Rylee

You huff through your nose, growing annoyed at the prospect of being lectured. The elevator grants mercy and dings before slowly opening. There's a rowdy group of men inside who quickly walk out of the elevator, seedy eyes immediately finding their way to you, scanning your body up and down as they pass by. 

You feel that nauseous pit in your stomach twist as you finally step onto the elevator. Nothing to ruin your jovial mood from a nice evening more than a group of leering men. Living in an apartment building filled with soldiers, it wasn’t unusual to have them stare at you – didn’t mean you liked it. 

You cross your arms over your chest as König steps on, the elevator creaking and groaning under his immense weight. 

“What floor?” he asks softly, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stands in front of the button panel.

“3,” you mumble, leaning against the back wall. You watch him punch in the 3 but not anything else, making you raise a brow, “You live on 3 too?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say another word. You narrow your eyes at his back, if he feels you looking, he doesn’t give it away. The elevator is plunged into silence aside from the quiet sound of the shaft moving up and up until it dings and the doors slide open. 

He steps out first, standing in the threshold to keep the door from closing as you push yourself off the wall. Your head swims for a second and you stumble past him, keenly aware of his eyes on you. 

You wander down the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to see him slowly stalking behind you. His arms hand limply by his sides, his fists clenched into fists but he remains a respectable distance. 

“Why are you following me?” you ask, unable to hide the nervousness in your tone, “You said you don’t live on this floor.”

“Young recruits are tools,” he supplies simply, “I am making sure you make it to your door without any problems.”

That causes you to hum and for a little flutter in your stomach to manifest. You brush it off and pause at your door, pulling your keys out so unlock it. You push it open and step in, letting it hit your back to keep it from closing as you turn to look at your companion.

“Thank you…um…” you clear your throat and look at him expectantly. 

“König,” he supplies simply, arms tucked behind his back, making him look even wider. 

“König…” you repeat, feeling the words on your tongue, “Interesting name. Where are you from?”

“Austria,” he replies almost mechanically, “I will be going now.”

You don’t get to say another word before he’s stalking away and down the hallway, heavy footfalls practically rumbling the ground beneath him. You slowly close your door and lean against it, hand placed over your racing heart – when did that start up? 

You blame it on your inexperience when it comes to men. You’d had a couple boyfriends, pretty standard for someone in their 20s. Your problem was none of them were ever good enough. The over-zealous types who wanted their dicks sucked as gratitude for paying for dinner. Then would turn around and either give you the most lackluster head of your life, barely any foreplay before trying to shove his dick into an unprepared hole. 

You had never given them the chance, once they showed they were only interested in their own pleasure and would more than likely not even think about touching your clit or angling for your g-spot, you stopped them and kicked them out. More often than not, you woke up to a break-up text because of course you did. 

So that was how you were still a virgin and more or less, at this point, given up on dating. You’d been single now for the better part of 6 months and had no intentions of giving any men your own age a shot at it. 

But…you hadn’t considered an older man. Like König. 

At that thought, you pushed yourself off the door and kicked your shoes off, intent on taking a shower to hopefully wash these drunken thoughts out of your head. So he’d been nice and walked you to your door, no questions asked, so what? Didn’t make him any different from men your age. 

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt your stomach finally churn for the final time and found your head buried in the toilet. You cursed yourself for not listening to your friends, who apparently knew your own limits better than you did. 

The next time you see König is just a few days later. You walk into the apartment’s gym on the ground floor, and there he is – sitting lifting weights. You pause when you see him, feeling that traitorous flutter in your chest you were sure you puked out that night you had learned his name. 

You watch the way his biceps flex, bulging so large you’re sure not even two of your hands could wrap around the girth of it. There were some scars littering his skin, most of them white and raised from age but a few that still had that new tissue pink color. You also noticed some fading tattoos encircling his forearms. Fuck, he was hot. 

You hung your head and scampered over to the treadmill, intent on getting your cardio up. 

As you run, you notice a group waltz in, laughing and shoving each other. You glance over at them, rolling your eyes when some of them make eye contact and nudge their buddies. They lean in close and whisper to each other with shit eating grins on their faces and you find frustration building up so you try to ignore them. 

“Quiet,” you hear an accented voice snap, full of authority, “You are disturbing everyone.”

The rowdy young men quiet down immediately and clear their throats, “S-Sorry, Colonel,” one of them utters.

‘Colonel? Is that high ranking?’ you find yourself wondering, making a mental note to look that up later. 

Either way, König manages to make the gym peaceful once again and you finish your workout with no other hitches. 

You grab your towel and dab at the sweat on your face and neck as you swiftly make your way out of the gym, completely unaware of the shadow following closely behind. 

You slow to a stop at the elevator, punching the button to call it as you sip on your water bottle, mindlessly going over what else you need to do with your day. The shadow behind you remains stagnant, still and silent as it lurks behind your unsuspecting form as the elevator opens and you step on. 

He follows, hefty weight causing the elevator to groan as usual. That gets your attention and you jump, placing a delicate hand over your racing heart just like you had before, eyes wide in shock at his appearance.

“You’re doing it on purpose now!” you whine at him and he has to fight back a smile at it. 

“I told you that you needed to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he replies smoothly, pressing the 3 button for you before pressing 5 for himself. 

“How is a guy as big as you able to be so quiet?” you ask softly, making note of the floor he lives on. 

“Years of training,” he gives a quick response that you hum at. There is a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again, “You never gave me your name.”

He sees the way you look at him in surprise and he almost wishes he could rip the words from the air as soon as he says them. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea that he actually wants to get to know you. 

But you smile softly and give him your name with a kind nod of your head before the elevator grants him mercy and dings at the arrival on your floor.

“See you around, König,” you say as you step off. 

He doesn’t respond. 

Once back in the safety of your apartment, you find yourself going through the entire interaction in your head over and over again. Your heart races as you think back on him. 

It's as you’re making dinner for yourself that you finally have the coherent thought of revelation that you may have a crush on König. 

The revelation is almost enough to have you groaning out of frustration into the quiet sanctity of your apartment but you manage to refrain. But you can’t deny you don’t quite know what to do about it now. You had sworn off of men but…that was men your own age. König was…older than you, surely at least 15 years your senior, possibly more. You figure it couldn’t hurt to ask him out for some coffee one of these days. 

Except, the next time you see König is almost 2 weeks later. You don’t see hide nor hair of him at all. It definitely puts a damper on your confidence and you almost think your crush was just a fleeting little thing and for that you’re grateful for. 

Until the elevator opens one day and there he is. He’s wearing his hood but his eyes look even more exhausted than usual – beyond the general tiredness that comes with age. You carefully step on, joining him in the downward descent to the lobby. It’s just the two of you and feel that fluttering in your chest start up again and your hands begin to sweat. You scour your brain for something to say — anything to start up a conversation after so long of not seeing him.

“Haven’t seen you around,” you mutter softly. He hums softly in acknowledgement but doesn’t supply much of a response beyond that, “Where have you been?” you try again.

“Deployed,” he finally responds after several seconds of silence. 

You can’t find any way to respond or keep the conversation going but it’s sure that he has no intentions of doing so anyway. Still, it surprised you that he had been deployed, you hadn’t considered that. It made sense now that you thought about it. 

The elevator opened and you both stepped out. He walked much faster than you, beelining out of the apartment and you briefly considered letting him go but another part of you wanted to stop him and ask him out. 

You cursed to yourself and jogged forward, calling his name. He stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling for him. He looks down at you over his nose, a burning gaze that makes your nervousness spike. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good time after all. 

“What?” he snaps, clearly impatient.

“Oh um…” you clear your throat and slow to a stop, “N-Nevermind…”

He huffs through his nose and resumes storming out of the apartment. You find yourself sighing deeply, following his lead. When you get outside, he’s nowhere to be seen and you once again find yourself wondering how a man of his size is so good at not being seen. 

A few nights later, the weekend rolls around and you find yourself standing in that damned elevator with him once again. He’s maskless and it gives you pause before stepping on. 

It’s silent for a few seconds before he says, “I am sorry for the other day.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, “Um…what do you mean?”

“I was not polite towards you,” he answers, casting a soft gaze towards you that makes your heart flutter, “I took my bad mood out on you and I should not have. So…I am sorry.”

“Oh…” you clear your throat and give him a smile, “it’s alright, König. I shouldn’t have bothered you with something silly.”

He frowns at you, “Something silly?”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him, smiling kindly at him. 

He wants to ask you what you mean but the elevator door opens and you step out, making him realize that you reached your floor. You wave your goodbye to him as the doors close and he lets his head fall back with a sigh once he’s alone.

Yet another bad day weighed heavily on his shoulders when you came waltzing into the elevator, bright eyed and happy. His fists were clenched behind his back and he did his best to avoid looking at you, hoping you would take the hint and not speak to him like you usually did. It hadn’t been but a day since he had apologized to you for making an ass of himself in the lobby and he didn’t want to do the same thing so soon after. 

But then you say something that sends it all crumbling down.

“Hey…” you start, fidgeting your fingers in front of you, “Would you like to get coffee sometime? Maybe lunch?”

You ask it so sweetly and softly. For some reason, that grates on his nerves even more than anything.

“What?” he snaps, cold and sharp in a way that makes you visibly freeze. 

You look up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, “Um…w-well, I just…it’s…I would like to…”

Your nervous babbling only serves to piss him off even more as his glare narrows down on you, making you shrink in on yourself where you stand. Suddenly, the elevator feels much smaller than it had ever before – even with him filling most of the space as usual. 

“You want to go out with me?” he spits, his accent growing stronger with every venomous word that he can’t seem to stop from spilling from his lips, “I am twice your age, what the hell makes you think I would want to date you?”

You swallow thickly around the lump forming in your throat and bite back the tears that threaten to form. He hears you sniffle and promptly snaps his head to look at you. Under the ugly, yellow light of the elevator he can see the tears trickling down your cheeks and he suddenly wants to slap himself into the next decade. 

He wants to open his mouth so badly and apologize for being so cruel to you. He knows he could have told you no in a much softer way rather than making your feelings seem like something revolting or stupid. But the elevator doors open and you’re slipping out before he even has a chance. He decides not to chase after you. 

It’s for the best, he assures himself. 

It only takes a few days before he’s vehemently regretting not stopping you then and there. 

It happens on a Friday night, the elevators are closing just as a hand jumps between them, sending them opening again. You step on, giggling in a way that tells him you’re just a little inebriated. You freeze when you see him standing there, maskless and cold gaze as he watches you tug a young man into the elevator behind you – clearly a little drunk himself. 

You pointedly stand in front of König, keeping your back to him to show that you’re not even willing to look at him. König feels his heart clench painfully in his chest before it’s replaced by a wash of anger as he watches the young man paw at you. He slips his hand down your back to grope at your ass, making you giggle breathlessly before you’re batting his hands away with a little bat of your lashes. 

König wishes he had an excuse to step off the elevator at the same time as you – anything to prolong his time with you. He’s never felt the desire to cockblock someone more in his whole entire life. 

But he doesn’t move. He just watches you step off without a single glance in his direction before you’re vanishing around the corner and the elevator doors close silently, leaving König alone with his thoughts. 

You couldn’t believe you brought this guy to your apartment. You especially couldn’t believe you were letting him strip you of your clothes and paw at your body like some kind of mindless dog. You had sworn to yourself that you were not going to fall into this trap again – a 20-something year old guy buying you a drink, complimenting you a little, teasing and groping you in the club until you caved and brought him home. It wasn’t your first go around – and it always ended the same way.

But you were drunk and you needed to get your mind off that stupid, giant Austrian military man that lived in your building. And wouldn’t you know it, he was on the elevator as soon as you got in. It was almost enough to sober you up, your wounded pride and feelings still so prevalent even after a few days of nursing the hurt. 

You could only hope that this would relieve you of your hurt feelings. 

Unfortunately, you quickly realized that this was a mistake. 

As soon as he started groping you, spreading your legs and trying to stuff his cock inside you without so much as a single finger of prep – you knew this wasn’t going to happen.

You tried to lead him, thinking maybe he was a little too tipsy to actually think about it.

“How about a little prep, hm?” you ask softly.

He pauses what he’s doing and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, “Oh…you’re one of those…”

He says it in disgust and you feel yourself bristle in annoyance, “One of what?”

“You want me to eat you out, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “That shit’s gross, c’mon just let me stick it in, already.” It was that moment that you felt any minute desire you had to have sex evaporate. 

You don’t even bother walking the guy out, leaving him to limp to the elevator in shame with a hard cock and blue balls.

It takes you a few days to find it in yourself to crawl out of your apartment. The only reason you actually do leave is because you’re in need of food – your little supply of ramen has depleted and you have to bite the bullet. 

After your little shopping trip at the nearby convenience store, you find yourself waiting for the elevator when a dark shadow looms over you. You feel a pit of dread in your stomach as you smell the musky, sweet scent of his cologne. But you don’t dare acknowledge his presence. 

He doesn’t give you long to ignore him, however, before he’s talking to you.

“How was your little date?” he asks, voice dripping in a tone of condescension that immediately puts you on edge. 

“What’s it to you?” you hiss, still not daring to look at him. 

He scoffs, “You went and found yourself a little toy to play with awfully fast. Seems your interest in me wore off quickly, no?”

That gets you to finally turn around, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze with your hot, teary one. You miss the look of surprise that flashes over his face.

“What is your problem?” you snap, “You rejected me, what the hell do you care what I do? And for your information, the date was shit. He was shit, like I should have expected any difference. God, I really am a fucking idiot,” you find yourself rambling, a lamenting spiel that you can’t seem to stop no matter how badly you want to, “Just like every prick before him, he was selfish and revolting. I thought I could finally get fucking laid and just call it a day but no, my stupid standards are too high and I find myself asking out the hot older guy in my building only for him to find me revolting!”

By the time you’re done ranting, the doors open and you storm out of the elevator, angrily gripping your bag of groceries. König is frozen where he stands, watching you leave as the doors slowly close – almost begging him to put his hand between them and stop them so he can chase after you. 

But he doesn’t.

It’s creeping up on midnight when there’s a knock on your apartment door. You’re curled up on the couch, watching some random show that you weren’t really invested in but couldn’t be bothered to change. 

The knock makes you jump, startled, but get up nonetheless. A quick peek in the peephole tells you exactly who it is before you even open it. 

You briefly consider not opening it period but find yourself opening it before you actually settle on a decision. 

König stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, looking comically small. The sight is almost enough to get you to crack a smile. Almost.

But the residual hurt from the last few interactions you’ve had with him is enough to keep you stoic. You raise a brow and you practically see his confidence falter. A pang of guilt goes through you at the sight and you step aside, waving him in with a quiet huff. 

He closes the door behind him softly, kicking his boots off as he watches you wander into the living room. You take a seat on your couch, covering yourself with your throw blanket once again as you watch him wander in, gazing around at your decor before finally settling on you. 

“Um…” He clears his throat nervously and places the flowers on your coffee table, “I think that we should talk…”

“Should we?” you quip back.

He sighs, broad shoulders heaving with the movement before he takes a seat beside you, taking up a hefty amount of space on your small couch. 

“I want to apologize,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap, “When you asked me out…I-I should not have spoken to you like that.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “If that’s all this is about, König, then you can go. I-I don’t really want to hear a half-assed apology about the way you rejected me. You’re not interested, let’s just move on from it. I’ll get over it.”

He shakes his head quickly and curses under his breath, a word you don’t understand – German, your brain supplies, helpfully.

“You are wrong,” he says, “I do not want you to get over it because I am interested.”

The gets you to perk up, eyes wide, “What do you mean? You said you–”

“I know what I said,” he mutters, “I am…twice your age…”

“So you mentioned before…” you reply.

“I do not think…you should be with someone old like me,” he continues softly, “You should be with someone your own age. That is what I thought. It is not that I don’t find you attractive; I think you’re sweet and lovely. But it's just…our age difference…”

“König,” you stop him from continuing, “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“I understand that but…” he trails off, casting a sideways glance across the room, away from you.

“I’ve tried dating men my own age, König,” you say, “It always ends the same – I send them home blue balled.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose and finally sets his gaze back on you, “Why do you do that?”

“I don’t plan to…” you begin, running your hand along the soft fabric of your blanket, “it’s just that...I bring them home and then we start getting into it and it fucking sucks!”

“Sucks..?” The question is soft and drawn out. 

