed even more and tried to stutter an answer, but his lips were suddenly on yours, and, fuck it, nothing else mattered. His lips were hot and wet as he pressed them on yours for a slow but heated kiss that became nasty too fast. You were both so lost in the feeling that you didn’t have it in you to even feel embarrassed at the string of saliva that connected your mouth to his when he pulled away, looking dazed.

In the blink of an eye, he was kissing your neck wantonly. That’s when you remembered that he was sick.

“Lele, we can’t,” you tried to be firm but it came out as a moan. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” he assured you, weakly trying to pull your body closer but whining when his strength failed him.

“Lele,” you insisted. “When you feel better, okay?”

He groaned. “This will make me feel better. Please, you can’t wear my hoodie and not expect me to get super hard.”

You looked down and gulped. He was indeed hard and leaking through the thin material of his boxers.

He once again tried to bring you closer but he was weak and agitated, but he felt like he could cry because of how badly he needed you. “Please,” he repeated.

You pushed him back so he was lying on his back again and he whined pathetically at what he thought was a rejection, but that whine turned into a shaky moan when you straddled him and sat on his crotch. A shiver ran down his spine and his cock twitched under you. He looked at you with wide expectant eyes, which rolled back in bliss when you rocked back and forth slowly.

“F-fuuuuck,” he sobbed, placing his hands on your thighs. “I love you, I love you–Oh!”

You bit back a whimper. You had never seen Chenle this needy and it was doing things to you.

“I love you too,” you replied and he moaned. Like it was the nastiest dirty talk he had ever heard.

“Wanna…b-be inside you…,” he whispered, looking desperate. “Please.”

You kissed him on the lips sweetly before getting off him to take off his boxers and your clothes. He let out a distressed sound when you tried to take off the hoodie once again and you understood that he wanted to fuck you while you wore his clothes.

You slowly lowered your body and felt him entering you, stretching you delightfully. He trembled and groaned, lying down pliantly, and letting you be in charge. The fever was making his body incredibly responsive to your every touch, everything felt too hot, and the fact that he also felt incredibly happy was making his cock jerk excitedly.

“Stop,” he suddenly gasped and you froze, thinking that this had been a bad idea after all, but he quickly explained what the problem was. “I’m so close I–...I d-don’t know why I’m so sensitive, but I…,” he gulped. “If you d-don’t stop I’ll…uh…inside–”

You bounced on his cock unexpectedly, making him release a broken moan.

“Then do it,” you said. “Cum inside.”

His mouth dropped open and his stomach spasmed. He quite literally forced himself not to come at your words.

He had only come inside of you months ago when he mated and marked you. You had gone to get the morning-after pill right after and you had had quite a big argument about how it would be a terrible idea to have a child in your toxic relationship. His wolf instinct wasn’t happy about it, but he had agreed not to cum inside of you again and he had kept his promise, always pulling out before you two made the mistake of making an innocent baby miserable.

“Y/N,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “Are you sure?”

You resumed your pace, fucking yourself on his cock slow but sensually, and making him tremble with pleasure.

“I’m sure,” you purred.

“Y-you…Mmh–ah…,” he moaned weakly, watching you fuck yourself on his cock with lidded eyes. “Could get p-pregnant–”

“Fill me up, daddy, please,” you moaned.

Chenle saw white. His eyes rolled back and his mouth hung open in a silent scream as he shot a gush of his seed into you…and then another, as the endless pleasure made him shake from head to toe and sob.

If he was sensitive before, now he was in heaven. The implications of your words were very clear: you were staying with him.

He breathed agitatedly as he tried to come down from his high, which seemed to never end. Weirdly so, he felt like the room was getting hotter and hotter, and he was still very hard.

Oh. Oh right. It was that time already.

“Y/N,” he called your name, with his voice still trembling.

“Yeah?” you asked, caressing his chest and looking at him lovingly, satisfied despite not reaching your orgasm.

“Y/N, my rut,” he breathed out.

“Your–,” you gasped when you finally noticed that he was still hard–maybe even harder– inside of you. “Now?!”

You don’t know how he suddenly gained all his strength back, but you didn’t have time to question it when he suddenly had you on your back with him hovering over you.

“Now,” he confirmed, giving you a hard thrust that made you both moan.

He built up a steady pace immediately. He had your permission to breed you so he was going to do just that. As many times as possible.

The sight of you on your back, wearing his clothes and opening your legs so willingly for him to fill you up, looking at him with so much love was driving him crazy. It felt so different this time. It would be different.

“I love you,” he moaned urgently.

“I…uh, lo-ah, ah!” you tried to say between his sharp thrusts. “Love…y-you–ah, ah–Ah!”

“My p-pretty princess,” he murmured, mesmerized. He squeezed your clothed breasts, your waist, your soft thighs. “Want daddy to breed you?”

“Y-yeah,” you moaned, pulling the hoodie up a little, only enough to show him how deep he was hitting. “Daddy, here–”

A choked moan left his lips when he saw the outline of his cock appear and disappear in your belly.

“Of course, princess. Daddy will fill you up right…” he murmured, pulling out until only the tip was inside and grabbing onto your hips before he rammed into you harder than ever before. “...here.”

You tossed and turned aimlessly under him when he started pounding mercilessly. He fucked you desperately but somehow you felt so adored under his loving eyes.

Feeling your climax approach, you used one of your hands to reach for your clit, but he was faster than you.

“No, no, no, princess,” he cooed gently pushing your hand away to do it himself. “That’s daddy’s toy, okay?”

You nodded dumbly and whined when he stroked you fast from the get-go. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you ended up groping your chest clumsily, adding to the already unbearable pleasure.

