#like I really want these students to know this. I really want them to know that every time she mentions her ‘daughter’ she’s referring to a

[running-with-kn1ves]

Satin Pillows To Cry On

CW: coercion with money, age gap(7 yrs), transactional marriage, obsessive/yandere behavior

gn! reader

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You’ve got nothing else, no one else to rely on. 

‘You’re something he bought to keep from growing old.” 

Your clothes are worth small countries. Your cars stacked in 3-level garages. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls hanging from your wrists and ears, satchels made of endangered animal skins, different shoes for each day of the year. 

Your boyfriend of three years spat at your feet when you told him what you were doing. 

“His money can’t love you, not like I can.”

The wedding was only two months away when you broke up with him, told him you couldn’t live in his broke-down apartment anymore, that you couldn’t live with debt trailing wherever you went. You went so far as to make him hate you, to tell him that you never wanted to see him again, that you never loved him, that he better not bother showing up to the wedding. You didn’t want him there, you never wanted to see him again. 

“You’re lying to me; he’s making you say these things, he’s using you against me! You’ve known him what-- two seconds, and you’re going to marry this man?! He’s nearly a decade older than you!” 

Seven years of an age gap or not, he was still a thousand times more independent, wealthy, and a safer choice than your boyfriend. You weren’t some fresh college student new to the world, you had graduated over two years ago, still finding no luck in getting a stable income-- forget about whether or not it was in the field of your degree. 

You left in a single day, fitting all of your scavanged belongings into one of your fiance’s awaiting cars. You left anything worth of value with your ex-boyfriend, knowing he’d find more use out of it than you would. You would even leave the rest of your things there if he could find use for them, but you knew they’d just be one more painful reminder of your betrayal. 

He did as you said, not showing up to your wedding, staying clear, never appearing in your line of sight since the day you left. It made it easier…. For both of you that way. 

And now you were happy-- well, maybe not happy, maybe not even content, but you were… safe. You had everything you needed: a working car, a stable job that you felt productive in, a clean and comforting house to come home to, a spouse. Sure, maybe you didn’t get your new job yourself, or your house or your car-- but did that really matter, in this economy? Who wouldn’t trade their life and their independence for this kind of wealth?

And your husband… he wasn’t all bad. He might have only wanted you for the sake of having you at first, like a new jewel or the latest technological invention. But he was doting and caring in his own way. Maybe just a tiny bit too invested in you, in your schedule and who you talked to. A little too hateful towards your ex-boyfriend, the one who had you before he could. But everyone had character flaws, and on good days you could distract him from his grumpy mood and stress and obsessive behaviors by being the loving and oh so perfect spouse you had trained yourself to be ever since he asked to marry you. 

“Colder than all that gold…” You repeated in your mind, the words your family whispered to each other at your wedding reception only a few feet away from you. 

That was over six months now, though… the honeymoon phase never existed, you rarely saw your husband except for his midnight appearances back from the office, and whenever he would whisk you away for a weekend vacation to savor the time he had with you. For someone more sophisticated, much wealthier, and dare you say handsomer than the average man-- you were surprised to find he didn’t have a line of divorces behind him. 

No; he said, he had been “waiting for you.” whether  you or he knew it, he understood right from the moment of meeting you that you were the one he’d have for the rest of his life, even if it killed him. That severity… scared you. But in a sick sense, it made you feel relieved. Forever? This could be yours, forever? Your family would never have to struggle again, you would never have to worry where your next meal came from?

“I cleared your schedule until tuesday; we’re going to the isles. A mini vacation, you might call it. Get your things.”

He was cold, that was for sure. But, was he any worse than your ex-boyfriend, especially when he was offering you an expensive experience on top of that?

“All right..” You acquiesced. 

And now, you lied sunken into the bed feeling his loving, hot breath on your navel. Going so sweetly slow, so oddly and uncharacteristingly lingering with his touches as he gazes into your eyes. You didn’t like this; didn’t like that when he was cherishing you, making love to you, holding you so intimately, he was appearing… like a husband should. Where did he get the nerve to ignore you everyday, to have hardly any time for you, only to come back and beg for your love when it was convenient for him? 

But you keep your mouth shut, like you should, if you want to keep eating breakfast in bed, keep wearing silk robes while watching the view of the ocean outside your window.

“So beautiful…you’re like a work of art, the kind no amount of money can buy.” 

That was funny, hilarious even. Enough so to make you cry. 

A familiar face passes by the slightly ajar door to distract you, likely one of the housekeepers leaving for the night. But you swear the man’s figure reminds you of someone from your past, someone you loved and left for good. 

Your husband brings back your attention by placing a gentle kiss to your temple, blindly undoing the clasp of the necklace he bought you.

“I’m so lucky… so lucky to have been the one to catch you, forever. No one could’ve done it, not without what I have.”

He wanted you to kiss and caress back, but sometimes lying still was just enough. It was enough for him to witness you, basking in the glow of everything you wore from him, lying in the Egyptian cotton sheets he paid extra for, your body molded to the diet his personal chefs cooked. 

Even as he pushed a knee between your legs, traveling from your navel to your stomach with open-mouthed sucks and kisses in the rawest form of affection, you couldn’t help but turn your face deep into the pillow. So soft, the soft purple shielding your eyes from his tender gaze.

You might’ve given up love, given up everything familiar and those who you’ve cared for-- but at least you had satin pillows to cry on, and the finest jewelry to wipe your tears with. 

[randomdragonfires]

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

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

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

It’s him. It’s always been him. 

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

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

WORD COUNT | 24.5k [I'M SORRY]

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

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

She starts with small changes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought makes her skin crawl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s no more running, no more hiding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Jorrāelagon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is happening, this is truly happening-

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

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

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

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

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

He thrusts into her with a single, powerful stroke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, he is hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Casual. Non-exclusive.

Then again, he made no promises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lunch tomorrow?

She smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Starry Sept postcards are at my place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Who… that’s not relevant.” 

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

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

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

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

“Very well.”

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

“Definitely not.”

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

“I guess.”

“And what did he say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is he worth it? 

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

There’s more cheesecake in the fridge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You weren’t. I was just an idiot.”

“Thanks.”

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

“It all seems silly to me now.”

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

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She realizes she quite likes it this way.

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

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

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

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

“Come on, indulge me.”

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

“It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

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

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

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

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

Hearty, boyish and pure.

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

I’m fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, can I come over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Aemond…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ae-mond…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can just be.”

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

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

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

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

“And what if I don't want this?”

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

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

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

She kisses him and goes to sleep in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s seen right through her.

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

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

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

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

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

Remember your postcards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has he done this with her too?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As whatever you’d like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm hungry," she whines.

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

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

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

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

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

One way or another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ae-mond, please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re counting the days?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean you keep putting it off.”

“No, I just… I don’t know.”

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

“Ari! Don’t be so crude.”

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

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your best friend.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow, small world.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She recognizes it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She walks out of the ballroom and into the vast expanse of open gardens. She breathes and breathes and breathes.

It can’t be.

MASTERLIST

NO TAG LIST. PLEASE FOLLOW AND TURN ON POST NOTIFS FOR @randomdragonfics for fic updates!

[zweiginator]

hi not to be insane but if you wanna elaborate on the Patrick/Art vibrator thought I’d love you forever and ever

being patrick's girlfriend and art is a virgin and much too nervous to go up to girls and ask them out. plus, patrick can tell he has a massive crush on you. he's always flustered and stumbling over his word when you're around. staring at your ass enough for patrick to raise his eyebrows at him.

and one day art is just lonely and sad. he feels inadequate as a college student with no experience under his belt, nobody to go on dates with. so he sulks enough for patrick and you to notice.

patrick hands him a new beer, asking if everything is alright.

it's then that he realizes art's eyes are a bit glassy.

"i just am jealous of you guys i guess." he shrugs and you and patrick exchange a glance.

"why is that?" you ask him, moving closer to him so you can rub his back.

"just what you guys have. i want that but I'm embarrassed 'cause i don't even know how anything works and im a vir--"

you know art is a virgin; patrick told you that in confidence. patrick cuts him off.

"you'll find someone. I promise you you will." he's bad at this kind of stuff, at comforting. but you continue to rub art's back and patrick moves next to him as well, mussing his hair.

"i'm not gonna know how to even do anything." he sniffles and patrick can tell that he really is upset. he really does feel inadequate and patrick knows of at least four girls with a crush on art but god he wouldnt even believe him if he told him about it.

so patrick offers to show you a lesson. nothing crazy, but just the basics. just to make him more confident. patrick asks you if that would be okay. you don't know what he means, but you suppose it's fine.

except you don't expect to end up leaning against your boyfriend's chest as patrick pushes your pajama shorts down, kissing your neck. art watches intently, mouth hung open. you lean into patrick's touch and grind against his hand. patrick whispers into your ear and art can tell you like what he's saying. he wishes he could hear it.

and art is enamored by the view he has of your pussy. how patrick spreads it open for art to admire. your clit swollen as you bury your face into patrick's neck. he reaches into your bedside table to get your vibrator out and you grow flustered.

patrick hands it to art; he's never seen him so embarrassed in his life.

"what--"

"turn it on." patrick instructs his best friend, who quickly finds the button.

it vibrates loudly and he stares at you two for more instructions.

"hold it against her clit." patrick rubs the swollen nub and your legs jerk, wanting to clamp shut. he pries them open, his big hands heavy in your flesh. "keep 'em open. we're teaching artie a lesson."

you nod as art slowly presses the toy against your sensitive clit. you yelp, hips jerking up to feel more vibrations.

"is that good?"

you whimper. "y-yeah."

you're wet; patrick can hear it and art can too.

"she fuckin' loves it. she's gushing." patrick presses hot kisses against your neck, kneading the flesh of your inner thighs as art applies more pressure.

you can see art's erection growing, just like you can feel your boyfriend's doing the same.

and as you cum, art's name tumbles from your mouth, your hands reaching forward to tug his shirt. art feels something change in him, a thirst for more.

he wonders if patrick will let you take his virginity.

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 5

(It took me way too long and saving every 5 min, but I got my laptop to run my drawing software long enough to get Leona drawn! Not overly thrilled with the pose and his legs gave me way too much trouble, but at least that is one more down!)

Warnings; Monster AU, yandere, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, stalking, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, Romantic Yanderes, Platonic Yanderes, adult themes present, communal grooming behavior seen in most of my AU species, nesting behavior, social disconnect, attempted bullying, cooking breakfast, untrusting yet soft hearted reader, Cater unintentionally causes problems, Vampire Bats, Gnolls, Satyrs, Fauns, Kelpies, Water Nymphs, mention of Unicorns, Sphinx,

~~~~~~~~

"What... the actual hell are you doing?"

Lilia paused for just a moment, regarding you with wide and curious eyes that almost tricked you into thinking he was harmless. Almost. He took a moment with his pink tongue sticking out slightly as he blinked one eye after the other.

You were finally able to wind down for the night after what had been a long ordeal and a frightening several hours. Lilia spent the short span of time by your side, only giving you space when you bathed and even then he waited outside your door. He had proved to be a wise choice of protector given how many already tried their luck. Trein's idea had been a good one as the odd Bat already had to chase off several curious students, most just seeking to get a sniff or glance in your direction. In some ways you understood that you were an anomaly in their world and that made others curious, but at the same time you felt it was overboard for so many to be so keen to approach you.

Now you sat in the monstrously sized nest- courtesy of the Dragon that fixed up most of your current abode- with your errant guardian for the evening. Grim was curled up and fast asleep on one of the many pillows that littered the valleys and hills of blankets within the nest. You were just starting to doze off as well when you felt a warm and wet muscle trail over your skin. Naturally, you wanted to know just what on earth the strange Bat was doing and judging from the way he looked, he had actually just licked your cheek.

"Grooming you?"

"Why?"

"To help you sleep. Usually a quick bit of grooming makes Malleus and Sebek drift right off with no problem, Silver never needs much help in regards to sleep. Do Humans not groom one another?"

"... Not really. I mean, I guess they can but I don't think I've had someone literally lick me in order to clean me up."

"That wasn't a lick, that was grooming."

"You literally just licked my face."

"But I'm just grooming you?"

You stared at Lilia for a long moment, thinking back to the regular bats of your own world. Bats did often groom one another as a communal pastime, so it could be very possible he was simply doing the same for you. Though you figured these Human-like monsters would behave like Humans, there was still a high possibility that what was socially acceptable to these creatures was far beyond the realm of accepted for Humans. On top of the social disconnect you also realized that though Lilia had spoken of Humans before, he didn't really get all the aspects of Humanity or what you found acceptable.

Lilia seemed genuinely confused and hesitant. There was a strong part of him that still wanted to continue his nightly habits of lulling his nest companions to sleep before trying to rest himself. Still, he was not going to continue his semi-self-soothing communal grooming if you were angry with him over it. Not even getting his scent on you was worth making you genuinely displeased with him.

"Do you not want me to groom you?"

"... Does it help you sleep?"

"What?"

"You said it helps others sleep when you groom them, does it help you sleep too?"

"To groom or be groomed?"

"Both."

The Bat took a long moment to think as if he were honestly considering his own feelings on the matter. He didn't have to think about it for very long before he was nodding to your question.

"Yes. Both help me sleep. I am naturally nocturnal, so becoming diurnal for classes has been difficult on me. Getting my nestmates to sleep first usually helps me sleep. I wouldn't mind a bit of grooming for myself, but usually I'm the one putting others to sleep."

"... If it helps you sleep, then okay. Just... Don't get too excited, okay?"

"... Do you find grooming exciting?"

"No. Going to sleep now."

Lilia laughed softly at your curt response as you tried to close your eyes and drift off. It wasn't long into your attempt that the relaxed and wet strokes picked back up across your cheek. Perhaps he lied to you and only said it was normal. Perhaps it truly was normal for these monster men to participate in communal grooming.

You certainly didn't know and you weren't going to be awake long enough for it to matter. Maybe the Bat was right in that it helped soothe others to sleep as you were unconscious within a few moments of him starting back up.