“He wants to fuck my throat and won’t even give me his fingers before trying to stick his dick in,” you spit, angrily glaring at the tv as you remember all your shit encounters, “I’ve never even let one of them go all the way.”

“You’re a virgin…?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “I guess. I mean I’ve had shitty oral and stuff but…”

“I see…” he trails off, shifting in his seat, hands still folded in his lap, “Well, I would like to take you out for a date after all.”

You find a smile spreading across your face faster than you can stop it. You jump to your knees and throw your arms around his shoulders with a squeal of happiness, “Really? You mean it?”

He laughs breathlessly, a husky little sound that makes your heart race, “Does this weekend work for you?”

You eagerly nod your head and lean in. You catch the way his eyes widen briefly before your lips meet. You think he’s going to pull away from you but instead he cups the back of your head and deepens the kiss. 

You feel a shiver go through you at the feeling of his big, strong hand holding you there in the kiss. You couldn’t keep yourself from getting wet even if you wanted to. 

With your hands pressed against his firm chest, you toss one leg over his lap and find yourself seated on top of him. He breaks the kiss at that, hands migrating to your waist where he mindlessly strokes his thumb over the skin exposed by the way your shirt rode up.

You lean down and kiss him again and he groans against your mouth. You grind down against him in response to the throb that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You whimper into the kiss when he suddenly stops your movements with a firm grip. 

“We shouldn’t, liebling,” he whispers softly.

“Why not?” you whine, settling in his lips. You briefly realize that you can feel something hard beneath you and that makes you start dripping in your panties, “Don’t you want to?”

“I-I do…” he assures, “I just…want to properly court you…”

He couldn’t get any sweeter if he tried. Still, you quip back with a teasing little smile, “Wow, you are a lot older than me, huh?”

You feel giddy when the sweet look in his eyes melts away into something darker. One hand clasps the back of your head before he pulls you in for a much rougher kiss. You keen as you feel the way he exudes experience – the kiss like nothing you have ever experienced before. 

The way he moves his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth to taste your mouth, it’s not gross or too much the way it sometimes is with men who don’t know what they’re doing.you find yourself moaning into the kiss before you even realize it. 

He pulls away at that, a heady look in his pretty, blue eyes. You find yourself briefly lamenting the loss of his mouth but that thought disappears quickly when he moves to begin peppering kisses along the length of your neck, making sure to nip at your jaw and kiss your shoulder. 

He tugs the hem of your t-shirt down just a bit so he can have access to your collar bones, nipping and kissing there as well. Your head falls back as you surrender yourself to him completely. 

“Oh,” he coos softly, lips brushing against your ear, “You are just so sweet for me, aren’t you, little one?”

You practically whimper at his words as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely grazing your skin. You squirm in his lap as his touch tickles you on his way up to your breasts, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his roughened palms. 

You sigh into the quiet room, arching your back to press deeper into his hands. His thumbs graze over your nipples and you moan. 

Sure, you’ve had guys grope your tits before but it had never felt like this. The mindless squishing and squeezing was replaced with soft cupping and gentle brushes over your nipples until they hardened followed by pinches and flicks that left you absolutely dripping in your panties.

He takes mercy on you quickly, one hand sliding down your body to slide under your sweatpants and beneath your panties. Your hands grip his shoulders, blunt nails biting into them when one broad finger slides down, the sticky noise of your folds separating enough to send heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in a tone so soft you almost think it wasn’t meant for you, but then he tacks on, “Do you hear it?” 

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, embarrassment flooding through you at the sticky, clicking noises that come along with his prodding, “N-Never been this wet before, König…”

That causes him to pause, blue eyes gazing at you through his eyelashes, “Is that so..?” You desperately nod your head, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his hand, but he doesn’t move again and you whine, “Has anyone ever made you cum on their fingers?”

“J-Just me,” you answer breathlessly without a second thought. 

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins moving his hand again. This time he introduces more fingers, spreading your folds apart with his index and ring so he can pet your hardened clit with his middle. The feeling makes tremors run through your body and he huffs a laugh, “I guess I will show you what it feels like then, yeah?”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think let alone answer before his middle finger is sliding into you. The one digit alone is enough to stretch you, given how massive he is in whole. He crooks his finger forward and a moan rips from your chest when he hits that gooey little spot inside you. 

“A-Another, please, König!” you beg shamelessly.

“Shh,” he hushes, shaking his head, “Let me work you open on this and then you can have more.”

You practically wail in despair, letting your forehead drop forward onto his shoulder. You suddenly wish you had rid yourself of your clothes so you could see the way his hand worked against you. All you could see now was the faint movement under your pants but the mental image of that thick finger inside you, slick with your juices was enough to have you clenching desperately around him. 

After a moment, he adds a second finger and you feel like you’re in heaven. The stretch is phenomenal and his palm bumps against your clit every time he sinks them into the last knuckle. 

However, before he can set a rhythm to really start getting you off, he stops. You angrily lean back and glare at him – the sight has his lips quirking up.

“Ride my fingers,” he orders you, leaving no room for arguing.

You can tell he’s not going to give you anything unless you take it for yourself so you sit up higher on your knees so you can have the clearance to move. Your hands remain on his shoulders, clinging to him for stability as you clumsily begin to rock your hips. The only time you’ve ever done these movements is when you tried humping your pillow once after seeing it in some porn. It didn’t really do much for you so you never tried again. 

König can tell your movements are clumsy and it makes his cock throb against his thigh. He helps you along, crooking his fingers just right to grind the tips against that sweet little spot inside you. It makes you moan beautifully and he files the noise away. 

His other hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you as you continue to hump his fingers. You’re growing more and more frustrated as you quickly realize that you’re not able to make it feel as good as he had earlier. The tearful little gaze you give him has him breaking, using the hand on your hip guiding you into more seamless movements. 

“Like this, liebling,” he directs softly, “Grind down like that, mhm, give that little clit some love, yeah?”

You become increasingly breathless as you work yourself higher and higher under his expert guidance. He can feel your juices dripping down his wrist, the snug hold around his fingers growing even tighter with every little rut of your hips. 

“You’re so precious,” he coos, feeling the way you clench up at the sound of his voice. Your body is so honest, telling him what you like without you having to say anything, “You’re going to cum, I can feel it. Be good and give it to me, yeah?”

You surge forward and desperately kiss him, one hand reaching down and gripping his wrist. It takes only a few more, desperate thrusts of your hips for you to topple over that edge. Your body trembles on his lap and you cry out in pleasure. 

He moans alongside you, watching with rapt attention as you cum all over his fingers just like he told you to.

You slump against him as you come down and he pulls his hands out of your pants. He presses a kiss against your temple in silent praise, hands rubbing your back to soothe you through the aftershocks that run through your body.

You lean back and meet his gaze, an opportunity he takes to slip his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth. At that, you surge forward and kiss him, running your hands down his body to pull at the button of his jeans. He grunts into your mouth, brows furrowing at the release of pressure when you tug the zipper down.

You’re absolutely speechless when you finally pull his cock free. He watches in poorly concealed pride as you gawk at the length in your hand. You give him a slow and tedious tug, watching the foreskin roll over his head, forcing a bead of precum from the tip. 

“You’re so…big,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I know,” he grunts, unable to hide the ebbs of pleasure you give him as you play with his cock.

“Cocky,” you tease softly, continuing with your soft touches. 

“N-Not cocky,” he whispers, licking his suddenly dry hips, “Just aware of my size.”

You drop your eyes back down to his cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don't even touch each other when wrapped around him. Precum drips from the tip, leaking down the side to meet your palm and aid in the movements. 

He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. It wasn’t often that he got to indulge in someone else’s hand. Your palm was so soft, much softer than his own, and delicate in your inexperience. 

He reaches down with one his hands, wrapping around yours to make you squeeze tighter, “Just like that, little one, that’s how I like it.”

You could have drooled as he said it. His hand dwarfed yours and the sight made you clench around nothing, more slick leaking into your already ruined panties. 

“Let me see you, liebling,” he whispers breathlessly, fingers hooking on the hem of your top.

You release his cock to lift your arms, letting him tug the fabric over your head. His hands are on your tits immediately, mouthing at your nipples without wasting a second.

“So pretty,” he coos with his mouth full, rolling his tongue over your nipple before nipping the bud with his lips.

He switches to the other one, wrapping his mouth around it, sucking sharply before pulling back, taking your nipple with him before releasing it with a pop. You watch with lidded eyes as he drools all over your tits. His cock flexes and twitches against your thigh as he plays with your tits.

Suddenly, with a firm grip on your waist, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back on the couch with König on top of you. You lick your lips at the sight of his big, broad form hovering above you, caging you in as he leans down to kiss you again.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth, threading your fingers through his short, messy hair, using the grip to pin him against you. He lets you kiss him to your heart's content, only pulling back when you need air – a string of spit connecting your lips that breaks when he leans back between your thighs. 

His fingers took into the band of your pants, tugging them down, taking your panties with them until you’re completely bared before him. He’s still completely clothed aside from his cock that rests against his abdomen, occasionally twitching as his eyes rake over your nude body.

“Tell me, liebling,” he says, strong hands running up the length of your thighs, “Has anyone ever eaten you out?”

You clumsily nod your head.

“Was it good?” he asks, biting back a smile when you shake your head.

“Guys always think it’s gross or something…” you whisper softly.

He hums softly, “That is because you’ve been messing with stupid little boys.”

“You gonna eat me out, König?” you ask him, biting your lip in a poorly concealed excited grin.

“Would you like me to?” as he asks, he slowly spreads your legs open. The position causes your folds to spread apart, opening you up for his greedy eyes.

You feel your breathing speed up as he kisses down your body, starting with your lips and ending right above your clit. You feel the little bud twitch in anticipation as he tongues the skin above it, giving you a sneak peek on what is so close to it. 

“Tell me,” he says.

You whine, “Y-Yes, I want you to eat me out, König!”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t bother teasing you anymore. He meets your gaze and moves his tongue lower finally, sliding the flat of the muscle of your clit. You gasp and toss your head back into the cushions, eyes rolling back as he noisily slurps at your cunt. 

“O-Oh god!” you wail, hiccuping out noises of pleasure that you can’t seem to quiet.

König is in heaven. It’s not every day that he gets the opportunity to eat such a pretty, inexperienced little cunt. Your reactions to everything are so strong and loud. Your pussy is loud too, squelching in the room, making an intoxicating melody with your moans. He moans against you, swallowing down everything your messy little pussy drools out for him.

“Th-That feels so good, König!” you sob, kicking your feet mindlessly against his back as he captures your clit in his mouth, suckling at the bud, “You’re so good, so good, oh god!”

Never in a million years did you think being eaten out could feel this good. The mindlessly, halfhearted licks and kisses you had received in the past did nothing to prepare you for what it felt like to really have a man’s tongue on you. 

He pulls away suddenly, giving you a moment to actually breathe, “You taste so sweet, liebling.”

“König…” you whimper, looking up at him with lidded eyes, “Please, please don’t stop.”

You tug at his hair and attempt to pull his mouth back down on your pussy. You don’t care how pathetic and desperate it is, he has given you a taste of pleasure you’d never experienced before.

He has the audacity to laugh at you, brushing your hands away so he can sit up straight again. He scoots closer and you realize then that he is not planning to continue and it practically draws a sob out of you. 

“We can focus on that another time, liebling,” he promises, making you clench around nothing, more slick dribbling out for him to see, “You are so messy, you know that? Never had someone make such a mess all over me before. You must really enjoy being eaten out, huh?”

You feel your face burn hot with shame at his words, shyly hiding your face away. He smiles softly at that, “Nothing to be ashamed of, liebling…I love it, I do.”

“Really?” you quiver out the question and he nods his head.

“Yes, little one,” he coos, “I’m glad that I can make it feel good for you.”

You practically feel hearts in your eyes as he says that. You don’t think you’ve ever had a man tell you that he actually cared and enjoyed your pleasure. That was the final nail in the coffin for you – you really should have been going after older men all this time.

He disrupts your thoughts by suddenly stripping his shirt off. Your mouth goes completely dry at the sight of his bared skin – firm muscle, hair speckled all over his torso, and numerous scars from untold stories of his time in the military. You take note of the faded tattoos that become visible on his pecs and biceps; you’d always noticed the tattoos on his arms but you’d never really been given the opportunity to look. 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper.

He pauses while ridding himself of his jeans and smiles, “Thank you, little one.”

When he’s completely bare to you, you slowly rake your eyes down the entirety of his newly exposed body. His cock hangs heavy under its own weight, glimmering at the tip with his precum. You’d never been with a guy who was uncut but the sight made you drool. 

“Now, liebling,” he says suddenly, getting your attention. He scoots closer, spreading your legs as wide as he can before laying the hefty weight of his cock against your cunt. It’s hot and throbbing and your entire body trembles at the sight, “You have to understand something.”

“What..?” you ask, breathless and unable to look away from his cock. 

“I am not like those little boys you were running around with,” he explains, hips slowly beginning to rut against you, length parting your folds and rubbing over your clit, drawing a sweet little moan from you, “I don’t stick my cock in a tight little cunt and blow my load, do you know what I’m saying?”

You shake your head, too lost in the sight and feeling of him practically fucking the outside of your pussy. He doesn’t stop the mind-numbing rolls of his hips, letting you get lost in the feeling of him stroking over your clit, saturating him in your cum. 

“That means,” he sighs, reaching up to grip your throat, forcing you to look at him as he leaned over your body, sandwiching his cock between the two of you, “I don’t cum easily, liebling. I am a grown man, I will fuck you until you cannot cum anymore. Are you prepared for that?”

The fact this man was so confident in his abilities in bed has you clenching around nothing again. You were sure the guys you almost slept with would never have been able to have the pure confidence that came from König. He knew what he was doing – he knew how to make you cum and he was going to use that experience well. You knew his age played a factor in how long it would take him to cum and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

“I want it so bad, König,” you beg softly, “Please?”

“Very good,” he praised, “You’re so good for me.”

He finally gripped the base of his cock and you watched excitedly as he pressed the tip against your entrance. You reached down and wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them back for him so he could comfortably begin pressing into you.

The stretch is beyond anything you’d ever felt before. You knew his cock was big but watching the bulbous tip press against you and slowly spread you wide open was something else entirely. It burned in a way that had you wincing, furrowed brows making your face pinch up, making König pause. 

“It’s okay, little one,” he whispers, bringing a big thumb up to roll over your hard little clit, “Just relax for me, don’t clench up or it will hurt more.”

“I-It’s so big, König!” you wail helplessly, tearily staring up at him as he methodically works you open on his cock.

“I know,” he assures, still stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb, “But you can take it.”

You tearfully nod your head and do your best to relax your body, letting yourself sink into the couch. 

“Good, liebling, very good,” he coos, “Just let me in, nice and slow. Doesn’t it feel nice? The little burn of being stretched open but the pleasure of having this pretty little clit played with? Just lay back and enjoy it, little one.”

He’s right, of course. The burn aches, yes, but the pain and pleasure mixes the more he rubs your clit. You clench around him, an involuntary reaction that causes the head of his cock to finally pop in. Your eyes widen as you watch your cunt swallow it and with a perfectly timed tap against your clit, your back arches and you’re cumming.

“O-Oh König!” you squeal, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum around the head of his cock and nothing else.

“Oh, that’s good,” he grins, “That’s perfect, little one.”

As you come down with a tremble in your thighs, you finally fix your gaze on him once again.His eyes are lidded and pupils are blown so wide you can’t even tell they’re blue anymore. 

“That looked like a good one,” he comments almost flippantly before he rolls his hips forward, “Now you’re nice and ready for me.”

You choke on a gasp as he rolls his hips forward, fitting half of his cock inside your still spasming cunt. Your cum coats him in a slick sheen that aides in allowing him to pull back and slide back in, settling on fucking you on half his cock.

Your mouth falls open and you watch as a thick, milky ring forms around that fat middle part of his shaft, “M-More, König! Please!”

He knows you want all of him, want to know what it’s like to feel all of him stuffed deep inside you. But he knows you’re not quite ready for that yet, fucked out of your head from the intense orgasm he had just given you with ease.

“Not yet, liebling,” he coos, keeping his pace slow and steady, “Let’s work you open a little bit more, yeah?”

“No,” you whine, “Please, I want it all, König.”

“Aww, I know you do, little one,” he pants, already feeling dizzy from spearing you on his cock, “But I know what’s good for you, just listen to me and be good, okay?”

“Okay…” you pitifully whimper, sinking back into the couch. 