“Mmm,” he hummed in delight feeling a stronger release about to hit as he watched you being so fucked out because of him. “You love this,” he declared, amusedly. “You love me…”

You suddenly tensed and your back arched, hit by a mind-blowing orgasm that had you squirming helplessly. “Oooh….oh, fuck fuck fuck—daddy…daddy, I love y-you—”

He groaned at the way you tightened around his already sensitive cock. His movements became even more relentless as he fucked you further into madness. “Daddy loves you t-too, princess…,” he spoke hurriedly. “Loves you s-so much–gonna….gonna pump you full–Haa…so full o-of pups,” he continued reciting delirious promises as his knot started forming, catching inside of you. “Shit– Y/N…y-you’re my mate, y-yeah? You’re staying…Mmmh oh, oh yeeess… you’re staying with me, right?”

“I’m–,” you gulped, dazed, still pleasure drunk. “I’m stay…staying w-with you…”

Chenle’s chest filled with pride and adoration. He was going to be the best mate for you. You would be so happy together.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck and he bit you, again, before he could stop himself. But this mark was different. It felt real.

Because you loved him back.

You whined at the pleasurable pain of his fangs piercing your skin, and his cock pumping you full of his cum at the same time. His body spasmed for each gush of cum that jerked out of him, but even the overwhelming pleasure didn’t stop him from whispering the sweetest promises.

Sex with Chenle usually started with a fight. But sometimes it could start–and end–with a love confession.

#nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct smut #chenle #chenle nct #chenle scenarios #chenle smut #chenle x reader

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tainsan · 1 year

Text

misfits IV (college!ateez x reader)

pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

warnings: cursing, negligence, mentions of suicide, a fight between yeosang and yunho

word count: 8.5k

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--- THIS IS AN 18+ STORY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ---

“You’re also adding the overall total to the mean, it doesn’t need to be there.” You explain to Jeongin, who immediately face plants into his palm.

“Are you serious?” He groans, understanding his amateur mistake. You recognise the frustration, relating to the problems, having them yourself in the past due to being very stressed and sleep deprived.

“Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us.”

Jeongin and you are sat side by side in the quiet solitude of the library, Jeongin finds himself engrossed in the assignment, his brow furrowed as he surveys over his mistake. The air is filled with a hushed diligence, the only sounds being the soft rustling of papers and the occasional scratch of pen against paper. The library offers a sanctuary for their focused work, providing a space free from distractions where they can dive deep into the realm of knowledge and learning. You are not too far from the spot where you tutored San and Jongho last week. Yet you decided to stay away from the particular spot, so you don’t get too distracted by the strong memories and thoughts of the two men.

“I feel like I could’ve sorted that out by myself, I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Jeongin looks extremely apologetic, and you can’t help but feel bad for him.

“It’s really okay, my morning was free anyways, and I’m always glad to help a friend.” You smile at him, his remorseful gaze melting away and being replaced by his signature eye smile.

“You better get going though, you’ve got an important date to attend to.” You wink at him, wiggling your eyebrows jokingly. Jeongin rolls his eyes before grabbing his things and bidding you a sweet goodbye. You reflect on Jeongin’s happiness, a wave of warmth and affection washes over your heart. Thoughts of your friend finding someone he truly likes, brings a genuine smile to your face. Silently hoping that this newfound relationship will last, the look on his features pure.

As the time passes by, you realise it’s time to find Jisung and attempt to explain your situation in a way that won’t freak him out too much. Grabbing your phone, you send him a text that you’re in the library, you await his presence by editing the finishing an assignment that needs to be uploaded by tomorrow.

“Girl, I haven’t heard from you in days where the fuck have you been?” Jisung’s voice speaks from behind you loudly, causing fellow library attendants to send him pointed glares. Jisung sends the look back, telling them to mind their business before bringing you into a warm hug. The two of you sit down next to each other, your assignment pushed to the side. Turning to your best friend, you give him the apologetic look you can muster.

“It’s been really crazy, I’m so sorry.” You reply, regretful for denying the events from the past few days from your best friend, knowing it would’ve been much more manageable with Jisung by your side.

“Right? Minho told me that Kim fucking Hongjoong came into your lecture and demanded you to see him?”

You grimace, remembering that day and how likely it was that the whole school is talking about you right now, “yeah that did happen?”

“Did he threaten you? Stab you? Poison you? You know he’s the leader of the group, right?”

“Yeah, a good leader too.”

“Is that seriously the only thing you got from that sentence?”

“Jisung I’m fine, he actually offered me a place to live…” your words are careful, trying to be quiet, knowing someone is probably listening to your conversation after hearing the words ‘Hongjoong’. Maybe even listening in since they saw you, knowing the attention you are receiving now is much more than usual.

“Okay what.” Jisung looks at you in disbelief, he eyes scanning yours to look for any sign of a joke, “she’s gone insane holy shit.”

“Jisung I’m not insane shut up. His mother is a real estate agent, and they pulled some strings.”

“Okay you’re telling me that the Ateez magically pulled strings for you.”

“I know it’s hard to believe but they really aren’t as bad as you think, only one of them is… questionable.”

Jisung gaze towards you softens, “I want to believe you, but I’ve seen it first-hand how rude they can be to people,”

“Maybe they are trying to change? Come on Ji, it’s me, you know damn well I’m a good judge of character.”

There is a long pause between the conversation, Jisung letting in the information you have provided him with. Jisung knows you are very good at reading people, due to past events you’ve had many situations where you don’t like a friend of his, even if they are the kindest person in the world to him. They always end up the way that you see them and warn Jisung of. At this point Jisung judges your gut feeling more than his own.

“I trust you. If you say they are nice then I will believe it. Just be careful around them, okay?”

You nod at Jisung, happy he understands. As you sit in quiet reflection, an intense sense of gratitude washes over you, directed towards your cherished best friend. With each passing thought, you are reminded of the countless moments you have shared, and the unwavering support Jisung has always offered you. He has been a pillar of strength and a constant source of comfort in your life, and you are overwhelmed with an immense feeling of thankfulness for the presence of Jisung in your life.

“So, what place did you get?” Jisung asks, curious as to where you ended up staying. You realise you never actually told him the full story. Preparing yourself for the worst, you try to find the right words to use.

