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#deadlines passed why don't I have the thing

samandcolbyownme · 8 months

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Summary: anon request - "can you write a smut for johnnie guilbert??"

Prompt: Johnnie and reader get into an argument which leads to make up sex.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, arguing, hair pulling, pet names (dirty and cute), oral (m rec), unprotected rough makeup sex, filth

Word count: 2.6k | not edited

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

Johnnie has been working on editing his and Jake's video all day.

You think, no. You knew he forgot about them.

It wouldn't be as big of a deal if this was only the first time, maybe even the second or third - But it wasn't.

Over the last few weeks, you've had to either cancel or forget about plans because of Johnnie putting majority of his time into his computer screen rather than you.

You didn't really talk to anyone about it, or say anything to Johnnie, mainly because this is his job and you didn't think you had any room to bitch.

You checked your phone, sighing at the time - twenty minutes past reservation.

You used to remind him, then after the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth time, you decided that he should be able to put down the computer for an hour or two on his own, so you decided to just let things go.

You never really blamed him, sometimes it was because he actually had deadlines to make, or a video he and Jake were doing ran long.

But when that wasn't the case, you used yourself as an excuse - not feeling well, didn't sleep good the night before, something simple yet believable.

You rise up from the couch, walking towards Johnnie's room. You pass Jake in the hallway and he makes a joke you're in no mood for, "Fix your face, you look pissed."

His laughter is silenced when you roll your eyes, "I am."

"Uh oh." Jake puts his hands on his hips, shifting his weight onto his right leg, "What did Johnnie do?"

You shake your head and cross your arms, looking away from him because you didn't want him to see the frustrated tears in your eyes.

"Am I going to hear yelling?" He asks and you nod, laughing slightly, "Probably."

"Shit." He sighs, "Well if you need backup, just yell- ooh. We should have a code word."

You stare at him, trying not to laugh as he taps his chin, "Hippopotamus."

"Hippop- Jake. Really?" You laugh and he shrugs, "Well yeah, if you just scream hippopotamus, that will for sure throw him off even more, then I can come in with an open can of whoop ass."

He moves his hands in front of him, a serious look on his face that you just cannot take serious, "Okay. I don't think I'll need it, but I appreciate the support."

You pat his shoulder, watching him walk away before taking a deep breath, returning to what you were originally doing.

You stop in front of Johnnie's door, composing yourself so you don't go in, already lit like a fire cracker.

You know twice before opening the door, "Hey."

Johnnie has his headphones on, so he probably didn't hear you. You walk in, closing the door behind you. You walk over to him, gently tapping him on the shoulder.

"Jesus fu-" he jumps and looks up at you, "Jesus Christ, babe." He sighs, "Scared the fucking shit out of me."

"Sorry." You smile slightly and sit on the bed, "Whatcha doin'?"

He pulls his headphones down around his neck, "Just working on getting this video out."

You nod, "Cool. Cool.”

You look around his room, picking at your nails as you try and figure out how to calmly start the conversation.

"What's wrong?" Johnnie asks turning his chair towards you. You look over at him and shrug, "We just.." you laugh slightly, "It's not really funny, but we missed our dinner reservation."

He looks in the corner of his computer, "Oh fuck. I'm sorry." He looks up, "Why didn't you tell me?"

You scoff, raising your brows as you lower your voice, "I shouldn't have to."

"What? Sorry. I didn't quite hear you clearly." Johnnie closes his lap top and sets it on the desk.

You roll your eyes, lying back with a groan, "I'm not arguing with you Johnnie."

"I'm sorry, I must missed the part where I said we were?" He takes his headphones from around his neck, setting them on top of his closed computer.

You sit up, letting out a sigh, "I said, I shouldn't have to tell you when we have plans, Johnnie." You let your hands fall into your lap with a slap, "I let it go for a while, only because I didn't think I have a right to be mad, but you constantly editing and this or that is effecting us."

"So what.. are you saying?" He stares at you with a solid look, "You're going to leave? All because I'm doing my fucking job?"

"No." Your words come out louder than you intended, "I never fucking said I was leaving, Johnnie. All I said was that I shouldn't have to fucking remind you time and time again that we have plans for us. You and me. Boyfriend and fucking girlfriend!"

"Other than right now, name one fucking time me doing this made us miss out on something." He motions for you to take the floor and you sigh.

"Sam and Colby were throwing a party, I told them you had a deadline to make so we wouldn't make it. Tara was throwing a party, I told her I didn't feel good because you stayed up all night and half the day working on a video. Last week we missed out on dinner, again, because you didn't pay attention to the time. Two weeks ago, Jake wanted us to go with him to one of his other friend's parties, but you decided to get on and stream. Do you want me to keep going?" You raise your brows and lean forward slightly, "Because I can."

Johnnie laughs, "So.. you're telling me that you couldn't just come to me an hour or so before and tell me to get off? You're just blaming me for every time you missed out on going when you could have just gone yourself?"

"You want me to go to dinner, for two.. alone?" You tilt your head back, "You are being so unbelievable right now."

You stand up and Johnnie's eyes follow you. Your hands go to your hips as you pace back and forth, "I'm trying to get you to understand that I want- I need time with you, too Johnnie."

"You get time with me, y/n. I don't understand why you're so worked up over me d-"

"Because it's all you fucking do Johnnie. You're always filming a video. Editing a video. Uploading a video. Something with a stupid video." You turn to face him, "I want to go out to dinner, enjoy time with just us. Do you think I want to go to parties alone? It's no fun when I don't have you there."

He sighs, looking down, "So.." he looks up at you, "You waited until it was what, twenty minutes or so after our reservation time to come in here and make a huge scene that could have been avoided?"

You laugh, mouth dropped open as you stare at him, "Are you ever going to actually listen to what I'm saying or am I just wasting my breath being a broken record?"

"I am listening, you're just not getting what I'm saying, y/n."

"No. Trust me. I get it. Loud and clear." You motion to his computer, "I'll just leave you to it then."

You turn to walk towards the door, reaching to open it but Johnnie's hand stops you, "Don't."

"Don't what? Leave so I can sit here in silence while you continue to do what got us here in the first place?" You turn your head to look at him and he shakes his head, "No."

He grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the bed, "Were done talking about this."

"No.. I don't think we a-"

He cuts you off with his lips on yours. His hands pull your waist into him, "We're done talking for right now."

"You can't ju-"

"Don't run your mouth anymore, and I won't run mine anymore." He kisses down your neck, "We can talk after we get all of this frustration out."

A smile creeps into your lips, even though you're still mad. But, no worries. Johnnie will take care of that for you right away.

"Fine." You give in, sitting down on the bed. You pull him with you, his body hovering over yours, "Shut me up."

He smirks, tilting his head, "Gladly." He sits up on his knees, taking off his shirt. His hands move to his belt and you sit up to replace his hands with your own.

You glance up at him as you undo his jeans, biting your lip as you anticipate what's about to happen.

He nods towards the floor and you pull your legs out from in between his and move, dropping to the floor as he stands up.

He pushes his jeans down, and you move over to him, pulling down his boxers before he sits down on the edge of the bed.

He leans back, holding his weight up with his hands as he watches you move in between his legs. He sucks in a sharp breath as you wrap your hand around his cock.

His eyes following you as you lean in, sticking your tongue out to lap at the head of it. He groans lowly, balling up the blanket in his fists, "Fuck."

You work him into your mouth, coating him with your spit as his jaw hangs slack, "That's it."

You lift your head, moving your hand up and down to coat him fully before leaning back in to bob your head up and down.

His eyes flutter shut as a moan escapes quietly.

You look up at him, dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock as you tilt your head back.

"All the way in, babe." Johnnie places a hand on the back of your head, gently nudging you to come back for more.

You lick your lips, leaning in to take his cock back into your mouth. You bob your head, working further and further down, until you can feel him in your throat.

He groans, stroking the back of your head as you hold yourself there. You squeeze your eyes shut, digging your nails into his thighs before you pop back off, glancing up at him before going back in.

You lift your head, bobbing your head slowly as your tongue flattens against his cock.

"Fuck. Why didn't we just do this first.." He gasps as you sink your head all the way onto him, groaning as bucks his hips slightly, "Fuck okay. Okay."

He lifts your head, cupping your cheeks as he nods to the bed, "Get undressed then lay down."

You move to your feet quickly, pulling your shirt over your head before fumbling to undo your pants. You kick them off, getting ready to climb onto the bed when Johnnie stops you.

"Ah, ah. Panties too, sweetheart."

You nod, pushing them down and kicking them off before finally climbing onto the bed. You turn, facing him as you sit down.

He moves up in front of you, leaning in to kiss your neck. He pushes your body back as he moves his over yours.

He kisses down your chest and over to your boob, taking your nipple between his teeth. You gasp as he bites down, hands moving to his hair to mess it up more, "J-Johnnie.."

You whine, slightly moving your hips, "Please."

He kisses back up, to your lips, moving to lay beside you. He rolls you over so you're laying on your side, hand sliding under your thigh to lift up your leg.

You bite your lip as his hand slides down your body, stopping at your clit to rub small circles onto it.

You arch your back away from his chest, "P-please."

He rests his chin against your head as he slides his fingers down to dip them inside of you, “We don’t need to argue.” His voice is light, quiet, “We should always just fuck it out..”

He slowly moves his fingers in and out, “And then talk. Doesn’t that sound much better?”

You nod, “Y-yeah. So much better.”

“That my girl.” He kisses your head and moves his hand to grab his cock, rubbing it against your pussy a few times before slowly slipping in, “Fuck.”

His arm slides over your waist, hold you to him as he pushes in. You tilt your head back and his lips meet your neck, sucking a spot which earns an even louder moan from you.

“Fuck..” you breathe out, “Johnnie..”

He groans lowly, tightening his grip as he starts to thrust. Your foot rests on his leg as you keep your leg raised, moaning with each of his thrusts.

You lay your hand on his arm, digging your nails in as his thrusts grow harder.

“F-fuck.” You whimper, “Keep going.”

He moans, digging his fingers into your skin, “You feel so fucking good.” He pulls you closer to him as you push your hips back, dragging your nails down his arm , “Yes, yes, yes!”

He pushed your body forward, sitting up and getting on his knees behind you. He pulls your hips up, quickly placing his cock back into you.

Your cheek rests against the bed as you moan, pulling the blanket as his thrusts go right back to being rough.

Your eyes roll back, a string of moans leaving your lips in a constant loudness.

You yelp out as his hand makes contact with your ass with a hard smack. He brings his leg up, giving his cock a new angle that drives you absolutely crazy.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He groans out as he tilts his head back. He brushes his hair from his face before reaching up to grab a handful of your hair.

You tilt your head back, lifting your self up onto your elbows, “F-fuck. Fuck.”

“Wait for me, baby.” Johnnie moans, “Almost there.”

He tugs your hair, pushing his cock all the way, pausing for a second before continuing to thrust, “Shit.”

He lets go of your hair, gripping your hips. You moan, trying hard not to cum like he wants. You push your hips back, whining out as he makes it harder, “P-please.”

Johnnie’s thrusts grow sloppy, “Cum for me.”

Not even the end of his words and you’ve already let go, becoming a whimpering, moaning mess under him as you squeeze his cock repeatedly.