You abandon your hold on your legs, letting them rest around his hips limply now. He continues moving like that, inching deeper and deeper into you with every thrust. Your cunt makes embarrassingly loud squishing noises the move he works his hips against you. 

Before you know it, you’re watching with wide eyes and an open mouth as his pelvis presses against yours. Your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl in pure pleasure as you finally experience the entirety of everything König has to offer. 

You’re speared wide open and the head knocks against your cervix painfully but the little bit of pain only makes the pleasure that much sweeter. 

“There we go, little one,” he coos sweetly, “I’m so proud of you, took all of my cock so well.”

He’s so big that he presses against every sweet little spot inside you without even trying. But, oh, his experience is crystal clear in the way he moves. He may be naturally gifted with a nice, fat cock but he knew how to use it.

Seamless, rhythmic thrusts had your brain going fuzzy before you even knew what was happening. You wouldn’t have been able to be quiet even if you wanted to. You knew you would be absolutely horrified to face your neighbors later because it would be impossible for them to not know you got fucked real good. 

Suddenly, König leaned over you, resting one forearm above your head to hold his weight off of you. The position caused his pelvis against your clit every time he sunk balls deep. Sticky strings of your cum stuck to his skin but he didn’t seem to even notice how wet you were.

But, oh, he did. He was absolutely obsessed with the way you creamed and gushed around him. A nice, pliant little pussy that was more than eager to swallow every inch of his cock.

The change in position had you grappling onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you wailed into his shoulder. Every mind-numbing snap of his hips hit that gooey, tender spot inside you that had your entire body twitching from the pleasurable stimulation. Your nails bit into his back and he briefly thought about the prospect of his recruits seeing them. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” he whispered in your ear, pressing a sweet kiss underneath your ear.

You nod your head, “Y-Yes! You’re gonna make me c-cum again, König!”

He chuckles under his breath, “I know I am, little one. I’m going to make you squirt.”

“C-Can’t,” you heave, twitchy legs kicking against his back.

“Yes, you can,” he assures, leaning away to sit up once again, “I can make you squirt, trust me.”

The whine you emit pitches into a squeal when he presses his palm against your lower stomach. You reached down in a panic to grab his wrist, not used to the strange feeling of him pressing down while he fucks you. 

“W-Wait!” you wail.

“Wait for what?” he asks, but doesn’t slow even a bit in his movements.

“F-Feels weird!” you gasp, hiccuping as you squeeze his wrist. 

“I know,” he grunts, brows furrowing at the feeling of you clenching around him, “It’s supposed to. Just lay back and let it happen, liebling. I’ve got you.”

Your whole body trembles and your jaw drops as you meet his gaze, a look of wonder crossing your face as you feel an orgasm like you’ve never felt before crash over your body. It’s long, drawn out and almost painful from how good it feels. You squeeze tight around him, your clit twitching and pulsing, completely untouched as he makes you squirt. It splashes against his abdomen and drips down his thighs. 

“There we go,” he laughs, a sound that sends a flush of embarrassment to your face, “See? I told you you could do it.”

“König…” you slur, feeling as if you’ve been fucked completely braindead.

It finally dawned on you that you would never, ever be fucked by anyone as good as König has fucked you. The first cock you’ve ever been stuffed full of and he made you squirt with terrifying ease. You were completely ruined, no dick would ever be able to compare to his. 

He sees the way your gaze turns completely enamored, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. He grins, sharp canines poking out as he leans down again, kissing your temple.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, “Dick so good it’s got you in love?”

You keen at the pure condescension that drips from his voice. But he’s not wrong, you can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him.

You have no idea how long you’ve been pinned beneath him, speared open on his cock while he fucks you absolutely stupid. You notice the change in him quite suddenly. His deep, concentrated thrust changed into something less calculated, messy almost. He loses his rhythm and falters in his pace.

“I’m going to cum, liebling,” he grunts, tone pitchy and gruff, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside!” you immediately cry, not missing a beat. He sees your eyes light up at the prospect of being filled up completely by his cum. You’re so sure it’s going to be a lot, you want to feel it drip out of you as a reminder that he had claimed you.

“Is it safe?” he huffs, but you can feel his cock twitch inside you at the idea of cumming inside you.

You desperately nod your head and he allows himself to fall over that edge. He teeters on his knees before collapsing with his hands on either side of your head. He no longer tries to thrust, settling for desperate, deep grinds that stirs his cock within your walls. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, another orgasm washing over you before you even realize you’re that close.

“Oh, fuck,” König gasps, voice breaking as your orgasm sends him over the edge.

You’re panting and whimpering, trembling as you feel the heat of his load filling you up. His cock twitches with every spurt of cum. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in a long time, his balls throbbing with every pump of cum his cock spits out. 

It oozes from around the tight seal you have around him, dripping onto the couch. He’s trembling by the time the intense orgasm comes to an end. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them, to see you sleepily staring up at him with a dazed smile on your lips.

“Mein Gott…” he huffs out, lowering his body to press his lips against yours sweetly, “That was incredible, liebling.”

You beam under his praise and wrap your arms around his neck, “It was, wasn’t it?”

He chuckles and strokes his thumb against your cheek, “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

The care he gives you afterwards is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. He wipes your body down gently, careful not to rub your skin too hard. He stands with you in the shower, towering over you as he lathers your exhausted body with soap. 

“Can we do that again sometime?” You ask softly when he crawls into bed beside you – which you were shocked about, but didn’t complain.

He raises a brow and chuckles, “Yes, liebling. But not right now, I could not go another round so soon.”

You giggle and snuggle into his broad chest, practically preening when he wraps you up snug against him. You sigh softly and speak up again, “Can we…still go on that date..?”

He’s quiet for a moment before you feel a kiss on the top of your head, “Of course, liebling. I would love to.”

You smile to yourself and close your eyes, content to fall asleep wrapped up in his arms. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is another soft kiss against your head. You realize, sleepily, that you’ve never felt more cared for by a man in your life.

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

A comfortable silence ruled during breakfast, only being interrupted by the faded voice of the news reporter on the TV across the living room. Aegon was by your side, staring at his phone and enjoying his first morning after a night of sleep; he had changed his work shift after the ‘Ceryse accident’, being too embarrassed to share the same space with her after what happened. 

He still hasn't been able to adapt his body to the new sleeping schedule, and probably that was the reason behind the dark circles around his eyes. You were about to ask him about how he was doing and if he had managed to sleep at least a few hours, but a cell phone started to ring causing all the attention to go towards Baela, who quickly stood up and excused herself before picking up. Four pairs of curious eyes followed her down the hallway until she was out of sight.

“It's been a week,” Aegon suddenly murmured in your direction, picking some of his cereal with the spoon and filling his mouth with it. “If she's gonna live here with us you gotta tell me. I need to be prepared.” 

“She's not gonna live with us.” As you spoke, you involuntarily rolled your eyes at his comment. “She'll kick Garett out of her apartment, she told me she will leave on Monday.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Jace suddenly interrupted. 

“She's telling me when her friend will finally leave,” Aegon replied before you could do it. 

“She will leave?” the brunette asked with a saddened tone in his voice, almost sounding disappointed.

“Well, do you expect her to live with us? Fuck no,” The man on your side answered again, and you sighed, tiredly. 

“She's gonna break up with her boyfriend — thank god, and then she'll return to her apartment,” you explained in simple words, not wanting to give extra information. 

“What do you mean by ‘thank god’?” Jace’s deep brown eyes were curiously staring at you. 

“Let's just say I'm happy it's over,” you shrugged. “After everything he'd done…” 

“What had he done?” He questioned again.

“I don't think I should be the one talking about that, Jace,” you cut him off before he made any more questions. “You can talk to her, you know? Ask her what she’s been up to lately… maybe indulge in a conversation like normal people do. Ever since she arrived you've barely spoken to her, what's up with that?” 

“Believe me, I tried,” he sighed, defeated. “But she looks at me and I forget every single word,” he shyly confessed. 

“What’s your thing with her anyway?” Aemond interrupted, finally being part of the conversation after minutes of pure silence.

“He lost his virginity with her,” Aegon suddenly replied before Jace, who gave him a shocked look. 

Your mouth dropped, “You knew?”

“Of course, I knew,” he shrugged. “He asked me for advice.”

“Aegon!” Jace scolded him. “That was between us, it was a secret!”

“Well, not anymore.”

“Gods, how did you manage to do that?” Aemond’s shock was reflected on his face as he turned to see his nephew, whose cheeks were covered with a pink tone. 

“I don’t know…” Jace’s forehead soon was pressed against the table as he groaned, pitying himself. 

“If you did it once then you can do it again!” you said in a failed attempt to give him support. 

“I’m an idiot,” he mumbled.

“On that much, we agree, dear nephew,” Aemond added. 

Aegon scoffed. “Who are you to talk? Ever since Alys dumped you, you haven't even gone partying anymore. You used to be a slut, now you're like a grumpy, old man who suffers from erectile dysfunction or something like that.” 

“Shut up,” his brother muttered, annoyed. “I've been busy. I have a job, you know? A grown man’s job.” 

“Being Rhaenyra’s secretary,” he reminded him, mockingly. “Does she make you wear a tube skirt and glasses while you prepare her coffee?” he teased him. 

“At least she thought I was good enough to give me a job,” he snapped back. One single glance at your side made you realize that it was a hard punch for him; Aegon's jaw tensed. 

“Alright,” you stepped in, giving an awkward look at Jace, who just cleared his throat. “This got out of hand very quickly…” 

The silence that now fell in the room was not quite as comfortable as it was before. Aemond had returned his attention to his breakfast oatmeal, while Aegon started to tap his fingers around the half-empty bowl of cereal. Jace was already used to these little fights between them, and he had warned you about them - telling you that Aemond would usually be the one who says the last word. You felt a tightness in your chest when you noticed how Aegon was bouncing his leg, anxiously. 

A few seconds later, Baela returned to the dining room with a mischievous smile drawn on her face. You were grateful because now the awkwardness that had arrived in the room quickly faded away once her presence was acknowledged by everyone. 

“We've been invited to a costume party!” Baela announced, excitedly. You tried to match her emotion but failed. “We have to go. It'll be fun! You'll finally get a break from all those papers you're forced to read…” 

“When is it?” you asked. 

“Today, at 10 pm.” 

“Today?! Are you kidding? Where are we supposed to find costumes?” 

“Babe, it's 11 am on a Saturday, we can go around downtown and find something to rent,” she proposed, sitting back in the chair at the head of the table. “Come on! The guys can come too if they want!”

“Yes-”

“-No” 

Jace and Aegon shared a bad look after they spoke at the same time. Almost involuntarily, you turned to glance at the eldest while his nephew seemed to be sending daggers in his direction; he didn't care. 

“Why don't you want to go?” you asked. 

“Because I don't want to,” he simply responded. “Besides, my shift now ends at 9 pm, which means I'd have like an hour to change and do all that crap. Also, I don't have a costume, so fuck it.” 

“It's free booze, Aegon,” Jace added, in a desperate attempt to make him say yes. “You love free alcohol!” 

“No way,” he said as he shook his head. “I won't go.” 

“I will go,” Aemond entered the conversation once again. 

“Wow. You're finally taking off that stick on your ass, huh?” Aegon jested. 

“Don’t be a bummer, Aegon,” his brother quickly replied, rolling his eye. 

Aegon scoffed, “I can’t believe you’re the one saying that to me…”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t want to go,” you pointed out, interrupting the discussion before it got worse. 

“Yeah, and for a good reason.”

“Which is…?”

“I hate costumes.”

“Well, if Aegon doesn’t want to go, then he can stay here,” Baela interrupted while rolling her eyes, a bit annoyed. “Don’t force him.”

“Finally something coherent came out of your mouth. Thank you, Bella!” Aegon said. 

“Oh, gods, shut up,” she mumbled. 

You sighed defeated as everyone returned their attention to their food, because –for some reason– you wanted him there with you. You wanted to spend a moment with him again, like the one you had in your room just a few days ago. It was probably nothing, or maybe the desperate need to know more of him. However, after the three months you've been living with him, you came to realize that he was extremely stubborn, and it was nearly impossible to convince him to do something he didn't want to do. You just let it go. 

Another time will come, you said to yourself. 

As they started to finish their breakfast, everyone stood up from the table and went to their rooms to start planning their last-minute costumes for the party. You, instead, decided to stay there a bit longer, being Aegon's company as he was finishing his second portion of cereal. 

“You can go if you want, it's my turn to wash the dishes anyway,” he spoke with his mouth full. You softly chuckled to see how strangely cute he looked like that. 

“Nah, it’s fine,” you shrugged. “I have nothing to do and I guess there's gonna be a long waiting list for the shower, so…” There was a small pause before you spoke again. “Are you okay?” 

He frowned at you, “what?” 

“It's just- I saw how you reacted when Aemond said that thing about your sister,” you shrugged. “I just want to make sure you're okay after that. It was a bit mean.” 

“Fuck him, I don't care what he says. I learned to not listen to that stupid shit,” he mumbles. 

“But why-” 

“What are you going to wear?” he suddenly asked, interrupting you. You pressed your lips in a thin line, knowing that he asked the question so he would have a way out from the prior conversation - you didn't push it any further. 

“I don't know. Guess I'll have to see the options. Any recommendations?”

He stopped for a second, pretending to be thinking. “Maybe Barney, it fits with your sex appeal.”

Before you allowed yourself to laugh at his teasing, your hand fell on his arm, playfully smacking his pale skin. He chuckled, jokingly complaining about it. You rolled your eyes. 

“I was joking,” he said while trying to hide his smile. “I was actually thinking about Baby Bop because-”

“Alright, bye.” You stood up, picking your dirty dishes and taking them to the sink. “Remember to wash the dishes.” You reminded him, hiding the smile on your face from him. 

“I will, Baby Bop,” he joked again.

“Shut up!”

Part of you felt slightly ridiculous with the costume you were wearing. Dorothy's dress was the only one that was available in your size, and in such a hurry you didn't have time to keep lurking in other places for a better option. It was done, and while Baela looked absolutely gorgeous in her Catwoman bodysuit, you were there, looking at yourself in the mirror and feeling embarrassed. 

While everyone was waiting for you - ready to go, you took one last glance at your sparkling, red shoes before taking a deep breath and walking out of your bedroom. Your steps were slow and doubtful - too self-conscious to feel confident in your outfit. 

Once you arrived in the next room, you saw Jace dressed like a prince with a golden, plastic crown lying on top of his curls. What you didn't expect was to see Aegon there. Wearing a costume too.

It was a big surprise to see him sitting on the couch dressed as the scarecrow from Wizard of Oz - you couldn't help but smile at the coincidence; both of you involuntarily wearing matching outfits. His eyes, however, lacked any happiness - looking as if someone had forced him to wear such ridiculous clothing; bored and pissed. Seeing him like that made you feel less self-conscious about your own clothes. You were relieved. 

Aegon's eyes fell upon your frame, and you felt something inside your gut that brought a subtle heat to your cheeks. You were playing nervously with the hem of your dress as he unconsciously smiled at you. For whatever reason, that gesture made your knees weak. 

“Oh my! How cute you look!” Baela interrupted the moment, approaching you with quick steps. When she reached your side, she grabbed your hand and forced you to twirl around, showing off your costume and making you giggle nervously. “And look at that- what a coincidence! you're matching with Aegon..” Her tone was easily recognizable; playful and humorous. 

“It's the only one they had in the store for less than fifty golden dragons,” Aegon muttered. He stood up from the couch, walking closer to you. 

He stared at you, up and down. There was nothing on his face that could show you what he was thinking at the moment - it was almost a blank stare. You thought he was about to make a quick remark mocking your choice of clothes, but instead, he just nodded and in a soft, but shy, tone he said: “You look really pretty.” 

A smile was drawn on your lips. “Thank you,” you mumbled. 

“A Baby Bop costume would've fit better, but I guess Dorothy is also a good option.” You laughed at his words, and he laughed too.

“So you're going, huh? Who convinced you?”

“Let’s just say that Jacaerys really wants me there,” he breathed out, using that same unbothered tone as always. “He's desperate to have your friend back.” 

“He definitely is,” you nodded in agreement. “Well, it'll be nice to have your company tonight.”

The moment was interrupted once Aemond joined the group. He was wearing his eyepatch, a loose, white shirt and some tight, leather pants. The strong smell of his cologne invaded the place, his hair was as shiny as usual and he was smearing some kind of cream all over his hands. “Are we ready to go?” He asked. 