“Do you promise to not freak out?” You question, your words again quiet, fearful of someone listening in to the conversation. Jisung raises an eyebrow in your direction, very intrigued as to why you would have to caution him not to freak out.

“After finding out Ateez are actually sweethearts, nothing can freak me out.”

“I’m living with them.” You deadpan, not finding any easy way to put it. Watching as Jisung’s eyes open hugely, his mouth takes in a large breath before opening. Before he can even get any words out, you cover his mouth with your hand, stopping his scream from echoing across, likely, the entire library.

“Please don’t freak out!” You exclaim, attempting to silence him as quickly as possible, hoping not to get kicked out of the library. Slowly removing your hand from his mouth, his shocked expression stays present on his face. If this were a scene from a movie, it would definitely make the two of you laugh.

“I’m not freaking out, you’re freaking out.” His voice is high pitched and out of breath, his ears not believing the absurd words exiting your mouth.

“Look I know, it’s insane, but it was my only option.”

Jisung slightly relaxes, yet his entire body is noticeably still tense and on edge.

“I’m saying this because I love you, but are you fucking stupid?” Rolling your eyes at him, you start to speak yet you get cut off, “you can’t live with eight guys.”

“That’s how it would’ve been if I moved in with you.” You retort.

“Yes, but Minho and I would be there to keep you safe if they tried anything. I don’t know your roommates; how do I trust them not to hurt you?”

“Jisung, I really appreciate that you care, but I trust them. They are too respectful to do anything. Plus, you know if they ever hurt me, I’d WWE the shit out of them.”

Jisung’s laugh is boisterous and echoes in the library, when he gets shushed by the people around him, he quickly puts his finger to his lips and shushes them back, again. Looking back at you, his eyes scan your face for any signs of discomfort. When he sees none, his body relaxes a little.

“You’d call me if anything happened, right?” Jisung questions, he moves his hand to rest on yours on top of the large oak table.

“Of course, Ji. It’s not like anyone else is on my emergency contact list.” You say joking through the bitterness evident on your voice.

“Speaking of, have you heard anything from your dad?” Jisung’s voice is soft, knowing how sensitive the subject can be for you.

“Not really, and I don’t particularly care. I did see on Facebook that he has found a new family to terrorise.”

Jisung’s eye roll is almost audible, he lets out an exasperated groan, “this guy never fails to surprise me with his bullshit.”

“You’d think he’d had enough after destroying one family.”

“Let’s not talk about it, he doesn’t deserve the attention.” A comfortable silence begins, and you feel yourself relax, Jisung continues talking when he realises, he didn’t ask a crucial question. “You do have your own room, right?”

“Yes of course. It’s a super nice room, and the bed is so big and comfortable. Plus, I have my own bathroom, so I don’t need to worry about walking in on them naked.” You reply, thinking about the amazing rest you had the previous night.

“That wouldn’t be too bad.” Jisung confesses, leaning back in his chair.

“What the fuck are you saying?” You hit Jisung’s arm, baffled by the nonsense coming out of his mouth, “weren’t you the one who was literally bashing on them earlier?”

“What? Just because I don’t especially like them, doesn’t mean they aren’t undeniably handsome and sexy as fuck.”

“Jisung shut up, you literally have a boyfriend.”

“I also have two perfectly functioning eyes, and if they are so respectful and kind maybe you should bag one,” Jisung looks over at you, a devious glint in his eyes, “or all.”

“Not a chance, Yunho fucking hates me for some reason.”

Jisung looks at you with a gobsmacked expression, “Yunho? Hate you? How can this guy hate you? You’re the sweetest person in the whole world.”

“I don’t know to be honest, Seonghwa said it was because he’s bad with new people, but I feel like there’s something more to the story.”

“Hang on we will unpack that another time. The Park Seonghwa?” Jisung questions, his eyes even wider than before. You start to wonder how wide his eyes can even go at this point.

“Yes?”

“He’s so fine holy shit. If you don’t bag him, I will.” Jisung relaxes back into his chair again.

“Again, you have a boyfriend.”

“Multiple boyfriends are a thing.” The short male jokes, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m joking. I love Minho to bits, you know that.”

Laughing at Jisung whilst rolling your eyes, he gently pushes your arm, clearly wanting more details.

“So, you’re telling me you have zero feelings for any of them?” Jisung inquires, leaning closer to you, resting his chin on his hand, a questioning look on his features.

“Why are you so interested in my love life Han?”

“I’m your best friend, your love life is very interesting to me.”

Just as you're about to respond, a vibrant flash of pink captures your attention from behind Jisung, causing you to momentarily lose focus. As the source of the pink draws nearer, you realize it's Mingi approaching your table. His piercing gaze sends a chill down your spine, and you can't help but notice the awe-struck gazes of onlookers as he effortlessly navigates past numerous tables. There's an undeniable air of confidence in his stride, similar to that of a model confidently strutting down a runway, leaving you in awe of his presence.

Caught off guard by your sudden distraction, Jisung turns around, following your gaze to the approaching figure. Sensing his confusion, you instinctively reach out, placing a comforting hand on your best friend's shoulder, offering him reassurance amidst the unexpected arrival of Mingi.

“Don’t worry, he’s one of the nicer ones.” You whisper in his ear, Jisung’s tense shoulders relaxing slightly.

“So, you weren’t lying about moving in, were you?” Jisung whispers back, his eyes not leaving Mingi’s tall structure.

The tall male reaches the table you are at, you are glad that his back is faced towards all the people staring, otherwise they would see the smile that spreads across his features.

“Hey,” Mingi smiles at you, not even paying attention to the smaller man sat closer to him.

Jisung stares at Mingi, shocked to even see a smile on Mingi’s face. Eventually, Mingi looks towards Jisung, and his smile fades slightly, but doesn’t disappear. Gently nodding his head in Jisung’s direction, as if he says hello, he turns his head back to you.