~~~~~~~~

You woke to Grim batting at your nose with his paws. His bright blue eyes shining at you in the small light of the morning. The sun was not even above the horizon at that point and you vaguely wondered what it was the little feline-beast wanted.

"I'm hungry."

His voice was soft and a quick glance over your shoulder told you he was trying to avoid waking Lilia. The Bat was wrapped in his own wings and snuggled beneath a blanket, face completely smooth in deep rest. You similarly wanted to avoid waking your guard- both for time to yourself and because he seemed so peaceful- so you slipped out of the nest with Grim.

The halls were quiet as you made your way to the main level of the building, hoping the kitchen would be located there. Luck seemed to be on your side and you were thrilled to see both the kitchen and the food available to you. Apparently they were quite keen to keep you content and that meant giving you enough food as well.

The kitchen itself was more of an industrial type kitchen, a large sink for dishes, several ovens, large stovetop, multiple cabinets and one large fridge. Most of the pots and pans were present but seemed to have been unused for quite some time. Though the outside got fixed up, the kitchen recieved far less love. Still, you found the pans needed to get an idea of what you wanted to make. There were a handful of spices in old containers but it was slim pickings.

Despite the odd lacking of premade sauces and other such items, you knew enough to throw together a decent breakfast. It was early in the cooking process when Grim let out a sudden yowl and hiss towards the far side of the kitchen behind you. A door that led outside rattled open and you turned to see a frightening creature.

It looked like a Hyena that had been stretched and deformed into a Human shape, walking on hind legs that resembled that of a canine. The beast had shaggy fur that was a sandy blond color, darker browns spotting the pelt and highlighting the ridge of the Hyena's back. One of the most stunning and unsettling features of the creature was the bright blue eyes that looked far too Human.

As the creature's mouth opened a voice you didn't expect came from it. A light tenor that almost seemed to be accompanied by the cackle of a Hyena at the end of their sentences.

"Lookie here! Seems I found the new Human! Campus is abuzz about you crashing orientation yesterday and Leona wouldn't stop mentioning you."

You didn't know if the Hyena man was one you could trust or not and his oddly jerking motions unsettled you.

"But forget all that for now. What's that you're making? You wouldn't mind sharing some with your fellow student," a long tongue licked over his chops, "would you?"

"What were you doing out here so early?"

"Don't go being so suspicious of me, I'm a stand-up guy, shishishi. I was out gathering up some dandelions for my breakfast."

"... Dandelions?"

"What? Food's expensive here. Besides, guess I can call myself lucky coming across you like this."

The way the beast said this unsettled you and you felt more than a little cornered. Grim was quick to get between the two of you even though he was clearly untrusting of the Hyena as well.

"And what's that supposed ta mean?"

"Just saying whatever you're cooking smells good! It wouldn't be too much to add some more for me to have, right? You got all this food here, you may as well share it. Sides, Leona made it clear to all of Savanaclaw that we aren't supposed to put a single paw or claw on you."

You were partially tempted to call out for Lilia to get this monster away when you heard a heart-breaking sound. A long whining grumble came from the Hyena's stomach and he almost seemed to wince in response to the noise. It was the Hyena's stomach loudly rumbling for some food. After a moment of staring at the beast you noticed a bag at his side, leaves and bright yellow flowers sticking out of it and it was stuffed with more of the plants. Hyenas wouldn't eat just plants unless they had no other choice.

With a sigh you added more food to your pan, noticing the way the short tail of the Hyena man wagged excitedly. Grim crossed his short arms and continued to watch the newcomer with untrusting eyes, refusing to move from in between the two of you.

It was when your breakfast was almost done cooking that the Hyena suddenly changed in behavior. His ears flattened and his head bowed low, tail quickly tucking between his legs as he stared at the inside entrance to the kitchen. You glanced over to see the bright pink eyes of Lilia staring from the doorway with an almost threatening grin towards your uninvited guest. The momentary quiet made you quickly step in Lilia's path, trying to defend the odd Hyena from the Bat that was tasked with your safety.

"Wait, he was just hungry and he could smell my cooking."

"(Y/n), you have already been warned about those from Savanaclaw. Most of them were of the species that ate Humans. Gnolls like Ruggie over there were especially vicious to Humans."

"But he hasn't tried any of that today. I get that not everyone is safe, but he hasn't even tried to attack me. He just wants some breakfast. Lilia, please."

The Bat frowned slightly and gave a final glare at the blond furred beast- Ruggie the Gnoll, according to Lilia- before he relented to your pleas. Despite no longer threatening the Hyena, he made a clear show of moving himself to sit on a counter that allowed him to somewhat be inbetween you and Ruggie. It seemed Grim and Lilia both had the same idea in mind as they continued to stare the outsider down.

They only willingly broke eye contact with the hunched beast as you served four separate plates. Apparently even Lilia was keenly interested in your cooking and you could see the way the three set aside their distrust and happily dug in as you passed out the servings. Ruggie didn't even bother with cutlery as he gulped down the meal like a famished animal that hadn't eaten for days, lazily licking the plate when he was finished. Grim was similar and just shoveled food into his mouth with his little paws, his pronged tail waving excitedly. Lilia took the time to grab a fork, occasionally sending a mistrustful glare towards the Gnoll as he ate.

You felt comfortable enough to dig in as well, content that you managed to somewhat avoid conflict. It was becoming oddly normal to see the unusual beast men that lived in abundance around you, and you felt somewhat gratified to feed the clearly hungry Ruggie. The clear dandelions in his pouch told you that he didn't lie to you about gathering them up and you knew they were edible plants that even Humans could eat.

"Wow, Hooman, is this what you eat all the time?"

"It's a little bland actually, I was hoping there would be more spices and herbs in the cabinets, but there isn't even half as much as I was expecting. Some jellies and jams, but no bullion, no parsley, nothing like that."

It was then Lilia spoke up, talking in between bites as he was still working on his portion.

"Humans were the main cooks and culinary types before they died out. Most of us 'monster-men' as you call us don't need to cook our foods first and eating things raw is fairly normal. It is a treat to actually have a cooked meal in a lot of places, though some places Like the Queendom of Roses have grandfathered in pastries and other confections because of how much the Queendom loved Human cooking. Lots of us don't bother cooking because we don't have to, but I guarantee a cooked meal like this would bring a good portion of others to their knees."