A few seconds later, he pulls out, spilling his cum onto your lover back and ass.

“Fuck.” He strokes himself a few times before falling back and sitting down. You lay down, trying to control your breathing and he lays a hand on your thigh, “I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

“I’m sorry for coming off bitchy.” You laugh slightly, “I was just..” you pause for a second and sigh, “I let my frustration get the best of me.”

“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been fully with us lately, and I promise that..” he taps your leg with each word, “..right now, you have my attention whenever you want it.”

You turn your head to look at him, “You promise?” You hold out your pinky and he smiles as he wraps his around yours, “I promise.”

As Johnnie gets up to get something to wipe off with, Jake yells from the other side of door, “y/n? Do you need a hippopotamus?”

Johnnie looks at you super confused and you can’t help but laugh, “I’ll explain then.”

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

This is my first ever Johnnie one shot, so please let me know how you liked it! I’m interested to hear what you have to say!

Thank you for reading! Love you all! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#samandcolby-ownme #johnnie guilbert #Johnnie Guilbert one shots #Johnnie guilbert smut #Johnnie guilbert smut one shot #Johnnie Guilbert dirty one shot #smut #smut one shot #smutty one shot #smutty Johnnie Guilbert #smut one shot Johnnie Guilbert #run your mouth #one shots #one shot smut #dirty one shot

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mayordea · 1 year

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Happy birthday to the number one princess in the world!! 💖

~from her biggest fans :)

ramble of my scattered thoughts on the piece under cut as usual cuz i love talking 😋

This has been an idea I've been cookin for a while, and it was so cluttered and unlike any other ensemble piece I've made... and I decided I oughta do it anyway. I love Miku, I love Vocaloid, and I wanted to do something really ambitious and crazy for her anniversary. Crazy that she's turning her "canon" age this year TwT

I had the idea floating around since like, May...? And then finally started acting on it around June 18. I'm terrible with deadlines, obvious with how I can never make a silly birthday post in time, so I started wayyyy ahead to make sure I have some room to be lazy lol, especially with an idea as ambitious as this.

