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chaoticforever · 6 months ago

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Remnants of Regret | Tony Stark x Son! Reader

Summary: All Y/n ever wanted was his father’s love. Was that too much to ask?

Y/n sat on the floor in his bedroom, legs crossed, focusing intently on the canvas propped up before him. With a charcoal stick in his hand, Y/n carefully sketched the outline of a cityscape, his e/c eyes narrowed in concentration. His room permeated with the soft scratching of charcoal on canvas, a melody in the air.

Once Y/n finished the final touches and scooted back to examine his piece. One simple word crossed his mind: beautiful.

Since childhood, Y/n has loved drawing, sketching, and painting. He started with simple subjects like trees, flowers, and stars, then progressed to more complex images like people's faces and vehicles. He loved it so much that he pursued an art degree in college, unable to imagine a life not surrounded by art of some kind.

Furthermore, art allowed him to express emotions that words couldn't convey by providing an escape from the chaos of everyday life. It was just him, his brush, and the many possibilities on a canvas.

However, Y/n sometimes wondered if choosing art as his passion was a good idea since his father, Tony Stark, did not seem to appreciate his artistic abilities. Instead, he shifted the appreciation that he should have for Y/n to someone else.

Peter Parker.

See, Y/n Stark is the type of guy who preferred music and painting to building suits and technology that Tony loved so much, which only seemed to widen the gap between father and son. Tony didn’t seem to have much time for his son but made sure to have lots of time for Peter, who shared Tony's love for technology.

Y/n couldn’t help but feel jealous as he watched his dad always dote on Peter, offering him opportunities and praise that Y/n craved. But he seemed to have little time or patience for his artistic son.

He placed his finished piece on his desk and started putting away his sketching utensils. Just then, he heard a knock on his open door and turned around to see that Steve was standing in the doorway. Y/n smiled when he saw Steve. Besides Tony, Steve was his favorite Avenger. He sometimes acted more of a parent than the one currently in his life and the guys both bonded over their love for drawing.

"Hey, Steve. How was the mission?"

"Tiring. Dealing with rogue mutants can certainly take a toll on me," Steve replied, his eyes suddenly drifting to Y/n's newly crafted sketch, "Nice drawing Y/n. Is this for your end-of-semester art project?"

Y/n nodded his head in confirmation. "Yes, my professor wanted the class to draw something that represents our unique perspective on the world."

"And what perspective is that?"

Y/n paused to think about that question. "I guess... It's my view of the world as an artist. The world is full of life and energy, but there's also darkness and shadows. It's a reminder that beauty and struggles coexist. Nothing can ever change that."

Steve nodded, tracing the bold lines and subtle shading. "That’s an interesting yet accurate perspective. I am proud of you. You’re going to do great things one day."

A small smile appeared on Y/n’s face. He may not have gotten his dad’s praise, but he was happy that someone praised his artistic abilities and told him that he was proud of him. It warmed his heart.

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"You’re welcome. By the way, we’re having a group dinner tonight. We’ll be having lasagna, so bring your appetite."

Y/n grinned. He loved the soldier's cooking, especially when it was a dinner meal. It was so much better than eating takeout. "Oh, I'll be there, and y'all better hope that it all doesn’t get eaten by me."

Steve laughed before pivoting on his heel and leaving. Y/n watched as the soldier's retreating figure disappeared down the hall before turning back to his sketch, contentment washing over him.

As Y/n admired his work, his thoughts drifted back to his father. He knew that Tony loved him in his own way, but their relationship had always been strained. Tony’s focus on technology and his busy lifestyle, along with mentoring Peter, left little room for the two to hang out or for Tony to understand Y/n's passion for art.

But now, Y/n was determined to fix their relationship. After all, he lost his mother over a decade ago, and his father was the only blood family that he had left. He didn’t want their relationship to continue to be strained, and if Tony could make room for Peter in his life, then he could make some room for his biological son.

With that thought in mind, the e/c-eyed male headed to the private elevator that would take him to Tony’s workshop. And as he rounded the corner, he bumped into Rhodey, whom Y/n often looked up to as well. They greeted each other with their signature handshake that was only made for them two before Rhodey took off, explaining that he had a meeting to attend with a council member, and Y/n continued his journey to the workshop.

When he arrived at Tony's workshop, he saw his father standing next to his work bench, typing on his phone. Behind Tony, there was his Iron Man suit, opened up. Y/n figured that he just stepped out of it.

"Hey, Dad." Y/n greeted politely, crossing the room to give Tony a one-armed hug.

Surprisingly, Y/n's father did reciprocate the hug but didn’t even bother to look up at his son when he greeted him. He just kept his brown eyes glued to the phone in his hand. "Y/n. How was your day?"

"It was good. Classes were pretty light today, and I mostly just worked on my end-of-the-semester project for art class." Y/n explained, hoping that Tony would ask him more follow-up questions, such as what piece Y/n decided to draw or if he could see the work for himself. However, all Tony gave was a curt nod, still typing on that phone of his. So, Y/n cleared his throat and switched topics: "Dad, do you want to hang out this Saturday? There’s this art showing at the museum, and—"

"An art showing?" Tony finally looked up from his phone, his eyes flicking briefly to his son’s face before returning to the screen. "Sorry, kid, but I have meetings this Saturday. Besides, I’d rather watch paint dry than look at old paintings. You know that I’m more of a technology and engineering kind of guy than an art one."

Y/n's shoulders drooped, and he tried to hide the disappointment he felt. "Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe you’d want to spend some time together. It’s been a minute since we did something like that."

Tony seemed oblivious to Y/n's reaction, continuing to tap away at his phone. "Well, we’ve been busy. You're busy with college, and I'm busy with SI and saving the world, two full-time jobs for me," he put his phone down on the desk, finally giving Y/n his full attention. "But you’re right, we haven’t hung out in a long time. How about we go see that new Outlast movie that’s coming out next weekend?"

Y/n nodded, a small smile coming onto his face. Even though it wasn’t what he wanted to do, he was just happy to have some father-son time with his dad. And more importantly, it was without Peter.

"That sounds good to me. I can’t wait."

Y/n turned around and prepared to leave the room, excitement fluttering in his chest, just as Tony got a phone call from Peter. Y/n stood there for a moment and listened to how Tony asked Peter when he would be coming over and that Tony cleared the rest of his schedule today to help Peter with his last semester project.

The h/c-haired son frowned, feeling the excitement he felt a couple seconds ago disappear and the raw disappointment return. So, Tony can clear his schedule for Peter and make time for him, but he can't make time for his biological son?

It was ridiculous.

But Y/n had to remind himself that it was okay. Peter could have that time with his father all he wanted to today because next weekend, the two Starks would be spending some time together.

Feeling satisfied, Y/n left the workshop and returned to his room. It turned out that he had two things to look forward to: lasagna and the movies next week.

He couldn’t wait.

XXXXX XXXXX

The days passed slowly, but finally, the long-awaited Saturday finally arrived. It was the day of the planned outing with Y/n and his father, a day Y/n had been looking forward to. He hoped this would be a turning point in their relationship, a chance to bridge the gap that seemed to widen between them every passing day.

Now, he was getting ready in his room, choosing a casual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. He knew that, even though it was April, the weather was rather cool with it being sixty-five degrees outside. That made him add a blue jacket to his outfit.

After checking himself out in the mirror, he walked down the hall to the common area, where Tony had told him to meet. As he walked down the hall, he hoped that the horror movie they were going to see would be good. The trailer did look promising but they can also be deceitful.

Y/n rounded the corner and entered the common area, where the Avengers were watching a movie and enjoying a spread of pizzas, popcorn, nachos, and cheese fries. Thor was the only one who wasn’t here since he went to Asgard for a few days. He noticed they were watching the first "Back to the Future," a classic Steve had promised to watch at the next team movie night after Y/n discovered that he had never seen that movie series before.

Guess he finally listened, Y/n thought as he looked around the room and noticed something that he had failed to notice.

His dad was nowhere to be found.

"Hey, has anyone seen my dad?" Y/n asked, looking over the team of heroes.

"Yeah, he left. You just missed him too." Clint answered, his fingers reaching into the popcorn bowl that was in his lap and shoving some popcorn into his mouth.

Y/n frowned. What? "Left? Left where?"

"He said that he was taking Peter to the science fair." Steve munched on a pizza.

The college student's heart sank and his shoulders sagged, feeling disappointed. So, his father had forgotten about their plans. Again. And it was for Peter. Again.

"Oh," was all Y/n could manage to utter. He knew that he should be used to this, but it still stung every time it happened.

Natasha, sensing the disappointment in Y/n's timbre, glanced over at him. "You didn't know he was going out with Peter."

That was a statement, not a question. Natasha had always been perceptive.

"No, no, I did," Y/n backpedaled, forcing a grin. He didn't understand why he was protecting his father, but he just wanted this conversation to end. "I just forgot, but you telling me made me remember."

Y/n knew he was a terrible liar, and he didn't sound convincing. He knew they didn't believe him, considering Steve's frown, Bruce's concerned look, and the looks shared between Clint and Natasha.

Bruce grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "Look, why don't you join us, Y/n? You can finish the movie with us."

"Yeah, come on, Y/n!" Sam piped up. "We've got plenty of food, and we were just about to start a game of charades."

Y/n glanced at the team of superheroes. While he appreciated their invitation, he had been looking forward to spending time with his dad, so he shook his head but still kept the forced smile on his features. "Thank you guys, but I think I'll just head back to my room. Next time."

The h/c-haired male turned around and left the main area, frustration nagging at his insides. When he got to his room, he flopped down on his bed, back pressed against it as he stared up at the ceiling.

He didn’t understand.

Why did Tony continue to treat him as an afterthought? And what the hell was so damn special about Peter? Why did he always have to be the recipient of his father’s love? He couldn’t help but feel like he was always playing second fiddle to the guy who was two years younger than him. It was ridiculous to be jealous of someone younger than him, but Y/n couldn’t help himself. It hurt so much that his father favored Peter over him.

Y/n pulled out his phone, intending to call his dad when he got a notification from Instagram that his dad had posted a pic. He clicked on it and found himself staring at an image of his dad with Peter.

The caption read: Peter will take over my company someday. #prouddadmoment.

Proud dad moment...?

Peter wasn’t even his actual son and Y/n couldn’t stand the way his dad looked at Peter with such praise. What can I do to make him look at me like that one time?

And before Y/n knew it, his cheeks were pelted with water, and he just realized at that moment that he was crying. The tears fell to his cheeks before dropping onto the bed, but Y/n wiped his cheeks angrily since he shouldn’t allow this to make him sad. But it was so hard not to.

His e/c eyes drifted to the photo that was on his side table. He reached for it and picked it up. It was a photo of his mom. Y/n allowed his finger to run over his mom’s smiling face in the picture. It’s times like this when he wishes that she was still alive. At least then, he’d have a parent in his life who cared about him.

Suddenly, a knock came from his door.

"Come in," Y/n called out, setting down the photo back on his desk. He wished that it was his father knocking on the door, but he wasn't surprised when the door opened, and it wasn't him. It was Steve. "Hi, Steve. Did you like the movie?"

Steve nodded, taking a seat on the bed. "I did. It was a great eighties film. I can see why you love it so much." Steve then changed the conversation. "You okay?"

Y/n nodded. He knew he wasn't okay, but he didn't want to ruin Steve's evening with his problem. "I'm fine. Shouldn't you be playing charades with everyone else?"

The soldier disregarded the question and simply stared at Y/n for a moment, seemingly sensing that he wasn’t telling the truth. "Hey, why don't we grab some dessert? I know a great ice cream shop."

Y/n hesitated briefly. He didn't want to be a burden to Steve, but he also didn't want to spend his evening in his room.

"That sounds nice, thanks." Y/n smiled and followed the soldier out of the door.

Steve drove them to a small ice cream parlor that was tucked away in the city on his motorcycle, a vehicle that Y/n had never expected to get on willingly. Steve got the classic chocolate sundae, while Y/n got a vanilla sundae with chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and a cherry on top.

They then went to the park to watch the beautiful sunset and enjoy their sundae. The sun, a fiery orb of warmth and light, dipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky with two shades of orange and pink.

Y/n and Steve watched the breathtaking scene in comfortable silence. The park was lively with kids playing, the distance hum of cars, and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Y/n's vanilla sundae sat untouched. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by the disappointment and hurt he felt over Tony's absence. Steve, on the other hand, enjoyed his chocolate sundae, taking slow, deliberate bites of it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The super soldier broke the silence, his eyes shifting over.

"Yup," Y/n murmured, his e/c eyes taking in the stunning view. "It's like a painting."

Steve smiled, nodding his head in agreement. He then spoke again, his voice deadly serious. "So, what's going on? You've seemed a little down lately."

Y/n let out a sigh, knowing there was no point in lying to Steve. "It's my dad. I just feel like he always puts Peter first. It's like I'm not even his real son sometimes."

The blonde's expression softened, and he placed a comforting hand on Y/n's shoulder. "I know it's tough, but try not to take it personally. Your dad has a unique relationship with Peter, but that doesn't diminish his love for you. You're his son."

He sighed again, "I know but it's hard not to feel overshadowed sometimes. Peter gets all the attention, and I'm just... here."

"Your dad may not always show it, but he's proud of you, Y/n," Steve assured him. "And I know that he loves you very much. Sometimes, parents just need a little reminder that their kids need them."

Y/n nodded, but he couldn't help feeling skeptical. After all, actions spoke louder than words, and Tony's actions indicated that he loved Peter more than him. Like Y/n would always come second to Peter.

But he didn't feel like dwelling on Tony's absence anymore. Instead, he turned his attention back to the sunset, watching as the last sliver of the sun disappeared behind the horizon. The sky grew darker, the colors of the sunset fading into the twilight. He didn't get the opportunity to spend the evening with his father as he planned, but at least he had spent it with someone who cared about him deeply.

And that made him smile.

XXXXX XXXXX

The next morning, Y/n found himself in the kitchen, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. The events of the previous day still weighed heavily on his mind, leaving a bitter taste that even the strongest brew couldn't mask. He wanted to confront his dad about his behavior, but at the same time, he didn't want to talk to him after what happened.

As he added a dash of sugar to his cup, the familiar clanking of Tony's footsteps drew closer. He saw his father enter the kitchen, but Y/n leaned against the counter, his back stiff and his gaze fixed on the windows. He deliberately avoided greeting his dad as he would usually do.

"Morning, Y/n," Tony greeted politely, but Y/n remained quiet, his back still turned. Feeling perplexed by the cold shoulder, Tony frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Y/n replied, voice low and dismissive as he finished his coffee and placed the cup in the sink.

Y/n moved forward, attempting to leave the kitchen, but Tony stepped in front of him, unsatisfied with the response. "I'm your father. It's my job to be concerned."

Y/n's laughter rang out, harsh and bitter as if Tony had just told him a funny joke. "That is quite ironic coming from you."

