#I can't believe it's been 3 years since I finished this fic

[whitedahlia13]

In the span of a breath, the deflating pang of regret vanished. Lydia gazed at Stiles and saw...everything. Understanding, care, patience, forgiveness, willingness... It was all there, same as it always was, all of it directed at her. She saw the boy she had been gravitating towards since he asked her to the Winter Formal, and she wanted nothing more than to dance with him again.  

Read more: ao3 &ffnet

[perexcri]

happy one year to her and one of my better opening lines for a fic <3

now, because i'm curious:

[mxstellatayte]

okay this is so vague but a something for lewis based off the song pretty please by dutch melrose ?

I LOVE DUTCH MELROSE OMG I ABSOLUTELY CAN. also this one is dedicated my simply simply lovely bestie and horny ride-or-die (not like that) pookie @vivi-81 who has recently converted to being a lewis hoe <3 love you bestie

this fic is multiple chapters because i couldn't help myself! writing this dynamic is really really fun and i'm going to do my best to finish the fic by 15 september, but here is a teaser of the first chapter and the release schedule/masterlist!

this fic spans literal years. prepare yourselves yall because you're in for a WILD ride lol

teaser (this post): 4 september chapter 1: 8 september (🌻/🥀) chapter 2: 22 september (🌻/🪷) chapter 3: 8 november (🌻/🪷)

teaser below the cut!

the conversation continues easily as the two of you finish your breakfast, then, as you begin to prepare yourself to stand and leave, he stops you. "actually, there's one last thing i wanted to do before we went on camera."

your head tilts in confusion as you set your signature lipstick back in your bag, a deep red balm that you've used since you started working at vogue. it's become your trademark product, and almost everyone in the office knows exactly which one you use. "do i need to be worried, lewis?"

"no, not at all! it's this," he says, and your eyebrows rise in complete and utter shock when he pulls out a small box wrapped in white paper and a crimson bow wrapped around it all. "i wanted to get you a gift as a way of saying thank you for all the curveball questions you've thrown at me this year." your hands shake as you take the box from him, and you already know exactly which brand it is. cartier. sure, you've written pieces about their timeless looks and elegant aesthetics, and owning a piece of their jewelry has always been a dream of yours, but it's always been just that: a dream.

"lewis, i can't accept this. i- i'm honestly at a loss for words. seriously, no." you can't help but flush at how he's looking at you, those annoyingly beautiful eyes of his and the stupidly perfect crow's feet that only show up when he really smiles- when he smiles the way he is now. gods, amelia was right. you really are down bad for the driver.

"please, just open it up. if you don't like it, i'll take it back and you can choose something you prefer." he nudges the box towards you once more, and the crisp wax seal that sits on top of the paper is incredibly enticing.

"are you serious?" a part of you wants to think that this is some sick joke, that there's cameras on you and it's all going up on one of those prank channels on youtube. a much, much bigger part of you believes lewis, though. that is the part of you that takes the box between your shaking hands, carefully pops open the wax seal, nimbly unties the beautiful ribbon, and gently unfolds the pure white paper. when you finally open the box, you gasp, tears threatening to well in your eyes. "lewis..."

"do you like it?" his voice sounds anxious and hopeful, and you can't help but realize how much thought he'd put into this gift. when you'd invited him into your office to review some photos that were to go into an article in the next vogue issue a few months prior, he'd seen the vision board on your wall and asked about it. bashfully, you had explained to him that it was a silly idea you had when you graduated from uni with your friends- each of you made one, cutting and pasting photos from pinterest, magazines, newspapers, and anything you could find, assembling your dreams in a mishmash of colors and ideas. one of your dreams on the board had been to own this exact necklace- the cartier juste un clou necklace in white gold. the fourteen diamonds set in the precious metal glitter back at you, and you can't help but smile.

"i love it, lewis. thank you so much." he visibly relaxes, his shoulders loosening and the crease between his eyebrows disappearing.

"i'm glad. here, turn around. let me put it on you?" you happily oblige, lifting your hair out of the way after you stand so that he can fasten the delicate clasp over your spine.

it's safe to say that both his and your fans noticed the necklace hanging between your collarbones, sitting just below the star necklace you wear daily on top of your dark grey high-collared shirt. you try your best not to look at the comments on the videos of your interviews, but amelia had shown you one that day after the unedited interview went up online.

"are they dating or something? i can't get over how lewis looks at her."

taglist: @pear-1206 @vivi-81

join my taglist here!

[quintessenceofdust88]

Life is Changin' Tides 🌊

There's a tsunami going on. Tommy is at work and thinks his daughter is safe and away from it. She's not, but there's a guardian angel watching over her.

(okay y'all, here's the first chapter of tsunami fic, now put together, edited and finished! Originally it's only meant to be 3 chapters, but who knows? Certainly not me hehe. I hope you like it! 💙💙)

There is water everywhere, and Tommy has never seen anything like it. The Saint Monica pier is completely submerged and, from the chopper, he can barely see the tip of the Ferris wheel. There are red boats from the LAFD scattered around, and the air ops have been ordered to hover around and await for further instructions.