“What are you supposed to be?” Jace stepped in.

Aemond looked down at his outfit. “I’m a pirate” he said, as if it was blatantly obvious.

“It’s not a costume if you use it every day, Aemond,” Aegon mocked him. “It’s just clothes.”

“Shut up,” his younger brother grunted. “At least I don't look like a pile of straw.” 

“Oh Gods!” You interrupted, exasperated with the two of them.  “You two are literally kids. Just shut up and let’s get going.”

The room fell into silence while you went to pick up your car keys and your bag. A single gesture from you and they started to walk in a line out of the loft. Once everyone was out, you made sure everything was locked.

“I ask for the passenger seat,” Aegon said behind your back.

“Fuck off, that’s my seat,” Baela argued. 

It was going to be one hell of a night. 

Aegon complained the whole way there - he had lost in a match of rock, paper scissors against Baela which led him to be seated in the backseat between Aemond and Jace. Baela's mockery did not help to calm him down. 

Once you arrived, you parked in the street and immediately saw the enormous house; it was overly packed. Whoever invited Baela to the party must have a pocket filled with cash - it was a modern house, surrounded by huge windows that had you wondering where was the privacy of that house, and how could anyone be able to afford such a mansion in today's economy? 

The group walked up the stairs towards the big entrance, already smelling the weed and cigarette smoke that invaded the whole place. The front yard was a mess - the green grass was covered with red plastic cups and empty beer bottles. Aegon groaned by your side as he noticed this thing, and when he realized that the situation inside the house didn't get better he cursed under his breath. 

“I'm gonna go and find something to drink,” Baela announced. 

“Let me go with you,” Jace said, loudly enough so she would hear. 

Baela smiled, grabbed his hand and took him with her until they were out of your sight. 

“I think I'm gonna go to the backyard,” Aemond said, looking slightly disgusted. “There's too many sweaty people here.” 

Before either of you could stop him, he left you both right in the middle of the party. You turned around, looking at Aegon with a smile, but he only frowned - you could tell by the look of his eyes that he was judging everything and everyone, already regretting the past decisions that led him to that awful place. 

“I can't believe Jace convinced me to come to this shit hole,” he grunted. “I could've stayed at home.” 

“We're already here. Try to enjoy it!” 

“It’s hard to enjoy this when they’re playing music as shitty as this! And what is that smell? What kind of weed do these people smoke?”

“Just try to have a good time!” You cheered him up, but his face remained serious. “Come on! This is fun!”

You tried to change his mind by dancing around, occasionally grabbing his hands to force him to dance with you, yet he remained stiff as wood - his frown grew even more pronounced. He scanned the room around him, ignoring your desperate attempts to change his mind. Suddenly you noticed how he leaned closer to you, raising his voice so you would hear him through the loud music.

“Do you even know these people?” 

His question made you stop and sigh in defeat. Gods, he was impossible. 

“Look, Aegon,” you said loudly. “If you want to leave, then that’s fine. But you’ll have to call and pay for an Uber because I drove us here and I won’t drive you back to the apartment now.” 

“I didn’t even want to be-”

“Just do as you please, Aeg. I’ll go and find the guys.” Those last words reflected your disappointment, and Aegon noticed it.

He saw how you turned around and walked away; he called your name before you disappeared, but you were too far to hear him calling for you. Aegon cursed himself for upsetting you, brushing his hands against his face and accidentally poking his soft cheeks with the fake straw on his sleeves. That goddamned costume made him feel ridiculous, and even when there were other ones available —contrary to what he'd said earlier— he stupidly chose the one that was the least comfortable. Having you by his side would actually make him feel less of a clown due to the matching costumes, but now that you had left him alone he felt slightly embarrassed of himself. 

Knowing that he was on his own in a sea of unknown people, Aegon decided to approach the bar, asking for a shot of tequila and drinking it before the barman arrived with the lemons and the salt - his throat burned with the liquor and he hissed. He would start looking around, unconsciously searching for your face in the crowd, trying to keep himself busy so he wouldn't feel the anxiety growing in his chest. 

Unable to stay in the same place for too much time, he began to wander around the house, still looking for you. Maybe if he hadn't been such a pain in the ass you would've stayed by his side - but he was well known for always fucking things up. 

Walking around the party, occasionally being pushed by the people who were too busy dancing to even care, he found the food tables; he ate a few things there, a few chips and some unsalted peanuts that he swallowed with disgust. As he went to search for something more tasteful to eat, he suddenly saw you talking to a tall, bulky guy who was making you giggle as if you were a teenager. Aegon stood there for a while, observing your behaviour and reading your expressions; you were flirting - looking up at him through your lashes, licking your lips and playing with the glass between your hands. Since when you were that good at talking to guys? 

Aegon was proud. Last time he saw your poor attempt to flirt, Aemond's wheels got stolen and you said that these things weren't your style - yet there you are, more confident than ever and ready to put yourself out there again. He was happy for you, but after a while of giving glances in your direction, he started to feel some odd feeling installed in his gut; it was as if he didn't want to see any more of that, yet he felt the need to do it regardless - and it only became worse once the guy grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. 

He took a deep breath, and soon his legs started to guide him away from you. 

When he came across Jacaerys and Baela, they were standing in a corner talking about something he didn't really care about. Some part of him, however, found some relief when he finally saw two known faces amidst the enormous crowd of people that was already starting to overwhelm him. He tried to walk closer to them, but as soon as Jace saw him he gave him a sign so he would walk away. Aegon looked - and was - offended by this gesture; then why the fuck he wanted him there? He asked himself, getting pissed and angry at everything at this point, longing to be in the comforts of his bed. 

Eventually, his legs led him towards an empty spot on a coach, and he sat there - bored and desperately wanting to escape. If he'd had ten golden dragons, he would've called an Uber the minute you left him alone in this jungle, but his pockets were empty, and he was too lazy to even think about walking back home. So, he stayed there, with his head leaning back against the couch and staring at a white spot in the tall ceilings. 

He didn't know how much time passed before you returned by his side.

“Aeg, have you seen Baela?” Hearing your voice was enough to interrupt his blank thoughts. He lifted his face and saw you standing there; your lipstick was ruined and smeared all over your mouth - he clenched his jaw. It was obvious that you had a quite steamy make-out session with that random guy from before. “I only found Aemond talking to a girl, but he didn't know where she was.”

“She was with Jace the last time I saw her,” he replied before awkwardly pointing at your face. “Uh….your lipstick is…”

Your eyes widened with embarrassment while a heat ran to your cheeks. A shy smile appeared on your face as you looked away from him - your fingertips went to the corner of your lips, trying to fix the mess even though it was a bit hard to know if it was working when you didn't have a mirror with you. 

“I met a guy,” you told him, slightly excited. 

“I could tell,” he nodded. There was a small silence before he continued. “I thought you weren't into that.” 

“Into what?” 

“One night stands.” 

You chuckled, nervously. “Aegon, I'm just having some fun-”

“That's fine,” he cut you off, getting up from the couch and standing right in front of you. “Just remember to use a condom.” 

“Oh, no, Aeg. I won't-” 

“I don't care,” he stopped you again - not wanting to hear more about the topic. But then, he stopped for a second, looking down at your lips a bit longer than he should have, and you suddenly felt exposed to him. He licked his lips before he pressed them in a thin line, and he mumbled, “You made a bigger mess there, you dumbass.” 

Unexpectedly, he raised his hands and placed them at each side of your face, holding you still. You felt how your heart skipped a beat when his calloused hands touched your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your lips parted as he leaned forward and started to boldly touch the corners of your mouth with his fingertips, wiping any trace of lipstick that was out of place. You found yourself unable to look away from his furrowed eyebrows as he was too concentrated on what he was doing. You blinked a few times, taken aback by his gesture - so odd and weird coming from him.

The darkness of the room was briefly interrupted by colourful circles that danced around the room - for that same reason he leaned even closer to have a better look, and for a second - a brief moment - you thought he would kiss you. Inevitably, you thought about what Baela had said to you and, perhaps, you believed it. 

What. the. fuck.

That small interaction lasted just a few seconds. Just that. Yet, his touch lingered in your skin even when he'd taken a step away from you. Aegon looked unaffected by everything - as if he hadn't just provoked an earthquake inside your mind; the look on his face was the usual one: uninterested and bored. Then, with his raspy voice, he muttered: “Shit, I gotta take a piss.” And he just left you there. 

You watched him leave as you remained standing still, bewildered by what had just happened and questioning what was all about. Did he feel the same weird thing you felt? Did he even know the effect he had on you? Why would you even react that way in the first place? Aegon was just your friend, and you were certain that he saw you —barely— as a friend too; especially after he just walked away as if nothing happened at all. But of course, you didn't see the panic on his face as he cursed himself over and over again - asking why the hell would he do such a foolish thing. He suddenly felt overwhelmed, still feeling the softness of your skin itching in his fingertips and desperately wanting to get rid of it - he would scratch them against the fake straw of his costume, but it would not disappear. Aegon was overthinking - punishing himself for doing a stupid thing like that. 

What was he even thinking? He would do that kind of thing with the girls he wanted to fuck, not with you. 

The bathroom, of course, was a very obvious excuse to run away from that mortifying moment that would probably haunt him forever, but he now felt the urge to wash his face and slap his cheek to properly function again. What a fucking idiot, he thought of himself.

People were queuing for the bathroom. Three guys were standing before him as he leaned against the wall, softly hitting his forehead with it. He felt the need to drink another shot of tequila to cope, and suddenly the idea of walking back home did not sound too far-fetched. It was rather tempting, actually. 

When the line moved forward, Aegon finally looked in front of him. A familiar guy was standing before him, tall and bulky, speaking on the phone with someone. He was smiling - laughing even, and Aegon couldn't figure out where he'd seen him before. Noisy as always, he paid attention to the conversation - maybe that would make him forget all about the awkward situation from before. 

“... It's been a bit boring, honestly,” Aegon heard, sneakily looking at him. “I would've rather stayed at home with you, but you know how insistent Marcus is.” 

Aegon narrowed his lilac eyes, paying more attention to his features… and that's when it snapped. His mouth dropped open, and he immediately looked away; this was the bastard that ruined your lipstick, and he got a fucking girlfriend. 

“Yeah, I miss you too, baby. I'll be home soon, okay?... Love you too. Bye.”

The guy hung up the phone and as he removed it from his ear, Aegon was able to see his lock screen; two people kissing - confirming that he, in fact, was not available at all. The worst thing about it all is that you didn't know anything about it. 

Usually, Aegon would ignore something like this, playing dumb and just letting it go. But this time it was different, for he felt the urge to run to your side and tell you - he knew he had to. It was as if some protective side of him had come out to the light, and all because of you. Aegon cared about you, but instead of admitting such an embarrassing thing, he excused it by saying to himself that he was doing it just so you would go back home and take him with you; so he left the line and went back to find you once again. 

The people seemed to have multiplied themselves in those five minutes that he spent queuing for the bathroom, and it was even more impossible now to find you there. He pushed people around trying to get to you, but you were nowhere to be found. Luckily for him, he found Baela and Jace again, now they were next to the bar and looking a bit tipsy; Baela was getting handsy, but Aegon had no shame in interrupting their moment.

“Have you guys seen y/n?” He asked once he reached their side. He could hear Jace grunting on the low - he didn't care. 

“I thought she was with you,” Baela replied. 

“No, she was with some random guy making out, and-” 

“Then why are you looking for her?” She asked, arching one of her eyebrows, suspiciously staring at him. 

“Because the guy has a fucking girlfriend,” Aegon explained. “I heard him talking on the phone when I was in the line for the bathroom. She needs to know.”

“Wait,” Jace said, suddenly interrupting the conversation. “You walked through the crowd only to look for her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Only to tell her that the guy she's making out with is dating someone?” 

Aegon scoffed. “That's exactly what I just said,” he replied, annoyed. “Aren't you even listening?”

“Are you feeling well?” Jace asked as he attempted to touch his forehead. Aegon slapped his hand. 

“Don't fucking touch me,” he grunted. 

“We haven't seen her since we arrived,” Baela said, “Aemond is also missing, we have no idea where he is.” 

“Fuck,” Aegon sighed. “Thank you for nothing.” 

He turned around to keep on his search, but Baela stopped him. 

“Aegon!” She yelled his name, and he looked at her over his shoulder. “We're gonna look for her as well, let us know if you find her first.” 

He nodded, drifting away from them and following a group of people that was going towards the backyard. Standing right next to the exit, he quickly scanned the scenery, looking at the floor and trying to find your sparkling, red shoes without success. He was starting to lose his patience. 

That's when Aemond suddenly appeared by his side, placing his arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer to him. Aegon tried to push him away, but only then did he notice that his little brother was drunk. Well, well, what a surprise, he thought - he would have enjoyed this if it wasn't for his eagerness to find you. 

“My big brother,” Aemond said, dragging his words. “There you are…” 

“Have you seen y/n?” He asked him, even when he knew he wasn't going to give him a proper answer. He had to try. 

“Oh, I won't tell,” the youngest said while giggling. “We have a deal, we made a pact- you can't fuck her.”

Aegon pushed him away, this time successfully. He tried so hard to ignore the heat on his cheeks. What was wrong with him? 

“I won't- I won't fuck her, you stupid ass,” he mumbled. “I'm trying to find her and I don't know where she-”

“Aegon, I'm sorry,” he suddenly interrupted, his tone quickly changing to melancholic. “Sometimes I'm a bit bitter with you, but that doesn't mean I don't love you, you know?” 

“What the-” 

“At the end of the day it's just us,” he sighed, shrugging. “Helaena and Daeron have always been a group apart from us, but we? We are always gonna have each other, am I right?”

“What fuck were you drinking?” 

“Sometimes I wish you were my boss instead of Nyra…” Aegon's demeanour immediately changed with those words, tensing his body and clenching his jaw. “But you know… that grandpa shit happened and-” 

“Aegon!” 

Baela's voice stopped Aemond from continuing with his ranting, and Aegon's attention immediately went towards her. She was inside the house, waving her hand at him - asking him to come closer. He grabbed his brother's arm and took him with him towards the inside, and once he reached Baela's side, he saw you there; kissing that guy in a corner, his hands grabbing your waist as your arms were around his shoulders. Aegon felt an inexplicable rage running through his veins - which gave him the courage to do the next thing. 

“Hey!” he yelled, a bit too loud - calling the attention of everyone around. “Hey, stay away from her!” 

You heard his voice on top of the music and immediately pulled away from the kiss. He was getting closer to you and you widened your eyes in surprise. He didn't think twice before he pulled your wrist towards him until you were standing by his side. 

“Aegon? What- what are you doing?” you asked, visibly confused. 

“He's lying to you,” he told you without overthinking it. “He's lying!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Hey, man,” the guy stepped in, angry. “Why don't you mind your fucking business and get the hell out?” he snapped at Aegon. 

He barely listened to him, not paying attention to his tone or his words. He was looking at you - his puppy eyes begging you to hear what he had to say. 

“Aeg, what's going on?” you asked again, your voice loud so he could hear you over the music. 

“He has a girlfriend,” he quickly said, looking right into your eyes. “I heard him talking to her.” 

The realization hit you like a truck, and suddenly you felt ashamed of yourself - even when it wasn't even your fault. The guilt started to eat you alive as you looked down at your shoes, avoiding any eye contact from Aegon. “Oh, gods…” you mumbled, covering your face with your hands. 

Something came over Aegon when he saw you like that, feeling the urge to hug you - yet, he stayed there, without moving at all. 

“Oh, come on, babe!” The guy said, getting closer to you and giving a bad look to Aegon. “Don't listen to him.” 

Your shame quickly became rage when he uttered that pet name; who the fuck did he think he was? You turned to look at him, anger clearly displayed on your face. 

“Don't call me that,” you spat at him and pushed him away when he tried to reach for your waist. “And stay away from me, you asshole!” 

The music suddenly stopped, and every single person had their eyes on the argument - noisy people trying to hear and see inside the small circle that had formed around you. The tall man looked offended as if you had punched his ego when you rejected him. He scoffed and took a step closer to you. 

“Oh, so now you're talking like that, huh?” he mockingly said. “Funny how a second ago you were almost acting like a-” 

“Like what?” Aegon grunted, clenching his fist as he stepped between you and him. He was taller than Aegon, yet he didn't show himself intimidated by it. “Go on… say it,” he dared him. 