The frown on Tony's features deepened. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Y/n's voice was quiet, "that lately, you've been anything but a father to me. But I can't say the same for Peter tho. You literally drop everything for him, but you can't even remember our plans."

Tony took a step forward, his tone rising defensively. "That's not true, Y/n. I do my best to be there for both of you. I juggle a lot, but I make time for you when I can."

Y/n's gaze didn't waver and he cocked his head to the side. "You make time for me? Then where were you last evening?"

"I took Peter to the science fair."

"Even though we had plans to go to the movies?" The younger man pointed out.

Tony's eyebrows furrowed as realization dawned, shame washing over his face. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I know we had plans, but Peter needed me. I couldn't leave him."

The two Starks were so busy arguing that neither of them noticed a stealthy figure that managed to infiltrate the compound, temporarily disable Friday, and had a knockout device in their hand.

"Peter needed you?" Y/n shook his head, his voice thick with hurt. Why did he forget about me? "What about what I need? You're my dad, not his. I need you."

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You have me every day, Y/n. Don't you see that I am always here for you?"

"Are you, Dad?!" Y/n's voice rose to a shout. "When was the last time we spent quality time together, just the two of us? When was the last time you and I had a real conversation that wasn't about your work or Peter? When was the last time you asked about what's going on in my life? You probably don't even know that my birthday is in two days. I'll be turning twenty-three, by the way. You don't know that one of my art pieces was presented at the museum you found too boring to visit. And you don't know that I made the Dean's List in school for the third year in a row!" Y/n's voice dropped to a whisper, but the words still stung like acid. "Mom would never treat me the way you do."

Tony flinched as if struck, his eyes widening at the mention of Y/n's mother. The weight of his son's words hit him like a physical blow, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the room began to fill with a thick fog.

Y/n noticed it too, confusion clouding his face. But as more of the mysterious substance was released into the air, he dropped to his knees, his vision blurring. Tony staggered and slumped against the kitchen counter, his eyes falling shut.

And then, everything went dark. The gas in the room caused both father and son to collapse, slumping to the floor hard.

Later, once Y/n regained consciousness, his head pounded as he tried to piece together what happened. The last thing he remembered was the argument with Tony in the kitchen, and then everything went dark. But now, he found himself in an unfamiliar room, dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The walls were made of rough concrete, and the floor was cold and hard beneath him.

"Y/n? Can you hear me?" Tony's voice, filled with concern, reached him, and he turned to see his father hovering nearby.

"Dad?" Y/n's throat was dry and scratchy as he tried to sit up, but dizziness forced him to lay back down. It's overwhelming.

Tony helped Y/n into a seated position against the concrete wall. "Easy there."

Y/n looked around. "Where are we?"

"I'm not sure," Tony admitted, his gaze scanning the room for any clues. "But it appears that we have been kidnapped."

Y/n's heart pounded in his chest as the reality of their situation sank in. Oh crap. He couldn't believe that they were in this predicament, but he didn’t know why he was completely surprised. Since he was a Stark, people have always attempted to kidnap him since the day he was born, but this was the first time someone had successfully managed to kidnap him.

And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault. If only he hadn't argued with his dad, they wouldn't have been distracted when their captor struck.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Tony apologized, his eyes filled with remorse, and Y/n was slightly taken aback because he hadn’t been expecting that. "I should have been there for you more. I let my work and my relationship with Peter overshadow our bond. That was wrong of me to do that."

Y/n eyes drifted to his hands, clasped in his lap. "You know, it hurt every time you chose Peter over me," he admitted, his voice quiet. "I don't understand why you always favor him. Why is everything he does amazing, but when it comes to me, you're never satisfied? Was it something that I did wrong? Or didn't do? Because I can change if it means you'll love me."

Tony shook his head vigorously, moving closer to his son. "No, Y/n. I don't want you to change for anyone, especially not for me. I can admit that I haven't always handled things perfectly. Peter reminds me of myself at his age, and sometimes I get caught up in my own nostalgia. But that doesn't mean I love you any less, Y/n. You're my son. I'd do anything for you."

Y/n's heart swelled at his father's words. He forgave Tony the moment the words "I'm sorry" exited his lips. Y/n had never been one to hold grudges, and now that Tony had acknowledged his mistakes, he hoped that they could finally move forward and rebuild their relationship.

Y/n wrapped his arms around Tony, who reciprocated the gesture. "I just want to spend more time with you," he muttered. "You know, do all that father-son stuff."

"And we will," Tony promised, pulling away. "As soon as we get out of here, I'll clear my schedule for the next month. We can go to the Bahamas. The water is beautiful, and I know they have amazing art exhibits there. It can be my birthday present to you. It'll be just the two of us."

It was impossible for Y/n to refrain from allowing the corners of his mouth to curl upward into a smile. He experienced a sense of optimism for the first time in a long time. As he looked into his father's eyes, he was certain that he would fulfill his promise. Y/n couldn't help but feel like a ten-year-old on Christmas morning.

"I'd like that, but how are we going to get out of here?" That was the big question.

Tony smirked. "Leave that to my team."

He informed Y/n through sign language that he had a secret tracker implanted in his watch, which had been confiscated. The Avengers were aware of the tracker, so it wouldn't be long before they arrived.

And then, as if on cue, the door to the room they were in flew off its hinges by a man getting thrown through it. Then, Steve walked into the room, dressed in his Captain America outfit. Steve threw his shield at the cell the Starks were in, allowing the two men to finally escape.

"Tony, Y/n, are you guys okay?" Steve walked over to them and started looking for signs of harm or injuries of any kind, but was relieved that he didn’t find one.

"Just peachy," Tony assured the blonde, grabbing his watch from a nearby table and taking Y/n's arm. They rushed out of the building, with Steve leading the way.

As the three made their way out, Y/n heard the sounds of gunfire, screaming, and growling echoing in the air. The Hulk was in full force, dismantling one of the kidnappers, while the other Avengers fought alongside him. Steve sprang back into action, and Tony transformed his watch into an Iron Man glove, joining the fighting. Even Spider-Man was there, taking out multiple opponents with ease.

But in the chaos, Y/n spotted a gunman aiming at Spider-Man from a distance. Acting without hesitation, he pushed Spider-Man out of the way, taking the bullet meant for him. The gunshot tore through Y/n's stomach, and he fell to the ground, eyes widening in shock and pain.

Tony had just fired a beam of light from his repulsor, sending the man flying into the nearby truck. But as he did, he heard the crack of a gunshot. He looked over to see where the shot had come from.

And his heart dropped to his stomach.

Y/n had been shot.

The bullet had pierced Y/n’s stomach, and blood was already soaking through his shirt, dripping onto the ground below.

"No, Y/n!" Tony screamed, running over as Steve hurled his shield at the shooter. Tony caught Y/n just as he began to fall, blood seeping through Tony's fingers as he peeled off his jacket and pressed it against the wound. Y/n trembled in his arms, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"D-Dad."

"I know, I know, it's going to be okay," he whispered, his voice thick and his eyes shone with unshed tears. "You're going to be okay, I promise." His jaw clenched as he peered over at his teammates who had finally finished their fight and were rushing over. "Get us to a hospital, now!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Steve moved forward and quickly helped Tony carry Y/n to the Quinjet, with the other Avengers following closely behind them. Once inside, Natasha took her place in the pilot seat and Clint sat in the co-pilot seat next to her. Natasha quickly turned on the controls and maneuvered the jet into the air above, racing to the hospital.

The Quinjet soared through the sky, the city a blur below. Inside, the atmosphere was filled with worry. Everyone watched as Iron Man tried to help his injured son. Tony refused to let go of Y/n, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding, mind racing with fear and desperation. He had faced countless dangers as Iron Man, but nothing compared to the fear he felt at the thought of losing his son.

Finally, the Quinjet landed on the rooftop helipad of Metro-General Hospital, and Steve and Bruce rushed out, carrying Y/n on a stretcher. Tony was right beside him, keeping his hands clasped in Y/n’s.

"We need a doctor, now!" Tony shouted as they burst through the hospital doors.

Immediately, a group of two doctors and two nurses came over, taking over Y/n's care and wheeling him away. And Tony was beside them, still holding his hand.

"What happened?" One of them asked.

"Some idiot shot him," Tony explained.

The medical team wheeled Y/n into the operating room fast. The female nurse commented how Y/n had a weak pulse rate as the group of medical specialists lifted him onto the bed. Tony held onto his hands, tears welling up in his eyes.

The male doctor assessed the situation, noticing a smaller entry wound in Y/n’s upper right back and a larger exit wound in his abdomen. "Lungs failing," he said, his voice steady but grave. "Start an I.V. — two units of O, stat." The female nurse hurried off to fulfill the order. The female doctor asked for adrenalin, and the male nurse rushed to comply with the request.

Tony stood by his son's side, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the doctor's work. He couldn't remember a time he prayed, but he found himself silently pleading with any higher power that might be listening to spare his son's life. "Hang in there, son," he whispered.

Y/n struggled to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t think I’ll make it."

The billionaire's heart broke a little more. "Don't you dare die on me." Tony's voice was borderline pleading, begging for his son not to leave him. He has to survive.

But as the doctors worked frantically to save Y/n's life, his condition continued to deteriorate, his grip on Tony's hand weakening. "Dad," Y/n whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm so cold."

Hearing this, Tony couldn't hold back his tears, which fell onto his son's hand. "I-I-I can't feel my legs," he continued, making Tony feel an enormous sense of dread and despair. He wanted to leave, unable to continue witnessing his greatest fear unfolding before his eyes. However, Y/n gripped Tony's hand tightly. "D-Don't go." Their eyes met, and Y/n let out a gasp before managing to utter three words.

"I love you."

The heart monitor's steady beep began to slow, then faltered, finally falling silent as Y/n slipped into full arrest. Tony cried out, "Oh god." His hand clamped over his mouth as he watched his son flatlined.

"Full arrest. Paddles!" The male doctor shouted, and the female doctor brought over the paddle machine. Tony stepped back as he witnessed the scene unfold. The lady squirted gel on a paddle, and the male rubbed them together. "Clear!" He yelled and used the paddles on Y/n.

But it didn't work.

"Recharge," he barked, and she obeyed. "Clear!" He used the paddles once again.

Still, Y/n’s heart did not respond and the heart monitor remained silent. His grip fully weakened in Tony’s hand, and his eyes remained unmoving. Sadly, it was officially. Y/n, son of the billionaire, was dead. The male doctor looked at Tony with a mix of sympathy and sadness.

"I’m so sorry," the male doctor voiced.

And, just like that, Tony Stark broke.

He leaned over Y/n, his body heavy with grief, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his son's lifeless hand. The pain in his chest was unbearable as if his own heart had stopped beating. He couldn't believe his only child was gone.

Now, he would never witness his son's college graduation, celebrate another birthday, see him walk down the aisle, or become a dad himself. Y/n was gone, and Tony would never see his son again.

And Tony felt like he had died too.

His sobs echoed through the hospital room, a sound so full of anger and pain that it seemed to pierce the very air. The doctors and nurses quietly left the room, deciding to let the genius grieve alone.

"Y/n," he choked out, his voice breaking on his son's name. "Please... come back. I can't… I can't live life without you here."

But he knew that his son wasn't coming back, no matter how much he'd beg for it. That thought was unimaginable, a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

He had failed his son, failed to keep him safe, and now, Tony was forced to face a world without the h/c haired male in it.

It was bad enough that the genius had been such a shitty dad to choose Peter over Y/n, but now he wouldn’t be able to show Y/n that he was fully committed to changing, to being the dad Y/n deserved.

That made his sobs grow louder.

The Avengers entered the room, their faces etched with sorrow. Each of them had faced countless battles, but nothing could have prepared them for the pain of watching one of their own lose a child.

Steve placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort for his friend. He knew that no words could ease the pain of such a loss, but he hoped that his presence would offer some solace. He took a moment to say a silent prayer for the man who was like a son to him.

Natasha's stoic expression cracked, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had seen death countless times in her work, but this — this was different. This was one of their own, a part of their family.

Sam also couldn't hold back his tears. His vision blurred, and he wiped them away, not wanting to add to Tony's pain. But the pain was there, a dull ache in his chest that echoed the grief of his friend.

Clint had to look away, his jaw clenched. He had lost people before, but this was different. This was a young man, full of life, who left this cruel world too soon.

Bruce stood with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes were downcast, but there was a hint of green in his eyes. He couldn't imagine the pain of losing a child, especially someone so wonderful.

Peter was the most visibly shaken and he felt somewhat responsible. If he had been more aware of his surroundings and saw the hidden shooter, then Y/n wouldn't have taken the bullet for him.

Parents shouldn’t have to bury their child, but Tony was going to bury his.

Tony's fingers trembled as he closed Y/n's eyes. "I’m sorry, son," his voice was a broken whisper. "I love you so, so much."

For Y/n, the light had gone out. For Tony, the darkness has never felt so complete.

XXXXX XXXXX

#avengers x reader #avengers x male reader #marvel x reader #marvel x male reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x male reader #tony stark x son reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #son reader #x son!reader #x son reader #platonic #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #male reader imagine

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pedge-page · 4 months ago

Text

Daddies, Daddies, Daddies

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: you're marrying your fiance, but your mind is already on banging his father

Warnings: infidelity, unprotected sex, step dad, father in law, Daddy kink and I'm choosing not to specify more tags as they are spoilers. Read at your own discretion

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Even as you say your vows to your soon to be husband, his and your smiles beaming of future endeavors, you can't help but glance towards his impeccably handsome dad, and you're soon to be father in law. You had a thing for broad chested, soft tummied, grey speckled dilfs, and this hunk was no exception.

Yes, you love your man to be, but getting to know his family...intimately was part of the whole marriage package too. Can you blame a woman? And the way his bulge practically waved at you through those tight slacks so prettily, begging you to take a seat on your new papa in laws lap had you swaying with excitement. Heat filled your core as you grinned and held hands with your fiance. He's rambling about his promises and devotion, but your brain is too focused on what his dad's plump lips will feel lie devouring your little cunt while everyone else will be too busy getting food at the reception.

He had been eying you the entire engagement. From the moment you were introduced, his gaze traveled to your cleavage and ass before settling on your lips and shaking his hand.

It beyond amazes you he hasn't taken the next step, so far going no further than his hand grazing your lower back and prolonged hugs where youe tits pressed against his chest. He teased you for months without saying anything, but maybe he's even sluttier than you are: waiting for you to be taken before he can make a new claim. You sucking on your tongue at the image of getting railed in his powder room during Sunday lunches at your in laws house, or giving him a "tour" of your bedroom with his thick member pulsing in your mouth when they come over for Thanksgiving.

You couldn't wait to add that old man's cock to your pussy list.

"I do!" You say right on cue, and the two of you seal your kiss of matrimony with a racous applause.

After the ride to the reception hall, a bunch of hugs and warm welcomes, you're so close to getting your hands on your new daddy, so close to introducing him to his new sweet little cunt he's gonna make a happy future in, when your step dad yanks you right out of the hall and into the restroom.