You made a quick mental note of Lilia's comment and figured you could try using your cooking to sway others in your favor. Ruggie certainly seemed pleased as he made an attempt to swipe what remained of Lilia's food, earning him a quick swat from the Bat's wing. Maybe those from Savanaclaw weren't that bad, if Ruggie was anything to go off of.

~~~~~~~~

The bell rang as you tried to get to your first class, upset with yourself that you turned down Lilia's offer to show you to your classes for the day. Grim was no help since he was just as lost as you but he did seem to be enough to discourage most students from getting too close. No one really tried to talk to you and all just seemed curious in your scent or reaching out as if to touch you. A quick flame from Grim was enough to dissuade them so far but the ever curious eyes continued to follow you.

When you finally reached the door to what seemed to be the right class, a figure stepped in your way and blocked you. Standing between you and the door was a Goat man with orange hair and twisting horns atop his head. On his left eye was a red heart.

"So you're the Human everyone is losing their minds over. Don't look like much to me. You don't even have magic to defend yourself if I decided to hurt you right now."

He laughed a sinister sound as he grinned hatefully at you. Grim was clearly trying to make himself seem bigger than he was, even spreading his tattered wings out to somewhat shield you despite how little they covered. The blue fire that always seemed to burn on Grim's ears burned brighter as the grey cat-beast prepared himself to fight this goat man who seemed keen to stop you from entering the classroom.

"Ace, Housewarden Riddle told us to leave the Human alone."

It was then another Goat man approached from behind the first, looking distinctly different from the orange-haired short-horned Goat that tried to block you. This second one had large Ram horns that spiraled from the top of his head down to the sides of his chin, his dark blue hair complementing his bright blue eyes. Over his right eye was the card suit of spades. His lower half was the same as the first and seemed to be goat legs with a tail flicking behind him. You could just barely see the little white spots along the top of his tail as he pushed the first Goat forward with a glare on his face.

"And who the hell are you to enforce that rule, Deuce? You're just a first-year like me."

"And we were told to not heckle the Human."

"Don't tell me you think this Human is worth being upset over?"

"I didn't say that. I'm saying you need to leave her alone."

"Why don't you make me?"

Both seemed to be ready to have a go at one another, heads slightly tilted forward so their horns were pointed at the other. It almost looked like they were going to headbutt each other until one of them relented. It was during this argument that another voice cut in, making both Goats straighten up quickly.

"Why aren't you freshmen in class already?"

The voice belonged to what looked like a centaur man with green hair, his lower half was that of a white stallion. He wore thick black rimmed glasses and had the card suit of clubs beneath his left eye. His eyes were a golden brown that seemed almost yellow when compared to his unusual green hair.

As he trotted over the two Goats quickly seemed to break up their fight, refusing to look the man in the eye even as he looked down at the four of you with his arms crossed. The man seemed to get a good look at your little group before his gaze came to a halt on you, quickly looking you up and down in surprise. He seemed to recognize you rather quickly as he uncrossed his arms, that small displeased frown disappearing from his face.

"Oh, you're the- right. Riddle did say you would be attending classes. Doesn't make much sense to me to throw you into classes with this lot, but I guess it does make it easier for the professors to keep an eye on you."

His smile dropped ever so slightly into a glare as he looked over at the two Goats. That glare then seemed to change into a wicked grin as if he just got an idea.

"How helpful of the two of you to volunteer to show the Human to her classes today."

"Wha- I didn't volunteer for that-!"

"If you don't want to sleep outside with one of Riddle's collars on, I would suggest you both step up and stop fighting."

"Of course out of every upperclassmen we run into, it has to be Trey..."

"So good of you two first-year boys to step up like this. I will be checking in at lunch and if there is a single scratch anywhere on her I'm having Riddle collar the both of you."

The one with orange hair- Ace- stomped his hoof in anger at the much larger male, seeming aghast that he was given an assignment. Deuce seemed less displeased but had a clear frown on his face. Grim was already on board with staying by you given the fact you were his ticket to a comfortable bed and good food.

"If you're so worried, do it yourself!"

"I could tell both Riddle and Professor Trein right now that you two knuckleheads were trying to stop her from getting to class and trying to bully her. I'm sure that would look great on your school records, and you'll certainly have fun not being able to use any magic with Riddle's collars on."

This seemed to unnerve Ace more than the prior threat had as his eyes widened and he took a quick step back. Both Goats had to weigh the potential risks and rewards of the situation but quickly came to the conclusion that it was best to do what the Horse man told them to. You didn't know anything about this supposed collaring business, but you did recognize the name Riddle as the Unicorn that had yelled at Grim the night before.

"Hey, hey, why is everyone standing out here? Thought classes already started, so is everyone just late?"

Another new voice interrupted and Grim's ears flicked in clear frustration at all of the new faces that seemed so keen to heckle the two of you. He was quick to turn to you now that the threat was gone and use his little claws to climb up the leg of your pants and into your arms. For such a sassy little creature, Grim certainly was keen to have you carry him around when there wasn't any threat of danger.

Approaching the now growing group of students standing outside of the classroom was a red-haired man with bright green eyes. He almost seemed to saunter over to the group as he held up his phone, the sound of a camera coming from it multiple times before before he came to a halt.

"Hold on, just need to post this to Magicam and add the right tags... #froshes #latebuddies #skipday... And post!"

"Wait, Cater, don't- please tell me you didn't post a picture of us just now."

"Of course I did! Gotta keep my followers up to date on the haps at school."

"At least tell me you blurred the Human out of the photo?"

"Oh, she's here? Wait, don't tell me," the man now known as Cater was quick to get uncomfortably close to you, making Grim's ears flatten back on his head, "you're the new Human on campus! Gotta absolutely get a selfie with you and post it for Magicam, none of my non-NRC followers believe that a Human crashed our orientation! Pics so I can prove it happened! Smile!"

You tried to pull away from the overly enthusiastic man as he held up his phone and snapped two pictures before you managed to wriggle away from his grasp. He didn't seem to be put off by your behavior at all as he quickly tapped away at his phone with a smile. Trey, however, slapped the phone out of Cater's hands quickly.

"Are you crazy, Cater?"

"Woah, Trey? What's the big deal? You're usually never this riled up."

"Tell me you didn't post that selfie already."

"Just pressed post when you hit my phone outta my hands. Not cool, Trey. Totes being so unkind to Cay-cay."

"Cater!"

"What?"

"Why would you post a picture of an extinct species to the internet? Riddle told us to try and keep others from taking pictures of her and you just go right ahead and post it?"

"What's the big deal? It's not like it's illegal or something."

Trey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking several deep breaths to try and calm himself. You were able to tell why Trey was mad but it seemed like Ace, Deuce, and Cater had no idea what the big deal was when he just took a picture with you. Meanwhile you were wondering if you should tell a Professor what happened and hope the older magic users could do more to help you than the students.

"Seems you all have plenty of time to talk instead of get to your classes, so how about a few extra assignments for you lot?"

The interrupting voice was a thankfully familiar one to you as you saw the limping gait of a familiar flying-cat man approaching. His steeley eyes were narrowed in annoyance as he drew closer, in his arms lay a black and white cat that seemed more than content to be carried around. You were surprised to see a normal cat in this strange world of monsters, but you figured there had to be some normal animals if these guys found eating one another as appalling as eating Humans seemed to be.

"Professor Trein."

You greeted the man quickly and the scowl disappeared from his face as he realized you were the one talking to him.

"Ah, (Y/n), I saw you would be in my class this morning. Are these students showing you around? I thought Lilia was your chosen guide."

"I told Lilia I didn't need help finding my classes, but I was wrong."

"Hm, then hopefully these boys have been aiding you thus far? You are at my classroom after all."

"Well, about that..."

"What happened?"

Trey interrupted the conversation then, seeming less upset and more exasperated than anything. Ace had been trying to sneak away, but the Horse man caught the back of his shirt and kept him from running off. He didn't even need to look at Ace to grab him and instead kept his attention on Trein.

"Cater posted a picture of (Y/n) to Magicam."

"... He what?"

Cater picked up his phone, pouting at the crack in the screen and whining loudly about it. He turned the phone to Trey as if to show the damage but Professor Trein snatched it from his hands, frustratedly tapping the dark screen as his cat climbed up to his shoulders to free up his hands. He didn't seem to get very far before turning it back to Cater in frustration.

"Unlock your phone, Mr. Diamond."

"What's the big deal? I just wanted to show off the Human."

"That is the 'big deal'! Why would you post a picture of an extinct species for anyone to see?"

"It's not like people are gonna show up just to see a Human-"

"Cater, I am now assigning you an essay due by tomorrow on the history of Humans since you clearly haven't paid attention to your course work from last year. You will also be deleting that picture and any others you make have taken of (Y/n)."

Another noise of complaint left the redhead as if he were about to start complaining but Trein silenced him with a glare.

"Fine, fine. Not like anyone is gonna do anything because of it- no way! This is the most likes any of my pics have gotten right after posting! That was no time at all-"

"Delete it!"

"I can delete the photos from my account, but its already been downloaded at least fifty times. Deleting it now won't do much-"

"Enough. Cater, to the Headmage's office, now. The rest of you get to your classes. I will be in to teach shortly, but first I need to notify the Headmage about this."

Trey herded you and the other two students into the room, closing the door behind you rather loudly. You could still hear Trein scolding Cater from behind the door and you all quickly took your seats. To your surprise, the only open seat was between the two Goats and they didn't seem all too upset by this fact. Though they seemed angry at being volunteered to be your guides, they weren't about to complain about it now with an angry professor right outside of the classroom.

You had no idea what Magicam was, but from the sounds of it, it must have been some kind of photo sharing application like Instagram from your world. If that was the case, the rest of this messed up world was about to realize that there was a Human sheltering at Night Raven College, and you were terrified at the idea of what that would mean for you.

[cheolaholic]

ring of love; csc (07)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n;; im gonna be honest, i had no clue as to how im gonna write chapter 7 so i took a short break. that ended with me diving head first into love and deepspace which now has led me to a new obsession – Sylus. if you saw that post i made abt LNDS a few weeks ago, that has manifested into a side blog @chaeriescola where i’ll be posting my-non kpop related fics (read: Sylus & Zayne brainrot) also, i’m on Patreon now !! if you join my Patreon, you’ll get early access to the fics (a week early before they get posted on tumblr & ao3), exclusive bonus content, sneak peeks of other projects etc. if you’d like these special treats, feel free to join 👀 enough of me yapping, onto the fic~

Seungcheol wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when he tasked Mingyu and Vernon to look after you – considering how they both absolutely suck at understanding the whole “look after ___ for me but, don’t let her catch you” concept. He’s seen them tail behind you, possibly raising concerns in some students and staff whether they were stalking you from the moment they spotted you.

coups: can’t you two be more discreet? coups: you both look like you’re the worst stalkers gameboi: ? tallgyu: I think we’re doing a good job alien-non: yea, she hasn’t noticed us gameboi: you really got Mingyu and Hansol to tail after ___? gameboi: no offense to all 3 of you gameboi: but Hansol’s logic is practically gone if Mingyu’s leading tallgyu: HEY alien-non: I suggested we wear disguises but Mingyu didn’t want to! tallgyu: those weirdly shaped sunglasses are way too obvious coups: what you’re doing now is way more obvious! tallgyu: she hasn’t noticed us tallgyu: it’s fine hyung coups: Vernon alien-non: yes coups: you know how aware ___ is of her surroundings coups: she’s probably already spotted you both gameboi: but chose not to say anything

As if on cue, when they both turned a corner, they were both startled to come face-to-face with you, arms crossed, staring right at them.

“You’ve both been following me for the past hours, can I help you?” you ask, eyes narrowing when they both exchange a look.

“Well…” Mingyu started, “We… We just wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost…?”

Vernon mentally facepalms at Mingyu’s response while you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, “To make sure I wouldn’t get lost…? On a campus I’ve been attending for at least 2 years…?”

“Seungcheol hyung wanted us to look after you,” Vernon confesses, “I don’t know why, but he just told us to keep an eye on you.”

“And, so, you’ve decided to follow me around?”

“Mingyu was the one who suggested it…”

“You both would make terrible secret agents…” Seungcheol mumbled as he came up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he sent glares to the two younger males. “Cheol, I’m a big girl now – I can handle myself!”

“I know, I know,” he admits, “And, I’m sorry, pup-”

“Pup? You call her ‘pup’?” Your ears burned red at Mingyu’s question, forgetting that not everyone grew up with you and Seungcheol or knowing the reason that he calls you that.

“It’s a nickname I gave her while we were growing up,” Seungcheol answers, “And, it stuck with her since.”

“She grew up with you? Oh, you poor thing,” Mingyu faked cries as he pulls you into an embrace, “He must’ve picked on you non-stop.”