This was finished on July 12! So I had to sit on this for an annoying amount of time. Very difficult for someone like me who just wants to talk about everything I'm working on to the masses. But at the very least, that gave me the time to work on the draft for this post.

~~~

Here's some ~behind the scenes~ scribbles leading up to the finished piece!

Left is the chicken scratch plan i made in my handy dandy notebook (whenever things are getting real and ambitious, i always made a rough ROUGH plan in there. Usually I'd do a rough pass of the full thing, but this was too complicated for me to do traditionally. I majorly benefited from digital tools to make this possible). CyberDiva and CyberSongman were considered, but I ended up cutting them cuz I just didn't feel like drawing them sorry-- (just pretend they're off to the side. They gave Ruby and Clara the pizza lol). Right is the "final" completed sketch (before I decided to include Chika mid-way through coloring and VY1 and VY2 near the finish line). I started by drawing the main "groups" separated on a different canvas so I can plop them into the main canvas for easy rearranging and transforming. However I got lazy and ended up drawing everyone in the bottom right corner directly on the canvas since I liked seeing the big picture of everyone's positions. Y'know.

Almost excluded Chika! But I like her design so much that I just felt like including her last-minute. You win this time, Chika fans. VY1 and VY2 were very close to being cut! I added them when I began doing the banner and thought "eh why not". I figured their non-human designs would be pretty easy to include pushed back in the bg. Ik VY1 is more commonly associated with the fan design, but I referenced the hairpin cuz it was simpler and the fan looked very annoying to draw 😭

Sorry to the fans of many Vocaloids I had to cut because this composition was insane enough as is. I promise I wanted to include fellas like CUL, LUMi and Sachiko 😭 I will admit I was a little biased on who I wanted to include over others. Like, I don't normally care for Bruno and Clara, but I wanted to get some more international 'loids in the mix. Also wanted to stick in the realm of official designs and not fan-designs since, as much as I can appreciate those, are just a whole "wait who is that guy supposed to be" situation I didn't wanna deal with. I also did wanna include even more character references through the balloons, but they ended up being kind of ugly and overcomplicated the BG :,) (Oh, and while this was originally planned to be a Vocaloid-only piece, I did end up including Teto, Neru, and Haku 'cuz those are Miku's besties dude!!! They may not be Officially in the club but they're her girls and it would be criminal to not invite them to her birthday).

Anyway, this project marks the first time I've drawn a lot of Vocaloids. Lily, Piko, Rana, Yuki, Yukari, Miki, Maika, and many more lol. All of 'em I've heard or seen in passing, but now I actually drew them, and some have really cool and fun designs!! I got into a habit of drawing Merli after this since I just love her design for example. And I'll probably be drawing more lol!!

Oh and the last thing I'll add for now!! The cake is indeed made up of various song references!! I wanted to reference the "big four" producers, just absolute icons in Vocaloid history. The pink/black checkerboard is "World is Mine" (Ryo), the crescents on the side is "Rolling Girl" (Wowaka), the smiley faces is "Matryoshka" (Hachi), and the three hearts on the side is "The Vampire" (DECO*27, which is sort of a symbol of his whole Mannequin album tbh). I know "The Vampire" is a bit modern but I couldn't think of anything else off the top of my head. I'm a fake DECO fan I know 😔 "Matryoshka" was originally going to be referenced in the colors of the candles but believe me it looked like shit so I just went for something else last minute 😭

That's all I have to say!!! Hope you didn't mind the text wall if you made it here. I hope you like it as much as I do!!!! Happy freakin' birthday Miku!!!!

I have to deal with tagging all these characters now for my page,,, in the drafts my tags got cut off after a certain point so I think I'm massively breaching the tag limit 😭 um... I'll figure that out later...

not losing sleep that i can't tag everyone, even for page organization purposes because some characters have pretty generic names and some are a little hard to see in full yknow. If you're one of those people who tag every character in the art piece you reblog... I am very sorry.

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steddiealltheway · 1 year

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I just BARELY made the deadline in my time zone, but I did it! This is for Lex's Summer Challenge, Dialogue prompt #25 :) Thank you @thefreakandthehair for organizing this!! <3

It's New Year's Eve, and Steve is not excited.

The kids have all mostly agreed to stay together, setting off fireworks at the Wheeler's house. Robin has a band thing, meaning she will try to cozy up with Vickie but chicken out before the New Year's kiss. And Steve... he plans on checking in on Max who hasn't confirmed if she is going to Mike's.

Things have been rough for her since Billy passed only a few months ago. She hates the trailer she had to move to, and as far as Steve can tell, her mom isn't around much. And if she is, she isn't sober.

The worst thing is that Max doesn't open up to anyone, but there isn't much Steve can do about that. What he can do is drive to her place and bring her dinner.

He goes about making her way too much spaghetti and makes the drive over. The sun is starting to go down, but he just hopes he can make it home in time to put on headphones and pass out before people start celebrating the new year.

He just doesn't want to make it anyone else's problem that he no longer likes the look or sound of fireworks – flashes triggering migraines and memories of Russian torture – so he's put a plan in place. Luckily, everyone should be too busy with New Year's celebrations to pay him any attention.

He pulls up to Max's trailer and parks outside, walking up to the door and knocking quickly. He waits a few seconds, listening for the sound of footsteps coming to the door, but they don't come. He pulls his jacket a little tighter around himself, shifts the tub of spaghetti from his left side to the right, and knocks again.

After waiting a few minutes, Steve turns and notices the sun is now on the horizon.

He glances around the trailer park, cursing himself for not bringing his walkie. His eyes land on a van at the trailer across the way that looks somewhat familiar. He notes that there are no negative thoughts that accompany looking at it, but rather, he feels a bit indifferent to it.

He starts walking that way, hoping he knows the owner, and further hoping that they're nice enough to let him use their phone. He walks up the steps and knocks before stepping down.

Luckily, this time he hears the sound of footsteps from inside and a bit of muffled cursing before the door swings open.

Oh. That's how he knows the van.

Eddie Munson looks down at him, totally bewildered, and shifts uncomfortably, eyes flickering toward the spaghetti while asking, "What are you doing here?" Before he can answer, Munson gets a look of realization and answers himself, "Right, my great supply."

"No," Steve says quickly. "I just need to use your phone."

Munson quickly stiffens again. "Why?"

Steve sighs and shifts the tub again which has started to feel heavier with every passing moment. "My friend lives over there," he says, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, "And I need to check if she's okay."

"No way," Munson says, hands coming up before he crosses his arms, "No way I'm letting you use my phone to call some hookup."

"It's not a hookup. She's in middle school."

"What?" Eddie asks, looking even more horrified.

"Not like that!" Steve says and runs his free hand through his hair. "She's friends with a group of kids that I babysit."

"And why do you want to call her?"

Christ. "Because I'm worried about her, okay? She's not someone who asks for help, and she's not answering the door. I just need to know if she's safe at her friend's house."

Eddie stares at him for a few more seconds then asks, "What’s the spaghetti for?"

"Her."

He's fixed with the same suspicious stare until Eddie finally nods his head and opens the door for Steve to come inside. Eddie gestures to where the phone is and leans back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms and watching his every move.

Steve tries to shrug it off as he dials the Wheelers and waits for one of them to answer.

"Hello?"

Steve smiles and politely replies, "Hi, Mrs. Wheeler, it's Steve."

"Oh, Nancy is currently-"

"No, no," Steve cuts her off, seeing the way that Eddie is starting to tense up. "I wasn't calling about Nancy. I was just wondering if Max was there with the other kids. I stopped by to check on her, but she didn't answer the door."

Steve can feel his heart thud in his chest as he waits for the reply. "That's very kind of you. But she's with the boys right now. Did you want me to pass a message to her?"

"No," Steve says in relief. "No, I just wanted to make sure she was okay. Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Steve," she replies and hangs up.

Steve puts the phone back and turns to Eddie. "Thanks, man. I owe you one."

Eddie tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes. "Why do you care about her so much?"

Steve sighs and gestures toward the counter with the container of spaghetti in hand. "Can I?" Eddie nods in response, so Steve sets it down. He runs a hand through his hair and asks, "Do you remember Billy Hargrove?"

Eddie scoffs, "Like I could forget the asshole."

Steve nods. "Well, Max was his step-sister."

"Oh," Eddie says, shifting uncomfortably.

Steve shrugs. "They didn't have the greatest relationship, but she's been really closed off since...” he trails off uncomfortably, trying not to remember the moment he died.

Eddie nods his head. “Right.”

Steve nods back and gestures toward the spaghetti, changing the subject. “You can have that by the way as a thank you for letting me use your phone. I really appreciate it. And hey, Happy New Year.”

Eddie’s jaw drops slightly as if he wants to say something but none of the words come out. So, Steve walks to the front door and opens it. He doesn’t even move a step down the stairs before a big firework lights up the sky as the loud noise rings out.

Steve freezes. He feels his breathing getting shaky and shallow as he remembers the fireworks exploding on that spider looking thing’s back.

He closes his eyes tight, trying to fend off the images, but the darkness only reminds him of the black that slowly devoured his vision when the Russians knocked him out.

“Hey, hey,” a soft voice says, “I’ve got you.”

Steve notices the way he’s somehow on the ground with his back pressed against something warm and that same heat wraps around his torso. He blinks back into reality a bit as warm hands run up and down his arms slowly. “You okay?”

Steve sinks back into Eddie’s arms and closes his eyes. "Fireworks aren't exactly... my favorite thing."

Eddie breathes out sharply through his nose. “Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.”

Steve just nods, allowing himself to be comforted for a few seconds before he tenses up and begins to stand up. “Sorry,” he apologies as he makes his way back to the front door. “Don’t know what got into me.”

He puts his hand on the door handle, moving his body to block Eddie’s view from his shaking hand.

“Hey,” Eddie says close behind him, “Just stay until the fireworks stop. I don’t want you driving into my trailer on the way out or something.”

Steve turns and asks, “Are you sure?”

Eddie nods and gestures to the container. “Plus, there’s no way I can eat this whole thing on my own.”

Steve is about to say that he’ll be fine when another firework goes off outside, startling him again. “Okay,” he agrees, wondering how the hell this is going to end up. Steve “The Hair” Harrington and Eddie “The Freak” Munson spending New Years together.

Eddie hands Steve the container and grabs two bowls and forks before walking off. Steve follows behind him to what he assumes to be Eddie’s room, slightly confused about the change in scenery.

“Sorry it’s a mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors,” Eddie says awkwardly shoving things around.

Steve just smiles as he looks at the room. “I like it. It feels comfortable,” he confesses. And it does. With the way his parents force him to keep a spotless room that never feels lived in, it’s nice to be in a bedroom that really reflects someone.

Eddie considers him for a moment and just nods as he takes the container and sets it on his dresser alongside the bowls before pointing at his stack of tapes. “I’m going to guess our music taste isn’t really similar, but feel free to dig through for something you might like that’ll drown out the fireworks.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat at the thoughtfulness before he makes his way to the tapes, digging through several unfamiliar names that he kind of wants to ask about, but instead he can’t help but ask, “So, what are you doing alone on New Years?”

Eddie scoops himself a generous amount of pasta as he answers, “Gareth is at a school thing, Jeff is with his family in New York, and Grant’s parents kind of don’t like me.”

“Why’s that?”

Eddie fixes Steve with a look. “I’m not exactly ‘meet the parents’ material, and it doesn’t help that I used to hold band practice in his garage and would play louder whenever they told us to quiet down.”

Steve smiles. “I would love for you to do that to my parents. God, they would be so pissed.” He grabs another tape and instantly smiles and holds it up to Eddie. “I love Queen.” He immediately puts it into the cassette player and turns the volume up enough to block out additional noise while still being able to hear Eddie talk.

He turns and finds Eddie handing him a bowl and fork with a soft smile on his face, “You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods and sits cross legged on his mattress. “Honestly, I thought you’d be an asshole. You know. King Steve and all that shit.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair as he sits next to him. “I don’t think I’m ever going to live that down.”

“You will if you get out of Hawkins,” Eddie says, shoveling a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth.

Steve twirls his pasta and stares at it. “I don’t know if I’ll ever leave here,” he confesses.

“Why not?”

“I’m not smart enough to make a living somewhere else. Plus, if I move, my parents likely won’t support me – my dad likes keeping me under his thumb. And the kids need me to drive them around.” And they need him in case Hawkins gets another dose of Hell, but he can’t tell Eddie that. “Plus, I don’t think there’s anywhere that would accept me, a former jock and asshole whose only friends are children and Robin. And they’re all so smart that they’ll eventually realize they’re dumb for keeping me around.” He stabs at his spaghetti before putting the bowl down and resting his head in his hands. “I don’t know, man.”

There’s a pause, and Steve hears a dull thud from a firework outside the trailer even over the music that startles him a bit. It’s so damn annoying that something small like this can reduce him to this.

“Run away with me.”

Steve head slowly comes up. “What?”

Eddie wipes his mouth and sets his bowl on his side table. “Run away with me,” he repeats. “After I graduate, I’m going to run like hell out of here. Come with me to find a place that accepts a former jock and a...” he trails off and looks away nervously. “Uh, a freak,” he awkwardly fills in.