"Daddy!" You shout, surprised by his grip.

"What? Thought you were gonna give everyone else some attention but your old man?" Joel tuts, tracing his rough lips across the smooth expanse od your exposed shoulders. "Or did you think you were gonna give some of my pussy away to your new daddy?"

"You're not my old man," you clarify, but you don't stop his familiar touch over your body.

He chuckles. His hands settle along your waist protectively. "You're my little girl as far as everyone else is concerned today. I'm the only daddy who showed up to give ya away didn't i? S'okay. Just like you, I didn't mean shit up there either."

You sigh, melting a bit as he presses a wet kiss to your pulse point.

"Thought you were gonna be done with me even after you got married? Gonna get a new daddy cock to ride every morning to work? Eric, that's his dad's name right? Saw ya eyin him all durinf the ceremony. Little slut, cant even say i do to a man ya marrying before drooling about his daddys dick? Yeah. Honey, he couldn't handle you like I do. Neither of em."

He smirks in the mirror as he licks your cheek with a fat strip, side eying the way your eyes get hazy in the mirror. His hands slope down your chest to cup your breasts in that gorgeous wedding dress he helped you decide on. The one that gives just the right amount of appropriate yet subtle sexiness. He squeezes the plumpness of your tits before pulling the corset line down, your titties falling free for his large palms to knead while you gasp.

"Stop thinking about getting another daddy cock in this pussy. You got one right here--" he pushes his bulge further into your ass, forcing you to grip the sink and hold yourseld from falling forward-- "right here, baby doll, to give ya everything you need. Never had a complaint not wantin my cock, did ya?"

You smirk drunkly, shaking your head. "No daddy. I love this cock."

Joel kisses the shell of your ear before unbuckling his belt and hoisting the skirt of your dress up.

You gasp when he slides his hardened length along your already soaked folds.

"How about we start working on that baby you were always wanting, huh? You been beggin me for it, told ya gotta wait till you're married. Even your In law daddy Eric mentioned he couldn't wait for ya to get round with grand babies. How bout that? He n i got somethin in common already."

He slides in, forcing your walls to part to accommodate his intrusion.

Joel sets a low pace, gripping your hip tightly as he ruts into your ass with fat slaps, his cock getting sucked right in with each thrust "Except this pussy. He ain't touching this sweet little precious cunt. Shit doll, youre soaking wet just thinking bout old man cock today, huh? Yeah, don't you worry baby. Your step daddy gonna get that baby in ya sooner than you know it. Gonna provide everything ya need. Won't need to go to your new family's side for nothin. We can keep everything exactly how it is."

- - - -

Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fan fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou smut #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #last of us fic

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jjunberry · 7 months ago

Note

cockwarming with mean dom gamer!beomgyu that ends with him putting the reader in her place🤭

❝ a little thing called patience ❞

choi beomgyu x fem!reader

warnings: mean dom gyu, sub reader, degradation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, choking if you squint, pussy slapping….. he’s a mean dom y’all 🤭

wc: 900

you let out a sigh as you eyed your boyfriend, headphones on as his eyes focused on whatever game he was playing. it wasn’t fair all his attention was on that stupid game. “beomie,” you whined. “can we do something else?” your question remained unanswered as he clicked away.

your feet carried you over to his chair. he paid you no mind as your hands rubbed his shoulders, fingers trailing down his arms. “beomie, can we do something else?” you whined by his ear. the boy stiffened in his seat, “baby i’m almost done, now go wait on the bed and be a good girl.” his voice was stern. you listened sitting on the bed, however that didn’t last long.

all you could focus on was his long slender fingers, tapping away at the keyboard. images of those same fingers working your pussy had you clenching your thighs, desperate for any kind of friction. “beomie?” you whined. “what baby?” he asked, his eyes looking at you briefly. you did nothing to hide how desperate you were.

“i need you.” you whined. “and i told you when i was done. now be good or else.” he turned back to his game. the sharp tone of his voice had you clenching around nothing. a few minutes felt like a few hours. you needed him, so you took matters into your own hands.

acting quickly you removed your clothes leaving you only in a pair of pink panties, his favorite pair to be exact. before you could talk yourself out of anything you walked over and threw your leg over his legs, planting yourself on his lap.

beomgyu’s tapping ceased and his eyebrows furrowed. you watched as he muted his mic, “what are you doing?” he asked lowly his eyes scanning your naked body. he sucked in a breath seeing your panties.

you rocked your hips against his and whined feeling him. your thin panties and his sweatpants leaving little to the imagination. his hands were quick to grab your hips, stopping your movements. “w-why’d you stop beomie,” you whined.

“i told you to behave and wait, and what did you do?” he asked. you were quiet, his large palm came down on your ass. “i-i didn’t wait,” you yelped. he smirked before holding you and standing. “you’re in a lot of trouble,” beomgyu tossed you onto the bed. your back hit the soft sheets, your eyes trailed up to beomgyu. he stood above you, his hands pulling his shirt off.

“beomie,” you whined, bucking your hips. “be patient.” he said smacking your clothed pussy. beomgyu noticed the wet spot on your panties and scoffed. “you’re such a little slut aren’t you?” you nodded at his words, “aren’t you?” he asked again.

“y-yes,” you whined.

his fingers teased your clit through your soaked panties. gathering the slick, “so wet and i barely touched you.” his fingers traced your panties again making your hips buck up. beomgyu tisked, pulling away from you.

“what did i say about patience, slut?” his brows furrowed. tears welled in your eyes, your body ached for him. “aww poor little girl going to cry? that’s right cry for this cock.” with one hand he freed himself from his sweats, his cock already hard.

his tip grace your soaking entrance, “i’m going to fuck this pussy full, i’m going to use you until i’m done,” he rubbed his tip along your folds. “and maybe if you’re good i’ll think about letting you cum.” with force he buried himself completely in your eager pussy.

“fuck,” he grunted slamming his hips into yours. “b-beomgyu.” you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. beomgyu freed himself from your hold, pinning your arms still. “behave.” he said snapping his hips harshly, his tip hitting the spongy part deep inside you.

“m-more, i need more.” you whined wiggling beneath him. “i’m so close,” the tight feeling becomes too much to bare. “i’m gonna cum.” beomgyu’s movement stops completely, “you’ll cum when i say you can, now stop being a brat.” he smacked your clit, jolting your body.

sweat covered your body, as your legs shook. beomgyu focused on how your pussy swallowed his cock whole. his eyes watched as he entered and left your aching hole. “fuck look at that? you like me using you huh?” he grunted. his movements were staggering.

“b-beomie can i please cum?” you begged, tears falling down your cheeks. beomgyu tsked, “so now you remember your manners? only good girls get to cum, sluts like you get nothing.”

beomgyu moved his hips faster, his hands gripping your hips sure to leave marks. “gonna fill you up,” his hips snapped in one more time before his hot sticky load filled you up. beomgyu’s head was thrown back, stomach muscles clenching as the last of his load spilled.

your orgasm still there, the hurt from holding it replaced with the warmth of beomgyu’s cum. “fuck,” he breathed out pulling out seeing the pearly white flow out. his fingers scooping it and pushing it back in.

your body shook at the feeling. beomgyu pushed his now softening cock back inside. “hope you’ve learned your lesson baby, now maybe if you're patient with my cock tonight,” he gripped your throat and kissed you deeply.

“then maybe i’ll reward you in the morning.” he pulled you closer, his cock still buried deep in your ruined cunt.

mlist

author’s note: y’all… i was giggling and kicking my feet while writing this. tysm for the request anon <3

tag list: @304files @jjunieworld

🗒️:like what you’ve read? send me a request! see guidelines here.

love, echo ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪

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loudclan-clangen · 2 months ago

Note

The song “Beautiful Little Fool” for Fiercestripe? Because I am not getting over her death. Listened to it and she was the first character to pop into my head.

You’re so right!

YES! Please do, I would love to see it!

The boring answer is that I've been drawing cats for a VERY long time. I think since I was 8 they have been the majority of what I drew. The less boring answer is you know the movie Spirit? It changed my life. It had a bonus video where one of the artists taught you how to draw Spirit himself and it was the singular thing that inspired me to start drawing (more likely possessed me). I think I must have been about two the first time I saw it because I cannot remember a time before I had that video memorized. I would spend hours sitting in front of that video (which was only like 10-15 minutes long) with a stack of papers just fully focused on perfectly following his instructions. I still think about that video to this day. Every time I draw legs the voice of James Baxter echoes through my mind. I don't know if that translates to why my cats are so beefy, I own a cat who is quite chonky, so that might contruibute to it, but now you have a fun fact about me regardless!

All of the heirs are chosen based on birth order! Whoever is born first gets to be heir. I personally find that making strict rules about stuff makes playing the game a lot easier for me, I find it stressful to try to pick a "good heir" when I don't know what's going to happen later in the game so to limit that I just let it be completely out of my hands. 2. The game rolled for Songpaw to become a medicine cat! I would have changed it if he was an only kit or probably if I had known that Dashpaw was gonna die, cause I was really stressed about losing my run at that point, but I do my best to write a story that makes the game make sense rather than change what the game gives me when possible. I think it helps me to not have much of a story in mind while I play, just noting down events and thoughts and then going back and piecing it all together afterwards. That way nothing can "go wrong". 3. "Heir-hood" only applies to the leaders. There is no expectation that Cavepaw will become a healer. When Weed dies that position will be open until someone wishes to volunteer for it. 4. Honestly I don't really know. This might spoil a little bit, of tension, but I truly never had that happen. I was SUPER worried about it and did a lot to make sure it wouldn't, but after a couple of generations you get to a point where almost everyone is descended from a leader at somepoint. (And also everyone is second cousins with each other but you know what there are some problems that you just have to live with.) I image the clan would look for an omen and just pick a new leader based off of that and start the process all over again. In my experience worst comes to worst just make sure you have a very accurate family tree and trace it back a couple of generations.

Thank you so much! I don't play with any mods for Loudclan, I'm too scared to lose saves to less than stable code. My favorite mod currently is Kori's Awoogen though! I just like to look at the beautiful art mostly. I use mass extinction as population control, so I turn it on and off based on how many cats I have. Two full pages is the upper limit of what I'm willing to deal with, so once a third page opens I turn mass extinction on and after an extinction happens I turn it back off. (also if I dip below 1 full page I turn unknown parents on until I'm back to two pages again). I've found after a couple of generations you can mostly stop worrying about it because the bloodlines have spread so far there's always someone who's a 6th great great cousin or something.

The game generated him Dashpelt! I probably would have picked Dashfoot to stick with the generated them of a boring suffix but to make more sense overall.

#loudclan #loudclanasks #cw blood #minor blood waring #hey folks #the sketching process for moon 29 part three was an ABSOLUTE nightmare the details of which are staying between me and two weeks of ditched #panels but im happy to say that the sketch is finished 8 out of 30 panels are done and I'm very happy to introduce you guys to #the faint beginnings of my favorite ship!#also whatever Wildfirecry is doing #he's certainly doing... something!#clangen

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kayhi808 · 5 months ago

Text

First Crush - 3

*Abby's sticker to Bucky*

After work, the Avengers are relaxing in the common room or playing pool like Clint & Bucky. Hitting Bucky on the shoulder, "I heard lunch was entertaining", Sam enters the room with Nat.

Bucky glares a Nat. "What? I couldn't help it. It was so cute."

"Cute? Are we talking about Miss Abigail Rose?" Steve smirks at Bucky leaning up against the wall by the pool table.

"Who is Abigail Rose?" Clint cocks an eyebrow at Bucky.

Natasha leans in excited to tell the story, "Fury's new assistant got called in today and she had to bring her daughter to work with her. Just cute as can be. Sweet and precocious. She had stickers all over her shirt. How old was she?"

"Two? Three maybe?"

"Adorable! Made a beeline straight to Bucky." Bucky tries to concentrate on his shot while shaking his head but the tips of his ears are turning red.

Incredulously, "Wouldn't give me the time of day," Steve acts disgruntled & shocked.

Sam teases,"You weren't her type. She's into Cyborgs."

Steve laughs, "You're right because she loved the arm! The arm was so pretty. 'I loves it!' "

"Poor mom was so embarrassed. Abby didn't want to leave Buck's side. Finally before she left she peels off a sticker from her shirt and sticks it to his arm."

Sam nods, "It was the 2yr old version of giving someone your insta." They laughs at Bucky's expense and Buck rolls his eyes.

Most people are afraid of him. He doesn't need to threaten or say anything for people to stay away. He did not have that affect on Abby. She didn't fear him at all. She seeked him out. Her tiny body leaning against him. She didn't cringe at the feel of cold metal. Her little fingers traced the gold detail on his arm.

Nat grabs Buck's arm, "Aw, where's the sticker?" Turning it, this way and that. "You lost it," Nat frowns.

Bucky pulls out his ID card and shows them the back where he stashed Abby's sticker, joining in with their laughter. "They were cute."

Clint catches him, "They??"

"She."

"Uh uh, man. You said they."

Natasha smiles slyly, ready to play matchmaker. "Y/N is gorgeous!" Bucky shrugs yet nods staring at the sticker before shoving the card back in his pocket.

*****

Some days are such a struggle. You never would have thought you'd be a widow with a baby to raise by yourself. Abby's father was a pilot in the Air Force. That's what attracted you to begin with. The image of a sexy daring fighter pilot. Things Jason did or talked about were so exciting. He was an adrenaline junkie for sure. Which is fun for a boyfriend, but not the best for a husband & father.

Now, its just you and Abby fending for yourselves. This job with the Avengers was heaven sent. It was so hard to make ends meet but now that you're with the Avengers, a huge weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You'll be able to give Abby a better life. Yet, sometimes just the day-to-day chores overwhelm you.

You finished getting yourself ready for work and started tackling the task of getting Abby ready for daycare. You brush Abby's hair trying to get it into a ponytail. Don't know why you go through the effort, because it's just going to fall out by midday after playing and naptime. "Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Today is school day?"

"Yes. You get to go to daycare and see Ms. Grace and all your friends."

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Remember the man with the pretty arm?" She tries to turn around to face you and you have to face her forward so you can get the ponytail up.

"Yes, I do."

"Me, too." You nod, knowing where this is heading already. "Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Mr S'gent don't go daycare."

"No, he doesn't. He's a grown-up. He goes to work." Finishing her hair, you carry her back to the room to put on her shoes.

"Mama?"

Rolling your eyes, "Yes?"

"I'm not a grows up."

Sitting her on the bed you kneel before her to put on her socks & shoes, "Grown-up. No. You are my baby."

"Mama?"

"Abby Rose!" Making wide eyes at her, "You are making Mama crazy." Abby laughs and pats your head.

"Mama?"

"Yesssss, Abby. What?"

She places her little hands on each of your cheeks, "Cans I go to work with yous?" She gives you the most angelic smile. You growl, picking her up & throwing her over your shoulder. She screams and giggles. "Mama!!!"