“Actually, he didn’t pick on me.” The taller male pulls away, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at your answer. “He stood for me and may or may not have threatened the people that did pick on me.” He looks at Seungcheol with a look of betrayal, “That’s not fair! Why does she get special treatment while you keep picking on me!?”

Seungcheol pries Mingyu away from you, his arm returning to its position on your waist as he answers, “Because you’re Mingyu, and she’s… she’s ___.”

‘Well… this is… awkward…’ you thought to yourself as you sat in front of Wonwoo, one of the other boys you had briefly met that night. Seungcheol suggested you meet the three of them altogether, mainly Mingyu and Wonwoo since you were already best friends with Vernon, to somewhat break the ice.

‘Choi Seungcheol, you ass, this is anything but breaking the ice! If anything, this is increasing the freezing point of the ice!’

Unfortunately, Seungcheol’s plan of grabbing lunch together is now facing a setback. You had no classes that day, Wonwoo finished his, but Seungcheol, Mingyu and Vernon were being held back for their classes.

“Seungcheol, I’ve only met him once!” you whisper-shouted into your phone, “And, neither of us exchanged a single conversation since!”

“I know, I know,” Seungcheol answers, wracking his head to come up with solutions, “But, this lecturer is talking so slow that I have no choice!”

“What about Vernon and Mingyu?”

A sigh was heard, “Apparently, the model was being fussy about how she should be posing for their portrait. The lecturer needed her to be partially clothed, but since Mingyu was in the class… You can fill in the blanks…”

You let out a sigh, looking into the windows of the cafe as Wonwoo sits at a booth near the pick-up counter, “How much longer until you all are able to get here?”

“Probably an hour… And another 20 minutes to get there. Hey, you and Wonwoo both like drinking coffee and are introverts! Maybe you both can try talking to break the ice.”

Oh, boy, did Seungcheol underestimate the introversion you and Wonwoo possess. You had initially tried to have small talk with him, only to chicken out when he looked at you with that piercing gaze through his glasses. It’s been half an hour since you sat down at the booth with him, your strawberry milkshake sitting on a coaster as he goes to order possibly his third cup of cappuccino.

When he returns with his drink, you can’t help but ask, “Isn’t that… too much caffeine…?”

Wonwoo seemed a bit taken back when you finally opened your mouth to talk, but he recovers quickly and shrugs, “Honestly, after drinking caffeine for years, you kind of grow immune to it. You should’ve seen Mingyu’s reaction when he found me sleeping after downing 5 cans of Monster.”

“Five!?”

“Yes, five.”

“And, you were still able to sleep?”

“Like a baby.”

Wonwoo was surprisingly easy to talk to – you just needed to get over your social anxiety and the very intimidating resting bitch face he has. You’ve come to learn that the man in front of you was GAM3BO1WOO, a famous game streamer on SVTwitch. You’ve seen a few of his stream clips on your feed, but you weren’t exactly a fan of his since his taste in games and yours were vastly different.

“Do you play every new game release?” you asked, scrolling through his MAESTRO account and skimming through his posts.

“It depends, actually. If a new game really catches my eye, then I’ll download it. Other than that, either the companies sponsored me to stream their games, my followers keep requesting that I play the game they think would suit me or want to see me play. Sometimes, Mingyu and Cheol would gift me co-op games since a lot of them have the mechanic of if one player already owns the game, the second player plays for free.”

“Have you ever hopped on trends?”

“It drives traffic and increases my followers, can’t really complain.”

You’re not sure how long you’ve been conversing with Wonwoo. But, it was definitely long enough for neither of you to notice the three men standing right outside the window, watching you two fondly and surprised. “They’re… talking…” Mingyu says in awe, a chuckle from Seungcheol following afterwards, “Nice to know two of our introverts are getting along just fine.”

You noticed them from the corner of your eyes, turning to the window, Wonwoo following to look at them. You smiled, giving them a small wave which they returned while the latter gave a small nod of his head.

“Sorry for keeping the two of you waiting,” Seungcheol apologised the second he got to the booth, taking a seat next to you. Mingyu and Vernon took their seats next to Wonwoo after placing their orders at the counter. “Aren’t you going to get anything?” you asked the older male, looking up at him as you took a sip from your milkshake.

“I’m assuming you’re waiting for me so you can order some kind of snack which we either share or I finish the remaining you can’t.” When you don’t answer and avert his gaze, Seungcheol knows he caught you red-handed. He chuckles as he gets out of the booth and towards the counter, which unfortunately for you, leads to an interrogation by the other three boys – technically, it was mainly Mingyu with the occasional questioning from Vernon. Wonwoo just sits quietly, listening in as his eyes would dart between you, your two ‘interrogators’ and Seungcheol who was still lining up.

The two men asked you the questions you’d expect.

“How old were you when you met Seungcheol hyung?”

“I think… I think I was 5? He should be about 7 or 8?”

“What did he look like back then? Did he look like a nerd?”

“Well, he had the signature bowl kid every boy got when they were kids or teens.”

“Was he scary?”

“Kind of? Not a lot of people messed with me because of how protective he was over me.”

“Mess with little red riding hood, the big bad wolf will come and get you.”

All attention was on Seungcheol as he placed a plate of strawberry cake and a plate of a dozen brownies on the table, returning to his seat right next to you. Noticing the stunned expressions from his peers, he shrugs, “That was what they’d always say to anyone trying to approach her with ill intentions. It’s basically their way of saying ‘if you don’t want trouble, don’t go looking for trouble’.”

An easier way to put it was – if you don’t want to deal with an angry Seungcheol, don’t bother his girl. Your heart still flutters at how some people referred to you as ‘his girl’, but you knew that actually being his girl was nothing more than a dream to you. “By the way hyung, when’s your next fight? Maybe ___ could come and help out, y’know?” Vernon asks, reaching out to grab a brownie only for his hand to be lightly slapped by Seungcheol. “Ow! What was that for!?”

“If you want them, go get them yourselves,” the older male answers, pushing the plate of brownies towards you. “These are for ___. If you want one, go get one yourself.” Your face heats up at the gesture, and heats up further when the three males turn to you. “Why does she get special treatment?” Mingyu whines, “And how can she possibly finish that entire plate?”

Seungcheol pats your head as he answers, “Because she’s ___. And, yes, she can. If she can’t, I’ll finish it.”

“Can we have a piece if you’re the one finishing it up?”

“No, get your own.”

“Ah, hyung!”

You’ve managed to bond with Wonwoo and Mingyu, becoming close with them in a matter of days and now, you’ve got four ‘bodyguards’ walking around with you (Mingyu refers to them as that, the others and you just play along). The downside that comes with the friendship would be a flock of envious fangirls (and occasionally fanboys) who had begun to buzz around you like moths attracted to light.

“How did you become friends with Wonwoo? Could you ask him to shout me out on his streams or MAESTRO account?”

“Is Mingyu single? Could you introduce me to him?”

“Would you like to be friends? I’d love to be friends with the boys!”

Both boys could see you were tired of the clout chasers, especially Wonwoo since he knows you value your personal space. Both men had taken the issue to their social media, expressing how they’d appreciate it if their ‘fans’ stopped bugging their friends and loved ones in an attempt to get close with them. You remembered when both of them addressed the issue on Wonwoo’s stream, the sternness in both their voices still sent shivers down your spine.

“We understand that you may think you know us as we both are content creators and certain information has been released about us online. While we may not be able to put an end to the parasocial relationship that you have built with us, we do not know you and you do not know us. Do not harass our friends and loved ones, and if your unhealthy obsession of us persists, please seek help.”

That was enough for a majority of the fanboys/fangirls to back off. Some still linger, but they were no longer up close and in your face bombarding you with questions or requests.

Currently, Wonwoo, Mingyu and Vernon sat in a discussion room within the library as they waited for Seungcheol and you. It was a small meet-up, but it could also be treated as a short co-working/co-studying meet-up. Your class was ending later than usual and Seungcheol offered to wait for you so both of you could walk to the library.

Beauty and the Beasts

mingoo: @princess how much longer is the lecture gonna take?

princess: erm… another 15 mins?

princess: …

princess: who set my nickname as princess in the gc?

All four boys replied altogether and you playfully rolled your eyes.

mingoo: coups hyung

vernonnie: cheol hyung

nonu: seungcheol

cheol: i did

cheol: i got you your coffee order btw

mingoo: what about us?

cheol: you lot already got your orders before you headed to the library

mingoo: i’m assuming you got her snacks too

cheol: yes

cheol: and they’re only for ___

cheol: so don’t try to steal them

Mingyu lets out a groan as he lays his upper body on the table. “It’s not fair,” he whines, “Why does Seungcheol hyung give ___ special treatment? Is it because she’s a girl?” Vernon shrugs, “Maybe? But, he’s treated his exes the same way, too.”

“Yeah, I know that, Vernon. But, isn’t there something different?”

Mingyu sits up as he looks at Vernon, his words seeming to be hinting at something as the younger male sits in silence. “It’s like he’s more attentive, more caring. Like, he was caring before to the other girls, but there’s this extra layer to it, y’know?”

“He means there’s more than meets the eye,” Wonwoo says, “I think what Mingyu’s trying to say is that Seungcheol is whipped for ___.”

“Yes!” Mingyu exclaims, pointing at Wonwoo with a puppy-like grin on his face, “But, also no? I don’t know! They grew up together so maybe it’s like a habit he has or a sense of responsibility he feels?”

“But, who would want to call their childhood best friend who is now an adult ‘pup’?” Vernon questions, and Wonwoo tips his pencil in the younger male’s direction, “Precisely. Everyone would grow out of it, much less a nickname like that. Hell, would you call any of your friends that kind of name as an adult?”

Mingyu hums in understanding. All three of them knew just how shameless Seungcheol could be sometimes. Vernon bites back a gag when he recalls accidentally witnessing Seungcheol and his then girlfriend making out in his car, in the campus’ parking lot - in broad daylight. He pitied his therapist who had to listen to him ramble on and on about suspecting the older male having an exhibitionist kink.

“So, you really think he’s whipped for her?”

“Seungcheol barely remembers your favourite cake, but he remembers ___’s coffee order.”

“He probably has it written down somewhere?”

“I beg to differ,” Vernon speaks up.

He joined Seungcheol to get coffee a few weeks ago. While Seungcheol was ordering his, you had texted Vernon saying your Business Module class had completely drained you and you were in need of a quick pick me up. All he did was say, “___ wants us to help get her coffee,” and Seungcheol began reciting your order to the barista without a second thought.

“He knew it like the back of his hand! Not a single thing was missed out!”

As Mingyu and Vernon continue to discuss Seungcheol's love life, Wonwoo glances down at his phone as it vibrates, a notification from you. Opening up the text app on his laptop, he types out his reply.

___: hey woo?

___: is it ok if i call you that-

wonwoo: yes?

wonwoo: n yes, perfectly fine

___: ok

___: um, so the class im in rn, we’re almost done btw!

___: they need me to write some kind of paper abt how psychology n business work

___: n since you’re a psych major

wonwoo: you need my help, yes?

___: bingo

___: is it possible for you to help me?

wonwoo: sure thing

wonwoo: why don’t you go over the details with me once you’re out of class?

wonwoo: we’ve booked the discussion room for the entire day

___: don’t the others have class?

Wonwoo can feel Mingyu and Vernon standing behind him as they “observe” his conversation with you. “Oooh, you’re texting his girl~” Mingyu teases, earning a glare from the older male that shuts him up immediately. “She needs help with her coursework and I have relevant information that can help her,” he replies as he resumes to type out his reply.

wonwoo: seungcheol only has one class today iirc

wonwoo: gyu and vernon have some kind of workshop in an hour

___: oh, cool!

___: then i can also get cheollie’s opinion

“Do you think they have a thing for each other?” Vernon asks, seemingly picking up on certain signs just from the text Wonwoo had just exchanged with you.

“Who? Seungcheol hyung and ___?” Mingyu asks back and he nods. The taller male thinks for a while, recalling the times that he’s seen any form of interaction or exchanged conversation the pair have shared. “Maybe? But, there weren’t any obvious signs that explicitly showed that Seungcheol or ___ like the other.”

“Well, there is a saying that love is in plain sight. Or that whole “you were hiding in plain sight” trend that was going around CIRCLES a few months ago.”

“Should we play cupid?”

“I think it’d be best if we don’t interfere with their love life.”

Wonwoo had a point. While their curiosity was gnawing away, the last thing they’d wanna do is accidentally driving a wedge between you and Seungcheol. It would be worse if they were reading the room wrong and neither of you were harbouring any feelings for the other. “But, that doesn’t mean we can’t find some clues to answer our hypothesis.”

Mingyu and Vernon looked at the older male who was still typing on his laptop. “Are we conducting experiments on them now?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. I’d say it’s more of observing their interactions with each other.”

“We’ll leave the psychology part to the psych major.”

“If this ends up being your thesis paper, Woo, we’d better be given credits.”

Later that night…

gyu created the group Operation Cupid 💘

taglist (unable to tag a few ㅠㅠ)

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwooo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetner @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnothelastofus @yearnoclock @kwonhoeshi @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ru-lin @deobiforever @belladaises @cheoliekkuma @duskunt1ldawn @hyneyedfiz @marshmallowshouse @ak6ko @chwevernonlover @jejuboo-s @tsukinluv @atinytinaa @gyros-cum-sock @soupbinlily @jungwoos-luvr @ener-energy @watermelon-sugars-things @cyberpunkhwx @ddaengpotate @nightwingsrobbinhoods @chaerrylov3r @joshuaahong @wonussmile @uliceeeeeeee @wonwoo24 @shinetogether17 @simplejihoon @luvkpopp @shingbangyes @black-swan-blog27 @minhui896

[twst-drabbles]

Jamil 17

Summary: You and Jamil lay in his bed in his dorm room. While you’re very tired, you’re visibly not bothered by the social implications of being in the bed of another. Jamil, on the other hand, is a little too aware.