“Wow” His co-pilot, a probie named Monroe, exclaims. He's looking down at the wreckage, and Tommy imagines it's the first time he comes across something like this. “I was at the pier with my girlfriend just last week, can you believe that?”

“I know what you mean”, Tommy says distractedly, bringing the chopper closer to the chore with an eye out for light beacons or other signs of someone looking for help. “I brought my daughter here three days ago”

“Aw, man, you have a daughter? I didn't know that!” Monroe says, and Tommy can't help but smile a little as the face of his five-year-old comes to mind.

“Yeah, Genevieve. She's five” He says, fidgeting with the controls to gain some attitude on the bird to make sure they’re not missing anything “We were supposed to come back to the pier next Saturday, she saw this unicorn plushie and I promised to try to win it for her next time”

“Guess you’ll just have to buy it somewhere else” He says, and Tommy chuckles, already imagining how Vivie would react to that.

“Nah, Vivie would say it’s not the same because we didn’t win it. She’s too smart for her own good; well, actually for my own good”

Tommy realizes this is the most he’s talked to the probie ever since they started working together a few weeks ago. Trust him to turn into a chatterbox when the best thing in his life is involved.

“Yeah, I get you, I have a seven-year old son who’s already smarter than me” He says, and a fond smile takes over his face; Tommy is pretty sure he looks besotted just like that whenever he talks about his daughter. “It’s good to know they’re safe when we’re out there like this, isn’t it?”

“Yeah” Tommy easily agrees, his eyes scanning the water for people moving; unfortunately, there isn’t much they can do for those who stopped moving, at least not until the water goes down.

Vivie is with her uncle Sal today, and Tommy’s pretty sure she’s having the time of her life. Sal lives far away from the shore, so he knows he has nothing to worry about, which lets him focus on the task at hand.

If he had to worry about Genevieve in the middle of all this, he’s pretty sure he would have crashed his helicopter already.

–

It's nearing sunset when Captain Williams sends orders for Tommy and Monroe to go down. Between hazard recognition and air rescues, they've been on and off for ten hours, and now they're mandated to take a break. Tommy's shift is over by now, and he'd probably offer to stay if necessary, but he can't; Sal's probably itching to go to his own station and help out, and Tommy's itching to see Vivie. He's rescued his fair share of children, and it's making him want to have his own safe in his arms and under her llama blanket.

Tommy changes into his civies, and for the first time in the day, has time to check his phone. When he sees seventeen missed calls from an unknown number, the last one less than ten minutes ago, a chill runs down his spine. In any day, this could mean something bad, but today? Monumentally bad.

As he's gathering the courage to return the call, his phone rings again, and it's the same number. With trembling hands, Tommy picks up.

“H-hello, this is Kinard” He says weakly.

“Mr. Kinard? I am calling from a field hospital that's been raised for the tsunami victims. Are you familiar with a Mr. Salvatore de Luca? We found your number as the last called on his cellphone”

Tommy recalls the phone call they had this morning before he dropped Vivie off at Sal's house, and his heart skips a beat, a rising sense of panic taking over his chest.

“Y-yes, I'm familiar. What's his situation? And Genevieve's?” Tommy cuts to the chase, his hand gripping the phone like a lifeline.

“Mr. Salvatore was brought to us unconscious and with a head injury, Mr. Kinard. We have patched up the wound, but he hasn't woken up yet. We think he might feel more comfortable if you are here when he does”

Tommy's panic doesn't subside, not even a little bit. Sal is hurt enough to be unconscious, and Tommy desperately wants to rush to his side, but first he needs to know…

“Right, I'm on my way, but how is Genevieve?” He asks, his car keys in his hand already. Monroe, who's in the locker room as well, frowns at him when he notices Tommy's rush. “My daughter who was with Sal. Is she okay?”

The woman takes time to answer. Too long. Long enough that Tommy assumes the worst, his breath becoming quick paced and erratic.

“Mr. Kinard, I am so sorry, but Mr. De Luca was found alone. There was no child with him”

Tommy is not aware of how he ended the call. Next thing he knows, he's sitting on the locker room bench, with Monroe giving light taps to his face.

“Kinard, are you with me?! Kinard!” He exclaims, his voice panicked, and Tommy blinks up at him, still in shock.

“I'm fine. I'm fine” Tommy tells him, his voice hoarse and sounding like it's coming from miles away.

“You scared me for a minute there, man” He says, his eyes widened. “What happened?”

What happened is that Tommy's world has just crumbled from one minute to the next. Sal must be severely hurt. And Vivie is missing.

Genevieve, his little girl, the love of his life, was caught in a tsunami, and the best case scenario is that she's lost in the LA streets all alone, scared and maybe hurt. And the worst case scenario… no. Tommy can't even think of it. Just the thought of it is enough to make his heart fill with despair.

“I… I gotta go” He tells Monroe, getting up once he's sure his legs won't give out from under him, moving towards the door.

“Woah, woah, Kinard” Monroe puts a hand on his shoulder. “I'm not letting you leave like this, man, you look like you've seen a ghost”

Tommy takes his hand off his shoulder, urgency creeping up on his chest.