Bringing her down, to prop her on your hip, grabbing her backpack & your bag to make the trek to her daycare which luckily is only a couple blocks away. "You need to go to daycare."

"But...but...I wants to be with yous," she pouts.

"But...but...NO. You don't want to be with me. You want to see Sargent Barnes." She throws her head back and laughs with a cackle. You shake your head at her. Excuse me, Lil Miss! Who's child is this??

"Mamaaa."

"Abbyyyy." You laugh but sober up, "I'm sorry, baby, but no. You need to go to school."

"But...but...what if he forgets me."

"He will never forget you. He has your sticker. He has your drawing."

She puts her thumb in her mouth & nods her head, but she looks sad. She rests her head on your shoulder for the rest of the walk to daycare.

Next Chapter

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @crazyunsexycool @thezombieprostitute

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader x abigail rose

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randomdragonfires · 4 months ago

Text

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

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 | 13.2k

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

A/N | Not beta read. ;)

She sits at Aemond’s kitchen counter, her eyes wandering over the photographs sprawled out in front of her. Each image captures the haunting beauty of the ruins of Valyria, a place Aemond has been passionate about for ages due to his heritage. The smell of French toast wafts through the air, mixing with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He pours her a mug and slides it over to her.

Just for a second, the domesticity of it all makes her want to blush.

She has been seeing men, yes. Ever since she got to college, there have been no shortage of men who want to date her; but she has been hesitant about letting any of them close. Perhaps it is the idea of being touched once more, or the comfort she has grown for herself that she refuses to let anyone in - she does not know.

But not Aemond, seems like. He’s been her bedrock ever since she moved to Oldtown, and sometimes, he does little things that make her feel warm.

She has a hard time figuring out what it is, but it’s certainly not feelings. She’s had them before, for Daeron - it’s a lot more intense, usually.

This is easy. Too easy. It is easy to be attracted to Aemond, he’s got that about him. But he’s also Aemond - Daeron’s brother. It is quite messed up. It is easy to be infatuated, she feels. But she’s not quite ready to do anything about something so miniscule - especially given what he means to her.

It’s all a bit of fun, really. A mindless little crush. All of it goes away in time.

And there’s also the fact that he seems to like someone else, and not her.

Aemond moves gracefully around the kitchen, flipping slices of bread in a sizzling pan. His expression is animated as he recounts the details of his recent trip. "Valyria is everything I imagined and more," he said, his voice filled with awe. "The architecture, even in ruins… phenomenal.”

She picks up a photo showing a grand, crumbling archway, its intricate carvings still visible despite centuries of decay. "This is incredible," she murmurs, tracing a finger over the image. "Like walking through time.”

He smiles, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Exactly. Every piece of rubble, every shattered column… and the dragons… you can feel their presence, even now."

She looks up at him, curiosity piqued. "Did you find anything related to your family?"

"I did. There were symbols and inscriptions that matched the Targaryen coat of arms. There was this…” He turns quickly to rustle his hands through the photos, trying to find one that he probably intends to show her. When he spots it, he slides it to her by the fingertips. “This old stone tablet with the Targaryen dragon carved into it, still intact despite the centuries.”

"That's incredible. It must have been surreal to see it in person."

"It was," Aemond agrees, his voice tinged with reverence as he went back to the stove. "There were also ancient manuscripts, or what was left of them. The text was almost completely eroded, but you could still make out references to my ancestors. And there was a mural, faded and cracked, but you could see the dragons soaring over Valyria in them, with what we believe were the early Targaryens among them."

He placed the plate of French toast in front of her and sat down, his eyes glowing with excitement. "I even found a piece of what might have been a dragon egg, petrified but still recognizable.”

Wylde takes a bite of the French toast, savoring the warm, cinnamon flavor, but her mind was captivated by Aemond's discoveries. “How’d you end up making the trip? Thought it was closed for like… government reasons or something?”

“Right, so… Aegon-”

“That never ends well.”

The edge of his lips twinges upward and she clocks his faint smile. “He's the creative director of The Kingslander now.” She has heard of it. Aegon Targaryen was quite the flighty boy growing up, with little to no focus on anything low-key. He would always have an eye for anything creative and aesthetic though, and had a unique style. Alicent spotted an early opportunity for her eldest son, and had him intern at The Kingslander, one of the many magazines that Targaryen Consolidated owned. Soon enough, he had something to channel himself into, and it showed. From fashion photography to various directed photoshoots, he was in his element.

But at heart, Aegon was never meant for the desk lifestyle. So when Sara Snow - an archeology professor - tumbled into his life and told him she was to leave on an expedition for half a year, he took the opportunity to let loose and chase her across the globe. She had him enrolled into the documenting team so he wouldn’t be twiddling his thumbs, and he seems to have taken to it quite well.

‘So I’m like, into history now.’ She can clearly hear him say it. “I don’t know. He likes this girl, and he got access, so he invited me to go along because there may never be a chance again.”

“Sounds like such an Aegon thing to do,” she says wistfully as the last bits of her food disappear from the plate.

“What?”

“To put his heart on the line and take risks that involve going halfway across the globe to a restricted area for a girl.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“You wouldn’t do it?”

Aemond pauses, contemplating the question. "It's not that I wouldn't. It's just... different for me."

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Different how?"

“He’s so… out of control. I’d not prefer that.”

“Hm. Or perhaps you haven’t had your crazy grand romantic moment yet.” Red blooms over his cheeks as he faces away, taking her plate to dump it into the sink. “Speaking of. You mentioned you met someone months ago! I’ve been here for three months already and you’re yet to tell me anything!”

“It’s very casual.”

“Liar. You’d not be hiding her like your life depended on it if it was.”

“Hm.”

She stands up, gathering her books and bag, ready to go home. She begins to assemble all the photos, carefully placing them back into the box. As she reaches for the last few, her fingers brush against a small, delicate emerald locket she hadn't noticed earlier. She holds it up, admiring its intricate design.

"Is this from the expedition too?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.

Aemond turns, scratching the back of his neck as he answers, "No, that's a friend's. She was looking at the photos earlier." A faint blush creeps up his cheeks, but Wylde notices it immediately.

"And is this the same… friend that you're trying to hide from me?" she teases, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Perhaps," Aemond admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

She chuckles, and stores at the back of her mind the observation that whoever he’s seeing comes and goes to the flat, just like her. "Good taste in jewelry, I'll tell you that much. I like her already."

She walks up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug and planting a friendly kiss on his cheek. The tingling feeling is back again, but she ignores it like the plague.

"Food was good. One of these days you'll give Criston a run for his money," she jokes - to lower his tension or hers, she does not know.

Aemond mutters his thanks, his blush deepening. "Don't get your hopes up too high."

She strolls through the lively streets of Oldtown, her phone pressed to her ear. The scent of fresh pastries from a nearby café mingles with the distant hum of conversation, and the old world charm brightens up her day.

“Hey… been a while!” she says, her voice bright with genuine enthusiasm. “How’s everything at KLU?”

There’s a brief pause before Daeron’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Hi, yourself! Things are going great here. Campus is even more lively than I expected, classes are alright. How’s Oldtown treating you?”

You could have found out for yourself if you’d followed through with me, she thinks. She’s quick to kick her bitter thoughts to the curb though.

She glances around at the charming storefronts and the lively crowds. “It’s been a whirlwind. The courses are intense, but I’m getting used to the pace. I’m really enjoying the city - it’s everything I hoped it would be. So different from home, but in a good way. Aemond and I spend a lot of time together, so that’s nice.”

“Yeah, Oldtown is amazing,” Daeron agrees, his enthusiasm unwavering. “I remember going there to visit grandpa often as a kid.””

“Oh yeah!” Her curiosity gets the better of her, and her question tumbles out before she can stop herself. “How’re things with you and Floris?”

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line. She can almost hear Daeron shifting, his voice a bit more guarded when he replies. “Oh, Floris is… she’s doing well. She’s been really busy with her studies and all. It’s been a bit hectic for her, but she’s handling it. You know how she is - always on top of things.”

No, I don’t know how she is, actually.

Her brow furrows slightly as she walks past the café, where the smell of coffee and baked goods wafts out into the street. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something feels off to her. “That’s good to hear. But you sound a bit... dull. Everything okay?”

Daeron let out a nervous chuckle. “No, it’s nothing like that. We’ve just been caught up in our own worlds lately. It’s a lot to balance with everything going on. But she’s fine, really. We’re fine.”

He’s lying. She knows. She knows him like the back of her hand.

Arianne Martell approaches her in the distance, her bright smile unmistakable. She sighs into her phone, deciding to let the topic drop for now. “Hey, Daeron, I’ve got to go. Catch up later, yeah?”

“Okay, bye. And hey-”

“What?”

“I miss you.”

Much and more has happened between them, but she can’t help but smile all the same. “Me too. We’ll talk soon.”

Heart warmed by the fact that she can have a conversation with him again without wanting to pull his spun silver hair out, she picks up the pace to join Arianne.

They queue up at the cart, their conversation slipping into the familiar rhythm of college gossip. Arianne’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she leans closer. “You won’t believe what I heard about Margaery Tyrell. Apparently, she’s been sneaking off to meet with Lionel Hightower.”

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Margaery? Really? I thought she was with-”

Arianne nods enthusiastically. “Renly Baratheon, yes. But my brother saw him and Loras Tyrell making out at one of his parties.”

“Well. Fair enough.”

Arianne grins, clearly enjoying the drama. “Oh, it gets better. Apparently, they’ve been trying to get Cregan Stark to join them but he’s much too prudish for a threesome.”

“Prudish or just uncomfortable with them?”

“Who knows?”

As they walk past the cart, Wylde’s gaze drifts toward the window of a nearby restaurant. For a moment, she spots a familiar silhouette through the glass. She wants to think it’s Aemond, but it would be a reach to assume every tall man in a black hoodie is him.

But she spots Vhagar parked out front, and now she knows for sure.

Aemond is seated with his back to her, and she can tell by his posture that it's him. He’s accompanied by an obscured woman who gestures animatedly as she talks. They seem engrossed in deep conversation, and Aemond’s face is animated, his focus entirely on the woman before him.

Her curiosity is piqued, but she quickly refocuses on Arianne, who is now recounting the latest gossip involving the drama club’s lead actor.

It feels wrong to be peeking into Aemond's life like this.

Arianne’s laughter draws her attention back. “Anyway, I have a date with Arys tonight!”

“STOP! Really?”

“He finally asked me out, thank the Gods. Thought he was going to drag it out forever!”

She laughs, the earlier sight of Aemond slipping from her mind.

“Yeah so, you’ll come in and help me get ready?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They are sprawled on his plush leather couch, the glow from the laptop illuminating their surroundings. The soft hum of a wildlife documentary is heard, the narrator's voice a soothing backdrop to the scenes of the Sarnor savannah playing out on the screen. Bowls of snacks—popcorn and chocolate-covered almonds—are scattered around them, within easy reach.

She is nestled comfortably against Aemond’s side, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm is draped casually around her, fingers idly tracing patterns on her arm. They are so close, their bodies glued together that it’d be so easy to assume that they were a couple, rather than friends who’ve known each other their entire lives. Every so often, Aemond’s hand dips into the bowl of popcorn, bringing a few kernels to his mouth, while she picks at the chocolate almonds. She feels the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the warmth of his body seeping into hers.

As his fingers trace gentle patterns on her arm, she feels a shiver run through her. It’s a simple touch, yet it sends her heart racing. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact, every subtle shift in his posture. The way he holds her, casually yet protectively, makes her wonder if he feels the same way. Does he know how much these small gestures mean to her?

He’s just being friendly to a girl he’s known almost his entire life.

She steals a glance at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop screen. His sharp features are softened in the dim light, and she notices the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates on the documentary. She resists the strange urge to smoothen out the lines on his face and help him calm down.

She sighs contentedly, but soon a dull ache begins to build at her temples. She shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the headache persists. She groans softly, bringing a hand to her forehead.

Aemond glances down at her, a look of concern crossing his features. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a headache,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and leaning further into him. “It’s been a long day.”

Without a word, Aemond begins to gently massage her scalp, his fingers working through her hair with practiced ease. His attention remains fixed on the laptop screen, but his touch is gentle and soothing, each movement easing the tension from her temples.

She feels a flutter in her chest, a familiar sensation she’s tried to ignore. The crush she has on Aemond, usually kept carefully in check, creeps up on her as he continues to massage her scalp. His touch is both comforting and intimate, sending shivers down her spine.

Hormones are a nasty little thing, she surmises as her mild feelings refuse to go away. How could they, when he’s holding her like this?

She feels the need to speak if only to calm herself down.

“Daeron and I spoke today.”

His hands stop immediately, and his face hardens as he looks down at her. She looks up to meet his gaze, and she refuses to think of how close she is to his lips. She won’t.

Perhaps she is a little attracted to him.

It’s natural, and honestly? An inevitability. He’s Aemond. Anyone with proper vision and a sound mind would be attracted to him. She’s just lucky that she knows him well enough to be part of his space.

It’s stupid and even a bit silly. She’ll be over it just fine.

She moves away from him, sitting facing him with crossed legs. “What did he say?” He asks, and she spots the defensiveness in his tone.

“Nothing to worry about, it was nice actually.” She smiles, still very fond of her long-time best friend. “We just caught up and he was telling me about KLU. He also said he had plans to visit here in the summer, so I’m quite excited!”

“And how can you be sure that he’s not going to let himself be pulled away again?”

“About that…” She sighs. Regardless of how messy their equation had been towards the end of school, she has grown back her affinity for the youngest Targaryen brother. She supposes all they needed was time. “I asked about him and Floris today, he seemed very hesitant with his answers.”

“Hm.” She hears the pop of each of his knuckles as he cracks them with a concentrated look on his face.

“I don’t know. I think he’s lying.”

“You’re sure?”

“I know him. I know him well, like the back of my hand. I know when he’s lying. He didn’t sound like himself. I worry for him.”

“It’s not your place to do anything until he asks for help.”

“But I didn’t even-”

“You know him and I know you. You’d trip over yourself trying to help him.”

Her shoulders slump as she realizes he’s right. It is in Daeron’s nature to come to her when he’s down, and it is in her nature to be there for him. She’s wired that way, truly. How can she not be, when she’s been that way for as long as she’s known him?

“I’d rather you not be hurt again. Daeron is… careless. He and Aegon never consider anything beyond the next ten minutes, and they leave a big mess in their wake.”

She smirks. “Are you using me as an excuse to take shots at your brothers?”

She sees the corner of his lips twitch, and she brings her hands together as she sighs once more. “I just… I’ve had time to get over the fact that we drifted apart. But it made me quite sad that he felt the need to lie to me and smooth things rather than actually tell me what’s going on, you know?”

“Happens.” His replies are curt and his disposition is rougher. She doesn’t know why, and she refuses to let it grow. “Nothing you can do about it,” he adds.

“Hm.”

The sounds of the documentary keep the room from being pin drop silent, and she gets off the sofa to go to the fridge. “We’ve run out of cheesecake.” She says, coming back to where she was sitting before.