(I saw the birthday card and went “eh, why not?” and wrote this.)

Was this something common in your world? Where, out of nowhere, people will just casually ask their friends if they can sleep with them in their bed? Because that’s what you did to Jamil. You approached him, luckily out of earshot from anyone important, and asked that very question with zero shame.

“Hey Jamil? Mind if I sleep with you in your bed tonight?”

Jamil will admit, it took him a good five seconds for him to register the words. And, he will also admit that he banged his knee against the table he was cleaning. Hit it so hard actually that he curled up into a ball, and practically retreated into his hoodie because why would you ask that?! In broad daylight?!

But you know what’s the worst part about all this? Jamil actually got excited. Giddy even! When the hot flush flooding through his body finally settled, all that was left was this glowing feeling.

At the time, he thought that his charms have finally got to you. That all his efforts to be in your good graces have begun to bear fruit.

And so he said, “You know what? Yes, let’s do that. Setting aside the way you asked that, I think I can find it in my heart to forgive that.”

Past him’s an idiot. For all those times he thought himself above the hormonal college students, turns out Jamil was no better. He supposed it was only a matter of time before he was humbled.

And so here Jamil lays on his side of the bed, dressed in his best pajamas, surrounded by the best sheets and pillows he uses for special occasions, and you laying on your stomach, reading the next chapter for one of your classes.

You came in with a tired wave, bag at hand, and flopped over in his bed. And you’ve been in that pose since.

“So, this was what you meant.” Jamil said. Now that his judgment is clear again after an hour of doing nothing, he really should’ve known you didn’t mean anything special by what you asked. Shame on him for expecting an extra meaning to them.

“Hmm? Oh, was the way I asked weird?” You glanced towards him. Jamil recognizes that exhausted look weighing in your eyes. Perhaps, through the rose-tinted glasses, Jamil didn’t notice. Once again, shame on him. Jamil should suffocate himself with these pillows. “Sorry about that. I just really want one good night of sleep. Just one.”

The urge to hit himself with the pillows lessened. Jamil moved onto his stomach, and copied your position, propping his chin on the pile. “Is there something wrong with your bed?”

You put your phone down. “Weather’s getting hotter and I still don’t have a working air con. It gets so humid at night that I sweat through the night. Can barely get more than three hours of sleep at a time.”

…of course the headmage would neglect to give you something as simple as a stable heating and cooling. Leave it to him to ignore your problems while he goes off doing whatever else. Probably binge watching an old drama that’s not even any good.

“I can’t imagine it’s been easy to deal with. Though, I have to ask, why my bed? You have others that you’re closer to, don’t you?”

Others such as Ace and Deuce, but Jamil didn’t want to say their names. It’s childish but he doesn’t want to see if your eyes light up at their mere mention.

You stretched your spine and settled down. “Yeah I know other people, but–how do I say this–they’ll make it weird.”

Weird? Like how Jamil preparing everything from the lights, to the blankets and even stuffing his drawer with extra wipes just in case wasn’t weird? What?

“Wait, what you mean by weird?” Now Jamil’s worried. Did something happen for you to say that? Did someone do something to you?

You waved off his concern. “Well, see, originally I was just going to ask Rook since he doesn’t mind sharing spaces with anyone, but he’s also very into cuddling and I’m not in the mood for that.”

“That’s true, he’s very open about that kind of thin–wait you cuddled him before?” Since when?

“Cuddled him plenty of times. Rook gives the best hugs without trying to flirt with me. Anyways, Rook wasn’t an option, and neither are Ace and Deuce since there’s no room to spare. There was Leona but after that whole ordeal with Azul, I really don’t want to go back there. And as for asking Azul himself… I feel like he’d charge me for that. So, here I am.”

Oh. Well, when putting it like that, it does make sense doesn’t it? So long as you don’t figure out exactly what went through his head when you asked. He’ll just keep quiet about that.

Jamil sighed into his pillow. “While I want to ask why you didn’t ask Kalim, but I know him too well. A peaceful rest isn’t something he can give, not with the way he sleeps.”

You patted his shoulder and it took everything in Jamil to not jump out of his skin. “You get it. So, yeah, thanks Jamil, for not saying no. Honestly, I was ready to find an empty classroom and just sleeping in there.”

Jamil narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that. You’ll get in trouble. Just sleep here for the time being. When I have time, I’ll see about pestering Crowley into getting everything in order.”

“You do too much for me, Jamil. Really.”

While things didn’t play out the way he wanted to, the warmth flooding in his chest has not once went away. If anything, from the sight of your smile, it threatened to overflow.

This is nice, that you trust him like this.

“…alright, this is still bothering me. How did you and Rook even start cuddling in the first place?”

And can he add himself onto that list of people you cuddle with?

“Hahaha, yeah that is strange, right? Alright, may as well tell you.”

[drmaddict]

N.F.I. - Not Fucking Invited

Summary: Michael and his girlfriend are spending Christmas with Michael's family. One morning, when they both just want to enjoy their togetherness, they are both rudely interrupted by somone who what not fucking invited.

Word count: 904

Author's note: Somehow I seem to have an urge to let Ewan's characters get caught.

She doesn't know what she thought Michael's family would be like, but definitely not so... normal.

His father was quite a successful builder. His mother was a hearty housewife. His older brother was training to be a car mechanic and the family dachshund, Baloo, had hip problems.

It had been strange when she first entered the house. He had invited her round for Christmas. He said it was because he wouldn't have a single lively conversation otherwise. But he seemed slightly nervous, when he introduced her to his mother.

A warm, slightly chubby woman who almost broke her back the first time she hugged her. Just like his father crushed her fingers, when he shook her hand.

It was all unexpectedly unremarkable. Most of the time the two of them withdrew and spent a few quiet hours together, but somehow his brother always found a way to interrupt them both.

Whether they were discussing their last lecture, gossiping about fellow students or just sitting together in silence. He found them.

Michael always looked more annoyed than the time before. Siblinglove didn't even seem to spare geniuses.

Only in the morning did they really had their peace from him. He was a late riser and therefore no danger until about eleven o'clock.

They were both still lying under thick down on chistmas day. The sun was just about to stretch over the horizon. She looked at his face. Relaxed. His eyes closed. His glasses were on the bedside table. His hair was tousled. Only his thumb, lazily tracing circles on her hip under the blanket, revealed that he was already awake.

She bit her lip. It had been quite a while. The pre-Christmas stress and preparations for the final tests for the semester had kept them both apart. And nothing had really happened since they'd been here.

But his thumb on her skin made her sigh silently.

She pushed herself even closer to him. With a mischievous grin, she put one leg over his hips and pulled herself as close to his body as possible.

His eyes fluttered open and looked at her questioningly. With a grin, she slipped the pantys off her legs and simply threw them away. Michael's eyes showed her, that he understood.

His gaze flitted briefly to the bedroom door, but then he too pulled his pyjamas and shorts out of the way. They caressed each other lazily. Kissed without haste. He slipped his hands under the sweatshirt he had once 'lent' her. They cheered each other on quietly and then he sliped into her.

Under the protection and warmth of the blanket, they gave themselves to each other.

She knew he liked this kind of sex. There was something meditative about it. It calmed his otherwise restless mind.

She ran her nails lightly over his back under his shirt. He buried his face in his-her  sweatshirt. The world was perfect.

Until the door opened.

"Get up already. There are presents.", his brother whined.

They both looked at him, perplexed.

"You're 24! Can't you wait until after breakfast like any normal person?"

"No!"

"Get out of my room!"

His brother leaned against the doorframe. She realised in that moment all too well, that Michael was still inside her. Involuntarily, her centre tightened at the thought. Michael's breath hitched.

"Am I interrupting something?", his brother grinned.

"Always.", Michael bit out. His hips jerked forwards slightly.

"Then come down." He said sweetly and disappeared. The door still completely open.

Michael took a deep breath. "Fuck.", he whispered. "You like that.", he simply stated. There was no question to be found.

My hips twitched slightly at the thought of the open door.

"It's surprising us both.", she whispered.

Michael picked up his rhythm again. Faster than before, but his hips only moved minimally to minimise the rustling of the blanket.

She buried her hands in his hair. Moved towards him just as quickly. His thumb found its way between her and onto her bundle of nerves.

The knot inside her tightened. Her nails clawed into his shirt and then she fell. With her head buried against his chest, she jerked haphazardly and pulled him into the abyss with her.

They lay there, slightly out of breath. Still entwined. He buried his face in her hair. She savoured the soft, washed-out fabric of his T-shirt on her cheek.

They made no attempt to break away. They both enjoyed the feeling of still being connected. They both let themselves drift with the cosy lightness.

"Are you coming for breakfast? Your brother is driving me crazy.", they both heard Mrs. Gavey's cheerful voice.

"Yes Mum.", Michael said far too quickly and watched tensely as his mother disappeared down the corridor again.

He jumped up frantically, completely ignoring the fact that he was half naked, and quickly slammed the door shut.

"Fuck.", he whispered.

She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. "Sorry.", she whispered back.

He just shook his head. "We'd better get dressed or my dad will be standing here too."

She smirked, but fished for her knickers and reached for her toiletry bag. She planted a quick kiss on his lips and wanted to leave to the bathroom, but he stoped her by the upper arm.

"Don't think we're not repeating this in the library.", he clarified.

She smiled, but her stomach fluttered excitedly at the thought.

"I can hardly wait."

"Little minx."

[joedirtymadre]

Confession

(AIZAWA X READER) (FLUFF!) (Please send requests!!)

You walked through the halls of UA. “Wow, there are so many new facilities, way more upgrades compared to when I was attending,” you smiled as you followed Principal Nezu. “That’s correct, we’ve always tried to provide the best education and training to our students. I’m sure you remember,” he smiled as he continued to lead you to his office. “Yep, I really missed this place. America was nice, but I really missed Japan,” you smiled. “I see, well if you’re free I’d love to discuss your time in America over a cup of tea,” he said as he opened his office door. “That’s fine,” you nodded.

That was the idea, but… it quickly turned into one of Principal Nezu’s famous lectures. ‘Why am I receiving a lecture on my first day back?’ you asked yourself. The lecture was cut off by a knock on the door. “Yes?” Nezu asked. The door slowly opened, your eyes slightly widened. Across from you was Aizawa, “Oh hello Eraserhead, are those the files I asked you to prepare? Thank you for your hard work, you can place them on my desk,” Nezu said as he placed his cup of tea down. “Understood,” he nodded. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting,” he bowed slightly before placing the files on the desk. “Oh it’s no trouble, it is getting quite late isn’t it?” He asked you, and you nodded enthusiastically. Anything to get out of his lecture… “Oh, may I ask for another favor, Eraser?” Nezu asked. “Yes sir?” Aizawa replied. “Would you mind giving our new instructor a quick tour of the school?” He asked. “... Yes sir,” he hesitated. “Fantastic! Well I will send your new schedule before I leave the office today, thank you for your help,” Nezu shook your hand. 

You nodded and followed Aizawa out into the hallway. “What a bother…” you heard him mumble. “Jeez, is that any way to greet an old classmate?” you smiled softly. “Mmm… well follow me,” he said grumpily and began guiding you through the new facilities. 

“Wow there’s so many new training grounds! How exciting!” you grinned. You glanced over to Aizawa who seemed bothered to still be guiding you. “Eraser, how about we end this tour early today?” you asked. “Huh?” he asked. “Well, not to be mean, but that scowl hasn’t left your face this entire tour. And it’s sort of leaving a sour taste in my mouth,” you joked. “Hmm… well if you really want to then so be it, but before you go let’s go to one last spot,” he said softly as he guided you towards the rooftop. 

You ran out onto the roof, “I knew you were bringing me here! It’s been so long!” You smiled as you ran towards the railings. “Be careful,” he yawned. “I know, I know! Remember how many times we would sneak up here?” You laughed. “Yeah, I also remember the amount of times we had to throw Mic under the bus because he was always the reason we were caught,” he replied. “Oh wow I totally forgot! Is he here? I’d love to see him!” you smiled excitedly. “You’ll be able to see him on Monday,” he responded. “Really? How nice,” you smiled.

The three of you were pretty close throughout highschool, but… things ended awkwardly… “But… why did you bring me here? Don’t you remember what happened up here? Doesn’t being up here give you uncomfortable memories?” You asked. Thinking back to that one day.

Flashback

“Hey Aizawa! Aizawa!” you knocked on his desk, trying to wake him up. “I’m up…” he yawned as he slowly picked his head up. “Well it doesn’t seem like it, come on, you’re supposed to help clean…” you groaned as you continued placing chairs on the desks. “I’m helping,” he stifled a yawn before standing up and placing his seat onto his desk. It was a comfortable silence in the classroom before you decided to break it. “Hey, before we head home… would you mind accompanying me onto the roof?” you asked nervously. “Yeah sure,” he replied. “Really? Ok!” you said excitedly. 

After cleaning you both snuck up to the roof. You ran towards the railing. “Be careful,” he yawned. “I know, I know! Look, isn’t it so pretty today? Look at that sunset!” You grinned as you pointed towards the light orange sky. “It’s just a regular sunset,” he shrugged. “And you’re just a piece of sandpaper,” you rolled your eyes. “Whatever,” he replied. “Is that the only reason why you wanted to come up here? To see the sunset?” He asked. “W-Well… you know how we’re graduating in 2 months?” You asked. “Yeah, and?” He asked. “Well… I don’t want to leave this place regretting anything. I- There’s something I wanted to tell you before we both leave and pursue our dreams,” you said determinedly. “You mean before you head to America for that job offer?” he asked. “I still haven’t accepted that, I’m still thinking about it… but forget about that! Just… just let me worry about right now,” you said nervously as you turned to face him. 