The bowl in Steve’s hand suddenly feels like it’s in the way, so he sets it on the floor before turning to Eddie and leaning closer to him, hands itching to reach out. “Come on, you can tell me what you were really going to say.”

Eddie searches his eyes before laying back on his bed dramatically, trailing his hands over his face. “You know what I was going to say. You’ve heard the rumors. Everyone has.”

Steve has heard several rumors about Eddie, including one about how he worships the devil and does satanic rituals on top of his trailer in the middle of the night. But he has a feeling he knows which rumor he’s talking about. “Yeah, but rumors are rumors for a reason. You never know which ones are true.”

Eddie sighs and looks up at Steve. He looks like he’s on the verge of telling him before he asks, “So, why aren’t you with your friends tonight? The kids or Robin.”

He looks down at Eddie for a few moments, wondering if he’ll drop the question, but he holds his ground. Steve shrugs. “Robin is at the thing with all the band kids, chickening out with her crush, and the kids don’t want their babysitter around. Plus, they want to launch fireworks or play Dungeons and Dragons or something.”

Eddie perks up and sits up on his elbows. “Dungeons and Dragons? The kids you babysit play that?”

“Yeah. And don’t make fun of them for it. They talk about it all the time, and I think it sounds cool,” Steve says, always quick to defend Dustin even if he’s into weird nerdy shit.

Eddie sits up entirely and looks at Steve excitedly. “You think Dungeons and Dragons is cool?” he asks in disbelief.

Steve shrugs in response. “It’s not really my thing, but yeah.”

“Dude, I’m the leader of Hellfire. You know, the Dungeons and Dragons club at school? What are the kids' names?”

“Dustin, Lucas, and Mike.”

Eddie bounces up and down excitedly. “Holy shit, I thought Dustin was kidding when he said he was friends with you.”

It suddenly clicks, Dustin had mentioned Eddie’s name before, but Steve had never really thought about it as Eddie Munson of all people. “Shit, Dustin talks about you all the time, I just never connected the dots.”

“He doesn’t shut up about you. The kid adores you. He’d kill me if I took you away from here.”

“And he’d kill you if you ever left.”

Eddie smiles and nudges Steve. “Looks like we’re both stuck here.”

Steve smiles back at him, eyes tracing over Eddie’s face. He’s not sure why he’s never really noticed him before. He guesses he’s always been so stuck in his own shit that Eddie just kind of passed him by somehow. But he’s finally noticing his dimples, and the way his eyes are so deeply brown and easy to get lost in, and his lips looks so full and-

Eddie lightly shoves him back, a pink blush appearing on his cheeks, “Eat your spaghetti before it gets cold.”

Steve grabs his bowl and does as he’s told, watching as Eddie gets up to turn up the music a little louder. When he sits back on the bed, the two eat in comfortable silence, letting the music fill the space. Steve’s not sure if he’s ever been able to warm up to someone so quickly, but it makes sense that he’d be able to bond with someone who loves Dustin.

The song ends and goes into the next. Steve finishes his last bite of spaghetti and laughs as “Somebody to Love” starts playing. He puts his bowl down and lays back on the bed, letting the song wash over him. He sings the lyrics under his breath until he hears Eddie doing the same thing and turns to look up at him. They lock eyes just in time to sing, “Can anybody find me somebody to love?”

Eddie laughs and lays next to him joining him through the rest of the song. Steve feels ridiculous, but Eddie makes a show of playing air guitar, yelling, “I know how to play this!” Steve just laughs and watches him, feeling his heart beat a little faster in a way it hasn’t for somebody else in a while.

He sings the rest of the song, mainly focusing on Eddie and the way he so easily gives into the music, unafraid of what Steve might think. As it comes to an end, Steve feels something shift inside him, but Eddie is quick to laugh, “Steve Harrington how can you be struggling to find somebody to love?”

Steve smiles sadly. “I think I’ve been looking in the wrong place all along, but I’ve been starting to think that maybe I’m unlovable.”

Eddie scoffs and moves closer to him. “If you think you’re unlovable then there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

Steve has to move closer to hear him over the music and talk without shouting. “Does that include you?”

“What do you think?” Eddie asks, tilting his head with a curious smile.

“I think,” Steve starts, unsure of how he’s going to finish the sentence, “If there’s no hope for you either, then maybe...”

“Maybe?” Eddie prompts.

Steve’s eyes glance down at Eddie’s lips. “Maybe...” He looks up at Eddie’s eyes, seeing the confusion, slight fear, and hope. “Maybe you should finish what you were going to say earlier.”

“Steve...” Eddie says, “You can’t be asking me...”

“Then, I’ll ask you. Is it midnight yet?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Not even close.”

“What if I lie and say that it is so I can ask you for a New Years kiss?” Steve asks boldly.

Eddie’s breath hitches. “Then, I’d say yes and start counting down from ten.”

“Nine,” Steve says immediately.

“Eight,” Eddie replies, shifting onto his knees.

“Seven.” Steve scoots closer, leaning in to brush their noses together.

“Six,” Eddie exhales.

“Five.” Steve’s hands come up to hold onto the back of Eddie’s head.

“Four.” Eddie’s hands press into Steve’s back to bring him closer.

“Three.” Steve tilts his head, already brushing his lips against Eddie’s, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Two,” Eddie whispers, hands gripping on tighter, left hand tracing up between his shoulders to slot their torsos together.

“One,” Steve says, barely finishing the word as he presses his lips against Eddie’s, finally ending the longest countdown of his life.

He deepens the kiss immediately, tasting spaghetti and a hint of something that is purely Eddie which he finds entirely intoxicating.

The music fades from one song into the next, and Steve’s pretty sure a firework goes off in the silence, but he’s too distracted by Eddie to really respond to it. He feels Eddie’s arms tighten around him, slowly guiding him down to lay back on the bed.

Eddie breaks the kiss to look down at Steve. “This okay?” he asks.

Steve nods and says, “Happy New Year.”

Eddie smiles and shakes his head in disbelief. “Happy fucking New Year.”

He finally understands why people cheesily talk about fireworks going off during a kiss. And maybe even with everything, fireworks aren’t too bad if this is what he can associate them with.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #lexssummerfanworkschallenge

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randomdragonfires · 6 days

Text

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

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

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

It’s him. It’s always been him.

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

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

WORD COUNT | 24.5k [I'M SORRY]

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

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

She starts with small changes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought makes her skin crawl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s no more running, no more hiding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jorrāelagon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is happening, this is truly happening-

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

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

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

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

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

He thrusts into her with a single, powerful stroke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, he is hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Casual. Non-exclusive.

Then again, he made no promises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lunch tomorrow?

She smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Starry Sept postcards are at my place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Who… that’s not relevant.”

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

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

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

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

“Very well.”

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

“Definitely not.”

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

“I guess.”

“And what did he say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is he worth it?

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

There’s more cheesecake in the fridge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You weren’t. I was just an idiot.”

“Thanks.”

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

“It all seems silly to me now.”

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

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She realizes she quite likes it this way.

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

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

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

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

“Come on, indulge me.”

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

“It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

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

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

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

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

Hearty, boyish and pure.

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

I’m fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, can I come over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Aemond…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ae-mond…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can just be.”

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

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

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

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

“And what if I don't want this?”

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

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

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

She kisses him and goes to sleep in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s seen right through her.

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

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

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

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

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

Remember your postcards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has he done this with her too?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As whatever you’d like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm hungry," she whines.

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

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

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

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

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

One way or another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ae-mond, please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re counting the days?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean you keep putting it off.”

“No, I just… I don’t know.”

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

“Ari! Don’t be so crude.”

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

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your best friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow, small world.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She recognizes it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It can’t be.

MASTERLIST

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

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imbored1201 · 9 months

Note

Can I request a teen barca reader who is very young and very shy and meeting the team for the first time?? Thank you and have a nice day

First Impressions

Barcelona Femeni x Teen Reader

Word Count: 1,065

You were shaking, and you didn't know why. You've always heard good things about the Barca girls; they were kind and welcoming. Maybe it was the thought of being far away from home that worried you, or maybe it was the thought of not being good enough for a team of top elite athletes.

"Y/N!" You turned and saw Jonatan, your new coach. You didn't think you would ever be here; you thought your World Cup call-up was luck, but you ended up shining and performing amazing. You had gotten lots of offers, and you chose Barcelona.

"It's nice to see you again," he said, shaking your hand and taking your luggage. "Nice to see you too," you said in a whisper. He put a hand on your shoulder and led you out of the airport.

"Okay, I know you're probably tired, but we just need to take some photos of you in the jerseys. Alexia will see us on the field so you two can meet properly and we can discuss your living arrangements." You nodded at that. You knew you were rooming with someone, but they were still figuring out who.

————

You panicked more as you guys pulled into the parking lot. There were a couple of cars there of the people who were setting up for the photos and videos.

As you entered the locker room, Alexia was already there waiting for you. She smiled at you and pulled you into a hug. "So you're the wonder kid the internet has been talking about," she said, and you blushed at that.

"I guess," she smiled as she held out your jersey. You took it from her and admired it. "I can't believe this is really happening," you muttered, and she laughed and patted your head.

"Well, believe it kid, I could already tell you're going to be the future of this team." you smiled at that. You couldn't believe La Reina just said that.

"Now it's photo time, why don't you get changed, and I'll wait out there for you, okay?" You nodded and sat down as she walked out.

You couldn't believe this was happening. You were really signed with one of the best clubs in the world at 16.

You got changed, took some pictures to post later, and made your way onto the field. Alexia smiled at you, "red and blue fit you well." She put an arm around your shoulder and took you to the photographers.

After they gave you a break from photos, you and Alexia were able to talk and get to know each other better.

—————

In Jonatan's office, you discussed school and living arrangements. "We expect a lot from you in school, okay? We need you to pass all your classes and be on top of your school work. If you need us to talk to your professor about extending a deadline due to traveling purposes, we will. If you need tutors, we will happily get you people to help you, but we expect you to bring in good grades." You nodded at that.

"Living arrangements; Alexia here will be the one taking care of you." Alexia nodded. "I have the room ready, and I'll take you to the store, so we can get paint and decorate it however you want."

"Thank you," she smiled, and put an arm around your shoulder. Everyone stood up as he dismissed everything. "I'll see you at the next practice," he told you as he hugged you.

Alexia led you to her car. "The girls wanted to throw you a small party for your signing." "Really?" She nodded. "If you want, we can move it to tomorrow."

"It's okay," she nodded as she texted the girls. "Let's get you home."

—————