“I have to go” He says again, more forcefully this time, a slight tremble on his voice. “It's my daughter”

“What about your daughter?!” Monroe asks urgently, but Tommy doesn't have time to explain. “Kinard, you're not telling me… you said she was safe!”

Tommy closes his eyes at those words, willing the tears of fear and regret away. She was supposed to be safe; he doesn't know how or why Vivie and Sal ended up getting caught in the tsunami, but he needs to find them.

“I thought she was” He admits. “But I will find her”

Monroe looks at him, and an understanding passes between them. The man nods at him, squeezing Tommy's shoulder.

“I… I'd offer to go with you, but you know I might be needed here”

“I know. Thank you anyway”

“Good luck out there, Kinard. I… I hope she'll be okay”

“She will be” Tommy says, more to himself than to Monroe, and then he's gone, rushing to his car in a heartbeat.

And Tommy is not a man of faith, but at this point he can only hope some kind of guardian angel finds his daughter and keeps her safe.

—

Buck is exhausted.

His leg hurts, his mouth tastes like sea water, he has no idea if what’s running down his face is water, sweat or blood, and he needs to sleep. Good God, he needs to sleep.

But he can’t. He has to find Chris. He’s his responsibility, and he has to find him. He has no idea how long he’s been looking, but he won’t stop for anything until he finds him, not unless he’s dead.

“Help! Help!” Buck hears a small voice that makes him stop in his tracks. It sounds like a child; a young child at that, definitely younger than Chris, probably a girl.

“Hello?!” He calls back, his ears trained to listen to the voice again and locate where it’s coming from. In this region where he is now the water has gone down to ankle level, but there is a lot of rubble around.

“Hello?! Help me, please!” The child calls again, and Buck looks around until he spots her, stranded on top of a ruined pick-up truck, a few feet away from him. Buck rushes to her; she’s not too above him, he will probably be able to catch her no problem, even with his arms stinging from exhaustion as they are.

It’s indeed a little girl, she can’t be older than six; her light yellow summer dress is wet and covered in grime and leaves, and so is her hair which is styled in two well done pigtails; her arms are wrapped around a bright unicorn plushie. She’s looking down at him, her deep blue eyes filled with fear, a few tears running down her red cheeks. It breaks Buck’s heart.

“Hey!” Buck says; he doesn’t see any injuries, but he won’t move her until he’s sure. “I’m gonna help you, ok? Are you hurt?”

“N-no…” She tells him with a sniffle. “But Uncle Sal is, and the water took him, and I didn’t see him anymore! And…. And I wanted to go after him, but Daddy always says I should wait for rescue if bad things happen!...”

She’s starting to cry again, and Buck thanks the universe for whoever is the sensible parent of this child, because even if she isn’t hurt now, she would be if she had tried to get down on her own.

“Okay, kiddo, first of all let’s get you down here safely. Then you can tell me about your uncle Sal, alright? What’s your name?” He asks her.

“Genevieve Kinard” She recites dutifully. “But you can call me Vivie”

Buck has the faintest impression there's something familiar about that name, but he shakes it off, not having time to think about it right now. He nods at her with what he hopes is a kind smile even though exhaustion is starting to creep its way into him once again. He’s losing precious time in his search for Chris, but he can’t just abandon a little child; he knows that, if someone found Chris in the middle of all of this, he’d want them to keep him safe.

“Okay, Vivie. I'm Evan, but you can call me Buck” He tells her, and then raises his arms toward her. “Alright, Vivie, you’re gonna have to be super brave, because I'm gonna ask you to jump, and then I'll catch you. Do you think you can do that?”

It wouldn't be unreasonable for her to be scared; the situation is stressful, and the top of a pick-up must feel quite high for a little girl. But she nods without hesitation, scooching closer to the edge of the pick-up and looking down at him.

“Kinda like playing toss?” She asks, and Buck can only assume that’s a game someone plays with her, and he hopes to God it’s similar to what he’s planning to do.

“Yeah, kiddo, kinda like playing toss. Are you ready?” He asks, and Genevieve nods at him. However, when she prepares for jumping, she whimpers and scooches back, her plushie still firmly in her arms.

“It… It’s scary, mr. Evan” She says, her voice trembling.

“I know, Vivie, I know it’s scary, honey” He says, frantically thinking of a way to help her feel more comfortable. “Here, let’s do it like this: why don’t you throw me your unicorn friend first? Then you’ll see it’s safe. How’s that?”

She looks at the plushie and back at him, a small whimper escaping her lips, and she hugs it close, shaking her head.

“I… I want uncle Sal” She says with a small sob. “I want my Daddy!”

Buck is on the verge of despair. They can’t be wasting time; there hasn’t been another wave for hours, but the way things have been, he doesn’t entirely discard it, and he wants to find Christopher before it happens, or before anything else happens to his best friend’s son. But at the same time, how can he be mad at her? He is scared and exhausted, and he’s freaking twenty-eight; how worse must it feel for a little girl?