“Ok?” He asked, confused. “Aizawa… I’ve recently- no I’ve known for a while that… well… I- I…” you stammered over your words. “What are you trying to say?” Aizawa asked. “I… Aizawa I’ve developed feelings for you, a-and I would like us t-to get to know each other more c-closely,” you said as you stared at the ground, afraid of his reaction towards your confession. “H-Huh?” He asked. “Please don’t make me repeat myself…” you felt your ears burn. I-I see… well… I’m sorry…” he trailed off. You clutched onto the hem of your blazer. “It’s f-fine! I get it!” You blurted out. “It’s just that…” he trailed off. “I said it’s fine! Don’t worry about me! Oh would you look at the time, I gotta go before I miss the last train!” you said as you grabbed your bag and raced towards the door. “(Y/N)! Wait!” You heard, but continued racing towards the stairs. 

After that day it became difficult and awkward to be around him. So you slowly separate yourself from your 2 friends. As well as accepting your offer in America.

End of Flashback

You waited for Aizawa’s reply, but he only stared back. “Well, I don’t know why you brought me here, but I’m glad you did. I always saw the best sunsets up here…” you smiled as you glanced towards the sky. “But I’ve never found a more beautiful sunset compared to that one day,” you laughed as you turned towards Aizawa. Noticing he stepped closer towards you.

“Not planning to push me off the roof are you?” You laughed. “What?” He let out a surprised chuckle. “Well you’re not saying anything, is this you getting revenge for making things awkward?” You joked. “No,” he shook his head. “Just thought it was a pretty sunset today,” He said softly. “It is,” you smiled. “And don’t worry Aiza- I mean Eraserhead, I’ll make sure to always keep things professional between us. Don’t worry about the past,” you said. “Well… there’s something I have to tell you,” he replied. “Don’t tell me you already reported me to HR,” you laughed. “Jeez… you’re still the same old jokester aren’t you?” He asked as he scratched the back of his head. “Guilty,” you smiled as you leaned against the railing. 

“Anyways… there was something important that I wanted to tell you,” he said softly. “Yes?” You asked. “Well…” He mumbled off as he slightly stiffened. “What was that? You mumbled off,” you replied as you cupped your ear. You noticed he took a few steps closer, you felt your smile tighten. A bit nervous from the close distance between you two. “Well, let me phrase this in a way you’ll understand me instantly,” he let out a deep breath. “I’ve developed feelings for you (Y/N), and I would like us to get to know each other more closely,” he said as he stared into your eyes. You immediately felt your ears burn, “W-What?” You asked as you tried to take a step back, but was met with the railing. 

“...Please don’t make me repeat myself,” he said awkwardly. “That’s not funny, making fun of a young girl’s words,” you narrowed your eyes as you clutched onto the railing. “(Y/N), I’m serious,” he said as he took another step closer. “A-Aza- I mean Easer, stop messing with me…” you blushed as you leaned farther back onto the railing. “(Y/N),” he said softly. “I s-should go-” your eyes widened as you noticed yourself falling over the rails. “Crap!” you heard him shout. You were about to catch yourself, but was met with a scarf wrapping around you. Pulling you back onto the roof, you were then met with a sturdy chest. You stared at Aizawa as he slowly caught his breath from the sudden action. 

“I thought I told you to be careful,” he said. “I-I know… I just…” you moved your eyes towards the ground. “(Y/N),” he called out as you felt a hand on your chin, causing you to face him. “I like you, I’ve always liked you…” he said. “B-But you…” you trailed off. “I did that, so you wouldn’t miss out on going to America. I’d kick myself if I were so selfish to make you stay here just because of me…” he explained. “You… rejected me so I wouldn’t refuse the offer?” You widen your eyes. “You always talked about traveling, and wanting to go meet more heroes outside of Japan. What were you going to do if I accepted your confession back then?” He asked. “I-I was planning to… to stay. I wanted to be with you…” you blushed. “You see, I didn’t want to be the reason why you didn’t complete one of your dreams,” he said softly. 

“I-I’m sorry Aizawa, I just assumed…” you trailed off. “It’s fine, but what I said was true. Do you accept my confession?” He smiled softly. “Of course I do!” you grinned as you pounced on him. “You’re way too excited,” he chuckled softly. “Aren’t you?” You asked. “Yeah… I am,” he said as he stared back into your eyes. You bit your lip nervously, before closing the distance between you. 

Thank goodness you accepted the offer from UA.

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 20 ... WITH BENEFITS??

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, sexual innuendos, kys/kms jokes, y/n has daddy issues for the sake of the plot

NOTES | I have no idea why this update took me so long to post I'm so sorry 😭 I don't like making chapters like this too sad (don't worry there's still gonna be some angsty chapters) but I don't want the written stuff on its own bcs that feels too espresso depresso or wtv the phrase is so this is a bit of a longer chap than usual.. anyways if ever you feel bad for y/n, don't worry you're gonna feel worse

19:21, dinner the night before

Y/n shuffles in her seat.

Jaemin greets her with a smile, and though she offers one back, that sinking feeling in her stomach doesn't seem to settle.

Suddenly now that she finds herself face to face with her once best friend, no menus in hand since they'd already given their orders, no way to avoid conversation for just a couple seconds longer, Y/n finds herself at a loss for words.

What was anyone supposed to say in this situation?

Sure a thank you would be ideal, considering Jaemin had somehow managed the impossible, but the words escaped her. Like they rested at the tip of her tongue but she lacked the drive to speak them.

It's not that y/n wasn't grateful, no, she wouldn't be here if she wasn't, in fact she didn't know what it was, what confused her so deeply that she sat there silently. Her thumbs twiddling against one another, as she stared down at the table in front of her.

There was a nagging whisper in her mind, one that cast shadows over her once clear thoughts, leaving her in that haze of uncertainty that she recognised all too well. Recently it was all she could feel around the captain.

Something about this situation in particular makes her palms sweaty and the hairs stand on her neck, every glance at Jaemin feeling like a shadow of what had once been, a reminder of how it had all been lost.

Even just sitting opposite Jaemin isn't simple.

Not at all.

It's like sitting across from a mirror that once reflected shared laughter and secrets, now distorted by fractures of lost trust and unspoken words. She supposed that was the thing about mirrors and shattering. No matter how hard you tried to glue the pieces back together, it would never quite be the same.

Perhaps that's why y/n is lousy in her attempts, grateful to Jaemin but unbothered to express it. The thought that no matter how desperately she hoped, this couldn't be restored. That there was no point in pouring energy into a friendship that would never be resolved.

"So" it's undoubtedly jaemin who breaks the silence, a soft tone to his voice, not quite as gentle as the other night but still warm "are you feeling better? like really okay?"

For a moment she wonders whether she'll break at the sound of his voice like she always had. Would she go back to that point in life where it was so easy to lie, so easy to say she was okay, so easy to pretend, in front of everyone else but never in front of him.

"I'm fine, honestly." She lies.

There's a shy sheepish smile that creeps across her lips and slightly accents her words

Jaemin hasn't seen much of her positivity be directed his way, and seeing this ignites the little hope in him that they could move on from this, from everything.

"You didn't have to work on it without me you know, it was just as much my project as it was yours and you putting in all the effort isn't fair on you."

"You did most of the preliminary stuff anyways, and I really didn't want to ask you because of the other night" Jaemin finally admits, though not willingly, his words extracted more so by her sharp stare and the cold atmosphere.

"Right..." Her attempts at changing the subject, clearly in vain— he really needed to stop asking about the other night. Y/n wasn't sure how much h longer she could hold back the tears, the looming feeling of inadequacy as a guardian still strong. She should have been more careful.

She knows its her turn to speak, opening her mouth to do so.

But again, y/n struggles.

The words play hide and seek in her mind, leaving her to grasp at empty. The atmosphere grows heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Her mind races, a jumble of what to say, thoughts of how easy conversation once was, how effortless it had been, all such a stark contrast to now.

Jaemin watches, a mix of intrigue and concern in his eyes as she contemplates in front of him, quiet but with an expression that spoke volumes.

The silence between them seems to bite louder than any conversation they once held, each dish in front, a reminder of the bitter aftertaste of a friendship turned cold.

"It's just Minjun and I" she breathes out, voice shaky, and Jaemin realises that those nervous cues in her slumped posture and shaking hands had never changed "It's just been the two of us for a while" she whispered. "That's why I was so scared"

Jaemin's hand hovers uncertainly beneath the table, unsure if the gesture would be welcomed or misunderstood, caught in the delicate balance of care and concern.

Admittedly, Jaemin catches himself slightly intrigued, still confused what could have lead to her practically perfectly family turning into this.

But he knows better than to let his curiosity get the best of him.

He wants to stop her, tell her that whatever it is that causes her brows to knit together and her pretty eyes to gloss over isn't something she needs to force herself to talk about, but he doesn't know how.

For a moment he's kicking himself under the table— how had he ever let go of the person who meant so much to him?

Even now, knowing everything she had done, he couldnt help but question why hadn't he tried to get past it then?

At the sight of her downcast features suddenly everything that he once despised her for seemed so trivial.

Jaemin sees himself, a younger, less mature version that stands on the court, hair matted to his forehead from the rain, a ball long forgotten somewhere behind him, cold, betrayed, and so painfully alone. Those burning tear stained cheeks, the harsh whistles of wind, the bitter feeling of failure still clinging to his skin, he remembers it all.

But every feeling he recalls so well, so vividly, is so easily dismissed when her eyes shine with a painful tint, red from the piercing tears that she holds in them.

"My dad" she cuts him off, gaze now avoidant as he grabbed her cold hands in his, "he walked out on us not long after ...whatever hapenned between you and me. He never came back, didn't answer a single call, not even a text, no form of communication except the papers he sent in the mail so I could become Junnie's legal guardian."

I missed you, she wanted to say. I needed you she'd liked to add.

"That's why it's just the two of us now" she said instead, trying to find more words to stop the tears from flowing, like her words were the only thing that could hold them back.

Back then, Y/n remembers vividly the feeling of wanting to fall, to sink, to drown but still somehow keeping her head above the surface to hold on and stay strong for her younger brother. She wondered if Jaemin had been there, would it have been easier? Would she have let herself fall, would she have someone to give her a hand, to pick her back up again and hold her hand through it all? Would things have ended differently?

"I'm sorry" his words weren't new, they weren't special, they were the same as what everybody else would say but the fact that they came from him, Na Jaemin who now stood by her side with his arms wrapped around her, was enough to dissolve the feeling of emptiness.

08:25 present time

Y/n looks over at Minjun, still deep in slumber, smiling before she steps out of the room.

There's way too many toys sprawled out across the living room floor, a blanket she finds herself folding as she subconsciously begins to clean up. Her eyes land on the kitchen counter, wondering what to make for breakfast. She was never particularly good at cooking, but she'd been learning for her brothers sake.

When she gets to the black jacket resting over the couch, it hits her. She catches sight of her puffy eyes in the mirror, and a hand runs through her hair hurriedly.

"Why the fuck did I tell him all of that" she let's out a frustrated sigh, running her hands across her face, "I'm supposed to hate him" she reminds herself, though her tone isn't convincing in the slightest.

"You don't hate him though" Heeseung's voice comes out muffled, the toothbrush between his lips making it difficult to understand his words.

He had been the one to stay over last night, her friends still taking turns to accompany Minjun and her every night since he'd walked out of the apartment, a gesture that made her heart swell. Although up until now she was pretty certain he was still asleep. Clearly not.

"I can't hate him" she sighs, falling back into the couch "is it bad I want to be friends with him again?" she asks, even though Heeseung had retreated to the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.

Regardless he pokes his head out into the hallway, a sly smirk across his lips "with benefits?"

Y/n rolls her eyes.

He emerges again not long after, smiling from ear to ear "no y/n it's not bad if you want to be friends again" he takes a seat beside her "you can only fight your feelings for so long, let yourself be vulnerable, take the risk and try again" he says, hands resting on both his knees.

"and if you're feeling really risky, you can always—"

"shut up Heeseung" she smiles, lightly pushing against his arm "I guess it is worth a shot though"

"he's right next door anyways so sneaking around won't be hard at all"

"I meant being friends. Just friends." she stands up, walking over to the kitchen "you down for pancakes?"

He nods.

"You know it could be good though, he's hot, you're hot, there's enough tension to make things interesting and it ticks your not ready for a relationship box pretty well too"

Despite the pointed look the captain offers him, Heeseung doesn't let up, and secretly, she wouldn't have it any other way.

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[wisteriagoesvroom]

waittttttt your brain is so bodacious vampire frando sounds so interesting

if you’re comfortable/want to, tell me more ? 👀

ok i rly was supposed get some stuff done before fp1 later, but since you are ENCOURAGING me...

NORPINTO-FRANDO VAMPIRE AU

lando has been a vampire for like. a relatively long time by human standards. make of that what you will