At this small gesture, you are somewhat happy that they are not treating your best friend the cold way you have heard so much about. It is huge for Mingi to be nice to you, so the fact he is also being pleasant to your friend makes you feel extremely touched by the small act.

“You have anatomy soon, right?” Mingi’s deep voice questions you. You and Jisung are both surprised that the man knows what you have next.

“Yeah, I do, how did you know?”

“I’m walking in the same direction; do you want to go together?" Mingi ignores your question leaving you confused, yet you decide to pay no attention to it.

“Well, I was actually going to walk with Jisung.” You say, slightly upset for denying the pink haired man, seeing that he came all the way to find you so you could walk together.

Jisung’s eyes light up like lightbulbs as a thought enters his head, “no, she wasn’t. I was walking by myself. Goodbye you two. It was nice to meet you Mingi.” Jisung has a huge grin on his face as he grabs his bag off the floor and rushes to leave the library.

Confused out of your mind, you look towards Jisung as he leaves, with your arms signing ‘what?’. The only thing your best friend does is point towards Mingi, who still has his eyes on you, he then mouths the words ‘bag him’ before laughing and almost sprinting out of the large room. Wasn’t he the one who said he didn’t want you to be around them? ‘This guy doesn’t have enough time to be playing match maker,’ you think in your head and let out a groan.

“Is it that bad to walk with me to class?” Mingi questions, his expression sorrowful, worried from the groan that just left your lips.

Immediately, you feel bad and reassure the man in front of you, “no Mingi of course not. I was just weirded out by his actions; I’d love to walk with you.”

Instantly, the frown on his face is replaced by a relieved smile. Feeling happy you’re comfortable to walk with him, Mingi helps you pack your things into your bag and the two of you head out of the library, trying to ignore all the stares you get from the people around you. If this is what it’s like to be friends with Ateez, you might as well get used to it, even if you hate being in the spotlight.

As Mingi bids you farewell and heads off to his next class, a wave of realization washes over you. Despite living with the Ateez members, there is still so much you don't know about them. Determined to resolve this, you make a mental note to engage with them individually, realizing that one-on-one conversations might be more manageable and less overwhelming than having them all in one room together. Living under the same roof provides ample opportunities for deeper connections to form.

As the professor enters the classroom, the chatter subsides, and a hush of anticipation settles over the students. You take a seat in the back, preparing for the extended lesson that lies ahead. Thoughts of the impending dinner with the Ateez members fill your mind, stir up mixed feelings within you. It has been quite some time since you've had dinner with a larger group of people, reminiscing about the warmth and amity that accompanied those moments back in high school. The sight of them gathering around the table, like a chosen family, tugs at your heartstrings. However, the prospect of encountering Yunho once again fills you with concern. The words Seonghwa spoke about Hongjoong's "good way of disciplining" linger in your thoughts, leaving you with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. You contemplate the dynamics at the dinner table, resolving to find a seat away from Yunho to avoid any confrontations or discomfort.

Realizing that you've allowed your mind to wander, you refocus your attention on the lecture, determined not to miss any crucial information. The upcoming dinner remains at the back of your mind, a blend of excitement and apprehension. You reassure yourself that tonight will be an opportunity to observe and evaluate the dynamics of the group, to see how everyone interacts and finding your place. Deep down, you know that time and shared experiences will reveal more about each member's true nature, allowing you to navigate this new chapter with openness and resilience.

With renewed focus, you immerse yourself in the lecture, ready to absorb the knowledge before you and face the dinner with a mixture of curiosity and cautious optimism.

---

Frustration consumes you as you struggle to insert your key into the stubborn lock, the front door refusing to yield to your attempts. With an exasperated sigh, you lean forward, allowing the weight of your frustration to manifest as a slight bang against the door, as your head comes in contact with the white door. The lecture had ended at four, and you had planned a quick shopping trip with Jisung to grab the forgotten essentials like toothpaste and shampoo. However, fate had a different plan in mind as you unexpectedly ran into Felix near the school. Before you knew it, the three of you found yourselves lured into a charming café that Felix had discovered through the enticing realm of TikTok. Sensing the minutes slipping away, you bid your hasty goodbyes when the clock neared seven, anxious not to be tardy for your inaugural dinner together.

Fortunately, someone had left a key for you on the kitchen counter this morning, yet you are starting to think it’s not the key to the house. Maybe it was Yunho playing a trick on you, so you can’t get into the house, and you will leave him alone. Luckily for you, you happen to be pretty stubborn, and you are not going to give in to whatever this ruse is.

Pulling out your phone, you go to your contacts and push in San’s number. You think you should probably get the rest of the boys’ numbers so if you’re stuck outside at least you have more of a chance of getting inside.

The phone rings about three times before the phone picks up, and you’re surprised at how fast San picks up.

“___, hey. What’s up?” San speaks over the phone, his voice is soft, yet for some reason you can hear he has a smile on his face, perhaps he had a good day. Hearing the smile on San’s face brings a smile to your own and you frustration pointed towards the door melts away. You can hear him shuffling around in the background.

“Hey San, are you home at the moment?” You ask, putting you key back into your pocket.

“Yeah, I am. Why?” The curiosity laced in San’s words is unmissable.

“My key isn’t working for some reason, could you please open the door for me?”

“Ohhhh,” San speaks out, realising the problem, “try pulling the door towards you slightly when you turn the key.”

Reaching into your bag once again, you pull out the key and place it back in the lock. This time, gently pulling the door towards you and just like magic the lock turns fully, opening the door.

“Ah thank you San!” You exclaim as you walk inside the house and start to take off your shoes.

“No worries” a voice speaks out from in front of you. Whipping your head up, you see San leaning against the railing of the staircase with a small smile on his face. Why does he look so handsome suddenly?

“How long have you been there?” You ask, wondering if he was just passing by.

“Since the first time you tried to unlock the door.”