“Yeah, I need to get more.”

“You could have gotten some when you went to Moonbloom a few days ago.”

Aemond’s nervousness was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him well. But to her, the subtle shifts were as clear as daylight. She noticed how his jaw tightened just a fraction, the way his eyes seemed to flicker with an almost invisible tension. His usually steady hands would still, fingers curling ever so slightly into his palms. He’d draw in a slow, controlled breath, his chest rising just a bit higher than usual.

“When did you see me?”

The eyebrow of his functional eye lifts just a little, almost as if he’s asking her how she knew. "I saw Vhagar parked outside. Figured nobody else had a bike that looked similar. Thought you may be with someone, so I didn’t want to intrude."

"Professor Rivers," he replies, his tone dangerously neutral. "I was working on my papers about the expedition, using them for my semester submission, and we bumped into each other."

"Oh, okay. Weird, isn’t it? To bump into professors outside of campus. Like people let out of their natural habitat."

"Hm. Perhaps." His cheeks take on a faint pink hue, and she can’t help but smile.

"Why are you blushing?" she asks, laughing heartily, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "You don’t have a crush on her or something, do you?"

"Gods, no," he replies quickly, the words almost too quick. It’s a lighthearted quip to her, nothing more, but the slight tilt in his tone lingers in her mind, a small seed of curiosity planted.

“I mean, she is pretty. I wouldn’t blame you.” She laughs, trying to tease him further and he disappointedly nods side to side.

A few hours go by as they continue to pass the time, but Aemond seems a little tense from thereon out. He’s quieter - if that’s even possible - and his responses, more measured. She notices the way he occasionally bites the inside of his cheek, a habit he has when something's bothering him. His fingers tap lightly against his knee in an uneven rhythm, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

When she asks him a question, he pauses just a moment longer than usual before answering, as if carefully choosing his words. The slight furrow in his brow, the way his gaze occasionally drifts to the floor, and the almost imperceptible sighs he lets out - they all speak of an unease that she spots effortlessly.

These are the times when she hates knowing the Targaryen children as well as she does.

She watches him closely, feeling a pang of guilt. He’s not the kind to take these things to heart usually, but something about her teasing seems to have unsettled him this time. She no longer feels welcome, and she knows he’d rather be left alone now and to find her when he’s ready for her again. She doesn’t like that it has to be this way, but giving him his space is the most she can do.

She stands abruptly, murmuring something about an early class in the morning and how she has to go. He immediately softens then, and stands idly with his hands in his pockets as she packs her bag.

She doesn’t like leaving him like this, but just as she moves to the door, she turns at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand, holding onto her wrist. With his other hand at the back of his neck, his look is almost sheepish. “Listen, sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable-”

“I’m sorry too. It wasn’t funny to tease about your professors. Didn’t realize you were quite touchy about it.”

“I’m not, just… I don’t know what happened.”

Her gaze is fixed at his strong hand holding hers, and she looks at it for too long before he notices it and drops it like hot coal. She misses the warmth of him immediately with a strange overwhelming feeling she cannot put into words. It’s not her silly little crush on him, it’s just a natural physical reaction, she tells herself.

She softens and melts immediately at his peculiar attempt to smooth things over with her, and it is heartwarming to her that he tries. “Aemond, it’s okay. You’re fine. If anything, I should apologize and I am sorry.”

“Neither of us should be apologizing, this is a non-issue.” He says, and she recognises the finality of his tone. There is no space for debate; and in all honesty, she doesn’t know why a throwaway statement became a big deal anyway.

“Okay.” As is her habit, she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him on his warm cheek before saying bye. Tonight however, neither of them seem to want to leave each other as they continue to be glued to where they stand. She notices the ring on his finger and remembers Daeron, her mind racing to the conversation they had once more. Her mind travels to every word he said on their phone call, and the words rush out of her before she can help herself.

“You wouldn’t ever lie to me, would you?”

He sighs, leaning on the doorway with his hands folded into his chest. She cannot deny how effortlessly good he looks right then.

“I’d never hurt you.”

“Okay.” She absentmindedly nods as she repeats the words to herself and she bites her lip. She clutches onto her sling bag as she finally moves away.

She doesn't quite dwell on the fact that he promised not to hurt her but didn't exactly promise never to lie.

The thrum of music pulses through the packed house, every beat vibrating through her bones. She scans the crowd, trying to spot Arianne, but her friend has disappeared into the sea of bodies. She shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. The alcohol has dulled her senses just enough to make everything feel a little softer around the edges.

As she leans against the wall, Willas Tyrell saunters over, a confident smile playing on his lips. They’ve been eyeing each other all night, and now, with eight rounds of beer warming her veins, she feels bolder than usual.

"Hey, lost your friend?" he asks, his voice smooth and warm.

"Yeah, Arianne's somewhere in this madness," she replies, laughing lightly. "But it's not so bad. I found you."

He chuckles, taking a step closer. "Lucky me. What are you drinking?"

"Beer. Not my first choice, but it does the job."

"Well, if you're up for something better, I’ve got some whiskey upstairs," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Interested?"

She arches an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of excitement. "Whiskey, huh? That does sound tempting. Is that all on offer though?"

"Why don’t you come and find out?" he teases, holding out his hand.

Without hesitation, she takes it, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrap around hers. They weave through the crowded living room, climbing the stairs to a quieter part of the house. The music grows fainter, the air cooler, as they reach an empty room at the end of the hall.

He closes the door behind them, and she turns to face him, her heart pounding with anticipation. They are inches apart, the charged energy between them palpable.

"You know," she says, her voice low. "I've always thought you were kind of cute."

"Kind of cute?" he repeats, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I was hoping for more than 'kind of.'"

"Well, you might have to work for it," she challenges, stepping closer until their bodies are almost touching.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small flask, unscrewing the cap and offering it to her. "How about some of this?"

She takes a sip, the burn of the whiskey warming her insides and adding to the haze in her mind. She hands it back to him, their fingers brushing in the exchange, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Not bad," she says, licking her lips. "Maybe you do have good taste."

He laughs softly, his eyes darkening with desire. "Glad you think so. Now, where were we?"

"Right about here," she whispers, closing the distance between them.

He doesn't need any more encouragement. Willas cups her face with one hand, the other sliding around her waist as he pulls her in for a kiss. It is slow and deliberate at first, but quickly grows more intense, their mouths moving hungrily against each other. She can taste the faint hint of whiskey on his lips, mingling with the lingering taste of alcohol on her own.

Her hands roam over his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles through his shirt. He responds by sliding his fingers under the hem of her top, lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. His touch is electric, sending shivers down her spine as he deftly unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor.

"You’re full of surprises," she murmurs, her breath hitching as he kisses down her neck.

"You have no idea," he replies, his voice husky with need.

He pushes her onto the bed, the world around them narrowing to just the two of them. She lands on her back, looking up at him with a mixture of desire and haziness, the room spinning slightly around her. Willas hovers above her, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of her bare skin. He leans down, capturing her lips in another searing kiss, his hands exploring her body with a desperate urgency. She arches into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer.

Their kisses grow more frantic, each movement a testament to their mutual need. He trails his lips down her collarbone, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin, eliciting a gasp from her. His hands slide lower, brushing against her waist, before moving to undo the button of her jeans.

She’s caged between his strong arms, with nowhere to move. For a fleeting moment, the sensation is thrilling. But then, as Willas's hands slide lower, the room spins faster, and the walls seem to close in. Her breath catches in her throat, and she’s suddenly transported back to that night in school with Jason Lannister, his oppressive presence, the helplessness, the terror.

A cold sweat breaks out on her skin. The memory floods her mind: Jason's hands on her, her desperate attempts to push him away, the fear that froze her limbs. The room spins more violently now, and the warmth of Willas's body becomes suffocating.

"Stop," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

Willas doesn't hear her, his kisses growing more insistent. The panic rises in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Stop," she says again, louder this time, but it still feels like she’s shouting underwater.

Her heart races, and her vision blurs. She tries to push him away, her hands trembling. "Willas, stop," she says more firmly, her voice cracking.

This time, he hears her. He immediately pulls back, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but edged with worry.

She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't... I can't do this. I'm sorry."

He moves away quickly, giving her space. "Hey, it’s okay. It's okay," he reassures her, his tone soft and understanding. He sits beside her, not touching, giving her the room she needs.

She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The room still feels like it's spinning, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess. Willas watches her with genuine concern, not pushing, just waiting.

After a few moments, he reaches for her discarded top and hands it to her along with her bra. "Here, put this on. Take your time."

"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don’t apologize," he says softly. “You’re good, just breathe. You’re fine.”

She nods, focusing on her breathing, trying to regain control. The panic begins to ebb, replaced by a shaky calm. Willas stays beside her, offering quiet support.

"Thank you," she finally manages to say, looking at him with gratitude and a lingering hint of embarrassment.

"Anytime," he replies with a gentle smile. "Do you want me to call someone?”

“No, I… I think I’m gonna just… go.”

“Let me help you.”

“It’s okay. Can you just… I need a moment, if that’s okay. I’m so sorry if I ruined tonight for you.”

“You’re alright. I don’t feel good letting you go off alone like this though.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.”

She steps out of the house, the cool night air hitting her like a splash of cold water. The noise of the party fades behind her, replaced by the quieter sounds of the street. Scattered red cups and empty beer bottles litter the front yard, remnants of a night that feels distant and surreal now. A figure lies passed out on the lawn, oblivious to the world as others continue to mill about inside.

She walks to the corner of the pavement, her steps slow and unsteady. The streetlight above her makes the world feel too bright and too stark. She sits down, her knees drawn up to her chest, and tries to steady her breathing. The cool concrete is a small comfort, grounding her as she struggles to calm her racing heart.

With trembling hands, she pulls out her phone and dials Aemond’s number. The ringing seems to echo in her ears, each tone stretching into what feels like an eternity. Finally, the call connects, and she hears the distant, muffled sound of conversation.

“Aemond,” she says, her voice cracking and barely more than a whisper. “I—I need you. I’m… I’m outside Margaery Tyrell’s party.”

There’s a brief pause on the line. She hears the faint hum of a cheerful woman’s voice, laughter floating in the background. A pang of guilt hits her hard. She feels like an intruder, her mind racing as she realizes she might be interrupting something important.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her voice breaking. “I—I’m really sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t mean to interrupt… whoever you're with. I just— I’m so scared. Can you… can you come get me? Please?”

Her breathing comes in ragged bursts, her words tumbling out in a breathless, almost incoherent rush. The panic clawing at her chest makes it hard to focus, and the alcohol hasn’t worn off one bit.

“Wylde?” Aemond’s voice is suddenly urgent, cutting through her frantic apologies. There’s a concern in his tone that makes her stomach clench. Don’t move. I’ll be there soon. Just breathe, okay?”

She struggles to calm her racing heart, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, her voice trembling with desperation. “I’m really sorry… I just… I can’t… One minute we were kissing and the next I’m crying, I can't breathe...I-”

“Wylde, listen to me,” Aemond says firmly, but gently. “It’s okay. I’m on my way. Just stay where you are. I need you to breathe and stay calm. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

The call ends abruptly, and she is left in the cold night air, clutching her phone with shaking hands. Her breaths come out in shaky, uneven puffs as she tries to focus on Aemond’s calming words. The street feels both stark and surreal, the shadows around her stretching long and foreboding. She pulls her jacket tighter around her, trying to find comfort in its warmth while waiting for him to arrive.

As they arrive at his apartment, the familiar rumble of the motorbike fades as he turns the keys. Aemond helps her off the bike with a gentle but firm hand, guiding her carefully up the stairs and into his apartment. The door swings open to reveal a cozy space, bathed in the dim, warm glow of a few scattered lamps.

He holds onto her with one hand, using his free hand for everything else. Her head rests under his chin, and she can’t help but nuzzle herself into his neck and make herself at home as his warmth pervades her dulled senses.

He leads her inside and guides her to the bathroom. With a tender touch, he helps her sit on the edge of the tub. The gentle hum of the apartment and the soft rustling of his movements are a soothing backdrop to her foggy consciousness. He rummages through a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of water and painkillers.

“Here,” he says softly, handing her the water and pills. “You should take these. They’ll help with the headache.”

She nods weakly, managing to swallow the medication with a few sips of water. Her head feels heavy, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess, but the care in his voice and his steady presence offer a small measure of relief.

Aemond helps her to her feet and guides her to the bedroom. The room is dim, the only light coming from a small bedside lamp. He pulls out a clean pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts from a drawer. Gently, he helps her out of her clothes, the fabric of her dress feeling foreign against her skin as it’s removed. He helps her into the comfortable shorts and oversized t-shirt, the soft material a welcome contrast to the night’s chaos.

As he tucks her into bed, pulling the sheets up around her, he is both careful and attentive. She shifts under the covers, trying to get comfortable, but her eyes are heavy and her body feels weighed down by the evening’s events. She feels his warm lips on her forehead once more, and she reaches out to hold onto his wrist before he goes away.

“Stay. Please.” she murmurs, her voice barely audible as she begs.

Aemond’s gaze softens. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures her, settling down on the edge of the bed. He sits there for a moment, his hand gently stroking her hair, the motion soothing and familiar.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice wavering slightly. “I’m sorry for all this.”

She hears the faint ticking of a clock as her heartbeat calms down. The rustling of sheets as Aemond adjusts himself to join her. The warm golden glow of the bedside lamp. The warmth of her hand in his under the sheets. The feel of his thumb gently moving over her knuckles. The softness of his hands as he brushes off stray hairs off her face. The strength of it as he cradles her head like it’d break if he pressed further.

Aemond wakes in the middle of the night, his hand instinctively reaching out to the empty space beside him. The cool, undisturbed sheets where her warmth should be jolt him fully awake, a sudden surge of concern piercing through the remnants of his sleep. He sits up quickly, the room around him still cloaked in the deep shadows of night, and listens intently. The faint glow emanating from the kitchen draws his attention, a small beacon in the darkness.

He slips out of bed, his bare feet silent against the floor as he pads softly toward the light. Each step feels measured and deliberate, his senses heightened in the quiet stillness of the early morning. The corridor seems longer than usual, the dim light at the end creating an almost surreal atmosphere, as if he’s moving through a dream.

As he approaches the kitchen, the scene gradually comes into focus. She’s sitting at the counter, bathed in the soft, warm glow of the single dim yellow light over the countertop. The rest of the kitchen is enveloped in darkness, the contrast making her appear almost ethereal. Her presence is both comforting and concerning.

She’s wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of his shorts, her bare feet resting on the lower rung of the counter-height stool. The loose fabric drapes over her frame in a way that makes her look even smaller and more vulnerable. Her posture is slightly hunched, and she’s absently stirring the contents of a mug, the soft clinking of the spoon against the ceramic creating a gentle, rhythmic sound that fills the otherwise silent space.