The guy tsked his tongue, smirking maliciously - as if he knew he would cause trouble if he dared to utter those words. Still, with all the people staring at him expectantly, he decided to open his mouth. 

“Like a slut.”

You heard how your friend scoffed at your side. Then, you heard the people around you gasping and squealing when they saw how Aegon threw a perfect punch right in the middle of his face. He lost his balance, covering his nose with his hand as he looked absolutely shocked - he certainly didn't expect that. The blood didn't take much time to start to come out, and his Michael Myers costume was soon stained with crimson drops. 

“Fucking shit!” Aegon exclaimed, feeling the pain burning in his knuckles. 

The guy - whose name you didn't remember at this point, stood straight in his spot, still stumbling around as he threw himself in Aegon's direction; he managed to get out of the way before his fist could hit him, yet a scream and soft stump was heard on your back. Once you turned around, you saw Jace lying on the floor with his nose bleeding and Baela covering her mouth. 

“Ah, fuck…” Aegon groaned. “Nyra’s gonna kill me.” 

Aemond groaned as he laid his head on your shoulder, the alcohol had slowly been fading away from his body, and he was already feeling the symptoms of a painful hungover as you all were waiting in the ER for Jace. 

“Stop whining,” Aegon complained, pressing a cold can of Pepsi on his hand to relieve the swelling. “You drank two bottles of beer, how could you get that drunk?” 

“Every single word that comes from your mouth feels like a needle being buried in my brain,” he groaned.

“Alright,” Baela interrupted the conversation. “Let's go, Aemond.” 

“Where?” 

“I'm gonna buy you a Gatorade or something like that, you need to be hydrated,” she explained. “Come on.” 

Aemond groaned when he was forced to stand up, slowly moving until he was on his feet again. Baela patted his back a few times before they started to walk away - and when they turned around the corner, it was only you and Aegon there. He was absentmindedly staring at the soda can pressing against his hand while you glanced at him and involuntarily smiled. 

What he did that night was one of the sweetest things someone has ever done for you - something that not even Jason did during all the time you were dating. Aegon didn't even doubt for a second before punching that guy after he insulted you, and for some reason, that would draw a silly smile on your face. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you interrupted the silence, shyly speaking to him. 

He lifted his head, looking at you. “Why?” 

“You had my back, Aegon. What you did was- If it wasn't for you I would've probably ended up in bed with that guy,” you confessed. 

Aegon felt something being twisted in his stomach. 

“Well, it was the right thing to do, right?” 

You nod, “it is, yes…” 

“Are you okay?” he asked after a few seconds of silence. 

“Yeah, I am,” you assured him. “He was some random guy, I don't even remember his name at this point.”

“I know, but- you know… he's a cheater and I thought this situation would remind you to- uh…” 

“Jason?” you finished the sentence for him, and he nodded. “Well, it kinda did - but I'm fine, Jason happened like ages ago. Though I can't help but think about his girlfriend, she doesn't deserve something like that.” 

“Yeah…” 

“Have you ever… been cheated on?” you dared to ask. 

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I don't think I've ever been in a serious relationship before.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don't believe you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you're not ugly, and you have a personality that girls in college would fawn over.”

“Oh, shut up,” he mumbled, slightly flustered. 

“I mean it!” 

“Well, besides a few flings, weird situationships and a few friends with benefits, I've never been in a relationship. It's just not my style.”

The door that separated the waiting room from the ER opened, and a young doctor appeared. He was tall, brown-haired and had visible dark circles around his grey, tired eyes, yet he still looked handsome. You looked at him at the same time he laid his eyes on you, and you felt butterflies in your belly, already knowing you developed a small crush on him. Not again, you thought.

“Family of Jacaerys Strong?” He said, getting closer to you and Aegon, being the only ones there. 

“Come on,” you urged Aegon to get up. 

“Why do I have to go?” 

“Because you're his uncle, now stand up!” 

He reluctantly got on his feet, standing behind you until the doctor reached your side. 

“Are you Jacaerys' family?” He asked, sneakily glancing at you. 

“Uh, yes… he's his uncle,” you replied, pointing at Aegon. 

“And you?” 

“Me? Oh, I'm- I'm his sister,” you said, trying to sound convincing but failing miserably. 

The intern - whose name tag read Cregan Stark - looked up and down at you, not believing your words at all. However, he just smiled and played along with your little white lie. 

“Alright, so…” he opened the file that was between his hands and sighed. “Jacaerys had a small concussion, we took a CT scan and everything else seems to be in order. His nose is not broken, but it's bruised and swollen, so we gave him some soft painkillers to relieve the pain.” 

“When can we take him home?” you asked. 

“In a few hours, just until the medication makes its effect and we are sure there are no further complications,” he explained. Then, he glanced at Aegon's hand, frowning. “Do you want me to take a look at that?” 

“Nah, it's fine,” he answered. “I don't want to be charged like five thousand golden dragons just to know that my hand is swollen.”

“Alright,” Doctor Stark replied, unfazed by Aegon's rudeness. 

“I'm sorry,” you apologized on his behalf - he rolled his eyes. “We had a long night.” 

“It's okay,” he assured you, smiling at you. Damn, he was cute. “If there are not any more questions then I shall leave you for now.” 

“Of course, thank you,” you said. 

He replied with a small gesture before returning to where he came from, crossing the doors and disappearing from your eyesight. You sighed, thinking he was so dreamy. 

“What an idiot,” you heard Aegon murmur before he sat back on the chair, interrupting your thoughts.

“He was nice.” 

“Of course you thought that. He was flirting with you!” His tone almost sounded offended. 

“No, he wasn't!” 

“What happened?” Baela suddenly appears back at your side. Aemond was right next to her, drinking from his bottle of cool blue Gatorade and looking better than when he left. 

“Jace's doctor was flirting with her,” Aegon quickly replied.  

“He wasn't flirting with me!” 

“Of course he was!” 

“And why do you look so mad about it?” Baela teased him. “Are you jealous or something?” 

Aegon frowned, stopping for a second before snapping at her. “Shut up, Bella, this is not your business.”

“Stop screaming, we're in a hospital,” Aemond muttered, scolding all of you as he sat back down. “Why can you all behave like adults?” 

Everyone sat down in silence after that, minding their own business as the minutes passed boringly slowly. Your head was lying on Baela's shoulder as she watched the news report from the TV hanging on one of the walls. Aemond was half asleep in his seat while Aegon would walk from one side to another, unable to remain in the same place for more than five minutes. The waiting was strenuous, especially when it was almost 3 am and everyone was too tired to keep their eyes open. 

But then, after waiting for almost two hours, Jacaerys opened the door - being followed by the handsome intern that made you sigh. Baela's mouth dropped.

“Oh, gods, is that the flirty doctor?” Baela asked, impressed. 

“He's not that handsome,” Aegon grunted in a low voice. 

“Yes, he is,” she replied with a smirk. 

Jacaerys waved his hands in the air as a greeting, slightly sleeping for the medication. His nose was covered with a big, white patch, and there were two dark, violet stains under his eyes. He hissed when he smiled at Baela. 

“Gods, you look awful,” Aegon chuckled. 

“This is your fault, Aegon!” he replied a bit loudly. 

“Alright, you need to remain calm and not strain yourself, a punch on the nose is a serious thing, so you'll have to rest once you get home,” The doctor indicated. “Here is the medical care to follow, and in case you bleed or have chronic pain you need to come back to the hospital immediately.” 

“Will do, my man,” Jace replied, patting the doctor's back before he went towards Baela. 

“Come here, Prince Jacaerys, we'll take you home now,” Your best friend told him, holding him firmly while walking towards the exit. Aegon and Aemond followed them too.

“Thank you for saving my friend's life…” you playfully said. “Doctor Stark,” you uttered his name as you read the tag hanging from his scrubs.

“I thought he was your brother,” he answered back with a charming smile. 

“Oh… busted,” you admitted before chuckling. “Well, I guess I got to go now, so thank you once again, and-” 

“Is the scarecrow your boyfriend?” he asked out of the blue, taking you by surprise. 

“Uh- no. No, he's a friend,” you nervously replied. 

“Good.”

“Good?” 

“So he won't be mad if I give you my number?” 

Oh gods. 

“No,” you shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Great,” he murmured as he took a pencil from his pocket and some Post-it notes he had with him. “So I'm going to secretly write my number on this little piece of paper, and you'll have to pretend is the name of a medicine so I don't get fired by my super strict supervisor for doing this.” 

He finished writing on it and folded it in half before giving it to you. 

“Breaking the rules, huh?” you teased him. 

“Only for a pretty girl like you.” 

“That's cheesy.” 

“But did it work?” 

You tried to suppress your smile. “It might have.” 

“I have to go back now,” he announced. “But I'll be waiting for your call.” 

He smiled at you - saying goodbye, and you waved your hand at him before you turned around and walked towards your friends, who were waiting for you right outside of the waiting room. Baela was smiling - she watched all from behind the door glass, proud of you. A different gesture than the one Aegon had on his face, almost looking annoyed by it. 

“Are you gonna call him?” Baela asked you once you joined them in the walk towards the parking lot. 

“I don't know…” 

“I honestly didn't like him very much,” Aegon commented. Baela lifted one of his eyebrows at him. 

“You didn't even speak to him,” you said between chuckles, not taking him seriously. 

He shrugged, “still.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile on your face as you continued to walk with Baela - Aegon staying a few meters behind, standing in the middle of the hallway with his heart beating faster. That smile you gave him before you left remained printed on his mind, and once he got to hear you laugh in the distance, his eyes widened with the realization.

His sudden rage, the feeling in his gut when he saw you kissing that guy at the party, the urge to look for you all the time, how offended he felt when that intern was flirting with you -  it all had one reason behind. 

“Oh, shit,” he mumbled as chills ran down his body. 

He had a crush on you.

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“I’m fine,” your boyfriend calls from the hallway,

You raise your brows. Lando sighs and kicks the door open all the way. Oscar is standing behind him, leaning against the wall. His hair is fluffy and disheveled. His hands are tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie. There are dark circles under his eyes. You wince.

“Thanks, babe,” Oscar says in response to the look on your face.

“Mate, you haven’t slept in two days, of course you look like shit,” Lando teases.

“You don’t look like shit,” you say, and Oscar forces a smile. “You just look exhausted.”

He was supposed to sleep on the flight back from Brazil to England. You’d stayed awake on the plane, unable to get your brain to shut off. Between the crazy schedule of the triple header, the changes in time zones, and his overall stress, Oscar had the same problem. Then, when the two of you got to his apartment, it had been impossible for him to sleep. His internal clock is all fucked up.

“I am exhausted,” he admits, rubbing at his eyes blearily. “Dunno how you do this all the time.”

He walks into your office, eyes darting around to all the corners. There are plants on the windowsill, a photo of you and Oscar in Tokyo pinned up on the corkboard. He smiles as he sits down in the chair across from your desk. Then he reaches and grabs the unopened Red Bull off your desk.

“Osc,” you scold, as Lando makes a noise of horror. “That’s the last thing you need right now.”

“I feel like a zombie,” he says.

“Right, and zombies can’t drive, so,” Lando says, pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

Oscar’s keys. You know Lando’s right when he hands them to you over Oscar’s head, and Oscar tries to grab them, but he’s about ten seconds behind. It’s like his brain is buffering with an insane amount of lag. Your heart aches for him.

“Okay,” you say, closing the laptop. “I think Lando’s right. I think we should get you home.”

“I’m fine,” he says, again.

He goes to say something else but gets caught up in a yawn. You reach out and take the Red Bull from his hand. He sighs. You turn to Lando.

“I’ve got him,” you tell his teammate.

“Thanks,” Lando says, and then he disappears into the hallway.

You lead Oscar out of the office shortly after that. He asks to make a stop in the break room for coffee, and you refuse. At work, the two of you are pretty hands off with each other, trying to keep things professional. But this time you grab his wrist lightly and lead him out to the parking lot. You decide to take your car and leave his here- there’s no way you trust yourself driving his car.

Oscar is quiet on the way to his apartment. He sits in the passenger seat- an odd occurrence for him. He takes your free hand in his and knits your fingers together. You brush your thumb over his skin soothingly. Normally he’d be mentioning things on the road, or pestering you about your driving, but he doesn’t. You’re a bit worried, really.

You don’t push him on it until you’re in the elevator up to his place. “You’re quiet. You okay?”

He frowns. “I’m just… this is what you feel like. Constantly.”

You sigh, your shoulders dropping. He squeezes your hand. You nudge your shoulder against his.

“Not always,” you remind him. “I slept really well for a couple weeks there. And Friday night.”

“I was really hoping that sound machine would work,” he says with a huff.

“I know,” you murmur.

The elevator doors open for his floor, and he follows you to his flat and into the entryway. If you didn’t already know, you’d be able to tell how tired he is from the way he leaves his things haphazardly in the hallway. He kicks off his shoes in front of the door, drops his backpack on the floor next to them, and tosses his jacket further down the hall. When you turn and give him a look, eyebrows raised, he covers a yawn with his hand.

“You should eat dinner,” you suggest. You reach to brush your thumb against his flushed cheek. “Why don’t you hop in the shower and I’ll start making us something.”

Oscar sighs, takes a couple unsteady steps towards you. He holds his arms out as he leans, trusting you to catch him. You do, your accompanying laugh muffled into his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and lets out a long groan.

“Or we could just go to bed,” he says, voice scratchy.

“No, you need dinner,” you insist. “And a shower.”

“What, do I stink?”

“No comment.”

Oscar laughs and pulls away. He holds you at arm’s length. “Okay. Shower, dinner, bed?”

You nod.

“What are the chances tonight?” He asks.

You sigh and shrug. “Maybe a 7?”

“Not bad,” he says. “We can work with 7.”

He’d started asking you that question shortly after you first made it official. What are the chances you can fall asleep tonight? Higher numbers are better. A one means an all nighter, likely too wound up to even sit in bed with him. A 5 means you might doze on and off, likely after he’s already fallen asleep. A ten is laying down and passing out when your head hits the pillow. None of the nights so far have been a ten.

He wanders off to go take a shower, and you head to the kitchen to raid the cupboards. You still have your own apartment, but when Oscar’s here, you stay with him pretty often. You go to the races, but often fly out on different days than him due to promo events, so the two of you take your time together when you can get it.

Luckily, he’s had groceries delivered, so there’s plenty for you to work with. You cook some pasta and heat up some garlic bread, knowing if you get him to eat anything it’ll have to be quick. Plus, warm and comforting will be good, too. You hear the shower shut off just as you’re draining the pasta. You have it all plated by the time he makes it out to the kitchen, wearing a loose pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.

He walks over and steps up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face to your shoulder blade, letting out a deep sigh. You laugh and reach behind you, running your fingers through his damp hair. He makes a soft, satisfied little noise.

“Food, then sleep,” you promise.

He nods and pulls away, taking the plates to the table with him. The two of you eat quietly, his foot bumping against yours. He sits with his cheek resting on his fist, slouched over the table.

“Thanks for dinner,” he mumbles. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

You laugh and nudge him lightly with your elbow. “I know.”

After dinner, he convinces you to leave the dishes for tomorrow. He takes you by the hand and drags you to the bathroom, where you brush your teeth together. You do your skincare routines together, and then he drags you to bed. You change into pajamas while he lays down, already burying himself beneath the covers.

You fall into your normal routine. You sit down with a book and a little reading lamp, turning off the overhead lights and the lamp next to the bed. You lean against the headboard while he lays down, his head on the pillow, one arm wrapped around your thigh. You run your fingers through his hair absentmindedly as you read, waiting for him to fall asleep, waiting for yourself to feel drowsy.

Neither of those things happen.

You look down after two chapters. Usually Oscar’s fast asleep by now. His eyes are closed, but he keeps shifting, and his fingers are drawing patterns on the bare skin of your thigh. You brush your thumb against his cheek, and he groans.

“Can’t sleep,” he says, opening his eyes and looking up at you.

You pout down at him. “D’you want me to turn the light off? I can go in the living room if you think that’d help.”

“No, the last thing I need is for you to not be here,” he says. “Just can’t get my brain to slow down.”

You hum, frowning deeper. You pinch his cheek lightly, then smooth your thumb over the spot. He crawls closer, nudging his head against your hip and letting out a deep sigh. Then he unwinds his arms from around your leg and stretches.

“It’s no use” he says, rubbing his face harshly. “I’ve developed insomnia by osmosis.”