he lives in an apartment, what we do in the shadows style, with... carlos and oscar

lando generally tries to be really clean with his feeding and take only enough blood out, so that the folks he bites wake up with a headache and minor anaemia

however. he drags unsuspecting graduate student franco into an alley and bites him, but gets distracted because franco TALKS the whole time.

turns out franco is like. a literature student who has always had an overactive imagination. he quickly puts the dots together and is like "OH, MY GOD, ARE YOU... A VAMPIRE" before lando is like "shush this won't take long if you stay still" and sinks his fangs into franco

franco yaps at length about how "at home in argentina there are witches and el familiar, in fact the idea of good and bad is very fluid in argentina and there is intercreature harmony, and oh! do you maybe know some of the witch clans from catamarca or salta?" and lando is like "??? how do you know all this ???" but by then he also realises his teeth have been in franco's neck for way too long, and oh shit franco is passing out and ahhhh---

franco is accidentally turned 🧛

lando is like "CRAP what do i do with this baby vampire wth ???" and he fireman carries him back to the house to try and figure it out. he spends half the time googling how to un-turn a vampire because oscar told him that like, google can tell you lots of stuff now

blablabla franco cannot be un-turned, so the rest of the fic is probably lando teaching franco how to do Vampire Things.

except franco just TALKS the whole time through EVERYTHING, including: how to feed, how to fly, how to stay out of trouble with the supernatural creatures international tribunal etcetc.

franco asks a lot of questions like "is it true you hate garlic" to lando and oscar is like "no he just hates fish, that's different".

carlos is like "i didn't know ur new sire speaks SPANISH" and then he actually gets rly excited to have a yapyap friend too

at some point oscar gets sick and tired of people not doing the dishes when they're supposed to in the house, so he turns into a bat and flies off in a huff

anyway idk how it ends but franco enjoys being a vampire somehow and they have a little vampire coven and lando gifts franco a little onyx hellhound figure to remind him of home

franco definitely asks lando "can i fly to argentina faster now" and lando is like. "no. you definitely need a rest stop somewhere further north like... mexico or smth, pls don't attempt that, also we have heavy regulations now because of the huge volume of air traffic in the sky so, pls just take a plane. here have the keys to my jet and tell them the code is ln4, they'll take you anywhere."

franco: YOU HAVE A PRIVATE JET WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO? WHY DO WE LIVE IN SUCH A DUMP?

lando, carlos, oscar (altogether): oi/hey/excuse me mate this is our dump 😠

edited to add: a carcar moment, and part 2

[mattyriddlesbitch]

The Princess and The Knight(Chapter Two)

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: mentions of the basilisk

By your second year, Mattheo had made a reputation of being a dick and getting into fights. Many people avoided him, only his few friends you met on the train on the way to Hogwarts talked with him.

And you. You tried, at least. He would give short replies the whole time. ‘Yes’ ‘No’ ‘Maybe’ ‘I don’t know’ ‘Okay’ “Whatever’ That was pretty much his whole vocabulary with you.

His friends were okay with you. Not particularly friendly or went out of their way for you, but they weren’t rude to you and you were never one of their targets, which you were thankful for.

Second year started, and that was the year that there was something roaming Hogwarts, killing students. You were terrified, as any normal person would be.

You sat down in Potions next to Mattheo the day after the first attack, still a bit shaken up from the news.

“Did you hear about what happened?” You asked Mattheo as you started setting up your things for class.

“With the cat? Yes.” Mattheo answered, seeming unphased.

“I can’t believe something like that could happen here.” You said, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It's just a cat. It'll be fine, probably.” Mattheo shrugged.

“What if it happens to a student though?” You ask, leaning forward to lean on the desk.

“Are you scared?” He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you, like he was confused about your reaction.

“Well, yeah. That could've happened to anybody. That's terrifying.”

“You don't have to be scared. Nothing's gonna happen to you.” His expression softened slightly.

“How can you be so sure? How are you not scared?” You asked, confused about his laid back attitude about it all.

He shrugged again, refusing to answer the questions. “Do you need me to protect you? Will that make you feel safe?” He asked in a sarcastic tone.

It almost took you back for a second. He was sarcastic with you often, but the question caught you off guard. But you quickly recovered. “Aw, are you offering to be my knight in shining armor?” You smiled at him.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “As if. You're not a princess, you know.”

“Only princesses get knights then?”

“Correct.”

You were about to respond, but Snape spoke up, starting his lesson.

After some more attacks, the school implemented a rule that you couldn’t walk alone and to always walk with someone else. You didn’t really know anyone in your potions class other than Mattheo, so you weren’t sure who you were going to walk with, but you figured you’d find someone when the time came.

So now, potions class had ended and you were packing up, watching everyone walk in pairs or groups out of the classroom. You grabbed your bag and headed to the door, but noticed everyone was gone. You frowned, but figured since the halls were filled with students, you shouldn’t have an issue getting to your next class and headed out of the classroom.

“Breaking the rules now?” You heard Mattheo say after you took a few steps out the door.

“What?” You turned to see him pushing himself off the wall and coming to your side.

“Not following the ‘walking with someone’ rule. You’re alone.” He said, grabbing your arm to make you keep walking before letting go.

“Everyone had someone else already.” You shrugged as you fell into step beside him.

“I guess that leaves us then.”

“You didn’t want to walk with anyone else?” You asked curiously.

“They’re all idiots, I’m not walking with them.” He answered simply.

“You know, I think I recall you saying something about only princesses getting knights.” You said in a playful tone.

“Yeah, and?”

“Does that mean I’m a princess now?” You joked.

“And I’m a knight then?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah.” You smiled at him.

“Fine then, princess. I guess I’ll be your knight for our 5 minute walk to your class.” He said sarcastically.

He walked with you between classes when he could, still keeping up the defense that he didn’t want to walk with anyone else since they were idiots. When they finally lifted the rule, he walked you to class one last time.

“Guess you won’t be needing my protection anymore, princess.” He said as you approached your class.

“Unfortunate. I was getting used to you walking with me.” You said, pouting playfully.

“Not like you’re never going to see me again.” He rolled his eyes at your pout.

“Might as well, though. It was the most you ever spoke to me.”

“Oh, shut up.” He stopped in front of your classroom.

“Well, I guess you’re retired now, my knight. Your services were appreciated.” You said with a small smile, chuckling when he rolled his eyes again, but this time with his own small smile.

“You’re stupid.”

“I know.”

There was a small moment of silence as you stared at each other, finally breaking when another student squeezed past you two to get into the classroom.

“Well, I better get to class. I’ll see you later, Mattheo.” You said and headed to your classroom.

“Yeah, later.” You heard him say before he started heading to his own classroom.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @leandre2006

@call-me-mishi @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @brittney-121 @leovaldezsbitch

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddleluvbot @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@demieyesore @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15 @starryslytherin0

@jolly4holly @st0n3dbarbi3 @kurumbukaari @whydoireadanymore @sweet-afternoon

@ilovehpb0ys @princessluvssleep @satosugu4-ever @reys-letters @mattiesgirl

@alwayslatetothefandoms @satosugu4-ever @whydoireadanymore @reys-letters @mcdonaldshelppage

@shaquilles-0atmeal @feistyfox47 @gillyweeds @pluto-9456 @jooniebluesworld

@hereticdance @lxserriddle @cindyss @saint-marvel @atadoddinnit

@simpforromance @yours-truly-5

Let me know if you wanna be added!

[lk0727]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downcasted gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensiveshowcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[storiesfromafan]

Don't Do It - Mattheo Riddle x Reader

A/N: Just a under 1000 word one-shot 😊 And trying to break writers block, haha.

Prompt/s: Write a scene in a library where the characters must whisper or stay silent.

And,

“Dont do it” “But...”

Late afternoon, an hour since classes ended for the day. The library was reasonably busy, due to various groups of students at the tables studying for the next days tests in different classes. It was mostly silent, minus the soft whispers of the students to each other.

Sitting at one of those tables, your boyfriend at your side, you were the only two to have their own table. Which irked a fair amount of students, so every so often you would get dirty looks. Yet neither you or Mattheo cared. Not now, not ever.

You were currently reading over a book for potions. Your boyfriend at your side, chair close to yours. His arm was slung over the back of your chair, his hand playing with the ends of your hair which cascaded down your back. Every now and then Mattheo would lean in, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Making you smile or giggle. That also got some unkind looks from the other females in the room. As your dear boyfriend was one of the few sort after boys of Slytherin and Hogwarts.

While you weren’t really high up on the list of girls the boys wanted to snog. Though that never bothered you. You weren’t ugly or anything, you were quiet pretty. It’s just boys tended to go for the prettier, and sometimes easier girls. And you might ask why Mattheo chose you. You didn't fuss over him, or make goo-goo eyes at him. Sure, you thought he was cute, even had a small crush on him. But you kept a level head. And Mattheo liked that, as well as the challenge of getting you.

After he got you it just got better and better. Mattheo never got tired of you. If anything, he just liked you more, even loved you. And after getting to know the real Mattheo, you began to love him back. Separate, you were smart while he was a troublemaker. Together, you were yin and yang. You managed Mattheo's wild side, while he brought out the fire in you.

This looked to be one of those moments. For your boyfriend's attention wasn't on you so much any more, rather he was shooting daggers at the Golden Trio. To be fair they had been looking at you both, sour looks upon their faces. Not to mention whispering to themselves while looking to you both.

It was starting to get to you too, but you had more patience then Mattheo. You just knew he was itching to say something, or hex them. The way his hand on your back twitched told you his restraint was wavering. When he drew his hand from you, and hands hid under the table before you both, he had made his decision.

“Don't do it" you whispered, eyes still on the book before you.

“But...” he whispered back.

“I said, don't do it" you repeated, turning the page casually.

“It's just one small hex, love" Mattheo tried to reason.

You sighed, “one small hex will lead to detention, love" you mocked. “You can’t afford another detention. Or else no Quidditch for you".

Mattheo sat there silently. No doubt weighing up his options, hex and detention or play Quidditch. With a soft groan Mattheo pouted, slouching down in his chair. You looked at him from the corner of your eye. You found his childishness amusing. He wanted to hex those three so badly. But Quidditch was his escape.

Closing the book, you leant back in your chair with a small stretch. Shooting a dark look to the Golden Trio, you turned to face your boyfriend. Who had gone back to glaring at the three. You leant into him and placed a kiss to his cheek, before moving your lips to his ear.

“It's alright, love. You can get your payback on the Quidditch field" you whispered sweetly in his ear. “Wouldn't it be just dreadful if Potter was knocked out by a bludger, or hit with a Quaffle".

You moved back just enough to watch the dark smirk cross Mattheo's sinful lips. “Yes, love, just dreadful”. He then turned to place a linger kiss to your own cheek, making you laugh a little too loudly.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

People asking which one we get between Jack Skellington and Oogie Boogie, while I'm sitting here in a Comm class thinking "Why not both? Lmao". We all recognize them easily, so having it a twist(heh) of both, with Jack's being a hero character and Oogie being the main bad, could work out with how they actually are.

How Yana could go about it, idk, we'll have to wait and see. But honestly, am so fucking hyped for it. But what exactly do you think could be a possible plot idea or what do you think could happen in the event?

You can answer at your own leisure.

[Referencing this post!]

I don’t think it’s strange at all that people are speculating which character will be the one twisted. Yes, Fellow and Gidel were introduced as a pair, meaning that there is no limit or precedent set for there only be one new character revealed. However, it’s very clear that Fellow was the star of the show, as he has the stronger presence (and ended up getting the SSR as well). Ultimately, it does mean they end up being treated like a single character rather than individuals anyway. So really, I think most fans are still running on the logic that only “one” can be twisted.

The problem with Jack and Oogie is that they are both strong presences, neither dominating the other when it comes to being attention grabbing. Fellow and Gidel go together, but Jack and Oogie are opposing forces, not teammates, in their own story. This makes it hard to predict which of them will be twisted and makes it less likely they’d be crammed into the same card.

(ncbsbsvwjwheisn NOT GONNA LIE, I’m really hyped for a twisted!Jack Skellington… but a part of me is also really attached to my OC that’s twisted from Jack 🤡 That’s not to say that I don’t want a canonized one; I think I’d actually ASCEND if we got a twisted!Jack Skellington for real!!! It’s just that I wouldn’t know what to do with my OC after the fact 🤷‍♂️ Something similar happened with my Snow White OC when Neige was introduced in book 5 www)

A popular idea I’ve seen in circulation is another isekai plot where either the students go to Halloween Town or the Nightmare Before Christmas characters come to Twisted Wonderland from Halloween Town. I’d wager that’s a pretty safe guess! Like… they’re doing their Halloween parade prep and there’s a new character disrupting things. Maybe they’ll have to pull off a heist or kidnapping of some kind?? 🤔 It would be funny if the NRC boys had to help play matchmaker for a Sally and Jack/j Personally (and this is a stretch), I really would like to see some kind of casino or gambling element because I love those design details for Oogie’s lair. Not sure if it would make sense being a large part of the event story, but it would be cool to consider.