As soon as you entered her place, confetti popped all over you. "Patri! I said no," Alexia told the girl who was holding a confetti popper.

"You're cleaning that up." Patri nodded and looked at you. You were hiding behind Alexia, a bit overwhelmed by all the people looking at you right now.

"She's adorable," Pina cooed as she walked to you and pinched your cheek. You blushed at that, and Alexia smacked her hand away.

"Can everyone give her space? The kid just got here." Alexia led you through the crowd of girls who were trying to talk to you.

Both of you sat on the couch, and the girls sat around you. "Hey kid," Lucy smiled at you, and you muttered a small hi back. You looked around at everyone, observing them. You obviously knew all their names.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Y/N, by the way." "Trust me, we know. You were everywhere during the World Cup" Salma said as she showed a video of a beautiful goal you had scored. It's the goal that got you a lot of attention. "Right," you mumbled, wishing you could shrink right now and get away from everyone.

"You guys are scaring her," Fridolina said as she saw the nervous look on your face. "We just want to talk to her," Lucy defended. "Can we ask her questions?" Pina looked at Alexia, who gave her a look.

"Why are you asking me? Ask her?" Pina shrugged. "Aren't you basically her mom now?" Alexia glared at her, and everyone looked back at you.

"I can answer questions," you said, making the younger girls cheer. "Are you actually 16?" Pina said quickly, wanting to get the first question.

"Pina, that is the dumbest question. She's not going to lie about her age," Jana told her, and Pina raised her hands in defense.

"Cats or dogs?" Mapi asked, "I like both," you shrugged, "Favorite players of all time?" You shrugged. "I have a couple, Messi, Ronaldinho, and Alexia." The girls awed at the last part, and you hid your face in Alexia's shoulder.

After a couple more questions, Alexia finally stopped them. "That's enough; leave her be." The girls listened, and you were given the control to put a movie on.

Patri and Pina squeezed between you and Alexia on the couch, wanting to adopt you. "We'll teach you everything" Patri told you as she put an arm around you.

—————

They did teach you everything, and after a couple of weeks, they were able to get you out of your shell, and now you were another prankster on the team.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni

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eyesthatroll · 1 year

Text

needy | jack hughes

pairing; jh86 x fem!reader

warning(s); fluff, established relationship, idk what else, smidge of angst (?), lowercase intended, not rlly edited.

word count; 1.1k

summary; jack comes home from a five game road trip

"can you please come to bed?" jack whines from across the hall, interrupting your concentration.

pausing the outline you were currently writing, you let out a deep sigh. "just a few more minutes, j."

you hear stumbling across the floor, and in moments jack is leaning against the doorframe, wrapped in a burrito blanket you got for your birthday last year.

his hair has gotten longer since that last time you’ve seen him, messily resting past his ears and down his neck.

"you said that ten minutes ago."

you look up, and meet jacks pleading gaze. "you look tired, love. why don't you try and get some sleep?"

it was a little after one am, you were growing tired, and you knew he was too.

he rolls his eyes at you. "i miss you. didn't you miss me, when i was gone?"

removing your glasses, you rubbed at your eyes with your palms, trying to rid the looming tiredness.

of course you missed him, you always did, but you had inventory at work on monday and an important deadline coming up, you couldn't just drop everything because he was home. you had a life without him, too.

"of course i missed you, jack. i just need a little bit more time to work without you bothering me every five minutes, please." you knew the moment you said it, that you shouldn't have.

jack's eyes widen momentarily, as if he can't believe the words that just came out of your mouth.

jack is normally needy, roadie's aside. that was actually one of the first things that made you fall in love with him, his constant need to show you how much he valued and cared about you.

your family is emotionally distant, you've only hugged your dad maybe five times in your life, and you don't think you've ever heard him say i love you to your mom.

jack said it everyday, multiple times a day. leaving to go to practice, "i love you". ending every phone call "i love you". you made him dinner, "i love you"

you had yet to say it back to him.

there was a time you wanted to, but then it passed, and now every time you think about saying it, it just feels forced.

jack hasn’t taken offense that you haven’t said it yet, he knows how you are with this sort of thing.

‘whenever your ready’ he says.

"sure, yeah. sorry for bothering you." jack turns on his heels, not giving you a chance to respond.

the door closes quietly, echoing throughout the quiet apartment.

you sit in silence, your brain not quite processing what had just happened.

you figured you might as well finish your work, then call it a night. you plugged your headphones in and chose a random spotify playlist to work to.

it's about two hours later when you finally give in and close your macbook with a curse under your breath.

shutting the lamp off, you make your way to your bedroom, opening to door quietly as you're unsure if jack is awake or not. part of you hopes he is awake, so you can form some sort of apology.

hockey plays quietly on the tv, while jack is laying down, his body turned towards the window, light snores escaping him.

you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, too tired to bother with your skincare routine tonight.

stripping out of your day clothes, you throw on one of jacks t-shirts that he's left, and join him in bed. you spared one last look at your boyfriend, before turning the tv off.

turning so your back is facing his, you shut your eyes, and try and force yourself to sleep.

after hours of tossing and turning, you glance at the clock to see that only about 45 minutes has passed since you last checked the time.

turning back to jack, you shook his shoulder. "jack.. jack wake up."

groaning, he pushes your hand off him, turning to face you. "what time is it?"

"a little after three."

"oh.. did something happen? are you okay?" he gives you a concerned look, his face illuminated by the small nightlight in the corner.

"no, nothing happened."

his lips part in confusion. "i don't understand."

"fuck i just-i don't want you to be mad at me, okay?!"

jack jumps slightly at your outburst.

"i'm sorry." you add quickly, before he has a chance to speak.

jack avoids your gaze, seemingly unsure of what to say. "it's not-i should've just left you to your work."

you reach out, brushing stray fallen hair out of his eye line. "you know me, you know i'm not good with.. feelings. but im trying, for you. of course i miss you when your gone, maybe too much. that's why i'm always working, i guess. to distract when your not here."

jack watches you intently. the two of you have moved closer now, his hand palming small circles on your thigh.

"it makes it easier, to not have days off when all i can do is think about you."

"you can always facetime me, or text me when im on the road." he says.

"i know, i just-i don't wanna annoy you. and please don't say 'you could never annoy me' because i know that's not true." you tell him.

"i would love to hear more from you when i’m on the road. even if it's a text here and there, it'll be nice to know you're thinking about me."

you nod.

"and if, you start to annoy me, i'll let you know." he finishes.

you crack a smile. "okay."

jack pulls you into his side. "though, you could never annoy me, because i love you."

"me too." you say, out of habit, but you continue. "i love you, too.”

"you love me?" jack asks, his face, a mixture of adoration and awe.

"stop it." you mumble against his chest.

"i knew it." he's teasing.

"only cause' i just told you."

"luke told me."

you whip you head up to look at him. "when?!"

he laughs at your response. "not sure, maybe a few months ago."

your face contorts in confusion, then realization. "i’m never telling luke anything again."

you lay back down, wrapping your arms around him.

"you loooooove me."

"you're gonna sleep outside."

"you can't make someone you love sleep outside!"

—

mari speaks! emptying my drafts i guess. if this sucks—sorry, i just started seriously writing a few months ago, so any constructive criticism is always appreciated, thanks! 🙂

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes fluff #nj devils #new jersey devils #nhl #hockey #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb

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splataii · 1 year

Text

so uh @b1ueprinc3 made a post and i was inspired to make this drabble.

pervert manager dabi x male reader

cw: sub/bottom male reader, top/dom character, dacryphilia, degradation, minor exhibitionism, groping

anyway dabi first meets you an just thinks ur so fucking cute. he just loves your enegry and attitude, and becomes a lil too eager to train you, always being a lil touchy. hes down horrendous, always grabbing ur ass to congratulate you for a job well done at the end of the day or whatever.

insists he a “hands on learning” typa guy. always grabbing you by the waist so he can grind his obvious boner against your ass as he scoots behind you. always grabs u by the back of the neck, rubbing a thumb up its side as he leans over your shoulder to look at whatever work has you occupied. grabs you by the beltloop when youre passing him so he can spin you around and tell you about this “important work related thing” while he keeps his fingers pressed into your hips.

he already thinks you look pretty good in the assigned uniform, but one day, he has the genius idea to spill some water or something over you so you're forced to change into a top that's a couple sizes too small (which he insists is the only available uniform, yes it's mandatory, no you can't go home and change).

he promises it was an accident, and that he’ll wash it for you (despite the fact you insist you can clean it yourself) but instead spends his time dropping random shit on the ground so he can see your pants strain against ur ass and the way your shirt rides up your back.

the liar also takes your old shirt to the backroom to fist his cock with, pretending it's ur fucked out face he's cumming on. you ain't never getting that shit back

speaking of jerking off, this bitch does it all the time. specifically does it when youre getting off break and heading to the break rooms, so you can hear the sound of him shamelessly moaning your name as he finishes to another one of his gross fantasies of you laying spread out for him in his bed. he exits the stall and smiles when he sees your face like its no big. always makes sure to give ur ass a nice slap and some half assed “work hard” crap before he leaves you totally embarrassed.

nyway he also a bit overprotective, never stepping more than a couple feet away from you while you're working with a customer, and even other coworkers. he knows people know how cute you are. why would he leave his sweet boy to deal with those random mofos? he just stands behind you glaring when he feels someone is getting too close. you get a little confused, when they eventually leave, terrified, but he's always there to comfort you. your ass is his, you don't need no one else baby<3

he can have a bit of a mean streak sometimes tho, stretching you thin. whenever you (expectedly) fail to meet his impossible deadlines, he’s teasing you. talking about what a dumb little boy you are. he could probably fire you, if he wanted to. but he wont. if you could do this one little thing for him.. he pulls you into an old storage closet, freeing his cock from the confines of his pants so he can slap it on your face and spread his pre all over your cheek and nose. he can't help it, you just look a lot cuter this way. besides, he knows you can take it. dumb little boys like you are only made for one thing. since you're such a bad employee, show him what a damn good whore you are.

dabi claims he's only mean cause he cares. boys like you need to be taught a lesson so no one can take advantage of you. but sometimes, he plays like he's gonna make you answer calls while hes spearing you on his dick, just so he can see your pretty tears as you shake ur head no.

once again, he can have complete one eighty's, giving you all these bonuses and gifts at work saying “you deserve it” and all that shit, but everybody at work knows the reason you get all this special treatment is cause he slutting you out behind closed doors.

at the end of the day, you’re really just dabi’s personal whore. and everyone knows it.

#imma keep it a buck in the tabs #i never have n prolly never will finish mha #so ion know know dabi #but like the way ppl write him is soo good #an he a lil cutie patootie fr #nyway yeah #mha x bottom male reader #dabi x bottom male reader #bottom male reader #male reader insert #x black male reader #male reader smut #splataii writes

2K notes · View notes

thebibliosphere · 1 year

Note

Hi there, ive come from your post about ADHD and emotional disregulation, firstly thank you so much for putting it into words, its such a complicated part of how i deal with emotions and i havent ever been able to articulate how to why.

Secondly, in that post you mentioned how you've used stress as a motivator and how eventually your stress regualtion broke, i was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about that? (If not, its not a problem)

I feel like the same thing has happened to me but until i read your post i had no idea that something had... snapped? I suppose? I struggle with motivation all the time and in the past id have a week or a few days left and id be able to suddently push myself very hard to complete whatever it is before the deadline, just barely making it in most cases. However now it seems that i can't find that motivation anymore, deadlines come and pass and i can't being myself to work on anything, and i just end up spiralling into shame and guilt. That motivation was the only thing that I was able to rely on sometimes for things like uni, and i conviced myself that it was just me growing lazy or trying to get out of responsibility as to why the "last minute panic-mode" doesnt work anymore.

Again, if you don't wanna tackle this can of worms or if it's something youd rather not post online i totally get it, its no biggie! thanks so much for making the original post as well, it means a lot

Hello friend, thanks for the message. I'm sorry you're also dealing with this.

The good news here is that I've already talked about this using the rubber band analogy my therapist gave me. (Stress is like a Rubber Band)

If you don't have the mental bandwidth to read all of it now, the tl;dr is "stress is like a rubber band; it can stretch to hold numerous things in place when you need to, but if you do it too often or keep adding more and more strain under the band, the elastic eventually becomes brittle and snaps, taking your mental and sometimes physical health with it too."

I've been in intensive therapy for this for roughly three years now, and trying to piece my brain back together after my last bout of stress-induced productivity gave me a total mental breakdown.

It's... odd not being able to use stress and having to actively avoid it to avoid a relapse. But it is doable. Medication would help, but alas, I've got weird health issues and am unmedicated at the minute.