He takes a moment to observe her, his heart aching at the sight. Her hair falls messily around her face, and her nose looks flared. She seems lost in thought, her eyes focused on the swirling liquid in the mug, as if trying to find answers in its depths. The tension in her shoulders is palpable, and he can see the strain of the night’s events weighing heavily on her.

He doesn’t yet know what’s happened. All he knows is that she’d been in a bad time once more, and it’s one too many times for someone as sensitive as she is. Her eyes are downcast, lost in thought, and she seems miles away, even though she’s right there in front of him.

Aemond watches her for a moment, noticing the way she grips the mug tightly, as if drawing strength from its warmth. Stepping into the light, he moves towards her with a quiet grace, not wanting to startle her. She looks up as he approaches, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and relief. He pulls out a stool beside her and sits down, their knees almost touching, creating an intimate, comforting space amidst the darkness.

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly, concern evident in his voice.

She lets out a small, tired sigh, her fingers tightening around the mug. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just… it feels too much.”

They sit in silence for a while, the atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions. She slowly sips from the mug—warm milk, he notices. His eyes wander to the honey bottle at the far end of the counter, suggesting she had been stirring it in when he came in. The soft clinking of the spoon against the mug fades into the background, replaced by the quiet, steady rhythm of their breathing.

His hand rests gently on her thigh, his fingers making slow, soothing movements that help to calm her. She feels the warmth and comfort of his touch, and instinctively, she settles her hand over his, drawing strength from the simple contact. Time seems to slow down, and they remain like this for a while, enveloped in the stillness of the moment.

He looks at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, and he remembers the first time he realized he had some sort of feelings for her - fleeting, if not definitive. Back in King's Landing, in her bedroom, he had been so close to her that he’d had half a mind to kiss her. But she had been so troubled, and he knew from seeing Aegon and Helaena, that no good comes from entering into anything when you're not quite yourself.

He thought he would ask her out when she came to Oldtown, imagining a fresh start in a new place. But by then, the distance had played its part.

His feelings, once intense in the way that only teenage introverts could experience, had started to dissolve, replaced by the new experiences and people that college inevitably brings into one's life. And then there was Alys. With Alys, there was no power play or domination that one would expect from a relationship with the age gap that they have - just two people who understood each other's interests and passions deeply, like no one else in their lives did. They were kindred spirits, and being with her felt easy and right. Alys was good to him, and their relationship felt solid and mature - regardless of how shaky the existence of it would seem to everyone around him.

Yet, as he sits here with her, he takes in her soft face, framed by her hair and lit up by the golden dim light. It is then that he realizes that his feelings - no matter how mild, how fleeting - never completely went away.

Finally, Aemond breaks the silence, his voice gentle and full of concern. “What happened?” he asks, his eyes searching hers for answers.

“I was at the party, and Will Tyrell and I were flirting.” His hand tightens over the smooth expanse of the skin of her thigh. “I’d had like… ten rounds of beer or something. One thing led to another and next thing I know, we’re making out in an empty room and…” She exhales with more effort than is required for her to live, and he encourages her to go on. “It just took me back to Jason Lannister for a moment and I started panicking. Couldn’t breathe for a moment there, really.”

“Hm.”

She leans her head down to be eye level with him, and she takes his hand in hers before she lets out a playful smile. “You’re like… my knight in a black motorcycle now, you know? Twice now I’ve had weird things happen to me at a party, and you've come to the rescue both times.”

“It’s not funny,” he says. He’d genuinely felt his heart stop when he heard her panicked voice over the phone at Alys’ house.

“It’s not. Sorry, I’m just grateful for you.”

Her hand leaves his to cradle his cheek. She’s the one who was found reeking of alcohol and vomit, and somehow he’s the one that needs comforting. “You’re always so serious, hm? So serious…” He grunts in response.

“Thank you. For being with me.”

He’s never been good with compliments, and this is a heavy one that he cannot wrap his mind around. He lets it wash over him like a calm evening breeze.

When her mug is empty and they come back to his bed, neither of them are in the right mindspace to wonder about how easily intimacy comes to them.

Instead, she chooses to watch him, his silhouette. She’s still tired and hazy from the alcohol, and given the moment they’ve just had and the complete darkness of his bedroom, she can’t help but say it.

“You’re pretty.”

He doesn’t react, so she feels emboldened enough to continue. “You have such pretty eyes too. I always thought about it, but you always hated talking about your eyes so I never quite bothered with telling you.”

“Hm.”

Her quiet knight on a black motorcycle.

How the fuck is she supposed to get over him now?

She wakes slowly, the world coming into focus as the soft light of morning filters through the blinds. She feels the warmth of Aemond’s chest against her back, his arm draped loosely around her waist. There’s a quiet comfort in the way they’re entangled, as if this is exactly where she’s meant to be. She’s still wearing his clothes - his t-shirt and shorts - and somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Her gaze drifts over to the bedside table, and she spots his reading glasses resting on top of a copy of Ten Thousand Ships. She thinks about how she never wants to see a table without his glasses again.

The thought lingers, surprising her with its intensity. She tries not to move, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, and instead lets her eyes take in the little details around the room.

The leather jacket hanging neatly on a hook behind the door catches her attention, standing out in what she could only describe as clinical cleanliness. The pale walls, the simplicity of the space - it’s all so Aemond. Everything is meticulously arranged, no clutter in sight, just like him. Every little thing in this room reflects who he is, and she finds herself memorizing it all, as if trying to hold onto this feeling for as long as she can.

Before her thoughts can go further, she hears him stir behind her, his voice low and groggy. “Morning,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

She turns her head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him. “Morning,” she replies softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Aemond tightens his arm around her waist, pulling her just a little closer, and she feels her heart swell with a warmth that she isn’t ready to let go of. This, right here, feels like everything she didn’t know she needed.

She shifts slightly in his arms, just enough to face him. There’s a comfortable silence between them, one that feels both familiar and new. She traces lazy circles on the back of his hand with her finger, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“This is nice.” she says with a playful grin, trying to keep things light despite the weight in her chest. “Girlfriend behavior. Waking up in your bed, wearing your clothes… I’m basically halfway there.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Is that so? You’re already planning our future together, then?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “We’d probably spend our weekends at bookstores and museums. You’d drag me to some obscure historical sites, and I’d make you try every new coffee shop in town while I move around taking photos.”

“Sounds terrible,” he deadpans, though the warmth in his eyes betrays him.

“Absolutely dreadful, the most boring couple ever.” She agrees, her tone just as teasing. “But, hey, I’d get to borrow your shirts all the time, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Aemond smirks, but his expression softens as he looks at her. “Are you alright?” His voice is gentle, laced with concern.

She nods, trying to brush it off with a smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He doesn’t let it go, though, his thumb brushing lightly against her side. “Really?”

Everywhere he touches, her heart seems to follow. It skips a beat at the sincerity in his eyes, and she feels the familiar tug of emotions she’s not quite ready to name. “I promise, Aemond. I’m fine.”

He studies her for a moment longer before finally nodding, though the worry doesn’t entirely leave his face. “Hm.”

She can’t help but laugh at his persistence, leaning in to kiss his cheek lightly. “I’m alright, I swear.”

She presses a hand to her forehead, feeling the dull ache settle behind her eyes. “I’ve got a slight headache,” she admits, her voice a little groggy. “And I could really use some food.”

Aemond nods, concern flickering across his face. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

They both slide out of bed, and she follows him to the bathroom where they keep spare toothbrushes for each other. It’s a simple, unspoken thing - having brushes at each other’s places because they often sleep over - but this is the first time she’s woken up with his arms around her. As she brushes her teeth beside him, the domesticity of it all makes her blush. It feels so natural, so easy, and yet there’s something about it that sends her heart racing.

After rinsing her mouth, she drinks a glass of water to ease the remnants of her headache before heading to the kitchen. She takes her usual place on one of the bar stools behind the counter, turning on the coffee machine. The sound of it humming to life is oddly soothing, and she watches as Aemond walks in, already rolling up the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to get started.

He pulls out the ingredients, his movements efficient and practiced. Wylde offers to help, and he nods her over without hesitation. As she steps closer, he lifts a small slice of cut avocado to her lips, eyes not moving away from the chopping board - habitual, it all seems habitual. She grunts, leaning in to eat it straight from his hand before taking over with slicing the bread.

They work together in comfortable silence, moving around each other with the ease of familiarity. Aemond cooks the eggs while she toasts the sourdough, and before long, they’re sitting at the counter with plates of food in front of them. The avocado is perfectly creamy, the eggs just the right amount of runny, the toast crisp and warm and her coffee is just right.

Then she remembers he found her a right mess last night, and he’s simply being nice to a friend who had a bad night.

She wonders if the girl he’s hiding from her is perfect for him. She wonders if she ever embarasses herself in front of him like she clearly did last night. She wonders if he’s made her toast. She wonders if she’s woken up to the warmth of his lean arms wrapped around her waist. She wonders-

“What’s on your mind?”

She nods from side to side, a reassuring smile that is convincing enough that he doesn’t push further.

They eat in peaceful silence, exchanging small smiles as they enjoy the meal. It’s a quiet moment, but there’s a warmth in it that neither of them can ignore. When they’re done, they clear the dishes together, and for a brief moment, she lets herself imagine that this is what it could be like - easy and comfortable.

She wanted to catch him by the shoulders. She wanted to hug him till it hurt and her feet left the ground. She wanted to tuck her head into his neck and breathe in the smell of him, bask in the warmth of him.

Choose me, choose me, choose me, choose-

She wants him.

Gods.

She says thank you and leaves instead.

The next few weeks pass in a series of moments - each one small and seemingly insignificant, yet all of them add up to something much larger in her heart. It’s as if the universe has conspired to put Aemond in her path at every turn, and with each encounter, she finds herself falling deeper into feelings she’s not quite ready to name.

In the university hallways, she always spots him first. He’s usually leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a book he seems completely absorbed in. The early morning light filters through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over him. She notices the way his hair catches the light, the soft strands glinting silver against the dark fabric of his jacket. He looks so focused, so utterly engrossed in whatever he’s reading, that she almost doesn’t want to interrupt. But then he glances up, meeting her eyes, and a small, rare smile pulls at his lips.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low and smooth.

“Morning,” she replies, feeling her own smile spreading as she walks over.

The rest of their walk is silent until their hands reach out to graze at each other for just a few moments before they go their separate ways.

A few days later, she finds herself in the library, hunting down a book for one of her Foundation of Art in Essos assignments. The place is quiet, the scent of old paper and ink filling the air, and she’s completely lost in the stacks when she hears a familiar voice.

“Looking for something?”

She turns to find Aemond standing just a few feet away, a small stack of books in his arms. His eyes flicker to the title in her hand, and she swears she sees a hint of amusement in them.

“Yeah, just…this one,” she says, holding up the book she’s just found.

He nods, stepping closer. “That’s a good one. You might also want to check out the one by Mallister - it gives a different perspective.”

She takes his word and joins him at his table. She lets herself blush and be bothered by their feet touching under the table occasionally.

In their one shared class, she finds herself sneaking glances at him more often than she’d like to admit. Aemond always sits a few rows ahead, his attention fixed on the professor. She watches the way he takes notes, his handwriting neat and precise, and the way he occasionally pushes his hair back when it falls into his eyes. It’s such a small thing, but it makes her smile every time.

One day, he catches her looking. Instead of brushing it off or ignoring her, he turns slightly in his seat and raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. She feels her cheeks heat up, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she raises her own eyebrow in response, a silent dare.

After class, they walk together, discussing the lecture and the points that stood out to them. Aemond’s insights are sharp and thoughtful, and she finds herself hanging on to every word he says. There’s something about the way he sees the world - so different from anyone else - that fascinates her.

Then again, he could tell her that the dragons have come back to life - and she’d find a way to believe that too.

Cafe Moonbloom - her favorite cafe at Oldtown - becomes another place where their paths cross. It’s a cozy spot, filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and soft, ambient music. She often comes here to study or relax, and more often than not, Aemond shows up too, as if drawn by the same comforting atmosphere.

One afternoon, she’s sitting at a corner table, sipping her usual lavender latte, when he walks in. He spots her immediately, and after ordering his drink, he joins her at the table without hesitation.

She smiles. Seems it’s all she’s capable of doing in his presence these days.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, each of them absorbed in their own work. But every now and then, she finds herself looking up, catching glimpses of him as he reads or types on his laptop.

At one point, he reaches across the table to take a sip of her drink, curiosity in his eyes. She lets him, laughing softly when he makes a face at the taste.

“Not a fan?” she teases.

“Too floral,” he replies, but there’s a warmth in his voice that makes her heart skip a beat.

“You say that each time.”

“That’s it,” she declares, looking over at Aemond, who’s deep into his notes. “We need a break. A real break.”

Aemond glances up, raising an eyebrow. They’re sitting in her flat, surrounded by textbooks and empty coffee cups. She closes her laptop with a decisive snap. “A break,” she repeats, leaning back against the couch and stretching her arms above her head. “We’ve been drowning in work for weeks. Let’s take a day off tomorrow and just… see the city. No papers, no studying. I can’t anymore.”

He considers her words for a moment, then slowly nods, a small smile forming on his lips. “Alright.”

When tomorrow comes, they’re on his motorbike - and she has no idea what he has planned.

The decision is made in a heartbeat. Aemond’s nod is all the confirmation she needs, and by morning, they’re zipping through the streets on his motorbike. The city blurs around them as the wind whips through her hair, the sound of the engine filling her ears. She clings to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, trusting him completely as they speed through the early morning light.

They weave through the streets, bypassing the usual morning traffic as the city slowly begins to wake up. The cool morning air carries the scent of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby river. Her excitement only grows as they approach the Honeywine, the river shimmering under the pale sunlight.

Finally, Aemond guides the bike down a quiet lane and comes to a stop near the edge of the river. She can see the Quill and Tankard ahead—a tall, timbered building leaning slightly southward, the dark wood exterior glowing in the morning light. The pub is nestled on an island in the middle of the Honeywine, connected to the rest of the city by an old plank bridge.

Aemond parks Vhagar, and they both dismount. She removes her helmet, her hair tousled and windswept, and follows Aemond as he leads the way to the bridge. The wooden planks creak slightly underfoot, adding to the charm of the place. She glances over the side, watching the water ripple below, the sound of the river soothing after their wild ride.

“You brought me to the Quill and Tankard?” she asks, her voice filled with pleasant surprise as they reach the other side of the bridge, her fingers brushing against his arm.

Aemond glances at her with a small, knowing smile. “Good spot to start,” he replies.

As they step inside, the warmth of the pub wraps around them like a cozy embrace. The common room is inviting, with wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and sunlight filtering through the tall, narrow windows. The smell of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making her stomach growl in anticipation.

They find a table near the window, the perfect spot to enjoy the view of the river and the old apple trees outside. Aemond shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of his chair, his movements casual but undeniably graceful. She follows suit, but can’t help but notice how effortlessly he commands the space around him.