[lw77]

Diet Pepsi 💈 (LSxMV)

Chapter 1. - Angel

Max wants more than just a sub.

Who knew helping his dad at the shop would become his own personal brand of torture. He knew his dad had regulars, but he thought they’d be – old men regulars not whatever these chippendale escapees were. 

Apparently they’re contractors, who look like every middle-aged woman’s fantasy. Including Logan’s. 

And like clock-work, the group of men enter, a few heading to the drinks and some to his mom’s home-made subs. He hears Danny’s loud laugh, followed by Charles snickering as they tease their other colleague, George, Logan’s mind helpfully supplies, as he shows them something on his phone.

Logan wonders where the other one is, Max, all ruddy cheeks, bright blue eyes and big arms, who’s sadly amiss as he looks towards the floor. 

It’s embarrassing really, how at twenty-one Logan is like a school boy with a crush. If he ever confessed all the things he’s thought, fantasised about or, God, he inwardly groans, dreamt since seeing that man, it would have his Priest drowning him in holy water. 

A tap at the counter knocks Logan out of his thoughts, as he sees Danny in front of him ready to cash out. Like he knew what was going through Logan’s head, Danny’s smile stretched wider, “What’s wrong Logie boy, you disappointed it's just us today?” 

Logan squeaks as he’s caught out, face aflame, “No idea what you’re talking about, um– will that be all?” gesturing to the stack of subs and drinks Danny’s placed on the counter. 

“I think you doooo Logie boy.” Danny croons winking, as Logan speeds up his scanning before Danny can say anything else. It doesn’t stop the man from resting his forearms on the counter and wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re awful, I’m telling my mom not to make any more of her salami subs.” Logan whines, trying to threaten Danny’s favourite sub away in hopes of ending his teasing. 

Danny smiles cheekily in response, “Your mother loves me, she would never do that” as he taps his credit card on the reader. 

Putting the items in plastic bags, “Maybe I’ll just throw them all away then.” Logan says petulantly. Taking the bags from Logan, “Oh come on Logie boy, that would just be wasteful. Now don’t you worry, he’ll be back next week!” Danny shouts with one last wink as he heads out. 

It’s loud enough that Charles and George, who were still hanging by the front, look up and laugh as if they know exactly who Danny is referring to. It makes Logan let out an embarrassed “Danny” as he hears the group’s laughter continue out the store. 

_______________________

Logan is snug in their usual booth, waiting for Alex and Oscar to return with their first round. They’re celebrating Alex’s new job tonight.

“Alright, two pitchers of beer for us and a Sommersby cooler for the princess!” Oscar announces loudly as he sets down their drinks. Logan snatches the cooler and pulls it closer.

“Oh, come on, Logie bear. You know we’re just teasing you,” Alex says, only making Logan scowl more.

“Seriously, what’s gotten into you this week? Did your mom accidentally sew up your fuck-me jeans again or something?” Oscar asks, furrowing his brows in genuine curiousity.

Logan groans and sinks further into his seat. “No, worse.”

“Did she try to set you up with one of her awkward co-op students again?” Alex asks.

Sitting up, Logan protests, “Okay, that was one time! Checo was sweet—he just had really sweaty hands.” Realizing how pitiful that sounds once he says it, he rests his head against the booth's cushion.

Alex and Oscar sit in silence, giving him space to finally share what’s bothering him.

“You know those hot regulars my dad has? The Chippendale escapee contractors? Danny Ricc—you know him, Alex.” Leaning in, Logan hisses, “Well, they definitely know I’m into their friend or colleague, whatever he is.”

“Yeah well, Logan, you’re not exactly subtle. It’s pretty obvious you’ve got a crush on that guy,” Oscar replies, in an all too annoyingly factual tone, Logan decides.

“And your pupils get huge dude when you like someone. There’s no hiding your attraction buddy,” Alex adds, raising his hands in surrender.

“Oh my god, how am I going to face him now that I know his friends know? Meaning, he knows too. So mortifying,” Logan says, fully aware he’s whining when they’re supposed to be celebrating Alex. “Sorry, I’ll snap out of it… or I’ll move out of town.” He says the last part a little too seriously for his friends.

“Anyway, that’s my week. Now—Alex, come on, tell us about the job! The floor is yours.” Logan gestures with a flourish.

Alex and Oscar share a look. “I got hired to consult as an architect.”

Logan perks up and excitedly congratulates Alex, asking where. “At Danny Ric’s company—your favorite!”

“Oh my god, you’re going to be a part of the Chippendale escapees?” Logan squeals, both hands slammed on the table as he leans over in excitement.

Oscar, observing the scene then asks, “Time for a cheers then?”

“To Alex joining the Chippendale escapees!” they cheer, clinking their beers and can together.

“Oh my god, you’re going to work with Max. Alex, you love me, right? You’ll tell me if he ever talks about me, or if he says I’m cute?” Logan continues, getting even more embarrassing. Oblivious to the widening eyes of Alex and Oscar as they glance behind him.

“…Oh my god, he came in muscle tee a few weeks ago and I just wanted to bite his biceps because they looked so big and they are so big—”

“Ow! What the hell, Oscar? We use our words now.” Logan admonishes, bending in his seat to rub where he got kicked. But he freezes as he hears a familiar laugh. Looking up, he sees Danny standing by their table, amused, and oh god, Max, arms crossed and wearing an equally amused expression.

Now looking no better than his best friends, Logan’s eyes are wide, his face is scarlet, and his mouth hangs open in shock as he realizes they must have heard everything—or at least enough. Maybe he can learn to love Checo’s moist, moist, hands because Mexico is definitely far enough.

“Hey, boys, didn’t mean to interrupt your evening. Just came over to congratulate our dear little Alex on joining the company! Our youngest yet!” Danny sings, wiping a tear for dramatic effect.

Meanwhile, Logan, snapping out of his deer-in-headlights look, is now studiously examining the table varnish, hoping the two men forget his earlier soliloquy over the other's (big) arms.

Good-naturedly, Alex invites Danny and Max to join them in the booth, leaving Logan pressed arm to leg against Max, his best friend completely uncaring of Logan’s gay panic.

Logan starts drinking from his can, hoping to avoid any conversation. But before long, Danny, Alex, and Oscar finish the two pitchers and decide they need to get the next round. Logan’s eyes widen as he mentally pleads, *Don’t leave me alone.* But both Oscar and Alex blissfully ignore him.

Staring at his drink as if it's the most interesting thing, Logan catches a glimpse of Max turning his way.

“Heard you missed me at the store.”

Logan looks at him, feeling his cheeks flush. As Alex pointed out earlier, his attraction to Max is probably written all over his face.

“I—um, no, just wondering where you all were,” he stutters, wetting his lips. “Not just you.” He leans back against the wall as Max essentially cages him in the booth, one arm resting on the back and the other bent on the table. Max’s body warmth and sandalwood cologne envelop Logan, blanketing his senses. Max’s gaze drops to Logan’s lips, a small smirk playing on his face, "Really?" he prompts, "Ye-yeah" Logan breathes out, Max's eyes flick up to Logan's at his answer and his lips break into a smile as he replies simply “Okay, if you say so.”  And, all too soon, he leans back, creating some space as the sounds of the bar filter in again, grounding Logan, feeling like he must be in heaven with Max so close.

Clearing his throat as Danny and the others join the table, Logan sits up, gratefully accepting a new can from Oscar, who gives him a knowing look while subtly elbowing Alex. Now both friends are watching him with knowing smiles, taking in his flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

Logan glares back but falters when he feels a big hand settle just above his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. He realises he’s being asked a question. “Oh—I'm sorry, what?” he asks, confused, snapping his gaze to Max. 

It’s Danny, looking past Max with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He repeats his earlier question, fully aware of why Logan is distracted. “I asked if you’re excited to see your best friend every day now. Since your mom’s subs are legendary. And essential to a good work day”

Logan’s disbelief drips from his tone as he asks, “Even if all we have is the veggie one, Danny?” He raises his eyebrows for added effect.

Danny crosses his hand over his heart dramatically. “Even the veggie one, Logie boy! Although some of us come for the service too.” He finishes with a sidelong glance at Max.

Max, whose relaxed against the booth with his body still angled toward Logan and a comfortable hand resting on Logan’s thigh from when he squeezed it earlier to get his attention. At Danny’s insinuation, Max looks down at Logan, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gives Logan’s thigh another gentle squeeze, this time higher up, and shrugs.

The warmth from Max's touch sends a flutter through Logan's stomach, mingling with a simmering feeling in his chest that he can’t quite identify.

Thankfully, Logan is saved from responding as Oscar pulls Danny’s attention away, asking what project they’ll be starting on.

In the most teasing tone he can muster despite his fluster, he whispers, “So, service?” Looking up at Max from beneath his eyelashes.

Max leans in closer, his voice low. “You’re not the only one who's been looking, Angel.”

Logan’s face heats up further. The nickname doesn’t help his battle against arousal or the realisation that he was not subtle at all.

He blinks as he responds with a soft “uh-huh,” nodding his head, his mind feeling like cotton from their proximity and Max’s admission of mutual attraction.

Max’s gaze drifts to Logan’s lips just as Logan nervously bites his bottom lip. He’s on the verge of saying something—or maybe hoping for something more—when a cough interrupts them, making both of them look up at a smirking Danny.

“While the image of you two is a relief, we have to head back. Poker night! We just had to stop to congratulate you, Alex, on joining us.”

Logan, embarrassed by Danny’s comment, groans into his hands, while Alex thanks Danny brightly. Glancing at Danny, as he waits for Max, he leans into Logan’s ear, whispering, “See you tomorrow, Angel,” and with one last squeeze to Logan's thigh he’s out of the booth and heading for the door behind Danny. Leaving Logan bright red, his arousal flashing like a stop sign, and his two best friends laughing at his expression.  

Unhelpfully, Alex says, “Guess this means you don’t have to skip town anymore.” To which Oscar shouts, “Hear! Hear!” Logan can’t help but giggle, his embarrassment fading as he nods in agreement.

Chapter 2 of Diet Pepsi- Here

Author's note: So I listened to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae and I just kept seeing buff/fit Max (white t-shirt, gold cross in blue jeans) and Logan vm baby boy/angel and big blown out eyes and parted lips when Max comes into his dad's store with his co-workers/friends. (i was going for a lil age diff but mostly size difference)

also i was gonna make it hotter but its like jesus had a hand on my shoulder as i got to it. maybe next chapter

[pyeonghongrie]

Anything You Could Do, I Could Do Better!

Summary: You and your academic rival do what academic rivals do, trying to one-up each other in grades. But the thing is, both of you are teachers.

Characters/Pairing(s): Hongjoong X Reader

Genre: humor

AUs/Trope info: Reverse Academic Rivals,

Word Count: 500+

Warnings: none??????

Rating: 16+

A/N: for @cultofdionysusnet's reverse trope event! Thank you to @kwanisms for helping with this!!!

It’s a new school year, which means, it's a new opportunity to crush your rival, Kim Hongjoong, in a battle of wits. 

You see, that would’ve been much more appropriate if both of you weren’t high school teachers. And if you both weren’t vicariously continuing this feud through which class could get a higher grade point average.

"My God, Hongjoong! You’re delusional if you think your class is going to get the higher GPA this quarter! It’s impossible,” you yell at him from across the faculty parking lot, your anger reaching a boiling point after he provoked you with yet another bet for this school year. “You suck at teaching and everyone knows it!”

“Oh, get over yourself,” he yells back, slamming the door of his car shut. “You’re just salty that my students love my class while they drone over your miserable little classroom that feels more like a prison cell,” he continues, power-walking in your direction. “You won’t even let them bring snacks, you Karen!”

“Oh, please!” you retort, rolling your eyes. “The only reason they like you is because you let them slack off! And Besides,” you continue, narrowing your eyes as he draws closer. “My classroom has these fuck ass linoleum floors that basically adheres food crumbs to it. I don’t want my room to have rats, especially if they look like you.”

He gasps, dramatically so, one hand over his gaped mouth and the other over his chest. “This has to constitute a hate crime, this is rodent discrimination. Everyone knows I’m a squirrel.”

You roll your eyes, “Save the ‘woe is me’ cries for someone who cares, Kim. I’ll see you after this quarter when my class destroys yours!”

Hongjoong’s class was, in fact, not destroyed by yours.

The final results came in and in fact, both your classes had the same GPA down to the decimal point.

Of course, from that confrontation, the both of you stormed over to the guidance counselor, demanding a recount, or at least a reason for this “impossible” tie.

“This is ridiculous!” You said, slapping the flimsy piece of paper over her desk, “There is no way that this guy’s class got the same GPA as mine!”

Hongjoong scoffs, “You act like we weren’t in the same education classes in college. You’re no better off than I am.”

“Well,” The counselor started, “Both of you were being really annoying about this feud, it was funny at first, but both of you need to get over this. You’re adults, not only that, you’re responsible for the education of the future professionals of this country. I’d expect both of you to prioritize the students’ education over this silly competition.”

The counselor clears her throat, “Enough,” she said as she stood up from her chair, “There is no mistake in the transcripts. Both of your classes scored the exact same, down to the decimal.”

Both of you look at each other. “But, how is that possible?” Hongjoong asked, just as confused as you were.

Both of you lower your head in shame.

“Now, this feud ends today. No more trying to live your rivalry through these kids.” She sits down again, waving both of you off.

You stand in front of the door to the driver’s side of your car, as did Hongjoong. With a silent agreement to end this rivalry, and call for peace.

Which only lasted until the next school year, much to the chagrin of everyone else.