“Genevieve” Buck says, as gently as he can, coming closer to her, his hands raised as if he’s talking to a scaredy little cat. “I… I know it’s super scary, ok? Everything that happened today was scary. I… I want to help you find your uncle Sal. I want to help you find your Daddy. But we have to get out of here. I’m gonna need you to be brave”

Genevieve sniffles a little, her nose still buried in the bright fur of the unicorn. It must be wet and smelling like sea water, but she’s holding to it like a life line.

“D-daddy always says that I’m his brave g-girl…” She says with a small hiccup, and Buck once again has to thank the universe for the good parenting this girl’s dad seems to practice.

“I am sure he does; I just met you and I can see you’re a super brave girl. What’s your plushie’s name?”

“D-doesn’t have one yet… Uncle Sal called it Marsh… Cause it looks like a marshmallow” She says, and Buck nods.

“Alright, baby. So let’s get Marsh down here and then you, ok? C’mon, you can be brave for me. I know you can”

This time, when she scooches closer to the edge again, Genevieve doesn’t whimper. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and then she’s dropping her unicorn plushie. Buck promptly catches it with both his hands, and the plushie which is supposedly brand new is grimy and heavy from water, like everything else in a fifteen mile ratio. He puts it beside his throbbing leg, trying to ignore the dull ache that’s creeping up. He doesn’t have time for a clot right now.

“That’s a good girl. Now you. Do you want me to count to three?”

“Yes, please…” She says, and Buck can see she’s afraid, but determined.

“Alright, Vivie, here we go: one, two, three!”

By the time Buck reaches three, she closes her eyes and jumps, falling straight into his arms. She's light and fits perfectly against his chest, and Buck holds her close, sighing in relief.

“There you go, you're safe” He tells her, a tentative smile on his face as he puts her down.

“Can we go find uncle Sal now?” She asks, her dark blue eyes filled with worry. “I think he's really hurt, mr. Evan, ‘cause he promised to come back for me and he didn't! And uncle Sal never breaks promises! Please help me find him, mr. Evan, please!” She pleads, and she hugs his legs, pressing her face against his thighs, sobs wrecking her small body.

Buck's heart squeezes when he hears that. He also broke a promise; he promised to keep Christopher safe, and he didn't. He wonders if Genevieve's dad will hate Sal as much as Eddie will hate him, and then decides he'll do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

He picks Genevieve up, rubbing her back, trying to soothe her, feeling completely out of his depth. She rests her head against her shoulders, sniffling a little.

“Hey, hey, everything's alright, Vivie” He says, though he's not sure anything is alright with the world at the moment. “We'll find your uncle Sal, ok? I am sure he's trying his best to come back to you”

“H-how do you know?” Genevieve asks in a small voice as Buck puts her down; usually he'd be able to carry a girl this little for hours on end, but not today. As soon as she's down, she's picking her unicorn up, hugging it tightly against her chest.

“Because I know, baby” He reassures her, and when she still looks doubtful, he sighs. “I… I'm also looking for someone. A little boy who's super brave, just like you. His name is Christopher. I… I promised him to come back, just like your uncle Sal promised you. And that's what I'm doing”

“So… so we find uncle Sal and Christopher together?” She asks hesitantly, and Buck offers his hand to her.

“That's right, Vivie. Together”

Genevieve trembles slightly, looking at his hand, but then she looks at his face and puts her own small one inside it. Buck squeezes it, trying to gather a little bit of her courage, and the two of them walk away from the wreckage. Buck has no idea where they're going, but he knows for a fact he won't let go of Genevieve until she's safe with her uncle, or her dad, or someone she trusts.

He won't fail one more kid today.

Tag list (I'm using my tag list from Little Blobs! If you'd like to stay on the list only for Blobs, lemme know and I'll remove you from this one! If you want to be removed altogether or added, also lemme know!):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter

@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21

@dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld @buckleyskinards @actuallyitsellie

@agentpeggycartering @chaoticdisasterbi

[starsinthesky5]

you belong with me III || joe burrow x reader

description: when date night ends with something more than just a goodnight kiss ;)

a/n: first off, can we talk about how delicious joe looks when he wears this specific jersey. it’s literally causing me to spiral. i can't. he’s so fine

anyway, welcome to part 3! yall have shown this little mini series so much love and it’s given me some great inspo to write a little more! i really love writing these fics <3 this turned out to be a lot longer then what I thought off which might explain why i struggled to finish it lol 

warnings: language, smut

word count: 11.6 k

part 1 part 2

--------------------------------------------------------

December

You and Joe have been dating for a few weeks now, and things couldn’t be going more perfectly for you both. Ever since your confession on Joe’s birthday, you both had been more attached at the hip than usual, but neither of you was complaining. Nothing really changed in the way you were acting around each other, everything pretty much stayed the same--other than the constant kissing & extra flirty conversations--which was another indication that you were already acting like a couple long before you made it official.

“Joeeee, come back over here I’m cold,” you whined as you looked up from the couch, watching Joe as he warmed up a bowl of popcorn.