When their breakfast arrives - thick slices of sourdough toast topped with peanut butter, peaches, and pomegranate, alongside a pot of rich, dark coffee—she sighs in contentment, her eyes sparkling as she glances at Aemond. “This is perfect,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

He nods, the corners of his lips lifting into a faint smile as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m glad,” he replies, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary. She thinks her heart actually skips a beat.

They eat slowly, savoring the food and the easy conversation that flows between them. Every now and then, their knees brush under the table, sending a little thrill through her that she tries to ignore, though the faint flush on her cheeks might give her away. Aemond seems to notice, a small, teasing smile playing at his lips whenever their eyes meet.

After they finish, they linger for a while longer, sipping the last of their coffee and enjoying the calm, the comfortable silence between them punctuated by the occasional shared glance and knowing smile. When it’s finally time to leave, she feels a reluctant tug in her chest. She doesn’t want the morning to end, but she knows they have the whole day ahead of them.

As they cross the old plank bridge again, she reaches out and takes Aemond’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. His skin is warm against hers, and she can’t help but notice how naturally their fingers intertwine. He glances at her, his expression softening as he squeezes back.

“Where to next?” she asks, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she tilts her head, her eyes searching for a clue.

Aemond smirks, his eye glinting with the hint of another surprise. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

When they finally arrive at the Starry Sept, she hops off the bike, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the towering structure before them. The sept stands like a sentinel over the city, its seven-pointed star gleaming in the sunlight.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, her excitement palpable as she hurries ahead, eager to explore. She glances back at Aemond, who trails behind with a small smile on his lips, his phone in hand as he quietly captures the moment—the soaring architecture, the play of light and shadow, and her own vibrant enthusiasm as she moves from one point of interest to the next.

She leads the way, her steps light as she marvels at the intricately carved statues and the colorful stained-glass windows that adorn the sept. Every now and then, she turns to share her excitement with him, her voice animated as she points out something new—a particularly beautiful mosaic, a hidden alcove, the way the sunlight pours through the windows, casting rainbows on the stone floor.

Aemond, as usual, is quieter, but she can see the way his gaze softens whenever he looks at her, how he pauses to take photos not just of the sept but of her too, capturing the way her eyes light up with each discovery. There’s something in his expression, a quiet contentment that makes her heart flutter whenever their eyes meet.

They wander deeper into the sept, through narrow corridors that twist and turn like a labyrinth, the ancient stones cool under their fingertips. She is in awe of the place, her footsteps echoing in the silence as they venture further inside.

When they reach a section that is clearly marked as restricted, she hesitates, looking at him with a raised brow. “Are we allowed in there?” she asks, a mix of curiosity and caution in her voice.

Aemond’s response is a single word, spoken with quiet confidence. “Otto.”

She laughs softly, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. “Of course. Should’ve guessed.”

With a smirk, he pushes open the heavy wooden door, leading them into a part of the sept that few ever see. The air here is different, almost sacred, and she feels a shiver of reverence as her fingers brush against the rough stone walls.

At one point, her foot catches on an uneven flagstone, and she stumbles, a startled gasp escaping her lips as she feels herself begin to fall. The world around her seems to tilt, the ancient stones rushing up to meet her, but before she can even process what’s happening, Aemond is there. He moves with a speed and grace that never ceases to amaze her, his strong arms enveloping her in a firm, protective embrace.

His hands settle on her waist, fingers splayed wide as if to shield her from the world itself. The sudden, intimate contact sends a jolt of electricity through her, making her pulse quicken and her breath hitch in her throat. For a moment, they are frozen like that, their bodies pressed close together, and all she can hear is the rapid pounding of her own heart.

Aemond’s chest is solid against her back, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, calming and steadying yet igniting something deep within her. His breath is warm and steady, ghosting across her ear in a way that sends shivers down her spine. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his fingertips press gently but possessively into her sides, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the subtle scent of leather and pine that clings to him.

She turns in his arms and for a moment, she thinks he might kiss her. The thought is dizzying, and she’s caught between hope and fear, between wanting to close her eyes and lean in, and wanting to pull back before everything changes. But then, almost as quickly as it began, the moment shifts. He blinks, the intensity in his gaze softening just a fraction, and she sees the flicker of restraint, the conscious decision as he takes a step back, putting a small but significant distance between them.

The loss of his warmth is immediate, almost jarring, and she feels the absence of his touch keenly, like a missing piece she hadn’t realized she was holding on to. He’s still close, still within reach, but the spell between them has broken, the moment passed, leaving behind a lingering sense of what might have been.

She gives him a small, grateful smile, though it feels a bit shaky, her heart still pounding in her chest. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice quieter than she intends, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile understanding they’ve just shared.

He nods, his lips curving into a faint smile, though there’s something in his expression that she can’t quite read, something that leaves her wondering if he’s as affected by the moment as she is. His hand drops from her waist, but not before his fingers trail lightly down her arm, a touch so fleeting it’s almost like an afterthought, yet it leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

Eventually, they reach a small, secluded courtyard, open to the sky and bathed in golden light. She lets out a soft sigh as she looks around, her eyes wide with wonder.

Something has shifted. This much they both know.

The ride back to her flat is quiet.

They’ve spent the entire day together, yet there’s a weight in the air between them, something that hangs in the silence. The Starry Sept, the Quill and Tankard, the moments that lingered just a little too long - all of it circles in her mind, and she wonders if he’s thinking about it too.

She holds onto him just a little tighter.

As they near her apartment, she breaks the silence with a light-hearted comment. “You know, if someone told me a month ago that I’d be exploring the Starry Sept with you, sneaking into restricted areas like we’re in some spy movie, I’d have laughed them off.”

Aemond chuckles softly, the sound almost drowned out by the bike’s engine. “Guess you’re more adventurous than you thought.”

She grins, resting her chin on his shoulder as she speaks into his ear. “Or maybe you’re just a bad influence. You and your… Otto connections.”

He smirks, though she can’t see it through his helmet. “I prefer ‘resourceful.’”

She laughs, a light, musical sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t quite explain. “Resourceful, huh? I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to get into a restricted section of the library.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re too serious,” she teases, nudging him gently with her knee. “You need to loosen up, Aemond. Enjoy life a little.”

“I enjoy life just fine,” he counters, though there’s a trace of defensiveness in his tone.

“Oh, really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you could use a bit more fun.” She tilts her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well. I bring the fun, you bring the… brooding?”

“I do not brood,” he says, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

She raises an eyebrow. “You totally brood. It’s your thing. That, and being all mysterious and - ”

“And what?” he interrupts, genuinely curious now.

She pauses, the words hanging in the air between them as they finally pull up to her building. He turns off the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. Slowly, she slips off her helmet, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders as she considers her next words carefully.

“And… thoughtful,” she finally says, her voice softer, more serious now. “You notice things about people. You’re observant, and you care. Even if you don’t always show it.”

Aemond is quiet for a moment, processing her words. He steps off the bike, standing close to her as she sits on the seat, their proximity making her heart race. His voice is low, almost vulnerable.

“More than you might think.”

There’s a moment of silence as they look at each other, the air between them thick. She bites her lip, her usual playfulness replaced by something deeper, more intense. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Aemond takes a step closer, his hands resting on either side of the bike, his body inches from hers. “You do?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

She nods, her eyes searching his, looking for the truth in his words. “Yeah. I do.”

Aemond’s eyes hold hers for a long moment, the violet of his iris darkening as his gaze drops to her lips, then back to her eyes. She can see the conflict there, the way he’s holding himself back, the tension in the air between them charged with tension every passing second.

She inhales deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat spreading through her body. Her fingers flex slightly, still gripping the edge of the seat, a lifeline to steady herself as she teeters on the edge of something she’s been avoiding for far too long.

He shifts closer, the space between them shrinking to almost nothing. His hands hover just above her thighs, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. She can feel the roughness of his breath against her skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he fights the same battle she is.

Pull him in, or let him pull away.

And then he’s moving, slow, deliberate, one hand lifting to trace the line of her jaw. His thumb brushes over her bottom lip, the contact so light it sends a shiver down her spine. She parts her lips slightly, instinctively, her breath catching in her throat.

Aemond watches her, his gaze intent, burning, like he’s committing every detail to memory. Her flushed cheeks, the way her lashes flutter as she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, the way her breath hitches as his thumb drags down, grazing her chin.

She’s the one who leans in first, just enough for their noses to brush, for his breath to mingle with hers. “Aemond…” she murmurs, barely a whisper, a plea and a question all at once.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hand slides to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he closes the distance between them. His lips meet hers in a kiss that starts slow, tentative, like he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far she’ll let him go.

But she’s not holding back, not now. Her hands move to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she pulls him closer, her lips parting to deepen the kiss. He responds in kind, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat as he presses against her, the kiss turning heated, urgent.

It’s not a gentle kiss, not after all the tension, the words, the stolen glances. It’s everything they’ve been holding back, all the frustration, the longing, the need crashing together in a tangle of lips and tongues and breathless gasps.

She shifts on the bike, her knees brushing against his thighs as she pulls him closer, needing more of him, needing to feel him everywhere. His hands slide to her waist, fingers digging in as he lifts her slightly, positioning her so she’s sitting on the very edge of the seat, her legs parting to make room for him.

Aemond steps between her thighs, his body pressing into hers, the kiss deepening as he takes control, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that leaves her dizzy. Her hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping tight, as if she’s afraid he might pull away, that this might be a dream she’ll wake up from.

But he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer, his hands roaming over her back, her sides, mapping out every curve, every inch of her that he’s been dreaming of touching. His mouth moves against hers with a desperation that matches her own, a need to make up for all the lost time, all the moments they could have had but didn’t.

She tilts her head back slightly, giving him better access as his lips move to her jaw, then down to her neck. He kisses a line down to the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his clothed shoulders.

“Aemond,” she breathes out, her voice shaky, needy.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, intense, filled with something she’s never seen before. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely controlled. “Tell me, and I will.”

“I thought you were seeing someone.”

“Tell me to stop.” The sentence holds no space for argument, almost as though he knows for certain that she wouldn’t stop him.

She couldn’t even if she wanted to.

Instead, she shakes her head, her fingers curling around the nape of his neck as she pulls him back to her, her lips finding his in a kiss that says everything she can’t put into words. She does not want to think, she simply wants to be.

The world falls away. There’s no more fear, no more doubt, no more holding back. It’s just them, tangled together in a mess of heated skin, breathless kisses, and a desperate need for more.

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at once, the kiss stretching on for what feels like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough. She feels like she’s drowning in him, in the way he tastes, the way he feels pressed against her, the way his hands hold her like she’s something precious, something he’s afraid to lose.

And when they finally pull apart, gasping for air, their foreheads resting together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, she realizes that this - whatever this is - was inevitable. They were always going to end up here, at this moment, with everything they’ve been holding back finally spilling over.

The streetlamp glows, the light flickering over them. The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of rain, though the clouds have long since parted to reveal a sky dotted with stars. They hear the occasional whoosh of a car passing on a nearby street, tires hissing against the damp pavement, the sound growing louder before fading into the distance. Somewhere nearby, a dog barks once, twice, before falling silent, leaving the night to its quiet.

The scent of the city surrounds them - a mix of wet asphalt, a hint of exhaust, and the faint, lingering aroma of coffee from the cafe on the corner. But there’s something else too, something she only just notices now - the subtle, clean scent of Aemond’s cologne, mingling with the smell of leather and the faintest hint of smoke, clinging to his clothes and skin. It’s comforting, grounding her in this moment, making it feel all the more real.

The soft thud of her heart is almost louder than the ambient noises around them, each beat echoing in her ears as she takes in the scene - the way Aemond’s hair catches the light, the way his eyes seem to reflect the stars above them, the way his breath mingles with hers in the small space between them.

You’re seeing someone else, she had said. He hadn’t disagreed.

She wants to reach out, to shake his shoulders, to demand that he tell her what this all means. She wants him to choose her, to see her in the way she sees him - more than just a fleeting moment, more than just this night. The urge is so strong it almost frightens her, this need to make him say it, to make him admit what they both know is simmering between them. But she holds back. She swallows the words before they can form, feeling them burn in her throat, a quiet ache that spreads through her chest.

She could ask him, right now, what this means for them, whether this is something real or just another moment that will fade with the dawn. But the fear of his answer, or worse, his silence, keeps her rooted in place. The thought of hearing him say that this is nothing, that they are nothing, is more than she can bear. So she says nothing.

Instead, she stays silent, feeling the weight of a barrier that she both wants to break and keep intact. Because asking him, forcing him to confront whatever this is, might ruin it. Might turn this into something complicated, something messy.

She’s not sure she’s ready for that. Not yet.

She decides, in that moment, that she would rather have him like this - halfway, uncertain, but here - than risk losing him entirely. So she bites her tongue, swallows her fear, and chooses to stay in the safety of their unspoken connection. It’s easier this way, she tells herself. Easier to take what he’s willing to give and leave the rest unspoken, untouched.

“This is real.” He nods.

She leans into the warmth of him, feeling the press of his hand on her thigh, the steady beat of his heart against her own, and lets herself have this.

For now, it’s enough.

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boothillssugarmomma · 7 months ago

Text

The Desperation Waltz

(Sunday x Fem!Reader)

cw-: desperate Sunday, jealous Sunday, pleading Sunday, desperate reader, pleading reader, angst if you squint, fluff a bit

🎀 authorsnote: This one's a bit long but it's honestly from the bottom of my heart, I've been desperate before, but never had it reciprocated...so in this one...Sunday gets what I never did...love ❤️

please don't steal my work!

Taglist🎀HSR Master List🎀Other Lists🎀

Sunday had been watching you for a while, your body language, and the man you were talking to, his body language. You seemed friendly enough, and he didn't like that.

Obviously he know you weren't trying to be overly friendly towards them, you had good intentions, keeping your husbands image and your own image upbeat. But…this man didn't seem to be talking to you just to be nice.

And he couldn't have that…

Sunday walked up and cleared his throat. "(Name)...you're needed elsewhere!" He lies through his teeth, and you know it immediately too. "Sorry…my wife is extremely busy…" Taking your waist and guiding you away, you know exactly what was wrong.

Glancing at him you can see his little wings fluttering, almost seeming to fan his face, eyes narrowed with a dark determination.

Oh yeah…he was jealous…

But…you were so glad he stepped in. You hated having to talk to the family and all their guests, you honestly just wanted to spend time with your husband!

"Thank the Aeons..." You whisper softly as he leads you to another part of the ballroom. "I was waiting for you to intervene…"

Sunday chuckles quietly, pulling you flush against his chest. "I'm sorry my love…I should've reacted quicker." He kisses your forehead gently.

"My precious girl..."

His free hand reached upwards, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as the other tightened around your waist more. Pressing soft kisses against your cheeks as you playfully pout.

The ballroom really was gorgeous, high ceilings, gold decor, and an elegant center. Music flowed around the room as did the chatter and buzz of the guests.

"May I have this dance?" You hum softly to him, reaching up to meet the hand behind your ear.

"And how could I ever refuse..?"