(And just in case that sparks anyone to go, "Oh, you do all this unmedicated! Wow, that's so inspiring!" as sometimes parents do to me on here as they then tell me they don't want to medicate their kids, I've unfortunately also written a post about what that kind of success looks like from an unmedicated perspective and the kind of suicidal ideation I deal with on the regular because I cannot take meds. It is not pleasant reading, but it is necessary for some folks, specifically anti-med, "if you just tried harder" people.)

A book you may find helpful is Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, by Emily and Amelia Nagoski. It was very validating for me to read about other people going through the same things, and made me feel less of a "this is a personal failing on my part" and more of a "Oh okay yeah, no stress literally breaks people."

It helped soothe some of my own internalized "I just need to try harder" and helped cement me on the path I was already going down with my ADHD therapist toward changing how I view myself and how I manage my ADHD.

I hope that helps! If you've got more specific questions or I didn't touch on something in my old post, I can try to answer them :)

#chronic health tag #adult adhd #adhd

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casuallyawkardd · 9 months

Text

In His Vice

Pairing: Dark!Miguel O'Hara x Wife!Reader

Summary: Something seems different this time when Miguel comes home late

Warnings: non-con in terms of pretending to be someone else, lowkey gaslighting, me attempting to write suspense, not fluent in Spanish so correct me if I mess up

A/N: I made the executive decision to write this fic in a first person perspective because I feel like that adds to the horror aspect so don't come for me. If you enjoy, be sure to join the taglist! Dividers by cafekitsune

I could hear the wind outside, whistling as it shook the trees and bushes. When the weather woman had said there would be a storm tonight, I hadn't expected it to be this bad. Lightning could be seen in the distance, the sound of thunder following after. It took a second more this time, hopefully meaning the storm was going to pass quickly. The television had become background noise, my attention focused on the window as I watched the rain streak down the glass.

Today had been one of those days, the kind where I couldn't wait for it to be over. I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, a recurring nightmare waking me at three in the morning; its contents making it difficult to fall back asleep, so I inevitably decided to start the day early. Coffee and an aspirin did little to help the headache I'd been developing over the last few days, deadlines at work materializing the throbbing just behind my eyes.

Miguel had seemed to take notice of my struggles, taking over breakfast duty and getting Gabriela ready for school. The feeling of his kiss still lingered on my temple, my fingers now massaging the spot absentmindedly.

"I'm gonna be a little late tonight," he told me, gently prying the emptied mug from my hands and taking it to the sink with the other dishes.

"But what about Gaby's soccer game?" I asked, the look of remorse on his face telling me he had forgotten. "Honey, this is the one that determines if they qualify for the championship. It's a big deal for her."

"I know, mi corazón," he soothed, but I pulled away from his touch. Quiet fell over the kitchen then, Gaby's happy giggles heard from the room over. "Y/N, look at me," he said and I reluctantly turned. Soft brown eyes looked back at me, the hand rubbing my back reassuring. "You know work's been hell lately, my boss really wants me to finish this project. After that, I promise I'll make it up to you and Gaby." That's what he always said. "I know things have been.. tense between us lately, but-"

"Let's not talk about this right now," I interrupted him, hiding the pang in my chest when a look of defeat crossed his features. I had every right to be mad at him. This wasn't the first time he had forgotten. It wasn't just about this soccer game, it was about every forgotten soccer game, birthday party and date night before. Was I happy my husband had gotten the promotion he rightly deserved? Of course, but had I known just how much his job would take away from our family, I would have suggested he negotiate terms.

Which was why I held my tongue as he and Gaby left the house. In hindsight, I could've been kinder to Miguel. Could have turned my head as he leaned in for a kiss, said 'I love you' when he whispered the same phrase in my ear. With no way to turn back time, I figured I could redeem myself tomorrow. He was always quick to forgive.

The rest of the day was as mundane as any, the stress from the deadline had seeped into my very being, becoming familiar as I submitted my final drafts. Then I was left with nothing, returning to the start of the vicious cycle that came with the job. At least I got to clock out early, meaning I had time to spend with Gaby.

She was a bundle of excitement, squealing when she saw I had come to pick her up early from preschool. Relatives always told me she'd grow up fast; I found that to be true. Expected to start kindergarten next year and she was already being mistaken for a second grader. Her father's doing most likely, maybe she'd end up being as tall as him someday. Sharp as a whip too, but that trait I always said came from me.

We decided on a mommy-daughter date at a nearby cafe, one I knew Gaby would like. The owner's cat loved to brush against her legs, mewling until I told her it was alright to give him a dollop of whipped cream. Keep her happy until she saw her papi wasn't at her game. She was disappointed, the bounce in her step fading when she came up to me afterwards, frowning in confusion.

"Papi?"

"Not today, sweetheart," I offered her a sympathetic smile, "work needed his help very badly. You understand, yeah?"

Gaby nodded, but I knew my daughter well enough to know she was still bothered, "I wanted to show Papi that I used the move he showed me."

"Well you can show him after dinner, right?" The idea seemed to help perk her up, the two of us walking hand in hand back to the car to head home.

Only Miguel didn't make it home for dinner. Odd but not uncommon, unfortunately. It wasn't until it neared Gabriela's bedtime that I felt something was wrong. He's always home in time to put her to bed. A nagging feeling started in the back of my mind. He wasn't answering his cell either, going to voicemail instantly. After promising Gaby that I'd send him in to kiss her goodnight later, she finally settled and I took my post on the couch. Which is where I've been up until now.

A quick glance at my phone told me it was nearing one in the morning, that nagging feeling became something more. Something that dug into my gut and constricted my chest. The amount of missed calls he had was probably bordering on the edge of warranted worry and psychotic spouse. The thought of calling the police made my fingers itch, but I abstained. Miguel's a big guy, he can take care of himself...right? I winced as my teeth bit into the skin around my fingernails, pulling my hand away to assess the damage. It was a nervous habit I couldn't seem to shake, the cuticles an ugly red from irritation.

Then came the sound of a click, followed by the ominous crash of thunder. It was quiet, I almost didn't notice, but it was a new sound compared to the rain, thunder and static of the TV. My heart lurched forward, taking me with it as I rushed to the entry hallway. In the dark, I could make out a figure. Large and imposing, it hunched in front of the main door of the house, grunting as it shifted about in the black of the hall. I had become so paranoid that the sight left me momentarily speechless, throat suddenly dried when I tried speaking.

"Miguel?" was what I managed to get out.

The movements stopped, tension rising around me as the figure stood to its full height. I almost back pedaled as it approached, step by agonizing step coming closer and closer to me. The air around me felt thick, hard to breathe until the glow of the TV revealed this intruder.

"It's you," Miguel's voice rattled my eardrum, reminding me to breathe. "Why are you still up?"

"Where have you been?" I demanded, forcing my voice to remain at a reasonable volume. "Do you know how late it is?"

Miguel's expression hardened, not answering me right away and keeping me on the edge of my seat. I searched every inch of his face for a reason, a tell to let me know what had kept him, and yet I saw nothing. Why did I still feel so uneasy? "There were some complications at work," he explained, "It took some time to fix. I figured you'd be asleep by now, so I grabbed something to eat after everything was sorted."

"And that took you until one in the fucking morning?"

"Didn't know I had a curfew." He said it so bluntly, almost accusatory. The eyes that looked into mine were unyielding, wanting no question or fuss to his response. Not to push that which was unmovable. It wasn't an expression I was familiar with, at least from him, the glint of affection that lingered no matter how mad he got at me now snuffed.

"I..." I trailed off, unsure what to say next. The whirlwind of thoughts and emotions collected within me had me feeling unhinged. Was I being crazy? "I'm sorry, I was just worried about you," I settled on, swallowing thickly so my throat had lubrication.

"Where's Gaby?"

The question gave me pause, his evident impatience spouting words from my mouth. "Oh! Um... she's in bed," Miguel didn't seem impressed by my answer, "u-upstairs," I pointed in the direction mentioned.

"Mmm," was all he responded with, leaving me to shuffle out of the way as he beelined to the staircase. Then I was left alone once again, the suddenness of it making me wonder if I had just dreamed everything. The heavy footsteps above my head confirmed that our interaction was all too real, another crack of thunder giving my body the jumpstart it needed. All was well now right? That's what I told myself as I folded the blanket I had been using, shutting off the TV and making my way up to the second floor.

Miguel's home now, Gaby's in bed, everyone is safe and sound. I thought as I passed by my daughter's room, catching a glimpse of her father sitting beside her bed. I repeated it as I got myself ready for bed, brushing my teeth and washing my face of any leftover makeup. My pajamas were one of Miguel's t-shirts and I tucked my nose under the collar as I lay down, letting the smell of him ease my lingering nerves. There was nothing more to worry about, everything would go back to normal tomorrow.

The sun woke me up, bright rays peeking through the curtains. Blinking away the haze of sleep, I still felt restless. The nightmares again, most likely. A nuisance that was bold enough to show itself in the night, but cowardice in that I'd forget them in the morning. As I wiped my eyes, the clock on my nightstand became readable.

7:30 AM

Overslept. It was what I needed to get me out of bed, rushing as I did the bare minimum to look presentable. Cold water to wash my face, teeth brushed, hair pulled back and managed, some sweatpants and slip-ons for good measure. Thank God I worked from home.

Gaby was next on my radar, moving quickly down the hall and rapping on her door with my knuckles. Opening my mouth to tell say it was time to get up, the words left me when I saw she wasn't in bed. Come to think of it, Miguel hadn't been in bed either. Did he even come into the room last night? Shaking my head to clear the thought, the sound of dishes clattering drew me to the kitchen. As I descended, the smell of pancakes was clear, the sound of quiet chatter and little giggles following after.

"Papi, quiero voltear el siguiente." Papi, I want to flip the next one.

The baritone of Miguel's laugh followed after, "Lo sé chiquita, pero debes tener cuidado." I know little one, but you have to be careful.

The sight of my husband and daughter making a mess of the kitchen was touching, last night's events feeling like a distant memory. Almost. To think those cold, hard eyes that had pierced through my very being, were now looking down with such warmth and tenderness.

"Mommy!" Gaby spotted me in the doorway, squeezing between Miguel and the counter to come greet me.

"Well, good morning to you too," I cooed, bending forward so we were eye level. Her arms wrapped around my neck in an embrace, my lips finding purchase on her cheek before returning the gesture with one arm. "What do you have going on here?" I asked once we had parted, smoothing down her curls.

Gaby shrugged, "I wanted pancakes," was her simple response. "You were sleeping, so Papi said he could make them."

I looked up at the man in question, who seemed more occupied with what was cooking on the stove than what we were discussing. "And they haven't burnt?" I teased, approaching him from behind. My hand touched the small of his back, thumb rubbing small circles into the muscle as I looked over his shoulder to analyze the aforementioned pancakes.

"I know how to make pancakes," Miguel quipped back, his tone suggesting I might have struck a nerve.

"Of course you do. It's just that last time-"

"I said I got it."

"Okay," was all I could really say, kissing his shoulder apologetically. "You're tense, Mig. You should take a warm bath," I commented, pulling away so as not to disturb him further. Gaby had taken a seat at the kitchen counter, nibbling on a small plate of fruit. Miguel had most likely prepared it so she didn't get impatient.

"Well, breakfast will have to be quick today," I announced, grabbing a grape for myself, "We still have to get you dressed for preschool and then-"

"I called the preschool," Miguel interjected and I turned to him, "she's not going today."

A small frown graced my features, "Well, I wanted to get a head start on my next article."

"Called your work too. Told them you weren't feeling well." Before I could protest, Miguel continued, "I took the day off as well, figured we could have a day together. As a family."

"Oh," is all I had left to say, "Are you sure? I mean that sounds great, but you said your boss was really strict about time off."

Miguel huffed, smiling wryly at my comment, maybe even condescending. "Yeah, well if he has a problem with it, he can kiss my ass."

My eyes widened at his sudden crassness, "Miguel!"

"Papi, that's a bad word," Gaby chimed in, nose scrunched in determination as she scolded her father.

Miguel's smile shifted to a genuine one, rounding the kitchen island to reach the little girl. "You're right, mi vida, I'm sorry," he said, kissing her temple and she squirmed at the contact. I watched as Miguel pulled away, combing his long fingers through her hair. Did she always look so small next to him? "Come on, help me plate the pancakes. The sooner you eat your breakfast, the sooner we can figure out something to do."

Gabriela nodded eagerly, jumping out of her seat and following Miguel to resume their work. I figured I'd let them enjoy each other's company, preparing coffee for Miguel and myself. As I had hoped, everything seemed to be as it always was once more, if not better. Usually it was hectic in the morning, Miguel sleeping in until the last possible second before getting dressed and walking out the door for work, Gabriela in tow. So having a moment like this was a rare treat, one usually reserved for the weekend.

And yet, there was still something that felt so entirely wrong. Something that made my stomach churn and the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Call it intuition, but as to what it was cluing me into, I had yet to understand. I racked my brain as to what could be causing this feeling to linger inside me. Chewing the inside of my cheek as I poured the coffee into two mugs. To one, I added milk and a spoonful of honey. The other simply got milk, each getting a thorough stir. I took both cups, sipping from the one with honey and offering the other to Miguel.