You laugh, rubbing his back lightly. His cheek is squished against your leg, one eye closed. The other one is staring at you. You run your fingers through the hair on the back of his head and sigh.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, babe,” you say. “Come on, there’s gotta be something that’ll help. Let’s run through all the remedies, yeah?”

You drag him back out to the kitchen and start with chamomile tea. You turn on some calming music in the background, like a lullaby but for a grown man. He drinks the tea on the couch, and you sit next to him, running your fingers through his hair. It’s the best way you know to calm him. His eyelids don’t seem to grow heavy, though, so after a while you move on to the next one- warm milk and honey.

“If it’s all drinks I’m just gonna have to pee,” he says grumpily.

He’s leaning on your shoulder in the kitchen, like he can’t hold himself up. You know the feeling- your body gets heavy and tired but your mind doesn’t. So you hold onto him and will the milk to work. Of course, it doesn’t, and then you’re back to square one.

You find some lavender essential oils, buried in the bottom of your work bag. One of the reasons you hesitate to admit you have insomnia, to even call it that, is because of things like this. Everyone tries to offer you their foolproof home remedy, like you haven’t already tried all of them. But Oscar doesn’t have full fledged, capital I Insomnia, he’s just got a messed up sleep schedule, so maybe it’ll help. You tug the neck of his shirt down to rub it on his chest, and then you add some to his wrists too.

“Smells nice,” he says, softly. He blinks. “There’s lavender in your shampoo, isn’t there? Smells familiar.”

You blink right back at him. “Yeah. There is.”

It shouldn't be surprising that he recognizes the smell of your shampoo, but somehow it is. It’s endearing, sweet to think about.

The lavender doesn’t seem to help, so you move on. He’s already tried a warm shower, so that’s checked off the list, and he’s eaten warm food too. You pull him back to the bedroom and direct him back onto the bed. He lays on his stomach, which is what you were going to have him do anyways, but you make a little noise and tell him to sit up. You sit down on the bed next to him and shove at his hoodie.

“How about a massage?” You suggest.

It doesn’t take him long to take his shirt off after that suggestion. Oscar has Kim to help him stretch and loosen up during the race weekends, so you’ve never really suggested this. You wonder why you haven’t as he lays down and sighs happily. His toned back is spread out on the bed in front of you, the tan line painting a stark difference on his skin. You want to trace the outline of every muscle, but you refrain, even as he puts his hands above his head and you watch the way his arms flex. You grab some lotion, throw your leg over his hip so you’re straddling his upper thighs, and get to work.

You’re happy to have the chance to drag your hands along every inch of his skin, and it does seem to be working. That is, if the soft sighs and groans he’s letting out mean anything, or the way he begins to melt into the bed. You rub his shoulders and see the tension drain from his upper body. You press your hands into his lower spine and feel his muscles soften underneath your hands. His breaths even out and slow down.

You lean over and press a kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “s’it working?”

He sighs, and when he speaks his voice is low and raspy. “It’s not not working, but…”

You frown. “But?”

He pulls one hand down from over his head and reaches for your hand. He tilts his hips up and brings your hand down to press against his bulge, and you gasp. He’s hard, probably almost uncomfortably so. You cup him in your hand and listen to the strained sigh he lets out.

“I was trying not to,” he says, “because I was actually starting to get sleepy. But your hands feel so nice, and I could feel you moving, and-“ you interrupt him with a soft squeeze of your hand, and he groans loudly. “Fuck, baby.”

“I can help with that, you know,” you say, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’d be happy to. Thrilled, even. Who knows, maybe it’ll help you sleep.”

He muffles his laugh into the pillow underneath his head. When you tug at his sweatpants and slip your hand past the waistband, he groans out a “Please?”

He rolls over under you when you tell him to. You settle yourself back on his upper thighs, letting your eyes roam over his exposed chest. His eyes are half lidded- from drowsiness or arousal, you’re not sure. You run your hands up his sides smoothly. He lets out a whine.

“Please,” he sighs again.

“What do you want, baby?” You ask, pressing your thumbs into the jut of his hips.

He sighs and snuggles down into the bed. He’s laying on top of the fluffy down comforter, and he seems to sink into it. He blinks up at you and props his arm behind his head.

“I want you to be wearing less clothes,” he says, voice heavy with exhaustion. “And then I want you to ride me.”

Heat rolls down your spine. There’s something about sleepy Oscar that makes him loose lipped and eager to tell you exactly what it is he wants. You grin down at him as you fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt.

“Please,” he says again. His brows furrow into a tiny v, and his face looks strained.

You start to tug his shorts down. He sighs happily, props the other arm behind his head, too. He’s already leaking precum when he finally slips free of the confines of his clothing. You reach out, run a light fingertip up the hard line of him. He shudders underneath your touch. You lean down to press a kiss to the tip, and he yelps.

“M’not gonna last,” he says, voice already raw. “Just want you.”

It doesn’t take long, then, for you to do as he asked- lose your clothes and get on top of him. He reaches down when you straddle his waist and slips his hand between your legs, groaning when he feels how wet you are. Normally, he’d insist on giving you at least one orgasm before he even thought about getting to this point, but you know he’s exhausted and you’re aching for him already. You take his cock in your hand and guide it to your center, and his breath catches in his chest when you start to sink down on him.

You know almost immediately he’s right- he won’t last. You can feel him twitch as he bottoms out, and you watch the way his abs clench beneath you. You let out a soft moan at the feeling. His eyes are screwed shut, mouth dropped open. You could stay right here and stare at him for ages.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, already panting. “So good.”

When you start to move your hips, he starts to fall apart. His hands fall to hold onto your waist, thumbs pressing into your rib cage. You draw moans and groans out of him,echo them back to him, and practically drool at the way he arches his back and neck and rolls his head against the pillow. Everything feels so intense, like it’s all turned up a notch. You think he’s feeling it too. It’s the lack of sleep, you think, absently. You should pull all nighters together more often. You’ll tell him later.

Right now, you lean over to kiss him. His tongue is in your mouth almost immediately, messy and uncoordinated but hot nonetheless. You have your hands planted on either side of his head, and he starts to meet your hips with thrusts of his own. His hand slips between your legs again, thumb pressing at your clit, and you know you’re a goner. From the way he’s squirming underneath you, he is too.

You fall apart on top of him, your orgasm washing over you in sweet, warm waves, and you collapse into his chest when you feel him follow closely behind you, his hips bucking up against yours. He wraps his arms around you and holds you close. You rest your head on his heaving chest and breathe him in.

Minutes later, when you try to pull away, he wraps his arms tighter and groans. You laugh.

“Osc, I can’t stay here forever, I’m not that flexible,” you mumble. “And we should get cleaned up.”

He lets go, albeit reluctantly. When you pull away and off of him, he lets out a soft whine. You head to the bathroom, clean yourself up quickly and head back to the bedroom with a washcloth.

He’s laid out on the bed, eyes closed. “M’not asleep yet,” he mumbles. “But almost.”

You’re gentle when you clean him up, even more gentle when you tug the blankets out from under him so you can tuck both of you in. You decide clothes can be forgotten about, and you press yourself against his side. He sighs happily, wraps his arm around you, and promptly falls asleep. For once, in a strange turn of events, you follow behind him without much of a delay.

You wake up the next day in the early afternoon. You’re thankful today is a day off, meant to be a break from the insane schedule you’ve held for the last three weeks. Oscar’s off too, so even though you’re awake, you snuggle closer to him and close your eyes while you wait for him to wake up. You drift in and out of sleep, drowsy half dreams dancing behind your eyelids. It’s the kind of sleep you normally hate, but after sleeping for nearly eleven hours the night before, it’s alright.

Finally, you feel Oscar start to stir, and you know he’s fully woken up when his hand slides down your bare side, his palm landing on your hip. He sighs happily and squeezes at your skin.

“We should sleep like this more often,” he says cheekily, voice still rough with sleep.

You laugh, turning your head to look at him. His eyes are still closed. “You wanted to fall asleep inside me last night,” you say teasingly. “This seemed mild in comparison.”

“Yeah, we should revisit that sometime,” he says, pinching your hip just to hear you let out a squeak. Then he rolls towards you and wraps you up in his arms. “Good morning, love.”

“Afternoon, actually,” you mutter against his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, we needed it,” he says. “Did you sleep?”

You nod. “Passed out right after you, woke up just a little while ago.”

“Wow,” he says, in that signature tone of his. “Impressive.”

The two of you crawl out of bed eventually, heading for the shower together. He’d suggested it once in a hotel room to save time, insisting that you could both stay in bed longer if you consolidated and showered together. You’d nearly been late, but it’s become a habit since. He helps you rinse the conditioner from your hair, and you do the same for him. When you get out and wrap yourselves up in towels, he presses his nose to your hair and breathes in.

“No wonder I sleep so well when you’re here,” he says. “You’re a walking sleep remedy.”

“The lavender didn’t work on you,” you remind him.

He shrugs, dragging a towel through his wet hair. “Maybe it’s just you, then.”

You spend what’s left of the day with him, having a late lunch and then heading off for a walk in a nearby park. It’s chilly, but not unbearably so, and he holds your hand the whole way. As the sun begins to set, you head home, have a light dinner, and settle in to watch a movie. Before it’s even a quarter of the way done, Oscar starts to yawn. By the halfway point, he’s nodding off, his head on your shoulder.

You pause it. “Osc, babe, time for bed, yeah?”

He nods sleepily and curls further into you. You’re amazed by it, honestly. You don’t understand how he can be this tired already. You drag him off the couch and to the bathroom, where you both brush your teeth. Then he takes your hand and pulls you to the bed.

You know before you even lay down that you won’t be able to sleep. But you humor him anyways, because you know he falls asleep easier when you’re there. You curl up in bed with him, careful not to tangle yourself up in his limbs too much. It’ll make it easier to slip away when he falls asleep. He closes his eyes, and you run your hands through his hair and watch him fall asleep.

This is the kind of nice thing about having insomnia- you get a free pass on watching your boyfriend sleep. There’s something so endearing about it- the way any of his stress melts from his face, the soft rise and fall of his chest. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and you pull the blankets back just a little, sensing he must be warm. His hair is getting long, and it’s begun to fall in his face, so you smooth it off his forehead.

You do try to go to sleep, laying there with your eyes closed, counting sheep. But it doesn’t work, and you get antsy, your whole body buzzing with energy. So you slip out of bed as quietly as you can, leaving him behind with a soft kiss to his forehead. It almost makes you feel guilty, even though you know he understands.

You close the bedroom door and head for the living room. You put the tv on, leaving the volume low. You have specific shows that you watch when you can’t sleep. It’s not that they help, but more so that you’re watching other shows with Oscar, and you don’t want to watch without him.

You half watch the tv and half scroll on your phone. You have to be careful when you’re up this late with nothing to do- social media sucks you in, and it can be a dark spiral. You and Oscar aren’t public, in the sense that the public hasn’t figured out who you are. But they have seen pictures of Oscar with a mystery girl, and they don’t seem to like you very much. You avoid twitter at all costs.

Eventually, you get bored with your phone and reach for your book. You turn on the little lamp on the side table and start to read. Around 1am, the words begin to blur on the page. You close your eyes for just a moment, wondering if you might be able to fall asleep, telling yourself if you start to feel drowsy you’ll go back to bed. But as soon as your eyes are closed, your thoughts begin to race. You sigh and head for the kitchen.

In Oscar’s fridge, there’s a supply of tangerine Red Bulls. You’re pretty sure he got them for free, because they have Max and Checo’s faces all over them, but you’re not going to complain about it. You reach for a can and spin it in your hands, looking for the permanent marker.

Oscar understands the whole energy drink thing a bit more now, but he still worries. He’s taken to leaving you notes on the cans, because he knows you’re often reaching for them in the dead of night, when he’s asleep and unable to help quiet your mind. This one says: U SO PRETTY <3 in messy scrawl. You think Lando’s been helping him come up with them. Or Logan. You’re not sure. You smile, snap a quick picture of it, and head back to the couch. Then you settle back in for more reading.

At 2:13 am, you hear a noise from the hallway. Oscar appears in the doorway to the living room a few moments later, rubbing at his eye socket with his knuckles. His hair is in a state of complete disarray, one of the ankles of his sweatpants hiked up much farther on his calf than the other. He covers a yawn with his other hand.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” you say, softly. “It’s the middle of the night, what’re you doing up?”

He shrugs as he stumbles his way to the couch. “Woke up. Reached for you. Went, huh, not here. Came to find you.”

You laugh at his stilted sentences, and the sleep still coating his voice. He grimaces when he spots the can of Red Bull, but doesn’t say a word. Instead, he collapses onto the couch, and in the process, onto you. He lays his head on your chest and wraps his arms around you, sighing happily.

“Better,” he says. “Can I stay for a little bit?”

You laugh and kiss the top of his head. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“Mm. How ‘bout forever?” He mumbles. Before you can reply, he speaks up again. “Will you read to me?”

“Yeah,” you answer, unable to wipe the silly grin off your face. “We can go to bed if you want. Just didn’t want to wake you up.”

He shakes his head and burrows closer. “S’okay. M’comfy here. And this way you have the TV.”

So you pull a blanket off the back of the couch, lay it over him, and wrap one arm around him. You try not to think too hard about the way he meets you halfway without you ever having to ask. You open the book with one hand and trace patterns on his back with the other. You read out loud, listening to the little laughs he lets out at the dialogue.

He falls asleep before you’re through a single chapter. When you realize he’s dozed off, you lay the book on his back and listen to the soft sounds of his breathing, feel the weight of him against you and the soft puffs of air that slip over his lips. You trace the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw. You close your eyes, knowing that between the insomnia and the caffeine, you probably won’t fall asleep. But for once, your mind doesn’t begin to race. You just bask in the warmth of him, and the comfort of knowing that even in the dead of night, you’re not alone.

a/n: thanks for reading! I missed tangerine!oscar tbh

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

𝔦.

𝔦𝔦.

𝔦𝔦𝔦.

𝔦𝔳.

𝔳.

𝔳𝔦.

𝔳𝔦𝔦.

The backseat is full of blankets that Sunfyre has easily taken over with a quick leep from the back where his dog bed is along with his food bowl and water bowl but you knew that Aegon was already going to feed him whatever you two picked up in the five hour drive. Along with Sunfyre and the blankets is a cooler, it’s small and painted red, inside it holds a pack and a half of hard seltzers for both you and Aegon when you two get to the Targaryen summer home. A bottle of rum is also within it but you two have promised not to touch it until you got there as it was your only bottle of actual alcohol for the month. Something that you two had started with in three months of dating and a tip from the fifth AA meeting that you both went to before you both got involved. 

Its a vacation that neither of you wanted but one that you two have no choice in as Aemond had threatened Aegon over text and Alicent had made sure to call you every day over the past week, asking for speciality items the two of you may want or wondering if she should perhaps visit, just to help you pack. You had kept the peace and politely turned her down, instead you asked if she was alright and how everything was going and if she had finally gotten some kitchen staff to come to the summer home to help. She hadn’t. 

She had been quite certain that you were the only one packing, it wasn’t entirely true but not exactly wrong either. More so it was you having to fold everything when Aegon just tossed his clothes into his suitcase. 

A sigh comes from beside you and the hand that you hold in your own squeezes with a strength that most wouldn’t think that the plump frat boy that was Aegon would possess. It doesn’t matter as you squeeze back. Both of you have reserves for this trip; neither one of you wants to go. Both for the same reasons but also your own. 

It wasn’t an option though, that was abundantly clear to everyone who attended. Aegon’s father only made it mandatory so that they could all be together for once, so that they actually looked like a family and not a clumped together mess of lies, vices, insults and piercing glares that started physical fights. The only way out was if someone had a life threatening cause that made them stay away or if you were Daeron, you had already been invited somewhere else. The boy had used that excuse since he started high school, always having a reason to be away and you couldn’t blame him. 

Two hard seltzers were already opened, they both rested in the cup holders with you both separating hands every once in a while to take a sip, then your hand conjoined once more with ferocity that only came from the clingness that was adopted by anxiety and dread. 

Aegon sighed again but you kept staring out of the window. Cars flew past, those in them ranged from color to gender to what they were doing. Some had white skin, others bronze; some were women and some were men and most of them were on their phones or talking to another that was in their car. You wondered what people would think if they looked into Aegon’s car, they would probably see two people who were both frowning with one gripping the wheel so tight that the sound of the leather against flesh was audible and the other looking out the window with sad looking expressions, watching as the cars passed. 