The disbelief washes over you as you observe the guy standing there, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he could have easily opened the door for you.

A wave of guilt surges through you, realizing that you had unfairly blamed Yunho for something that wasn't his fault. It dawns on you that perhaps it's premature to judge him as a horrible person without giving him a chance. The thought lingers in your mind, igniting a flicker of curiosity you decide maybe you should try to get to know him better before passing any final judgments.

“Why didn’t you open the door then?” You groan as you walk past him, into the kitchen where you see Jongho sat at the island, watching a video on his phone. San follows you behind, and watches as you place your bag on the island, catching Jongho’s attention.

“___,” Jongho says with a smile. You return his smile as you take a seat at the island not too far from Jongho.

“If I had opened the door for you then you would never learn how to properly open it.” San explains, his smile is still on his features, yet you can see just a hint of teasing behind it.

You feel your annoyance fade away as you realise, he has a point, still being stubborn though, you blow a raspberry at him, faking annoyance, causing a laugh to erupt from his throat.

Approaching you with a playful demeanour, San affectionately places a hand on top of your head, his touch causing a gentle ruffle of your hair. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he leans down, bringing his eyes to meet yours, and in that intimate proximity, your faces mere inches apart, he confesses, "You're cute."

The sudden admission sends a surge of warmth rushing up your neck, setting your cheeks ablaze. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you instinctively break eye contact, leaning back as if to create some distance between you and the rush of emotions that swirl within you. San, now standing tall again, leans against the counter behind you, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the fluttering of your heart.

In an attempt to collect yourself, you shift your gaze towards Jongho, who observes the exchange between you and San with a knowing smile. Catching the small glare Jongho directs towards San before turning his attention to you, his smile resumes, radiating a sense of reassurance and understanding.

“How was your day?” Jongho asks, turning off his phone and placing it face down on the counter.

“It was good, I helped a friend with his project and then had an extended lecture which I am absolutely exhausted from. I also went to a really nice café with Jisung and Felix” You reply, sinking into the chair.

“Who is Felix?” San asks, curious at the unfamiliar name. His voice is a little sharp and you can’t help but wonder why.

“He’s one of Jisung’s friends, we don’t hang out that often, but it was nice to see him today.”

“Are you two close friends?” Jongho is the one who questions this time.

“Not that close, he’s more of an acquaintance to me.” I explain to the two.

They both lets out “ah’s” as they let the information process in their heads.

“You didn’t go to Wooyoung’s café?” San questions, sitting next to you, “he was working today.” San adds.

Feeling bad all of a sudden, you remember the café Wooyoung works at.

“Next time I’ll go there for sure,” you say, hoping they aren’t mad about you not going to their friend’s café.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.” Jongho reassures you the second he sees the slightest amount of guilt on your face. Smiling at Jongho, you silently thank him for reassuring your worries.

Then, you suddenly remember the unfinished assignment essay you have yet to submit to the online drop box. Checking the time on your phone, you are relieved to see that you likely have enough time to finish it before dinner.

“Excuse me, I need to finish this essay, I will see you two later.” You explain as you grab your belongings off the island, turning to walk to your room, you take one more look at the men in the kitchen. They are both watching you as you leave, but they have smiles on their faces.

“Good luck,” Jongho says before you close the door to your room.

The next forty minutes are spent in your room, putting the final touches on your assignment, a sense of accomplishment fills the air around you. With a satisfied smile, you close your laptop, knowing that you have poured your efforts and creativity into completing the task at hand. Glancing around, you realise that dinner is still in the process of being prepared, and a surge of anticipation awakens your taste buds. The tempting aromas wafting from the kitchen ignite a hunger within you, making you eagerly await the culinary delights soon to be served. In this brief moment of transition, you revel in the satisfaction of a job well done, ready to savour the flavours that await you at the dinner table.

When Seonghwa knocks on your door to let you know that dinner is almost ready, you send a smile in his direction before getting back to your screen, only having to upload the document. As dinner gets closer, you hear more noises around the house of people entering the abode, your excitement intensifying as you hear Wooyoung’s high pitched laugh from the kitchen making you chuckle under your breath.

Just as you send in your assignment, you hear a soft knock on your door before you hear Mingi’s deep voice speak explaining dinner is ready.

You take a minute to put your laptop into your bag again and clear up your desk quickly before heading out the door and towards the living room. You pass Yunho in the kitchen who is stirring something in a pot. Walking around him quietly, strategically avoiding his gaze, you make it past the kitchen without him seeing you.

As you enter the room, you notice the group gathered around the expansive table, everyone is present except for the notably tall male figure. Finding an empty seat beside Mingi and Seonghwa, you greet everyone with a respectful hello, initiating a brief conversation with Mingi to ask about his day. The conversation flows effortlessly, yet it is cut short as your attention is swiftly diverted by the entrance of Yunho.

He is carrying plates of food. A smile tugs at your lips as the pleasant aroma wafts towards you, instantly recognizing one it as of your favourite meals. Your mouth begins to water in anticipation as you watch Yunho meticulously place the plates in front of each person around the table. However, as he reaches your spot, he strangely passes your plate and instead sets it down in front of Seonghwa, a confusing act that leaves you momentarily taken aback. With a mixture of surprise and confusion, you lock eyes with Yunho, who takes a seat directly across from you, further adding to the mystery of his actions.

“And ___’s plate, Yunho.” Hongjoong questions, his voice is strong and authoritative yet the glare that Yunho gives you shows he ignored Hongjoong completely.

“Sorry, I only made enough for eight.” Yunho glares at you, ignoring the sighs of disappointment and groans from the seven males around him.

“You can have mine,” Seonghwa begins to put his plate in front of you, yet you stop him. Smiling at him gently, you turn back to Yunho in front of you.