He took it without even looking at me, focused on making sure Gaby didn't hurt herself as she flipped a pancake. I thought nothing of it as I went to go sit down, maybe scroll on my phone now that I had time, but Miguel's disgruntled murmur had me turning to face him. "I don't want anything in my coffee."

"Oh, sorry I didn't know."

"It's fine, can you just remake it?" Miguel asked in a dismissive tone, holding out the mug to me to take. I set my drink down, taking his in both my hands and going to discard the contents in the sink.

When did he start taking his coffee black?

Tags: @lazy-idate @lilly5799 @yougavemeyourheartyouknow

#miguel o'hara #reader insert #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x you #x reader

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ihopeiexplode · 3 months

Text

📱 “Desperate lover boy” [←Previous]

—

it's been a week. and your back to acting dryly with him and constantly avoiding him,

every time he tries approaching you you're always running away from him, seriously why are you even ignoring him? he didn't do anything wrong this time, right?

the deadline for your project is fast approaching and yet you still refuse to go see him despite that, you still wrote, and so did he

—

Eventually, the deadline came along, meaning you get to submit all your daily documentaries and after that, both of you would read what you two had to say about each other for the past month

You'd walk into your professor's office taking a seat right next to Sukuna while you avoided eye contact, he did the same with him clenching the armrest

"ahem, I finished reading both of your works and I must be quite surprised about what you two have written down"

"Especially with how you two are acting when your papers say the complete opposite, but either way you both passed, you can read each other's papers now"

With that you both looked at each other before grabbing the folders with both of your names, you grabbed the folder under Sukunas name while he grabbed the folder under your name

If anything you were curious on what he wrote, after all what does your professors even mean by 'when your papers say the complete opposite'?

as you read through Sukunas paper, each paper you read through your eyes widen in disbelief there's no way he really feels this way right?

However once you read through the last one your jaw immediately dropped...

“Day 30”

y/n's still ignoring me. I hate it not to mention every time she's finally alone I just have to get approached I don't want her getting the wrong idea but with how girls keep throwing themselves at me for the past week? I doubt it.

fuck this. After this whole project bullshit if she won't talk to me I'll make her, one way or another

Maybe I'll even—

Right when you were about to read the last line suddenly sukuna snatched the paper out of your hand as he stormed out of the office

"right when you were about to get to the good part too,"

Your professor would suddenly say as he let out a chuckle causing you to turn your head back to look at him in confusion

"the last part said he's planning on asking you out today but is scared you'll reject him, but after he finished reading your paper I'm pretty sure he has nothing to worry about"

"I'm just surprised how oblivious you two are... Anywho, you should go talk things out with your soon-to-be boyfriend Hm?"

—

That's what you did, afterall you wanted to confront him about it all, you practically asked everyone he knew! Yet none of them seen him,

Well, there's one person you haven't asked yet...

—

You grabbed your phone and dialed yujis number waiting for him to pick up

"yuji have you seen Sukuna...? I asked everyone..."

"hiii y/n!! Anyways, that kinda depends, whats the situation?"

"the project were—"

"the park, the one with the lake"

"are you sure?..."

"duhhh, that's where he always goes to when he can't get you out of his head, last time I asked he said: 'Because y/n and I would always hang out here back when we were friends....' I'm surprised he even told me that"

"I see, thx Yuji,"

—

Eventually, once you reached it you found Sukuna sitting down on a Bench while reading through your paper, even from afar you could see how red his face was as he read through word by word,

You'd slowly approach him tapping on his shoulder, If you were anyone else he would've pushed you into the lake, but it's you so...

"were you really serious about asking me out?"

"..."

"yes..."

"well? Aren't you gonna do it now?"

"wait what....?"

"don't tell me you think im still gonna reject you after reading my paper..."

"I mean.... Well... I planned on doing it somewhere else.."

"I see, so just a kiss then? I don't think I did it right at the first time"

He'd just stare at you dumbfounded, he knew you were forward with your words but not that much...

"so? Yes or no?"

Without any hesitation, he immediately cupped your face before pulling you forward and crushing his lips into yours, this time you returned the kiss, unlike last time...

After that he'd pull away with his face still red,

"taking that as a yes then?"

"So.. what are we?"

"what do you think??"

"fuck you."

"love you too"

"you're annoying...love you too..."

—

[⛩️] @: Likes & Reblogs R appreciated! ^^

A/N: woohoo the end guys wowoeowowow what do ygs think!!!

Taglist: @catobsessedlady @hellomeow12 @0-candlecove-0 @shivzypuff @swirlingcurses @1-800-choke-that-ho @attackonnat @chilichopsticks @getoxmahito @memenojutsu @uhnanix @ichorstainedskin @needtoloveoutloud @love-me-satoru @s-j320 @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @goj0ssunglasses @svtvrnal @haitanibros0007 @punkhazardlaw @mslydiaa @jayathelostdragon @caileysdead @rixyaaaa @minzxec @rzcnlb @cadibearrr @sukunaspillow @dervngedgf @rayrayline

#sukuna x reader #jjk smau #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna

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otterneuvillette · 4 months

Text

✧ WE'RE HERE FOR YOU ! ✧

⋆🌼🃏— Pairings: tighnari x gn! reader x cyno (can be read as platonic or romantic, pick your poison :0)

⋆🌼🃏— Sypnosis: You have been targeted by a group of Eremites for unknown reasons, so for your safety and the sake of their worries, you have been staying with Gandharva Ville. Here's how your life has become since then.

⋆🌼🃏— content: gn! reader, mentions of injury and just fluffy with light angst.

✧✧✧⁠✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

It happened all so suddenly.

You were a Rtawahist researcher, one of the best of your years. You went on an expedition to the desert with a team of adventurers to research the sudden change of movement of the stars.

Along the way, you and your team had a couple of gnarly encounters with the same group of Eremites, which was weird, why are they so intent to capture your group? As far as you know, none of you had offended them or made them feel threatened.

Until they finally captured you while the others were sleeping.

"Come on, give us your research papers and your Mora, and we won't hurt your pretty little head, yeah?" One of them spoke with a gruff voice.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

"Archons! Why do you need my research paper so badly?! Like I understand if you wanted just my Mora, but my research papers??" You exclaimed.

"We don't have to give you our reasons, brat."

They stood up and stabbed the dagger they were holding into a crate next to you.

Thump.

"Just give us the damn papers before things get ugly, you hear me?!"

You shook your head stubbornly.

"No! I worked hard on those, I will not let you have it!" You yelled.

They let out a sound of annoyance.

"Fine, I'll just do this the hard way then." They lifted the dagger up again, it's chilling glint underneath the desert moon made you shiver.

But you'd rather die than let them have it.

You closed your eyes, preparing for a moment of pain that never came.

A groan of pain echoed in your ears, and the sound of cold metal clashing made you open your eyes.

Sliver hair filled your vision along with flashes of purple lightning. You were dazed by its familiarity as a thought crossed your mind.

Cyno.

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That was a week ago.

Cyno told you that your expedition had lasted an extra week than you wrote in your letters. He went looking for you out of concern, and he had found your team and they told him that you disappeared overnight and that the group of Eremites that were terrorizing you and them.

You thanked him with dinner and a couple of rounds of TCG, which you lost, miserably.

And you managed to hand over your research papers to your professor before the deadline.

A win-win situation one might think, right?

Wrong.

Because when you get home from running some errands—

—most of your house was burned down.

All your equipment, your research books are half burned into a crisp.

You felt yourself holding back a scream.

No, this is not the time for an emotional breakdown. You ran inside what's left of your home, as you took whatever you could save in it.

Photo albums, important documents, your boxes of trinkets, anything.

You groaned softly as you cursed yourself for getting a place further out in the city in the first place.

By the sevens, who could be this cruel to do this?!

After a couple of hours, you salvaged quite some stuff. But you were glad that the box was unscathed from the fire, it held all of your precious trinkets that you kept growing up. Everything that they had given you.

You dragged your stuff into a cart that you kept in your yard and headed towards the city. Along the way, you passed by a certain blonde haired traveller who helped you with your other stuff that you hadn't managed to fit into the cart.

When you arrived, you managed to get yourself a place to stay for a while. And without wasting any time, you reported what happened to the Matra. They told you that they will open an investigation as soon as possible. You thanked them as you went back to the place you were staying.

Moments later, you heard a knock on the door, and you opened to find a worried Tighnari and also a serious-looking Cyno.

"Hey, we heard what happened, are you okay?" Tighnari asked you, his ears twitching slightly.

You nodded quietly, too tired to give him a proper response.

"I have some leads to who's the culprit that burnt down your house." Cyno said sternly.

You looked up, curious to hear his answer.

"The group of Eremites that terrorized your team a week ago might have been the ones that did it." He said.

You sighed defeatedly.

"Honestly, I was dreading that. Archons, I have no idea why they are coming for me and my work." You sighed, slumping on the bed.

Tighnari approached you and placed a hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

"You should lay low for now. I suggest you find a safer place to stay, they may still be on the lookout for you." Cyno said softly, feeling quite sympathetic for you.

"You could stay with me? I'm sure Collei would be happy to see you again..?" Tighnari offered. His tail swished gently,as he looked at you with concern.

"I agree with Tighnari, you'll be safer staying with him." Cyno nodded.

"Meanwhile, I'll lead the investigation, I'll make sure the culprit will get the judgment they deserve." He added.

"Fine, I'll stay with 'nari. But only, until I repair my house." You said, sighing.

Both of them nodded in agreement, as you stood up to follow them to Gandharva Ville.

"Let me help you with your cart," Tighnari said, already holding on to it.

You thanked him, while Cyno informed the nearby Matra to gather information about the incident.

You hoped that this matter would be over soon.

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It's been a few weeks since then, whoever did the crime was insanely good at keeping their tracks clean, it even had the General Mahamatra stumped.

Yet, both Tighnari and Cyno did their best to help you take your mind off it, they didn't want to see you stress yourself sick.

You'd just been in your room, minding your own business, when you started to hear voices coming from the living room of Tighnari's house. You decided to go out to the living room to check out what was going on.

"Well, you see, it's funny because-" Cyno seemed to be explaining some dumb joke.

"Oh, archons! Stop with the terrible jokes already!" Tighnari groaned, but his ears perked up when he saw you enter the room. "Make him stop, please!"

"Cyno....please behave?" You whispered quietly, clearly exhausted from the house repairs the day before.

Cyno's playfully pouted, but he sighed and gave in to your gentle request.

"I suppose I can behave myself. For now, at least."

He smiles at you affectionately and then turns his gaze to Tighnari, whose eyebrows were furrowed.

"What's with that face, 'nari? Are you having a headache again?" You said worriedly, hastily approaching where he was sitting.

Tighnari nods slightly, a small frown appearing on his face. "Yes. It's been a long day. The headache seems to be getting worse every day. Archons, I wish they'd go away." He sighs quietly, his ear flicking down in displeasure as you move closer to him.

"Hmm....maybe you should take a break... I'll talk with the other rangers, Let me help you with the patrols for the week." You immediately offered, without even a stutter or hesitation.

Tighnari blinks his eyes in surprise at your eagerness to help. He shakes his head slightly, a small smile appearing on his face. A soft, affectionate gaze wanders over your face.

"No, no. I'll be alright. You know I'm tougher than I look," he tries to protest, but you can tell from his expression how much your offer means to him.

Cyno steps forward and places a hand on Tighnari's shoulder. "Come on, Tighnari. Take a break for once."

"See? Even the General Mahamatra agrees with me. So, just sit tight and rest. Let me handle the rest."

Tighnari sighs and looks up at you then at Cyno, then sighs again, giving in. A slight smile forms on his face as he looks back at you, clearly relieved.

"Alright, alright. I suppose I can take a few days off. But you better not overwork yourself," he relents, his tail flicking slightly.

Cyno smiles and nods affirmatively. "That's better. You look like you haven't slept in days," he comments as his hands gently brush back Tighnari's hair to examine his face.

"I promise I won't overwork myself. I can handle the patrols for a few days. Don't worry, 'nari. I'll be fine," You reassure him, offering a comforting smile.

Tighnari lets out a quiet sigh and closes his eyes, clearly exhausted, his ears slumping down a little.

"Alright, alright. I trust you. Just..." He reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "Take care of yourself, okay?" Cyno watches the scene with a fond smile and adds. "Yeah, don't do anything reckless. We both know how you get when you don't take proper breaks."

"It's not really that bad, guys! I promise." You whined playfully, before patting Tighnari's shoulder.

"Let me go make you some herbal tea. I've acquired some new medicinal tea from Liyue from my pen pal." You said excitedly.

Tighnari smiles faintly as you pat his shoulder, his ears twitching slightly in appreciation.

"Thank you. That would be very helpful," he says quietly, clearly grateful for your offer.

Cyno, meanwhile, gives you a slightly teasing smile. "Yeah, sure. And maybe don't forget to take care of yourself, okay? We don't want you getting sick, too. You're not immune to everything either," he adds, his tone playful and affectionate.

"Says you, Mr. "Oh no, I have fallen ill because I refuse to wear proper clothing during cold desert nights!" Seriously, Cyno. You should let me knit you a blanket or something." You huffed as you started brewing the tea, filling the small space with a light jasmine scent.