“Just a sec, Baby,” he said as he pulled out two cans of Sprite from your fridge. 

Baby. You blushed at the pet name, which was becoming increasingly common for you two. If you had told your freshman year Ohio State self that her best friend, Joe Burrow, would be in her apartment warming up a bowl of popcorn for them to watch the latest episode of ‘Love Island’ together, and was calling her Baby, she would for sure punch you in the face for lying. But the sweetest part was, you wouldn’t be lying because it was reality. 

A few moments later, he walked over with the snacks, placing them on your coffee table and plopping down on the couch next to you. 

“I can’t believe you have me watching trashy reality TV,” he laughs as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. 

“Honestly, me either,” you giggle, kissing his neck. “But I love hearing your commentary,”.

He lets out a chuckle and says, “Thanks, but I mean, these people are wildin’. If you’re actually looking for love, you would never go on a dating show because that shit will never end right,”.

“Oh for sure,” you nod, grabbing some popcorn.

“Like what happened to being a genuine friend? These girls just steal each other’s man like it’s nothing and the guys are absolute airheads and go along with it,” Joe expresses, taking it a little too seriously. 

“Calm down, Joe,” you giggle. “Remember, we watch for the entertainment value not for the ethics,” you say as you rub his arm.

He lets out a sigh and then grabs a handful of popcorn, stuffing his face with the buttery snack. “I just think these people really don’t know real love when they see it,”.

“Luckily, we aren’t them,” you smile, grabbing his hand and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his palm. 

“Ohhh yeah,” he says, moving his other arm around your leg, gently sliding his hand up and down your calf. “I have real love and I am never letting go of it,”.

“You better not,” you tease, moving your head up and pressing a few kisses to his lips, tasting the buttery popcorn on them. 

“We still good for tomorrow night?” he asks, referring to the little date night he had planned at his house. 

“Mhm, I can’t wait to see what you have planned,” you say as you grab some more popcorn. 

“I think you’ll love it,” he smirks, pressing soft kisses all over your forehead. He had decorated his backyard with fairy lights, making sure to hang them all around his patio set up so that there was no darkness in sight. He had bought your favorite flowers and decorated his backyard with them, got his chef to prepare all your favorite foods, and even got you a little gift. 

He had his jeweler custom make you a ring that had your birthstones in an alternating pattern all around the ring with diamonds in between each stone. The ring was kind of like a promise ring, but mostly something that he got for you to show that you were it for him. Even though it was way too early to think about that, Joe could envision spending the rest of his life with you. So it was kind of like a mini engagement ring, just without the whole marriage detail, for now. 

“What should I wear? Something laid back orrrr..” you ask.

“Wear what you want to wear,” he smirks. “You look Sexy and Beautiful in everything,”. 

A blush rises on your cheeks and you feel your belly filling with butterflies again. It was amazing to hear him say those things about you. He already made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, but his endless compliments just made everything better. 

“God, it feels so great to finally be able to say that to you,” he adds, throwing his head back against the pillow. 

“You’re so cute,” you laugh, moving your legs so that you are now sitting in his lap, pressing kisses all over his face. His hands run across your thighs, then eventually move up to your waist. His fingers softly scratch against the fabric of your shirt, and then make their way inside so that you can feel them against your bare skin. 

“But seriously, what should I wear?” you ask.

“Hmm, maybe that lacy black dress you wore to your sister’s engagement party,” he sighs, his hands now sliding higher up your body.

“Why that particular dress?” you smirk, knowing exactly why he wanted you to wear that dress. You took him to her engagement party as your plus 1 and his reaction when he saw you in the dress for the first time should have been a dead giveaway about how he felt about you.

“Because,” he says, his fingers teasing the band of your bra, increasing the tension around you. “The first time I saw you in that dress is still burned into my mind and I would love a repeat of it,”. You feel his fingers slide into the cup of your bra, giving your breast a soft squeeze. 

“Oh really?” you smirk, moving both your hands to each of his shoulders. “What did you think when you first saw me in the dress?”.

“Other than that you looked heavenly,” he starts off, causing you to blush again. “Like I wanted to kiss my way up your arm,” he says, removing his hands from underneath your shirt, then moving his lips to your arm and doing what he was saying. You closed your eyes and let out a few short breaths as you felt him pressing wet kisses along your arm. 

“Then, I wanted to leave a few pretty purple marks around your neck so that people could see you were mine,” he says, moving to your neck and sucking on the soft skin.

“Joe,” you breathe out, a warm feeling now replacing the butterflies in your belly. You move your hand into his hair, pulling at the strands and relishing his touch. 

“And then, I wanted to rip the dress off your perfect body and show you how much I loved you,” he says, moving up from your neck and meeting your eyes. 

“Damn, I didn’t think you felt so..” you trail off, trying to find the right word.

“Horny?” he says, causing a laugh to leave your lips.

“I was gonna say passionate but horny works too,” you finish. “Who knew Joey B could have such impure thoughts about his so-called bestie,” you tease. 

“That’s just 1 occasion out of a million others in which I felt like ripping your clothes off,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your body.