“Enjoy your meal, Yunho. I hope you’re happy.” You deadpan, before standing up and pacing out the room, irritated with the bullshit that Yunho is pulling. As you rise from your seat, Wooyoung makes a move to join you, concern written across his face. However, you gently halt his advance, urging him to remain seated and enjoy his meal. Seonghwa's assurance that Hongjoong would handle the situation lingers in your mind, but deep down, you harbour scepticism about Yunho's ability to change so quickly.

Despite feeling deeply disappointed by the turn of events, you gather your inner strength, resolved to confront the situation on your own terms. You remind yourself that you are capable of handling this setback, even though it casts a shadow over your anticipation for the dinner.

“Yunho what the fuck are you trying to do?” Wooyoung demands as he glares at the tall male, his disappoint and anger evident in his words, his stance defensive.

“Just eat. It’s her problem.” Yunho answers, starting to cut his food up.

----

“He didn’t make me food, on purpose, so I just walked out.” You explain the situation to Jisung over the phone.

“Now this is what I expected from an Ateez member to be honest. No hate.” Jisung groans over the phone, annoyance evident on his voice.

The enticing aroma of your favourite meal still wafts through the air, and you find yourself torn between anticipation and frustration. Yunho skilfully prepared the dish you adore, and you aren’t sure is he made the meal because he knows you like it, that would be impossible. Your irritancy intensifies as you realise this was a deliberate attempt to manipulate your emotions.

It becomes painfully clear that Yunho purposefully made the meal with the intent to excite you, using it as a weapon to push you towards the decision of moving out. The realization strikes you like a jagged bolt of lightning, igniting a mixture of anger and hurt. A part of you wants to go back into the dining room and snatch his plate from under his nose, but a stronger part of you resists, refusing to let Yunho's manipulation dictate your actions.

As soon as you entered your room, you found yourself calling your best friend, disappointed but not surprised by the actions of Yunho. Scurrying over to your bed, you rest on the edge still trying to fully process the events. Ranting to Jisung only makes you realise how annoyed you are on the tallest male.

“It’s annoying yes, but it’s manageable. If he starts squaring up on me though I will likely be very scared, bro is big.” You half joke, knowing that he likely won’t dare to start a fight with you due to Hongjoong being present. Tonight, wasn’t nice but it wasn’t like he threatened you or said particularly rude things, if it’s like this you are for sure able to manage at least until you find another place to live. Yes, this place is extremely nice and affordable but it’s not somewhere you see yourself living in for a long time.

“Have you at least eaten anything?” Jisung’s question leaves you shocked. No, you haven’t eaten anything since probably lunch. The second you think about food, your stomach emits a loud growl, leaving you to face palm. Definitely should buy some food, you think to yourself, still aggravated about missing out on the most delicious food you’ve smelt in a while.

Reassuring Jisung, then saying goodbye after about an hour of talking, you hang up the call and immediately open your fast-food app. Scanning through each restaurant you end up even more irritated seeing that there are no deals and most of the food will take at least an hour to arrive. You’re not sure you should be even buying food, seeing how posh the area is it would be a crime to even think about ordering cheap fast food. Flipping from the food application, you go to your bank account checking to see if you even have enough money to be buying a meal. Seeing the amount makes you audibly sigh, your ideas of getting food leaving your mind quicker than you can shut off your phone. Laying back on your bed, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, attempting to let the frustration slowly vacate your body.

‘Whatever.’ You think to yourself, you’re not eating so you might as well get ready for bed.

Walking into the bathroom and settling into your night time routine, a sense of annoyance creeping over you when you notice that your favourite moisturizer is running dangerously low. Frustration bubbles within you as you realise that you’ll soon need to replace it. You contemplate the possibility of squeezing out every last drop, hoping to prolong its usage just a little while longer. Sighing to yourself, you realise that you have to again spend money on something you would rather not. Wishing you could just ignore your need for moisturiser, you groan knowing you can’t due to having extremely dry skin in the winter and you’d prefer to not look like your skin was falling off. The moisturiser you use isn’t even that expensive, it’s just a supermarket own brand one that barely keeps your skin looking presentable, yet it’s all you can afford, you have other things you have to save your money for.

Making your way wearily back to your bed, where your phone rests on the charger, you snatch it up and settle on the edge of the mattress. With a swift search on YouTube, you strive to find the perfect video to unwind with before drifting off to sleep. Yet, as your finger taps on a selection, the video barely has a chance to begin before a soft knock reverberates from your door.

Your head whips towards the source of the sound, a realization dawning upon you that someone seeks entry. Surprise tinged with guilt washes over you as you reflect on having walked out on dinner, aware of its importance to the other person. Amidst the rapid whirl of thoughts, you question why you are shouldering the blame when it was Jeong Yunho who acted insensitively.

A flicker of panic flits through your mind, silently hoping that it's not Yunho standing on the other side of the door. Should you pretend to be asleep? No, that won't work, as they would have heard you using the bathroom. Lost in a flurry of racing thoughts, you momentarily forget that someone patiently awaits your response, mere inches away on the other side of the wall.

“Um ___? Can I come in quickly?” A deep sweet voice sounds from behind the wooden door and you immediately recognise it as Yeosang. Letting out a soft sigh of relief you answer back, letting Yeosang know it’s okay for him to open the entrance to your room.

From across the room, your gaze fixates on the door, anticipation coursing through your veins. It swings open, revealing the familiar figure of Yeosang standing hesitantly in the doorway, his presence both captivating and disarming. As your eyes slowly travel from the bottom of his body to his face, you can't help but take note of the subtle changes in his appearance. His usual jeans and hoodie are replaced by a black tank top that showcases his toned arms and snug grey sweatpants that accentuate his casual yet charming vibe. The sight of his bare arms, muscles defined and veins subtly visible, evokes a mix of admiration and intrigue within you. You find yourself captivated by the way his physique displays strength and confidence.

Caught in the act of observing him, Yeosang registers you checking him out, a blend of pride and embarrassment sweeping across his features. His cheeks dusted with a rosy hue, hints at the flattery he feels under your gaze. A contented, almost bashful smile graces his lips, revealing his genuine delight at being the centre of your attention. His usually carefully styled hair appears tousled, and you realise he must have been readying for bed.