Cyno groans quietly, a little embarrassed that you've brought up the incident again. His arms crossed defensively, but he can't help but chuckle.

"I'm fine with my clothes, thank you very much," he responds, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "Besides, I like the feel of the desert air against my skin. Even the cold is refreshing." Tighnari, meanwhile, chuckles softly at the exchange, his ears perking up in amusement.

He raises an eyebrow at Cyno, his tone lighthearted.

"You're always insisting that your immune to everything, but look at you. You're just as susceptible as the rest of us," he points out, a fond smile on his face.

Cyno sighs and chuckles, unable to argue with that.

"Fine, fine. I see your point. But... I still enjoy the cold air."

You chuckled, shaking your head.

"Sit down, Cyno. I'm bringing the tea over." You called out.

Cyno sighs and obeys, flopping down on the couch next to Tighnari. His lips curled as he heard your lighthearted chuckle.

"I guess you're right," he admits, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arms. "But I'll still take my chances with the desert air. As long as you brew me some tea to help me when I get sick." Tighnari glances over at you, amusement is evident in his expression.

"The things I'd do for the both of you."

Cyno chuckles, a fond smile spreading across his face.

"And we appreciate it. We really do," he reassures you.

Tighnari nods in agreement, his expression softening. "You always take such good care of us, even when we're too stubborn to admit it," he adds, his tail flicking gently against the couch.

Cyno glances at Tighnari, then back at you, a grin spreading on his face.

"Yeah, you're practically a miracle worker. Always knowing when we need a helping hand, even when we're too proud to ask for it."

Tighnari laughs quietly and nods in agreement. "We're lucky to have you around. Who else would put up with our nonsense?"

"You're being too sweet, just drink the tea already!" You said softly, flushing slightly.

They both chuckled at your reaction.

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"This is delicious. You've outdone yourself this time," Cyno compliments you.

Tighnari nods in agreement, his expression softening as he takes a sip. "Yes, it's so soothing. You're quite a talented herbal tea brewer."

"Thanks, I'm just gonna leave you two to it. I have an appointment with Kaveh soon, so I need to prepare some supplies."

Cyno raises an eyebrow, a teasing smirk spreading across his face.

"Kaveh, huh? What are you two getting up to?"

He takes another sip of tea, his tone lighthearted and playful.

"It's not what you think. I'm just going over my house plans with him. I'm repairing my house because a part of it got burned down, remember? The arson case a few weeks ago? The reason why I've been staying with Tighnari since then?"

Cyno's teasing expression quickly turns to one of concern.

"Right, of course. My apologies for teasing. I remember that case. How's the repairs going?" he asks you.

Tighnari nods in agreement and his ears perk up slightly as well. "Yeah, I hope you're not having too much trouble with the rebuilding," he adds, a hint of worry evident in his voice.

"Well, between having to acquire materials and trying to not break my back fixing it, I'd say it's going smoothly."

"I just hope that my savings are enough to cover for it. The prices of materials are insane." You sighed.

"But Kaveh has been helping out with finding affordable yet quality materials, so I think the repair would go as smoothly as I hope it to be," You reassured.

Cyno nods gently, relief is evident in his expression.

"Sounds like you're in good hands. Kaveh always has a knack for finding good deals. And as for your back, maybe you should take some breaks. Can't be overworking yourself with all this rebuilding," he teases lightly, a gentle smirk on his face.

"I know, I know, thank the Seven, Alhaitham offered to help me with my work, even if I didn't want him to, I could have perfectly done it myself,"

Tighnari nods in agreement, his ears perking up.

"Well, Alhaitham is somewhat of a difficult person to get along with sometimes, but I can't deny that he's quite considerate and helpful if the situation calls for it. Maybe he just wanted to return the favor you extended to him when you helped him in his research." He pauses for a moment, his expression softening. "But you should still take care of yourself. Don't overwork yourself, okay?" He adds, giving you a gentle look.

"I will. I'm going to head out now, so I'll see you tonight, 'nari and you later, Cyno." You said softly and waved the two of them goodbye.

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As you leave Gandharva Ville to meet up with Kaveh, Cyno, and Tighnari continue to chat in the living room over tea. Cyno shares a few jokes with Tighnari, who rolls his eyes but secretly smiles at the playful banter.

As night falls, the house feels a little emptier without your presence. Despite their easy-going demeanors, Cyno and Tighnari can't help but feel a slight sense of worry and longing for your return.

When you finally return home, the apartment is quiet. Cyno and Tighnari are just lounging around the living room. When they hear you enter, they perk their ears up slightly and look over at you. A wave of relief washes over both of them, and they can't help but smile at the sight of you.

Cyno greets you cheerfully as usual, while Tighnari gives you a gentle smile and a tail flick.

"Sorry I'm late, I had to run away from some angry group of Fungi on my way here." You said, catching your breath.

Cyno raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Angry Fungi? Sounds like quite the adventure. How many were there?" He asks, a serious glint in his eyes.

"A whole group of five huge Fungi. " You answered him.

Tighnari's expression softens and his ears twitch slightly. "Are you alright? Did you get hurt at all?"

You scratched your head bashfully, before looking at Tighnari.

"I might've....gotten a massive bruise on my back...."

Tighnari's expression immediately turns to one of concern upon hearing about your injury.

"Oh no... Let me see that bruise," he requests gently, taking a step closer to examine your back.

"I-I'm fine! I swear, 'nari!" You said hurriedly. taking a couple steps back.

"One of the Fungi headbutted me from the back while I was busy dodging the other ones."

Cyno raises an eyebrow at your insistence that you're fine.

"Headbutted, huh? You should be more careful. We can't afford to have you getting injured. Especially when we're not around to look after you," he remarks, his expression serious for a moment before his usual smile returns.

Tighnari's ears twitch, his concern still evident. "Regardless, let me just take a quick look to ease my worry," he insists gently.

"Fine, fine, just let me change into looser clothing first." You muttered.

Cyno nods in agreement, acknowledging your need for comfort.

"Alright, take your time. We'll be here when you're ready," he reassures you, his ear flicking a little. Tighnari gives you a reassuring smile and nods as well. "Yeah, no need to rush. Just take the time you need to change and then we can check your back. We want to make sure you're alright."

You quickly changed, and soon, Tighnari carefully guided you to the couch.

"How is it? Is it really bad?"

Tighnari examines your back, his fingers gently ghosting over the massive bruise that has formed there.

He winces slightly when he sees the extent of the injury but tries to maintain a calm demeanor. "It's a large bruise. You're going to have to take it easy for a few days to avoid aggravating it. I'll prepare some herbs to make a salve that can help speed up the healing process a little. In the meantime, try to avoid any unnecessary movement, okay?"

You sighed yet again. "I guess I have to postpone the repairs again....." You muttered under your breath.

Cyno overhears your muttered comment and his expression softens, sympathetic to your plight. He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, it's alright. There's no rush. Your health comes first. We can figure out a way to handle the repairs later when you're feeling better."

Tighnari gives a nod of agreement and gently pats your back. "Yes, take it easy. Let us handle the repairs for now. You just focus on resting and getting better."

Cyno and Tighnari help you get comfortable on the couch, bringing you pillows and blankets to make sure you're as relaxed as possible.

Tighnari prepares a soothing salve to help reduce the pain and inflammation in your back, while Cyno grabs a cold pack from the freezer to press against the bruise.

They sit with you, keeping you company and making sure you're feeling alright. They chat with you softly, making lighthearted jokes and sharing stories to keep your mind off your pain.

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Eventually, Tighnari returns with the salve he prepared, and he carefully applies it to your back with gentle but firm movements.

As the salve works its magic, slowly reducing the pain and swelling, Cyno gives you a smile and speaks in a teasing tone.

"You know, maybe this is just what you needed. A little break to rest and relax. Maybe a few days off might not be so bad after all."

"But I was supposed to help you so you could take a break, 'nari!" You whined quietly, pouting.

Tighnari smiles at your pouting expression, amused by your stubbornness.

"I appreciate the thought, but sometimes life has other plans. Right now, the most important thing is for you to focus on recovering. Once you're back on your feet, you can help us all you want."

Cyno rolls his eyes playfully and adds in a joking tone. "Yeah, and speaking of being back on your feet, maybe you should try picking on smaller targets next time instead of those huge Fungi."

"It wasn't my fault they came on me in the first place, I don't even know why they were so irritated in the first place!"

Tighnari chuckles softly, trying to imagine you fending off a horde of angry Fungi.

"Fungi can be picky sometimes. And they tend to guard their territory fiercely. Perhaps you accidentally wandered into their turf without realizing it, and they took action accordingly."

"I was walking down the designated path to Gandharva Ville! The Fungi weren't there when I first passed by on my way to Sumeru City!!"

Cyno bursts out laughing upon hearing your playful defense.

"Ah, well, perhaps those particular Fungi took a sudden detour and decided to set up camp on your usual path without warning. Those mischievous creatures can be quite sneaky, you know," he teases.

"Whatever..." You groaned, voice muffled by your face planting into the pillow.

Tighnari grins at your reaction and gently pats your head.

"Don't be upset. We're just teasing. We know you did your best." He turns to look at Cyno, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Cyno, why don't you make it up to them with one of your jokes? That'll surely lift their spirits."

"Please don't, can't you see I suffered enough? You guys are bullying me, I swear."

"Oh, don't worry, we're not bullies. We just believe in the healing power of laughter!" Cyno says proudly.

He takes a moment to think, then grins wider. "Hey, what do you call a snake with no legs?"

"What is it?" You groaned.

"An adder. Get it? Because it's a snake, and it has been 'added' without legs? Haha!" He laughs at his own joke, clearly pleased with himself. Tighnari hides a small chuckle with a cough. They both look at you, eagerly awaiting your reaction.

"I hate you guys...."

Cyno laughs even harder at your response, clearly enjoying your reaction to his terrible pun.

"Oh, come onnnn. Don't be like that. You know you love my sense of humor." He says with a smirk.

Tighnari can't help but smile at your groaning. He reaches out to pat your head softly, trying to soothe you.

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As the evening progresses, Cyno and Tighnari keep up the light banter, sharing jokes and stories to keep your spirits up.

Slowly, you start to relax, the stress from your injury fading away as their company puts you at ease. The room is filled with laughter, and a comforting atmosphere settles in. Cyno tells another terrible pun, and even though you try your best to maintain a scowl, you can't help but let out a small chuckle.

Tighnari notices your slight smile and grins at Cyno, silently signaling him that their efforts are working. They exchange a sly, knowing look, grateful that you are starting to feel better.

As the night drags on, the room gradually falls silent as you doze off into a contented, healing slumber. Even after you fall asleep, Cyno and Tighnari take turns watching over you, making sure you're as comfortable as possible. They can't help but share a warm, fond smile, appreciating the peace and tranquility of the moment.

Your healing progresses in the following days, Cyno and Tighnari take turns caring for you. Tighnari diligently prepares meals and soothing herbs to help with your recovery, and Cyno occasionally comes by to offer his own unique way of making you feel better – by sharing yet another one of his terrible puns.

Despite your protests, Cyno's jokes never fail to crack a dumb smile on your face, and you find yourself secretly looking forward to his visits, just to hear those awful puns.

Eventually, your injury starts to heal as the days turn into weeks. Your pain and discomfort gradually fade away, and the bruise on your back begins to yellow before finally disappearing completely.

Tighnari examines your back once again, his fingers lightly tracing the area where the bruise used to be, before nodding in satisfaction.

"Yup, it appears that you have fully recovered. The injury has healed nicely, and there are no signs of pain or discomfort left."

Just as you're about to express your relief and thanks, Cyno chimes in with a dramatic sigh.

"Ah, it's a shame that you've recovered so quickly. I was already working on a new series of puns to keep the cheer going."

Cyno remarks, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Tighnari rolls his eyes but can't help but smile at Cyno's antics.

"Oh yes, because your terrible puns were an absolute cure for all our ailments. We simply would be miserable without them," Tighnari retorts, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Cyno pouts, feigning offense at Tighnari's words. "Hey, they weren't that bad! And besides, I had a whole new stockpile ready to go."

"Maybe, some other time, Cyno." You giggled.

"Spoil sport," Cyno grumbles, crossing his arms in mock disappointment, but a smile creeps onto his face at your laugh.

Tighnari lets out a lighthearted chuckle, shaking his head at Cyno's antics. They both sit quietly for a moment, enjoying the light banter and the relief of your full recovery.

You felt relief knowing that no matter what, come rain or shine, both of them would go to the ends of Tevyat for you as you would do for them as well.

But for now, let's just enjoy the tranquility of the moment, shall we?

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extras:

Tighnari: hey, I noticed that you kept the pictures of our student years in the albums you have in your cart.

Y/N: of course I did, they're really precious to me.

*Cyno come closer and picks up a picture.*

Cyno:....hey, when did you take this photo of me passed out on Lambad's Tavern, and...wait...DID YOU SERIOUSLY BALANCE PLATES ON ME?!

Y/N: ......yeah, i'm just gonna leave- *sprints*

Cyno: OH NO YOU DON'T- *runs after Y/N*

Tighnari: *dies of laughter.*

#genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact #cyno x reader #tighnari x reader #cynonari #genshin comfort #gender neutral reader #cynonari x reader #⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ottervneuvillette's thoughts

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