You felt like you were about to pass out from the heat rising up your body because of your boyfriend’s alluring words & thoughts. Who knew that Joe could ever be capable of thinking that way about you? And who knew he was capable of making you feel like this? You wanted nothing more than to rip off his clothes right now and have your way with him.

“I could list even more occasions in which I wanted to rip that Jersey off your body and take you for a spin after every game,” you wink.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks. “Why didn’t you do anything about it then?” he says while rubbing your ass.

“Hmm, maybe because you were spoken for at the time and I didn’t want to be the other woman,” you joke, moving his bangs out of his eyes. 

“Please, if you gave me ‘fuck me’ eyes for even a second, I wouldn’t have hesitated to make you the woman,” he said. 

“I feel like I’m committing a crime saying all these things to you,” you blink, feeling like you were doing something forbidden by acting like this with Joe. 

“Oh me too. If our Ohio State selves walked in through the door right now, they would probably be traumatized for the rest of their lives,” Joe chuckles, your eyes wandering to his perfectly soft pink lips that you had been obsessed with for the past few weeks. With Joe, you were acting like you were a teenage girl who had just gotten her first boyfriend, all of the childish yet insatiable feelings were rising to the surface. 

“Then they would for sure be missing out,” you mumble as you push yourself closer to his body, capturing his lips in a messy kiss, taking him by surprise. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you even closer, your crotch right on top of his, and a feeling of hardness underneath you that makes you pull away from the kiss. 

You meet his eyes which are now dark with lust, “Joe I-,”.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes as he rubs your thigh to comfort you. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,”.

 “I know it’s a lot even though we’re like, adults now” he laughs, softening the air around you. 

“Could you be any more perfect,” you whisper out loud. 

“Hm?” he questions.

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say,” you mumble as you start pressing kisses on his jaw, trailing down to his neck as you can feel him move around underneath you, trying to find pleasure in just sitting there. You pull your head back up and meet his eyes again, “I was going to say that I need you,”. 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you say as you kiss his right cheek. “Positively,” you say as you kiss his left cheek. “Sure,” you say as you press a big kiss on his lips, hearing Joe let out a soft groan into the kiss and feeling him melt into you as you suck on his bottom lip. 

Your kisses became more urgent and needy as Joe’s hands wandered down to your ass and then back up to your waist. His grip on you tightens, prompting you to moan into the kiss. He gets up from the couch, still holding you while you were attacking his lips, and walks you both over to your bedroom. 

He kicks your door shut as you pull away from the kiss to look at him for a few seconds. You press your forehead against his and whisper, “I love you,” with the biggest smile on your face. 

“I love you even more,” he replies, softly placing you down on your bed before climbing on top of you; you open up your legs to accommodate his large body before going back to kissing him.

He moves down to your neck, kissing and sucking on the skin as you start to realize what was happening. Yeah, you were insinuating that you wanted to go there but that was purely coming from your heart. Now, your brain was awake. 

You were about to have sex with Joe. 

Yes, you had been dating for a few weeks now and this was bound to happen considering how you two couldn’t keep your hands off of each other, but it was actually happening for real this time and you were freaking out. But it wasn’t like you were afraid; you knew he would be the most gentle and considerate person ever. You were feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. What if he didn’t like it? What if it wasn’t as good as what he might have been used to with other girls?

Other girls. The thought of other girls being in this position with your boyfriend made you want to rip your eyelashes out. Was he feeling the same way about you though? The same feeling of bitterness at the thought of you being like this with other guys?

Oh, the things you would do to just get your brain to turn off for a few hours. You were pulled out of your trance, letting out a moan as Joe had seemingly just found your sweet spot.

“There it is,” he smiled as he continued to nip and suck at the skin, surely leaving a purple spot there like he wanted to. His left hand gripped your jaw, pushing your head to the side to expose the skin of your neck a little more. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered at the increased pressure on your neck and the gush of wetness pooling your core. 

He began to slip his fingers into your sweatpants, but before he could get too far, a blaring & piercing sound filled your bedroom. You looked down and saw the noise was coming from Joe’s pocket, probably from his phone. Then you looked over to the clock on your nightstand, the time reading 7:30, which made you let out an internal sigh of relief. 

But why were you relieved? You wanted this to happen.

“Joe,” you say, trying to get his attention but he was still spending time on your neck. “It’s time to go, Baby,”.

“Mmm, I can be late by an hour,” he mumbles, kissing up your neck and to your jaw. 

“Uhhh,” you say as you place your hands around his head and move it back up to your view. “You have practice tomorrow morning and we both know how cranky you get when you don’t get enough sleep during the season. And it’s December football so you cannot miss a single practice,”. 

“But–,” he starts to say.

“I know, I know,” you giggle. “But I’ll make it up to you soon, I swear,” you say, sealing your promise with a kiss.

He stares into your eyes for a few seconds before sighing, “Fine,”.

“But I expect to be compensated for this sooner rather than later,” he says as he moves off of you, reaching out to help you off the bed.