However, your attention is abruptly drawn to the paper bag clutched in his hand, distracting your eyes away from his physique and back to his face. The red blush on his cheeks remains, giving him an endearing charm, while his eyes sparkle with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The sight of his dishevelled hair and his relaxed attire only amplifies his charm, adding a touch of effortless attractiveness to his overall appearance.

“I bought you some food. I wasn’t too sure what you’d like so I got a mixture of some things.” Yeosang explains, holding up the paper bag in his hand.

This act instantly makes your heart speed up and your chest to feel warm despite the freeing temperature of your room. This kind gesture warms your heart, and you can’t help but feel incredibly grateful to the man standing in your doorway.

Yeosang's gaze sweeps over your figure, his eyes instinctively drawn to the form-fitting pyjamas that hug your curves. A surge of satisfaction courses through him as he realizes the envy that would consume the other boys if they knew the position he is in at this very moment. Grateful for the stroke of fortune that has brought him into this position, he momentarily loses himself in a spiral of thoughts, silently expressing gratitude to whichever higher power may have orchestrated this unexpected encounter. However, his attention is abruptly redirected as your soft voice breaks through the reverie, grounding him back to the present moment.

“Yeosang, I,” you start to speak yet you can’t find the words to express your gratitude to him, you instead invite him to enter your room fully. “Please come in.” You request, smiling widely at the giddy man who is now in your bedroom.

It’s the first time Yeosang has been in your bedroom since you decorated it, finding some small posters and fairy lights to hang around your room, and some plants to place around making it feel more like home. He looks throughout the space, admiring what you’ve done to it.

“I still have some more things I need to buy before it becomes home.” You admit to the blonde male as he looks around. When he hears your statement, he looks towards you and smiles warmly.

“Here you go,” he says, handing you the bag, and stepping backwards, wanting to not bother you further and let you eat in peace. Looking down into the bag, you see a few different packages, wrapped in aluminium foil and the smell reaches your nostrils, filling them up with the most delicious savoury scent, causing your mouth to water and your stomach reminds you how hungry you actually were.

When you look back up, you see Yeosang back by the doorway, heavily debating whether he should leave or stay to make sure you finish the food, nervously shifting from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. You smile at his actions, for a buff guy who is supposedly a ‘bad boy’, he sure is cute.

“Yeosang,” you speak out, catching his attention, he meets your eyes, and you swear you could have fainted at that moment. His gaze holds a gentle softness, yet beneath the surface, you sense a wealth of unspoken feelings concealed within the intensity of his eye contact. Words are on the tip of your tongue as you contemplate the question that weighs heavily on your mind, unsure of how to speak your thoughts.

Yeosang, sensing your hesitation and the hint of worry in your stance, takes a step closer, concern etched on his features. Something in the way you stand, lost in your thoughts while gazing at him, tells him that something might be wrong. “Are you okay?” He asks.

Before you can find the right words, however, you instinctively close the distance between you, your heart racing with anticipation. The bag of food you were holding slips from your hands, forgotten on the floor as you gently wrap your arms around him, seeking comfort in a tender embrace.

Yeosang tenses up, caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. Your abrupt departure only further fuels his uncertainty, leaving you standing a meter away, immediately apologizing for potentially crossing boundaries. “I’m sorry, I’m just extremely grateful for the food I’m so sorry for pushing your boundaries,”

But before you can utter another word, this time, Yeosang closes the distance, his hands enveloping you, drawing you closer to his chest. Your cheek presses against the warmth of his shirt, the sensation of his toned physique beneath it briefly registering in your mind. Overwhelmed by the strength and security of his hold, you find yourself tensing up this time, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected gesture. Yet, understanding his earlier hesitation from your own action, you reciprocate by wrapping your arms around his waist, surrendering to the comfort of the embrace.

Time seems to stretch as you bask in the comfort of his arms, feeling a sense of familiarity and longing that has been absent for far too long. Your light-headedness gives way to a contented sigh, revelling in the serenity given by his hug. Expecting the moment to end, you begin to pull away, only to be pulled back into his chest, your cheek colliding with his in a gentle 'oof' of surprise.

Moments blur into eternity as you remain locked in each other's arms, a silent connection between your two souls. Yeosang withdraws slightly, but his hold remains, your arms still embracing his waist, his still encircling your shoulders.

Your gazes meet once again, mere inches apart, illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Even in the dim light, you can discern the flush that colours his cheeks, an unreadable expression adorning his features. It's an unfamiliar emotion that leaps around in his eyes, neither embarrassment nor discomfort, but something entirely new, leaving you dizzy with curiosity.

For what feels like an eternity, the two of you engage in a silent exchange, locked in a gaze that renders you weak at the knees. And just when you think your heart couldn't flutter any faster, Yeosang breaks the silence with a confession that catches you off guard. His eyes remain fixed on yours, unwavering and sincere as he admits, "Your eyes are beautiful."

“Uh thank you.” You reply, cheeks growing even hotter than you thought they could go. You just know if Jisung would see you right now he would scream his lungs out.

Moving away from Yeosang, he momentarily wonders if he screwed up by saying those words, yet when he sees the sincere smile on your face, his worries melt away and he gets lost in your expression.

“Would you eat with me?” You question, hoping he will keep you company, the question of ‘did we know each other before college?’ slipping your mind completely.

---

Seated cross-legged on your bed, you relish the delicious food that Yeosang thoughtfully brought for you. Across from you, he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked comfortably while the other dangles freely. His eyes never waver from you, captivated by the way you devour the meal with avid hunger, and a sense of relief washes over him. It's evident that you must have been starving, and he silently curses Yunho for denying you a proper meal earlier during the disastrous dinner. In this intimate moment, he seethes with anger at the thought of you being deprived of a simple joy you were so excited about, confirming his resolve to make up for it.