It was probably a horrid sight, they most likely thought you two to be displeased with each other, two people going through a rough breakup but forced into a space so small that it was bound to be suffocating. It wasn’t the truth and you both knew it so that was truly all that mattered, it was the upcoming couple of months that was weighing on the both of you like bags of bricks that was close to breaking your backs each time this reunion was set. 

Aegon sighed again and you breathed deeply, trying to push off the questions until later when the roads weren’t filled with cars all too close to experience the type of anger that can come from the both of you. But it all seemed inevitable when he sighed once more, again. 

You didn’t even move your head off of the window when you asked him: “If you want to say something just say it.”

“I want to say absolutely nothing,” he replied quickly and you rolled your eyes and looked at him. A small quirk of a smile was on his face and you fought to keep one off of yours. 

“Oh?” His smile widens more and you lean your head back onto the seat, staring at him as he stares out into the road. “So you're just suddenly having breathing problems?”

He nods. “Which is a good reason to go back home,” he says, eyeing an exit that leads to the opposite direction of your intended location. 

You laugh and shake your head at him as he starts to move toward the exit. “Aegon, we’re literally thirty minutes away from the house. Plus your mom would want to visit us if we told her that was the reason,” you state and he sighs. 

Shaking his head, Aegon flashes you a small pout that only grows bigger when he faces away from you again. “You have to spoil my plans?” He whines childishly. 

You only shrug. “Make up a better plan,” you say and he only scoffs. 

Silence takes over the car once more but with an atmosphere that shrouds that tension that had once been there. Small smiles stay on both of your lips and only leave when you both sing along to a song that plays on the radio. 

The tension returns when Aegon turns onto the exit and the car approaches the small grove which leads to the house. In any other circumstances, you would have been delighted to visit the God’s Eye, the Riverlands provided beautiful spaces of untouched land surrounding it and it was a popular place for tourists and people on vacation. Houses close to it were expensive and those who held as much wealth as the Targaryens did could secure one. 

“How much do you want to bet that mom is going to ambush you with marriage questions an hour after we show up?” He suddenly asks as soon as he turns on the gravel road leading to the house. 

You shake your head. “I’m not playing this game.” It always leads to losing at least a hundred and only gaining very little. 

“And why not?” He asks, playing innocent too well for who he was. 

“Because you cheat,” you shoot at him and Aegon only chuckles.

Aegon never lost at this game, even in the last few years that you two had been playing it you’ve never won. Had never even come close to winning. 

Groaning, Aegon gently slaps at your leg in some type of encouragement. “Oh, come on. It’s just a bit of fun,” he says, trying to coax you into his asinine idea of a fun game that only he can win. He knows it too but it’s never stopped him from trying to persuade you. 

“Not for my wallet.”

He shoots you an unimpressed look. “Come on, how much?”

You sigh and pull out your phone, ready to record your bets and the money that you’ll probably lose. “I’ll bet ten she’ll wait until tomorrow during lunch to ask me.” Last time she had asked you not even an hour after you two arrived. “How much do you wanna bet that your dad won’t even remember my name?”

Aegon snorts. “That’s unfair, he never remembers.” He pauses before tapping your phone. “Twenty. I bet thirty that Aemond will only speak to us a total of nine times for the entire two months.”

“That’s too easy,” you say, typing down the bet. “How much do you want to bet how long it’s going to take for Otto to mention class structure?” 

It had happened as soon as he sat down that first night last year, the year before that he mentioned it before you two had even shown up at the house. 

“Forty that he mentions it as soon as he sees you,” he says confidently. 

You think about it for a moment. “Fifty that he’ll do it during dinner,” Aegon nods at your words and you add “and Daemon makes fun of him for it.”

“He didn’t last time,” Aegon points out.

“That was because he was too busy staring down your sister's shirt.”

“So?” Aegon shrugs and then a smirk comes onto his face. “I said something and I was staring down your shirt.”

A chuckle comes from you when Aegon glances at your breasts. “That’s because it’s a natural state for you at this point,” you quip and he only shrugs.

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

You shake your head and move his head so that he’s looking at the road, his headlights starting to reflect meaning that you were close to the gates. “Look at the road before you make us crash into a tree.”

“It would at least get us out of this.”

Like every year, you and Aegon are—surprisingly—the first ones out of the rest of his siblings to show up, pardon for Rhaenyra. It’s only her, Daemon and their three youngest children, the eldest three had opted for driving in a less crowded vehicle but forgot that Jace was now living in the North for college so it was taking longer than normal. Rheana and Baela were still in Driftmark with their grandparents but had said that they would be there in a week or two. 

The meetings have gone smoothly so far, Rhaenrya was kind and welcoming as usual and Daemon had kept his distance but still made his normal quick quips. Alicent had been the one to greet you two, with a big hug and a smile as she led you inside with Sunfyre following you and leaving Aegon behind with the luggage. She had shown you the new additions to the house, mostly in the kitchen which included more counter space, like it wasn’t already a vast block of wood. 

Thankfully, she hadn’t mentioned marriage yet.

Later, you heard the sound of Dreamfyre through the house, then Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes when the boys finally showed up. The only indication that Aemond was here was Vhagar hopping onto your and Aegon’s bed and curling up in a ball right on his pillow. She hissed and scratched at him when he attempted to take her off of his pillow but allowed for you to pull her into your lap, petting languidly at her graying pelt with soft purrs. 

Vhagar hissed when Aegon’s hand went near her and you laughed, continuing to stroke the cat’s fur. “That’s unfair,” he pouts. 

You shake your head at him and look down at the old cat in your arms. She was old but you never knew how old, all Aemond had told you was that she went through two previous owners in his family before ending up with him. And that Rheana was still upset about the fact that Aemond got her mother’s cat. “She would probably like you more if you didn’t kick her all of the time.”

A snort comes from Aegon and he plops down beside you, making Vhagar grumble before settling down again. “In my defense, I was eight,” he said in self-defense. 

“No, you act like you’re eight,” you quip.

A small shriek comes from your lips when Aegon pokes your side. “That’s rude,” he murmurs, his head settling on your shoulder. 

“You love it,” you say and he hums in agreement. 

His pale hair spreads over your shoulder like a waterfall, you remember when it was longer before he cut it and sometimes you found yourself missing it. Your hand starts to play with the ends of his hair and chuckle when some strands tickle you under your chin. His eyes open a few seconds later, never truly able to handle silences for too long unless it was in the morning, with you both still dreary from sleep and finding comfort in each other's arms basking in it like you would die without it. 

Sometimes his hand would travel downward and trace over your stomach, bringing in a certain sadness to your mornings that not even the greatest of warmths could fix. No other warmth than Aegon’s, who ran hot and held you during nights when the sadness from three years ago settled back in like a tidal wave. 

You two could try again, truly you two could. It wouldn’t be difficult considering that you both fucked like rabbits anyways but you couldn’t do it. 

Fear lingered heavily on your shoulders everytime Aegon would bring it up, even as something to get you more worked up during sex or it just slipped out. It always ended there and the ruined orgasm was nothing more than a small hindrance to what you felt. To the fear that clung to you like glue; that hovered over you and would shadow you for the rest of your life. 

It didn’t matter if it wasn’t your fault. 

The anguish followed you everywhere, on every piece of happiness that resembled what you felt when you heard the news. Even with Aegon and him recovering reminded you of your loss, how he was more focused on stopping, wanting to be present, wanting to be there unlike how his father had been. How you both had fallen back into that old routine when it happened, how you both cried all night with a bottle of whiskey in your hands and your arms wrapped around each other.

Those bright blue eyes look up at you, full of stars and adoration. You were sure that if anyone else saw him like this, they would believe that this was Aegon Targaryen, the party clown, the alcoholic, the druggie and man whore. You were sure the same could be said about you. “Yes I do.” He let in for a kiss but then yelped and pulled back with a pained groan. Vhagar growled at him and went to strike him again. “Fucking—Aemond!” He yells and a few seconds later you hear soft steps coming toward your room, Aemond’s was only a few rooms down as he refused to be any closer. “Get your cat before she rips my balls off!”

Aemond glides in with quick strides and scoops Vhagar off of your lap. “That would be an improvement.”

“Hey Aemond,” you greet him and he flashes you a small smile.

“How was the trip?” He asks. “I imagine it was difficult having to deal with two dogs.”

You stifle a laugh behind your hand as you feel Aegon nestling further against your neck, only pulling away for a second to say: “That was actually funny, brother,” with a mocking smile before shoving his face back into the crook of your neck. 

In his arms, Vhagar glares at Aegon and then jumps out of Aemond’s arms and leaves. “Not as taxing as usual, one of them was more behaved than usual.” You giggled when Aegon nipped at you with his teeth before relaxing once more. “How was the trip? I heard about that hurricane in the Stormlands, I was meaning to call but never got the time.”

He only shrugs and leans on the door frame. “It was nowhere near me.”

“What grave news for all of us,” Aegon mumbles, hot breath raising hairs on the back of your neck. 

You swat Aegon’s back and smile at Aemond. “I’ll talk to you later Aemond,” you say, voice sweet and cautious unlike how Aegon is being. 

He nods. “I’ll see you then,” he says and then leaves.  

A loud thud echoes throughout the room when you push Aegon off of you and he accidentally falls to the floor, not expecting to be shoved. “Can you not be civil with him?” You ask, exasperated. “Especially with everything that went down a few months ago.”

Aegon pushes himself off of the floor ad lays down on the bed before shrugging. You turn toward him, seeing him propped up against the pillows, your eyes darting to the exposed skin of his stomach for a second before looking back at him. The only indication that he knows is a small smirk on his lips. “He would despise it if I treated him like you and mom do,” he states simply. 

“Kindly?”

“Like glass.” Aegon shifts and grabs your ankle, and you scoot closer to him on the bed. “It didn’t work on me, it doesn’t work on him.”

You huff. “Well I can’t comfort him the way I comfort you.”

That smirk on Aegon’s face widens and he moves his face closer to yours, hand finding the back of your thigh and throwing it over his legs. You stumble and fall onto his chest before righting yourself up. “I might be needing some of the comfort now,” he breathes, his eyes catching themselves on your breasts. 

“Not going to wait until midnight?” You ask him. 

Aegon groans, his head falling back against the pillows. “We always wait until midnight,” he whines.

You shake your head at him. “There’s a reason for that,” you say pointedly. 

His head emerges from the pillows, a mischievous smile on his face. “Perhaps if my grandfather hears how I fuck you, he will leave you alone,” he says, his hands starting to push up your shirt. 

You push his hands down with difficulty. “Maybe he will say that I am corrupting you,” you counter. 

His eyebrow quirks. “Maybe then I can convince father to send him back to Oldtown for retirement as his memory is deteriorating, rapidly.”

A giggle comes from your lips and you lean down, pecking his lips. You go to pull away and almost fail at such a task when Aegon’s hand threads through your hair, wanting to keep you where you are. “Merry Christmas to me then,” you mumble against his lips. 

“No one in this family has ever resented early presents,” he says, “this would be put into the photo album as the best one yet.”

You laugh and sit up straight. “That would be your favorite present?”

A lewd smile comes onto his face. “Second to that blowjob you gave me last year,” he says, his smile widening at what you presume to be at the memory of you sucking his brain out of his balls.

You poke his chest. “Your turn this year,” you remind him. 

Once more his hands go under your shirt, one going up and the other playing with the top of your pants, waiting to be invited in. “Another early Christmas present,” he hums, his fingers grazing underneath your bra. 

Humming, you bend down and kiss his lips once more. “Sure…at midnight,” you say and jump off of him, laughing at the pout on his face. 

“Tease,” he shoots at you, hatefully but his lips are upturned.

You blow a kiss at him. “Love you too,” you say before leaving the room.

The dinner table is filled with individual whispers. Awkward glances are exchanged every now and then when one thinks that they have spoken too loudly but despite that, everyone keeps to their own. 

Jace, Luke and Joffrey are talking to each other, though it’s mostly only the oldest two and the six years old seems content on listening but not understanding what his older brothers were saying. 

Aemond and Helaena are immersed in their own world of bugs, college and whatever else they liked to converse about. 

Rhaenyra and Daemon are busy with little Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya but Rhaenyra is exchanging small talk with Alicent. 

You and Aegon are talking only to each other, still taking bets and wondering who was going to win the first one. Small quips are made about his family, about what they were doing when they weren’t all together that he somehow knows and what he is sure is going on with his own family. You put little faith into his words but are sure that he’s most likely right about most of it. 

All of you are waiting for Otto and Viserys to show up and pretend to be one big happy family for the rest of the dinners that are on their way. The fabrication of feelings was only made for the older man as he was growing only sicker as the days went on, Alicent had spoken to about it during her monthly calls to check up on the both of you.

You’re sure that she’s only calling to make sure that you’re both sober still and not passed out in an alley somewhere like you two would have been four years ago.

Soon enough the door opens and you can hear the sound of a cane tapping against the ground and a scratchy voice followed by another one that sounded more refined and arrogant. Now came the part that everyone despised the most, now card the need to act like you all loved each other to some degree other than mild tepid disinterest that you all held for each other. 

The sound stops and in the threshold of the dining room stands Viserys Targaryen. His face was wrinkled and pallid; his structure was seeming to be on the verge of becoming bone thin and even with the cane, he still needed the assistance of Otto Hightower to walk. 

A shaky smile was spread over his lips as he looked at the viewage in front of him, finding nothing wrong at all. “Ah, what a joyous sight! All of my family together again,” he says joyfully. 

The dinner went downhill from there. 

Stories were exchanged. Happenings that were not given to others in the family were talked about and only a few jabs here and there were thrown but not enough to elevate the underground tension that lingered underneath everyone’s skins. The wine flowed freely, everyone besides Alicent, Otto and Helaena were already on their fourth or fifth cup of the red liquid. You and Aegon went through it as slowly as you both could, only refilling your glasses when the other was done with theirs; the two of you were only on your second glasses and still regretfully sober. 

You could feel Otto’s eyes on you the entire time, judging and calculating, rounding up whatever he had in his arsenal to eventually fire at you. Alicent was also watching you but was also keeping her eyes on Aegon, watching and perhaps waiting for one of you to slip back into your old habits. 

Otto cleared his throat, tearing you away from Helaena who had been telling you of some drama that was happening at her work. “I wasn’t aware that the rabble was still with us this year,” he says smoothly, taking a sip out of his glass. 

Aegon’s hand nudged yours, twenty five added to your wallet already. Now Daemon just needed to butt in like usual. 

The smile on your face fell and was replaced by a fake one. “Well I’m surprised that you’re here as well Otto, especially eating dinner for the early bird special was only two hours ago,” you say innocently. Chuckles disperse across the table by those who are listening. 

A sardonic smile copied your own. “I don’t have a big enough appetite to eat twice,” he remarked. 

You nodded. “Many don’t when they get older.”

“And how is college?” He asks. “Still studying…English?”

Your eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, you say and nod toward the top of his head. “Your hair looks great tonight, but I would recommend trying to master the comb over.”

A wicked look comes into his eyes. “How is college?” He asks, taking a sip from his cup. 

You shrug. “It’s alright, the classes were different toward the end but I came out on top.”

“Not a common occurrence,” Aegon mutters beside you. 

Alicent gasps. “Aegon!” She chides. 

Aegon only raises his hands up in surrender. “Simply stating a fact mother, you have always told me not to lie,” he says cheekily. 

She only sighs, a changrine look on her normally perfectly molded face as she looks away from her eldest son.

Under the table, Aegon passes you twenty five dollars and you grin in satisfaction. 

It’s a few minutes later when you are halfway through your meal that Alicent turns back toward the both of you. A look is in her eyes that helps to remind you that she is Otto’s daughter. 

With her hands clasped in front of her, she peers at the both of you thoughtfully and you reach into your pocket, ready to hand Aegon his bet money. “Have you two considered…moving along in your relationship?” She asks, sounding hopeful for the news that she has pestered you both about for two years now. 

Aegon shakes his head and plucks the ten out of your fingers from under the table. “No mother, we still aren’t ready yet,” he says calmly. 

A disappointed look is on her face, all of the hope and yearn draining out quickly. “After four years?” She asks, her voice slick with confusion. “I married your father after a year.”

“Months,” Aegon whispers to you.

At the same time you tell her: “We just aren’t ready yet, Mrs. Targaryen. With college and work, life is just too busy at the moment,” you explain, hoping that this will be the last she will bring it up. 