“Trust me, you will,” you say as you move your messy hair out of your face. You walk over to your vanity to grab a hairclip while Joe fixes his clothes and some other things. You look into the mirror, a shriek leaving your lips as you examine your neck. 

Joe flips his head around to you, “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Joseph Lee!” you yell. “My neck!”.

He walks over and leans his head to look at your neck, laughing at what you were screaming about. “I told you. Pretty purple marks to show people you’re mine,” he winks before opening up your bedroom door, leaving you speechless at your mirror. Seeing this side of Joe for the first time was so weird for you since for years the relationship between you two had just barely grazed over the zone you were in now, so all this was unexplored. 

Even though it was strange and new, you loved every single part of it. He was making you feel things that no other guy could make you feel; feelings that had yet to be brought out, but now were because of him. 

A few minutes later, you help Joe gather his things before walking him to your apartment door. His hands wrap around your waist as yours loop around his neck, holding each other in a hug for a few moments. 

“I don’t want to go,” he mumbles against your head. 

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow night at least,” you say, rubbing the nape of his neck. 

“Mmm, I just wish we could always be near each other. 9 years of waiting plus not being able to wake up to your pretty face and kiss you goodnight every day is killing me,” he sighs. 

“I told you that my lease is up in 2 months,” you say, meeting his eyes. 

“2 months is so long,” he pouts. Joe had casually asked you a week ago what your thoughts were about living together at his house. He said that you both had already gotten comfy around each other since you have known each other for so long, so living together wouldn’t be so bad, but he also didn’t want to move things along too fast if you weren’t ready. You quickly shut down that thought and told him that you’d been waiting for nearly a decade, so you were definitely not rushing into anything. So naturally, you said yes. The thought of living with him felt like a dream, and now you were a step away from it being a reality. 

“They’ll pass by faster than you think,” you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips to make him feel better. 

“They better,” he says, returning your kiss with two more kisses. His lips were always so soft and felt like clouds against yours. There were so many times you didn’t want to stop kissing him because it felt like heaven and as if you were floating.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Okay?” You say, pressing your head against his chest and going back to the hug.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, pressing another kiss to your head. 

“I love you,” you say, moving your head up to press a kiss to his chin.

“Babe, I’m not gonna leave if you keep kissing me,” he laughed.

You move your head out from his chest again and say, “If you don’t leave, we’re going to be doing a lot more than just kissing and I do not feel like having the entire team on my ass for making you skip practice,”. 

“Fair enough,” he sighs as he lets go of you. “I love you,” he says back, pressing a final kiss to your lips before opening up the door and exiting your apartment.

“Good night,” he says softly as his eyes twinkle in the light of the hallway. 

“Night, Joey,” you smile back, slowly closing the door as the smile on your face stays. You turn around and press your back to the door as that feeling of giddiness, caused by Joe, remains in your body. 

The Next Day

You finish applying the last bit of your lipgloss before grabbing your car keys and heading for your door. You took one final glance in the entryway mirror, making sure that everything was perfect. 

You were wearing the dress Joe had wanted you to wear which hugged your body in all the right places, especially around your breasts. You had the tennis bracelet he gave you on your left wrist and a small diamond chain around your neck, which still had purple marks around it that you didn’t bother to hide. You also grabbed a black cardigan to wear on top of the dress since it was pretty chilly out tonight. The red lipgloss you had put on pulled the whole look together, and you looked hot. You smiled at your appearance and sent Joe a text telling him you were on your way before grabbing your purse and heading out the door. 

Meanwhile, Joe was out in his backyard making sure that everything was perfect for his little date night. 

He had started a fire at the fire pit, hoping the warmth would find its way over the dining table a few feet away. Pots of flowers he had gotten--pink and white carnations--were scattered around the corners of the deck and his chef had prepared a delicious dinner for you both. Joe had requested that he make chicken potstickers, kung pao chicken with fried rice, spicy garlic noodles, and red velvet cupcakes for dessert. Everything was your favorite, and he made sure that it was flawless. The ring he had gotten made for you was sitting in his pocket, and he couldn’t wait to give it to you. 

The fairy lights he hung up a few days ago were still going strong and the entire backyard was now covered by a warm glow, no darkness in sight, just like he had wanted. That’s how Joe felt with you in his life. You were the fairy lights. You filled his world with light, getting rid of all the darkness and emptiness that was there before. 

“Shit, need music,” Joe mumbled under his breath as he realized he was forgetting something. He walked back inside the house and grabbed his speaker from the living room, hooking his phone up to it and bringing it back outside. He decided to put on your playlist, smiling as he scrolled through the songs and saw all the new ones you two had added over the last few weeks. Joe had added “Fooled Around And Fell In Love” by Elvin Bishop, “Head Over Heels” by Tears for Fears, and “Heavenly” by Cigarettes After Sex. You had added “My Love Mine All Mine” by Mitski, “Margaret” by Lana Del Rey, and “Dress” by Taylor Swift. 

Although Joe wasn’t the biggest fan of Taylor Swift’s music--because it wasn’t his particular taste--he had grown fond of her love songs, particularly “Dress”. The song lyrics were just a little too relatable for both of you. 