As you converse one-on-one with Yeosang, the opportunity to have a genuine heart-to-heart arises, a chance to connect without the distractions of others. The conversation flows effortlessly as you delve into the events of your day, sharing thoughts, dreams, and anything that comes to mind. It's in these moments that you notice a subtle transformation in Yeosang's demeanour. His eyes shimmer with a radiant passion whenever he talks about dance, and his voice releases a fresh energy when he discusses subjects close to his heart.

Discovering his love for reading piques your interest, knowing your mutual fondness for books. This realization sparks a lively conversation about favourite authors and cherished books. The genuine curiosity and engagement exchanged between the two of you ignites a flutter within your chest, relishing the ease with which you connect and share your passions with Yeosang.

Yeosang remains by your side until the very last piece of food disappears, his unwavering presence a testament to his attentiveness and care. Not a single crumb is left, and as you sink back into the comforting embrace of your pillows, the weight of the day begins to settle upon you. The heaviness of your eyelids is a gentle reminder that rest is calling, but before sleep claims you, you can't help but feel grateful for the precious moment spent with Yeosang.

“This is the book I was explaining earlier!” Yeosang exclaims, turning his phone to you to show the book he couldn’t remember the name of. However, when he looks up to you, he finds you snuggled into the pillow, your mouth slightly parted, eyes closed. Surprised, his eyes widen as he peers over your sleeping form. Yeosang’s heart swells, revelling in the fact that you felt comfortable enough to allow yourself to fall asleep.

Tucking you into your blanket, careful not to wake you up, he studies you once more, taking in all of your features. He notes each freckle and mole on your face, the way your eyelashes rest against the swell of your cheeks, your hair falling messily over the sheets.

Yeosang gracefully exits your room, a gentle smile adorning his face and a faint blush colouring his cheeks. The evening spent together was a significant milestone in your friendship, and he couldn't help but feel content that he had won the rock-paper-scissors with Wooyoung to order food for you. However, what catches him off guard is the sight of Yunho emerging from his own room simultaneously, intending to make a trip to the kitchen for a glass of water. In that moment, disappointment flickers across Yunho's eyes as he witnesses Yeosang leaving your room.

“Are you seriously cosying up to her?” Yunho’s voice is once again full of venom, not even realising the tone he’s using to talk to his close friend.

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now Yunho.” Exhausted by the taller male's behaviour, Yeosang attempts to walk past him, seeking to put some distance between them. However, his friend intercepts him, halting his steps and preventing him from moving forward.

“I’m being serious, how can you just let her in after everything we have been through?”

“You can’t hold this grudge up forever; she lives with us now.”

“You were the one who said, ‘we will never let outsiders in again’ what the fuck happened to that?”

“It’s ___ dude, she was never an outsider, and you know that damn well.”

“Are you seriously this desperate to get your dick wet that you’ve forgotten everything we have been through?”

“That’s not what this is about, you know that.” Yeosang pushes past Yunho and walks towards the kitchen, taking a seat down on the barstool. Yunho follows him, grabbing a glass from the designated cupboard.

“She may have saved Hwa, Yeosang, but the second she is given the opportunity to leave us she will, just like Ryu did.”

“I don’t understand why you are acting like this after everything she did to help us get back on our feet. She is nothing like her, you would know that if you gave yourself the chance to get to know ___.”

“I don’t understand why you are acting like this. This is exactly what happened with Ryu, she got close to us, just to take away everything.”

“Aren’t you tired of acting like a dickhead to everyone all the time?”

“We do this, so we don’t go through that ever again.” Yunho’s voice raises slightly, his voice starting to echo in the kitchen. “We have acted like this for years because that is the damn narrative that that bitch gave us.”

“Are you seriously telling me after all these years you aren’t tired of being this way just to avoid getting your heart broken? It’s a human thing, Yunho, we deserve love too.”

“You aren’t the one who had your entire heart ripped out of your chest.” Yunho’s voice is louder this time causing some restless heads in the house to shake awake.

“You know damn well my heart was crushed too.” This time Yeosang yells back at him, taking the tall man by surprise. Yeosang barely ever raises his voice, let alone it being directed toward someone, Yunho steps back a little. “I know what you had with her, you thought was special, but you can’t keep dwelling on it. Back when this all began, ___ was the only person willing to be kind. I know for a fact you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel even the smallest amount of love for her.” Yeosang’s voice is exasperated, begging towards his friend to stop the act he has up.

“Then what if I do love her?” Yunho’s voice cracks and Yeosang can see the tears starting to dwell in his eyes, causing him to soften slightly. Yunho continues, “there’s nothing stopping her from doing the same thing as Ryu the second Seonghwa’s dickhead of a father offers her the money to ruin us. She will leave us and our hearts, my heart will be broken again.” The tears in Yunho’s eyes fall onto the surface of the island, yet he doesn’t know whether they are from pure frustration or because the truth is starting to hit him like bricks.

“When we were KQ Fellaz, she knew we were trouble, she knew the rumours about us, she knew the danger she was putting herself in every time she stood up for us. When were all broken from the trauma and heart break she never once pressured us to talk about it, she never yelled at us when we yelled at her, she was never scared of us. Don’t tell me you don’t remember every time single fucking time she cleaned the wounds on your hands after getting in countless of unnecessary fights?” Yeosang runs his hands through his hair, frustrated by the sheer ignorance of his friend.

Yunho goes to speak but he gets cut off by Yeosang, who is half fuming half desperate. “She was kind to us without ever expecting anything in return, so stop letting your stupid prejudice against the human race blind you completely from what’s in front of you. If she was like Ryu, she would have let Seonghwa jump off that ledge.”

Yunho feels his heart drop as he remembers the sight of his older friend in such a fragile state, his only option to be to end it, him not being able to help the pain he was enduring.

“Please Yunho,” Yeosang’s voice is soft this time, nothing louder than a whisper, “just give her a chance.”

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