Sunday murmured, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. Both of his hands slipped onto your waist, fingers gently tracing along your sides as he began to lead you in a slow, romantic dance to the music around you.

As you both dance, you smile at him, a hazy smile, your eyes locking in a lovesick trance.

Sunday's golden gaze never left yours, his own expression melting into a soft and tender look. He twirled you around in a simple but elegant motion, before pulling you back towards him.

"You're so beautiful, my love…such a wonderful, talented and gifted young woman…" He whispered, tracing his thumb along your cheek lovingly.

"I'm so glad I'm your wife..." You mumble as you nuzzle your head into his chest. It wasn't a lie, you loved Sunday, he was great to you. You both truly were happy together, lifting each other up through the highs and lows.

He beamed cheerfully, nodding his head quickly and pulling you close so his chin rested on your head.

"And I'm so glad I'm your dear husband, it's an absolute honor…"

Sunday's gaze flickered to the ceiling, observing the bright lights shining brilliantly over the dance floor.

He took a moment of silence before speaking once more.

"You're happy here, in the Family, yes? I'm treating you right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" You smile softly, tilting your head to the side as if giving him an invitation to open up.

"No reason, no reason at all."

Sunday hummed, his expression slightly faltering before he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

The wings along his head, as well as the halo were completely relaxed and still. However, the pearly white feathers along his wings trembled in agitation. It was the first time he was ever seen with emotions other than kindness and cheer in public.

"You're amazing Sunday, my love, never forget that..." You whisper, kissing his temple.

He sighed quietly, his embrace tight around you as he began whispering into your ear.

"I love you, you've been such a blessing. I adore you so much, the thought of losing you... it drives me mad.."

Sunday's tone was low and gentle, though he sounded desperate and clingy, as though if he let go of you for even a moment you'd disappear from him.

"Why would you lose me?" You hum as he twirls you again, trying to hide his watery eyes.

"... Don't leave me..."

He whispered quietly, his grasp tightening on your waist. Sunday's entire demeanor had shifted, from the friendly, charismatic representative of the Family he was portrayed as...

To a deeply insecure, paranoid and lovesick man, willing to do anything to keep you by his side.

"Sunday..." You kiss his cheek as you dance. "I'd never leave you..."

Your husband hummed quietly, his expression softening once more as your lips met his cheek. His embrace loosened, the once tight grip he had on you relaxing.

However, even then…he continued to cling onto you like an owl holding onto a branch, almost as though he were afraid of being abandoned by his precious one.

"Good, good.. I'd be lost without you, you know? My sweet…my dear..."

He twirls you once again just to get you to smile, and you laugh softly

Sunday's expression visibly brightened at the sound of your laughter, he twirls you once again for the sake of hearing your laughter once more.

"I love your laughter, you should laugh more."

He commented quietly, his fingers gently trailing along your side as he guided you in the dance once more.

"My gorgeous love, my darling, my precious (Name)..."

You take his hand softly as you continue to waltz to the eerie but beautiful song playing in the background.

Sunday intertwined his fingers with yours, a loving expression in his soft golden gaze. He gently pulled you closer, to the point where your chest nearly touched his body.

"You're everything to me…"

He whispered quietly, spinning you around once more before tugging you back towards him. This time he embraced you properly, pulling you close as he continued to dance with you.

"Sunday honey what's wrong?" You hum, noticing his eyes glancing around the ballroom.

"N-Nothing, nothing at all."

Sunday lied through his teeth. Though he held you closely against him, he found his attention elsewhere, his gaze fixated on the guest's in the hall. He seemed paranoid, worried someone would talk to you, that you would be stolen away from him.

"Sunday..." You whisper sternly, leaning up to breathe against his ear.

Sunday blinked rapidly, flinching and snapping his attention back to you as he realized what he had been doing.

"Mmn…? Apologies, dear…I got distracted."

He muttered quietly, his expression softening as he met your eyes again. He flashed you a sheepish smile, though you could tell that look in his eyes…it was something akin to possessiveness.

"Honey..." You whisper, cupping his face with your soft hands. "Look at me...just me..."

"... Right, of course, my dearest... "

Sunday complied and averted his attention back to you. His expression visibly relaxed, his smile returning to his lips. However, his tone was still low and quiet, his golden eyes still fixated on you…yet it seemed as though he were on edge still.

He cupped your hand with his own, lifting it to his face again and pressing a gentle kiss against the palm of your hand.

"Listen to me..." You whisper. "I am NEVER leaving you...ever..." Your tone is deadly serious, you never sound like this. It scares him…yet also excites the angel looking man.

Sunday's expression softened further at your words, his shoulders visibly relaxing once more. A faint expression of gratitude and relief appeared on his face as he let out a quiet exhale.

He held you close, one hand resting on your back as the other cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

"Of course.. I was being silly.. I should've never doubted you, my love."

His tone was much softer, though he still sounded quite clingy…

"Sunday..." You whisper. "I know you think that someone's going to take me away from you..." Your hues gaze into him, almost seeming to interrogate him.

"It's…it's irrational, perhaps.." Sunday whispered quietly, his gaze flickering to the side for a moment.

"But the thought of losing you, it scares me.. I would do anything to keep you to myself, you're mine, after all."

As he finished speaking, the possessive look in his eyes returned, a firm determination settling on his face as he grasped your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours.

"Ok calm down crazy pants..." You tease, tip toeing up to press a kiss to his nose

Sunday blinked rapidly in surprise, his face flushing a light red as you kissed his nose. He remained close, gently leaning his forehead against yours.

"...You're too cheeky, my love.."

He muttered. You could feel his breath against your lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he pulled you closer once more.

He twirls you once again before taking your waist and hand, waltzing you around the ballroom

Sunday spun you effortlessly in the dance, a pleasant smile plastered across his face as he kept you steady. The wings along his head continued to flutter and tremble as you danced with him, the faint white feathers appearing a mess.

He pulled you close once more, his grip on your hand firm and his grip on your waist gentle but warm. He seemed perfectly content with you in his grasp, as if that's where you always belonged.

"Don't leave me..." You echo him. This surprises him, you always seemed so secure, but here you were.

Just

Him

"I won't, I won't.."

Sunday muttered quietly, pulling you close as he rested his chin on the top of your head. One of his hands gently slid up to rest in your hair, his fingers brushing through it gently as he kept you against him.

He inhaled quietly, before he wrapped his arms and wings around you, completely engulfing you with a tight embrace. "I'll never let you go.. Ever.."

"Promise?" You whisper, fluttering your eyes up at him.

"...Promise, my love. I promise..."

Sunday whispered quietly in return, wrapping his embrace around you tightly. You could hear his breathing quietly, his tone sounded nearly desperate.

"You're mine."

"And you are mine..." You hum, breathing softly against his lips.

"Yours."

Sunday muttered, his face moving down to let his lips ghost against your neck. He leaned in close, placing a gentle kiss against the spot, his fingers gently tracing along the length of your arms.

"I'm yours..."

He repeated in a gentle whisper, his expression visibly softening as he held you close. The embrace he had around you tightened, holding you in such a way that you were completely against him, wrapped in a warm embrace and tucked under his cream white wings.

"Yours..." You echo again. "Always yours..."

"Always."

Sunday repeated, gently burying his face into the crook of your neck as he held you. His embrace was still tight, the possessive and clingy look in his eyes appearing once again as he hugged you close to his body. A faint, content noise slipped from his lips as he stood there silently, keeping you against him in a warm embrace.

The song ends and people start to take a break from the dance floor. Yet the music continues. "Shall we have another dance?" You smile warmly.

"Of course, absolutely.."

Sunday mused quietly, flashing you a sweet smile in return. He pulled back from the warm embrace, grabbing your hand gently and intertwining his fingers with yours. His golden hues averted for a brief moment, looking down at your hand and the way your fingers intertwined with his

"Perfect…" He'd muttered, bringing your hand up to his face and giving your knuckles a gentle kiss.

"What is?" You tease, winking a quick bit.

"Hm?..."

Sunday snapped back to reality from his thoughts, having not realized he had spoken out loud. A sheepish smile appeared on his face upon realizing he had been caught staring.

"Ah.. nothing, dearest.. nothing."

He muttered, gently pulling you around the dance floor. His hands slid onto your waist, holding you in a proper waltz position as he began to dance with you once more.

As he dips you towards the ground before pulling you back up you kiss his nose quickly before he swings you softly

Sunday's expression lightens with an endearing smile, his face visibly flustering a bit at the kiss as he continued to lead you in the waltz.

His gaze remained on yours, his grip on your hand and waist firm as he kept you close to him, not once leaving you out of his sights.

"Perfect..." You echo him again.

"Mhm.."

Sunday muttered quietly in response, not letting his voice raise above a whisper. He gently pulled you closer, leaning his head forwards to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. The kiss was brief, only lasting a couple of seconds before he pulled back, his golden eyes fixated on yours.

He was completely entranced by you, enamored by every little thing you did.. He didn't want anyone else but you, having dedicated (willingly) his entire being to you.

"Hey how about we ditch?" You smirk softly, motioning to the grand ballroom doors, white and gold polish.

"Mm?.."

Sunday mumbled quietly, the words taking a second to sink in. A moment of silence fell between the two of you, before a mischievous grin appeared on his face.

"Ah.. that's a lovely idea my dear."

He muttered in response, a faint glimmer of excitement in his eyes. He immediately began to lead you off the dance floor, grasping your hand firmly and slipping his other arm around your waist.

You giggle softly as you both leave the ballroom sneakily, trying to hold in your laughter. You felt like a little kid playing spies.

Sunday chuckled along, his pace quick yet stealthy. He held you close to him, the hand that wrapped around your waist pulling you even closer as he led you out of the ballroom. His golden gaze was fixated on the halls in front of the two of you, watching out to make sure no one had noticed the two of you sneaking away.

You giggle again as you peer around with him, it's like a game to you.

"We mustn't get caught, my love!.."

Sunday whispered, a teasing smirk growing on his face. He continued leading you down the halls of the hotel, keeping an eye out in case anyone who may recognize the two of you appeared. It seemed quiet though, the both of them having successfully made it out of the ballroom without being noticed.

As you make it out of the ballroom and into the courtyard you sigh heavily with relief.

Sunday exhaled in relief at the same time, letting out a quiet laugh. He leaned forward to plant a kiss on your forehead, gently pulling you in for another warm embrace.

"We made it, darling~"

He hummed, closing his eyes as he held you close to him. One hand gently reached up to caress your cheek.

"Aeons…I love you..." You whisper

"I love you too my sweet, more than anything in this world.."

Sunday whispered in return, returning your whisper with one of his own. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he held you tighter, pulling you against him again to bury his face into your shoulder again.

"... don't leave me...ever..." You keep whispering, even alone, you feel shy.

Sunday held tightly onto you, not leaving an inch between your body and his. His grip on you was firm yet warm, like he was holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

"I won't…I won't ever, I'd rather die."

Sunday muttered quietly into your shoulder, his voice dropping into a whisper as he let out an exhale.

"Ok die is a stretch hon...if anything ever happened I wouldn't want you to feel lost without me" You tease.

Sunday blinked in surprise, quickly snapping back to reality upon realizing what he had said. His face quickly flushed a bright red and his hands flew up to cover his mouth as he stammered a mess of words.

"W-Wait no- nonono I-"

He muttered, flustered at the realization of his words.

"Phrasing, phrasing! I didn't mean die I just.."

He tried to correct himself, but his face continued to flush red.

"I know hon..." You smile, laughing at his flushed face.

Sunday went silent once more, his face still red as a tomato. After a few seconds of silence, he leaned closer and bent down to bury his face into your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist as he held onto you tightly.

A moment of silence fell between the two of you once more. He mumbled something quietly, though it was muffled by your chest.

"What was that?" You hum gently, almost teasingly against his hair.

"Nothing, my love.. Just…you're all I have, I wouldn't know what to do without you.."

Sunday mumbled quietly, looking upward as he leaned against you. His gaze was gentle and warm, a faint smile across his face.

"You're all I need…don't need anyone else…as long as you're here with me, I'm fine.."

"...wow you're putting me above Robin?" You scoff teasingly. "I'm telling~"

Sunday paused for a brief moment, a look of genuine surprise on his face. It was almost like he forgot he had a sister for a brief moment. He snapped back to reality soon after.

"Ah.. I-Of course I still care about my sister.."

He mumbled quietly, a sheepish look appearing on his face as he averted his gaze. He quickly leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your cheek, trying to change the subject.

I laugh softly and nod as I kiss his cheek back. "You better…she's my best friend…"

"Yes but anyway…my love, you're my everything…you're my world…"

Sunday muttered quietly in response, his cheeks still flushing a bright red as he leaned in to nuzzle gently against your cheek. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you once more as he gently buried his face into the crook of your neck.

"Sunday...I love you...never forget that...if anything ever happens, cross my heart it doesn't, just know I love you..." You giggle, pressing a gentle kiss to his head.

"I won't…I promise, my love…" Sunday whispered softly, returning your whisper with a soft one of his own. He tightened his embrace around you, holding you gently yet firmly like you were the most precious thing in the world, and he was afraid to let you go.

His golden eyes flickered back to yours, staring directly into your eyes affectionately.

He was utterly and completely entranced in you…you were everything.

You kiss his forehead and take his hand. "May I have one more dance?" You motion to the garden lights in the distance.

"Of course my love, of course…"

Sunday agreed wholeheartedly, his grip on your hand tightening as a gentle smile crept across his face. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, interlocking his fingers with yours as he led you into the garden.

The garden was dimly lit, with a faint romantic glow. Golden lights adorned the branches, their shine visible even in the darkness. It was just the two of you…alone with each other in the garden.

You smile softly as you begin to dance with each other. Sliding your hands behind his head to run your fingers through his hair.

Sunday's expression softens as you run your fingers through his hair, leaning his head forwards slightly as a content noise leaves his lips. His arms naturally gravitate towards you, wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him as the two of you continue to slow-dance in the garden

"I love you..." You whisper, a lovesick tone in your voice.

" I love you too, my dearest…"

Sunday hummed quietly in response, his gaze fixated on yours as his eyes flicker across your face. A gentle smile was plastered on his face, his expression filled with love and affection. He held you close, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear as he admired your beauty.

"I'm yours forever..."

"And I'm yours, till the end of time and even after." Sunday whispered back, holding you gently as he let out a exhale. He leaned forwards gently, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. It was a soft, tender kiss, filled with the purest intentions possible. He slowly pulled back from the kiss, placing another gentle kiss along your jaw, down to your neck and to your shoulder.

"Dammit that was a lot sweeter than what I said..." You scoff, teasing him, hoping to gain another kiss.

Sunday let out a soft chuckle, his cheeks heating up a bright red from your teasings. His arms remained wrapped around you as he rested his chin on your shoulder, planting another gentle kiss on your collarbone and your shoulder.

"Is that so, my love?..."

He muttered in response, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face.

"Very."

"And is that to your liking?"

"...very."

🎀End🎀

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