“The AA meetings must take much of your time as well,” Otto says slyly. 

Agitation nips at your heels with barbed teeth, making them bleed and hoping that you will soon see nothing but red. “They do but we only go on Wednesdays and Saturdays,” you explain to him, trying to keep your voice even. 

Otto opens his mouth once more but Jace intervenes with a gliding grace. “I met someone,” he announces and everyone’s attention goes toward him. 

“Really?” Aegon asks in disbelief. 

“Who is it?” You ask, hitting Aegon on the arm. 

“What is she like?” Rhaenyra asks, a bright smile on her face. 

Jace breathes deeply. “His name is Cregan, he’s on the hockey team,” he says and everyone stops in their tracks for a moment. 

“He?” Alicent asks and a quick glance toward the end of the table, you see Otto’s lips curl up in disgust. 

Jace nods. “Yes, he.”

The smile on Rhaenyra’s face is still bright when she asks: “When can we meet him?” 

A smile is on Jace’s face, relief is in it. “He’s in Winterfell right now with his family but he should be free soon.”

Alicent nods. “Well we have more than enough room Jace, it would be nice to meet your…friend,” she says slowly. 

“I had a male friend once,” Aegon pipes up, “the memories still make me—

“Aegon!” Alicent shouts, her eyes darting toward you. 

You sink into your seat as Aegon places his arm on the back of it. “Oh she doesn’t mind, we’ve had our own play dates with our male friends before,” he says and you feel an overcoming heat on your cheeks from both embarrassment and the memory. 

 A groan comes from the chair from the end of the table as Viserys leans forward, looking toward his second son. “Ah Aemond, how is Alys?” He asks. 

The air grows stiff as everyone stills, even Aegon stops in his laughing tracks and stares at his brother. Worry paints his eyes and you're sure that he would be ready to assist his brother should he need it. “I wouldn’t know,” Aemond states, his face an absent canvas of burdening pain. 

Viserys only looks disappointed, seemingly not noticing the breath that the rest of the table holds. “Well that’s unfortunate, she was quite lovely,” he remarks. 

At that, Aegon pushes away from the table and stands before reaching down to grab your hand. “Excuse us,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically choleric. 

Alicent’s eyebrows furrow as Aegon pulls you out of your seat. “Where are you going?” She asks, concern lining her voice. 

Aegon only brushes that concern away and starts to leave, bringing you with him. “Somewhere where I don’t want to pull my brains out of my ears. Come on,” he whispers to you. 

“It was nice seeing you again,” you say to the table before turning toward Helaena. “I’ll talk to you later, Hel.”

Aegon pulls you out of the room and down the hall toward the stairs. His jaw is set tightly, anger toward his father plain in every muscle of his body as you two go up the stairs. 

He pulls open the door into your room and pushes you up against the door once it is closed. “You are one of the rudest men that I know,” you joke. 

A grin comes onto his face but his fury is still evident. “Must not know many men then,” he remarks.

“Aegon—”

He cuts you off by mashing his lips with your own, stopping your words as he releases all of his anger that he possibly can into one kiss. Your arms go around his neck and pull him closer and you two only part if it is entirely necessary. 

Pulling you toward the bed, you pull away from his lips with heavy hesitance. “It’s not midnight yet,” you tell him. 

He only shrugs and pushes you down on the bed before glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s seven, close enough,” he remarks before grabbing your jaw in his hand and kissing you hard.

Sunfyre has made his home in your lap despite being too big to fit. Not that he cares. The golden only tries to snuggle in further whenever you try to push him off of your lap and you know exactly who he learned that from.

The sound of the shower is starting to lull you into a daze and a yawn falls out of your lips, a sudden tiredness starting to cling to your bones. You settle against the pillows and close your eyes, water hitting porcelain, the weight on your lap along with the slight nip in the air combined with the heat the Sunfyre is giving you; a light sleep comes to you easily. 

It’s the sound of the door to the bathroom hitting the wall that makes you jolt awake and Sunfyre finally gets off of your lap. You look toward the direction of the noise and see Aegon staring at you sheepishly.

You shake your head at him and then let your eyes drift down toward the wet landscape of his torso. Droplets of water cling to his pale skin and drip down every now and then, making your eyes follow them. They fall over his shoulders and down between his chest and over his stomach, traveling over the slight bulge and finally being taken by the towel wrapped around his waist, something that you’re surprised that he’s even wearing. 

Aegon looks at you, amused. “Do you have no shame?” He asks, striding toward the bed with a smirk on his face. His hand plays with the towel around his waist, looking ready to drop it at any second; no matter if you tell him to or not. 

You roll your eyes at him. “Do you?” You ask, leaning up on your elbows, jostling Sunfyre who only grumbles unhappily before settling down again. 

He places his hand on his heart, looking at you with mock offense. “Of course I do, I’m a proper gentleman after all,” he says, kneeling on the bed, moving closer to you with every beat of your heart. 

A small snort comes from you and your arms wrap around his neck when he props himself above you slightly. “Yeah and I’m queen of the seven kingdoms.” He hums softly as his lips meet yours,digging into you with everything that he has. Grasping onto your sides and pushing a grumpy Sunfyre out of your lap so that he could take the dog's place. You pull away, hand massaging the back of his neck and the back of his scalp. “How bad do you think this is going to be?” You ask. 

He raises an eyebrow. “On a scale of one to ten?” He laughs and kisses you once more before sliding off of the bed. “Twenty six.”

You flop back down on the pillows, letting out a long sigh. “That’s not reassuring,” you whine before turning your head to watch as Aegon changes. The clothes he takes out are fairly simple, he doesn’t truly care to dress up for his family much. Only for galas or certain restaurants does he care to dress up to the nines, always tempting you throughout the night. 

As you watch him, your fingers start to intertwine and trepidation builds up in your very core. Nervous for the dinner and the looks that Otto has given you for the past month that you two had been at the vacation house. All of them were slimy and cruelly calculating. It was only a matter of time until he mentioned what happened. He had last year and you both had left early, that was the second year you two couldn’t make it through an entire month alone with Aegon’s family.

“Do you think he’ll bring it up again?” You ask Aegon. 

Aegon huffs and you watch as red starts to color his pale cheeks, his fists clenching around a freshly pressed shirt, no doubt wrinkling it. “I hope not.” He shakes his head and scoffs. “He better not or I’ll bash his already flat face in.”

Pushing off of the bed, you walk toward him before wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You press a kiss against his shoulder blade and he looks over at you. “My hero,” you whisper, smiling into his skin. 

The dinner goes as it always does, separate chatter among chosen groups with very little intermingling. Jace talks to you every now and then or even Baela who had only shown up with Rheana two nights ago. Helaena makes an effort to speak to you as well and a few sentences are exchanged between you and Aemond but not enough to win you that bet. 

You don’t converse with Rhaenrya or Daemon, not even to Alicent who wasn’t speaking with anyone. Otto was even talking, seldom only to Helaena and Viserys but that still weighed something. Her shoulders were sagged, the pressure of cooking, cleaning and managing getting to her more over the last week now that the rush of conforming to a new schedule and making sure that everyone was settled was over. She had even taken your request for help when she was cooking dinner, truly showing that she was starting to get into the stressed stages of the trip. 

It's a few minutes later when you all start dessert that Viserys clinks his spoon against his glass and stands. Daemon and Otto sit up in alert, ready to catch the older man should he fall away from his wobbly legs. 

With a groan of pain, Viserys raises up his glass, ready to do a toast that always marks the first month of the trip. 

Alicent stares at Aegon, waiting for something to happen as you both rarely ever stay this long. Normally, you two would have left last week, over all of the bullshit that circles around the family. The bullshit that Aegon says had started his whole drinking problem. 

Viserys clears his throat and a weak smile forms on his lips. “It brings me unattainable comfort to see you all here for these two months. All together again as friends, family, cousins, uncles, fathers and mothers. It’s a sight that I do not get to see often,” he says and you smile warily. 

A quick glance around the table shows that everyone is doing much the same. 

And Alicent is still staring at Aegon. 

Viserys seems to not notice it and his smile only grows bigger, warmer even. No matter if the words that he says are nothing but spit in everyone else's food. “To my family, it is always a joy and pleasure to be around you all.”

He goes to take a sip from his drink and the rest of you go to follow but a whisper makes it to your ears. 

“That’s bullshit,” the whisper snaps. 

The table goes silent, all of you stopping in your very tracks. 

Alicent glares at her son. “Aegon,” she whispers harshly at him but Aegon isn’t looking at her. 

His eyes remained focused on his father, narrowed and of poisoned hate that you almost wonder if Aegon had ever even loved his father. If he had at any point in time, it doesn’t show.  

Stopping his action, Viserys looks at his eldest son. The son that he had killed his first wife for, only to have one with another woman. The son he sought for but never ever truly wanted when it came to competition with his eldest daughter. “What did you say?” He asks, his voice a cold that you had never heard come from him. It didn’t match him; his face, his body, his very demeanor but it sent chills down your back anyways. 

Slowly, Aegon stands up and blue meets blue in a harsh battle of dominance and emotions padded with soft fluff that's finally deteriorated and grown into a poisonous black mold. “I said that’s bullshit. Family,” he scoffs and then shakes his head, “we don’t even know what that word means.”

You reach up and grab his hand, those harsh eyes meet yours and watch blankly as you shake your own head. Not here, you hope he can see. Not here, not now. Not like this. 

He doesn’t seem to understand your meaning and faces his father again. 

“Aegon, sit down,” Alicent says harshly, backing down when Aegon settles a glare on her. 

A dark look painted his features as he shook his head, the jerking motion making you grip tighter on his hand. “No, you might all pretend that this is nothing more than a slight inconvenience but we all know the truth: this is the worst two months of our lives every year.” A cruel laugh passes his lips and he runs a hand through his hair. “Why do you think Daeron never shows up? If you remember him.”

Viserys looks at Aegon, offended. “Of course I do,” he defends quickly, unconvincingly. 

“You liar!” Aego shouts and Viserys flinches. “You know you can have all of the speeches you want but we all know who they’re really for. You’re perfect Rhaenyra.” You glance at the woman, she only looks at the table and Daemon looks at Aegon murderously. “Rhaenyra who has never done anything wrong in her life. The perfect heir, the perfect child. The perfect whore.”

Daemon jerks out of his seat and Jace follows him with a large crashing sound from his fists hitting the table. “That’s enough,” Jace warns. 

Aegon is still only looking at his father. “Come on, those are no Velaryons but they look quite similar to her old bodyguard. What was his name again sister?” He asks, turning toward Rhaenyra. “Harwin? I think that’s it.”

The next to stand is Alicent, fire in her eyes as she leans across the table to look at her son. “Aegon, you have said quite enough. Make your peace and be done with it,” she snaps at him. 

Aegon only nods but it is not submissive, he is far from done. “Yes mother, I have made my peace with Rhaenyra but can you say the same?” He asks her and Alicent doesn’t respond but doesn’t sit down either. Aegon ignores that and looks back at his father. “My perfect wife and my perfect kids, that was what you would say to your clients during galas but it isn’t true is it?” 

He points as he talks, starting with his second brother. “Aemond fucked a woman twenty years older than him and got her knocked up. Helaena is so high all of the time that she can barely walk in a straight line. Daeron is never here, he would rather be anywhere but here!” He shouts.

It is now that he looks at his mother again, a cruel smirk on his face. “Mother—oh mother,” he leans closer to his mother and it is then that you can see just how much they look alike, “you still crave that realm's delight don’t you?”

Viserys bangs his fists on the table. “Sit down Aegon or I swear—

“Swear what?” Aegon snaps. “I always knew I was going to get disowned at some point, so that doesn’t scare me. Perhaps you’ll swear that you’ll make sure my girlfriend has a miscarriage again. Well you and Otto.”

The table goes quiet and tears start to prick at your eyes, phantom pain caused by the tea that Viserys had handed to you that day causing you to taste bile on your tongue. 

The pain comes back tenfold, as does the feeling of blood running down your legs and the screams that tore your throat open as you laid there on the bathroom floor in Rhaenyra’s arms, sobbing profusely as Alicent went out searching for her son.

The ride to the hospital is fresh and clear in your mind. The fact that you could have died is a whisper in your brain, fresh and still cutting jagged lines into you. The doctor had only meant to soothe you but all you had wanted was to join your child in a similar fashion. 

A similar fate. 

The hangover from when you were released from the hospital and went straight toward the bottle is still loud and clear to you. The jackhammer against your skull when you woke up on the couch, curled into Aegon and wanting nothing more than to go home still throbs whenever you look at a bottle of whiskey. 

The funeral had been fast, you didn’t want to be there longer than you had to be. The small, dead baby lying in the even smaller casket had you throwing up. 

Little Aenar Targaryen, a little boy who had never had the chance to take a single breath of air, never got to even meet his parents who loved him like no other. 

Little Aenar Targaryen who never got his little stuffed dragon that his grandmother had made for him—the stuffed dragon that you threw away in a sobbing rage a few months after the funeral—or the room in his new home that you and Aegon had made so meticulously with the help from Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, Alicent and Rhaenyra. Who had never got to see the handmade butterflies Helaena had made him or lie in the crib that took his father and two uncles to build. Never got to see the walls that you, Alicent and Rhaenyra hand painted a wonderful light blue color—the color was no longer there, neither was the crib or the butterflies. 

All because of your blood. Your status. 

Otto would have rather seen you and his great grandchild dead than alive and full of blood not tainted by the blue that he and the rest of his family carried. He hadn’t failed to remind you of such a thing in the years since, only managing to make you and Aegon leave early and not come back until it was necessary. 

Though it wasn’t Otto this time. It was Aegon. 

In all of his pent up rage and padded room full of wrath that were straightjacketed to the walls, the miscarriage had been the biggest and burliest of them all. More likely to burst out of its confinement and it was only second to Aegon’s childhood, full of neglect and mental abuse that had started his drinking problem at the ripe age of twelve.  

A small sniffle and a squeeze of your hand made Aegon look at you and all of the rage went away in a flash. Regret replacing it. “Aegon, stop,” you whispered to him, your voice raspy with the straining effort not to cry. “Please.”

He nods and faces the rest of his family. “Goodnight family, it was a true joy and pleasure to see you again,” he says curtly before storming off, the sound of the dining room doors slamming sounding his departure. 

Pity is all that you see when you look around you after Aegon leaves. Alicent is reaching towards you when you stand up. “Excuse me,” you say before leaving the room swiftly.

Aegon is throwing clothes into your suitcases when you get to your room. Every single item is piled on top of each other but you can't bring yourself to care like normal. “We’re leaving,” Aegon says harshly, clearly expecting it to be someone else. 

“Yeah I kinda figured that,” you whisper and Aegon whips around.

He quickly gathers you in his arms, squeezing you against his body, like he's trying to protect you from his own words. His hand is a soothing and clutching presence as it grips your hair, fingers scratching in the same rhythm as your tears. “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t do it anymore,” he whispers to you before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You pull back and smile slightly when Aegon’s thumbs start to wipe away your tears. “I know but Aegon, do you know what could happen?”

He shrugs. “I get kicked out of the family Christmas picture, that’s the most that he’ll do. The rest of them…I’d leave now just in case Aemond decides to slash my tires,” he jokes and you chuckle at him. 

“That would keep you here,” you quip.

“Of course, perhaps he’ll do it when he passes by Kings Landing on his way back to the Stormlands.”

A laugh bursts out of you. “You’re awful.”

coriolanus snow likes to chase and claim his prize ☁︎ fem!

giving coriolanus head ☽ GN!

tricking coriolanus into submitting ☽ fem!

virgin!coriolanus pretending to not be affected during his first time ☽ fem!

coriolanus kisses like he's trying to breathe you ☁︎ GN!

coriolanus' dog tags dangling in your face ☽ fem!

coriolanus' possessive kink kicks in when it comes to your virginity ☁︎ GN!

sneaking around the university with post!tbosas coriolanus ☁︎ GN!

in coriolanus' mind, fucking you fixes every problem ☽ GN!

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attempting to get coryo to stay and cuddle with you and sejanus ☼ GN!

(post) peacekeeper!coryo fucking you, dr. gaul's daughter ☽ fem!

having heard about face sitting, coriolanus has a proposition ☽ fem!

study motivation from coriolanus ☽ fem!

coriolanus is pissed at tigris, so he takes it out on her lover ☽ fem!