The sound of his doorbell snapped him out of his daze, looking at his messages and realizing you were here. He tapped shuffle, threw his phone onto the couch outside, and ran over to the main door to let you in.

While you were waiting at the door, you pulled out your phone to get another look at yourself, making sure that everything was perfect. Your eyes moved to your cardigan that was covering the dress, the dress that Joe had specially asked you to wear. 

You put your phone away and shrugged off the cardigan as it was ruining the vibe you were going for. You looked hot, and the cardigan did not emphasize that. “A little cold didn’t hurt anyone,” you muttered as you heard the door lock click and open. 

Joe opened the door, his heart skipping a beat as he laid his eyes on you. You looked absolutely desirable and angelic, and he was definitely feeling a repeat of how he felt when he first saw you in this dress. The same feeling of attraction and need.

“Hey,” you smiled as you straightened out your dress.

“Hey,” he smiled back. “Come in, it’s cold out there,” he says as he stretches his hand out to lead you inside the house. 

You place your hand in his as he leads you inside, and then you put your stuff on the kitchen island before turning around to face him again. You watch as his eyes move from your feet to your bare legs, to your hips, to your chest which was covered by black lace from the dress, to your neck that still has purple marks from yesterday, and up to your beautiful face. Although the dress you had on was made for you, it was making him want to rip it off right now. He wanted to skip dinner and get straight to dessert, and he was not talking about the red velvet cupcakes. 

“Like what you see?” you giggle as you pull him closer.

“You look fucking incredible, Y/N,” he whispers, his hands sliding across the silk fabric of your dress. 

“All for you,” you say before you press a kiss to his lips, but quickly pull away as you smell something delicious. 

“What is that?” you say as your eyes light up.

He lets out a soft laugh before grabbing your hand and leading you out to the backyard, “Our Date,”.

“Our date’s outside?” you wonder as he pulls you out the patio door, stopping you at the bottom of the steps. Your mouth falls open as your eyes move up to the lights hanging all around the deck, brightening his usually dark backyard. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper as you let go of his hand and walk further onto the deck. Your eyes move to the corners of the deck, noticing pots of your favorite flowers all around. Your eyes then navigate to the lit fire pit and the dining table a few feet away, which had all of your favorite foods on it. 

You flip around to face Joe, who is standing on the steps with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. “Joe, did you do all this?” you asked him.

“Maaayyybee,” he blushes as he looks at the sky and bounces back and forth on his feet. 

You run back over to him and leap into his arms, pulling him in for a big hug as you press kisses on his cheek. “I love you so so so much. This is so perfect,” you beam. 

“I’m so glad you like it,” he says as he sways you back and forth. His hand sliding down to your ass, giving it a soft squeeze, sending electricity throughout your body. 

“Nobody’s ever done this much for me for a date,” you say as you pull away from the hug, cupping his face with your hands and rubbing his soft skin. 

“Well, like I said before. I’m setting the standards in the boyfriend department,” he smiles as he moves his hand around your back and leads you over to the dining table. 

“Please, you are the standard,” you laugh as he pulls out your chair for you. Joe helps you settle in your chair before walking over and dragging his chair closer to yours and then sitting in it. 

“This food looks beyond amazing,” you say as you look at all the delicious foods as Joe starts to fill your plate.

“You have good taste,” he smiles.

“Oh, I know,” you wink as you take the plate from him. Joe grabs his water, taking a sip to hopefully calm down the impure thoughts he was feeling at the sight of you. “Not just in food though,” you add as you give Joe a loaded look, making him almost choke on his water.  

“Oh really? What else do you have good taste in?” he teases as he places his water back down.

“Hmmm, I think I have pretty good taste in NFL Quarterbacks too,” you wink. 

“Quarterbacks plural?” he says as he raises his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I think that guy from Kansas is pretty cute too,” you lie as you take a bite of the spicy noodles. 

Joe’s face drops as if he just saw a ghost and he feels his heart stop for a second, making you burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you should see your face,” you laugh as you put down your fork and throw your head back, your entire body shaking from his reaction.

“That is not funny,” he says with a straight face. 

“Aww, poor baby got a little jelly?” you giggle as you come back forward and grab his hand. 

“You don’t have to worry. The only Quarterback I have my eyes on is 6’3, has dirty blonde hair, is from Ohio, plays for the superior Ohio football team, and can plan a killer date night for his girlfriend,” you say as you lean over to kiss his cheek. 

“Good, because I heard that QB only has eyes for 1 girl as well,” he smiles.

“Hm, I wonder who she is?” you say as you bat your eyelashes.

“Well from what I heard, she’s suuuper funny, gorgeous, loves trashy reality TV, is a big football girl, and knows exactly how to make a guy fall head over heels in love with her,” he says before taking a bite of the kung pao chicken. 

“Did you say that last part because of the song that’s playing right now?” you laugh as you hear the melody of “Head over Heels” in the background. 

“Now that’s just a beautiful coincidence because I meant that for real,”.

“Well, I have a good feeling that the girl feels the same way about the Quarterback,” you say as you move your foot to touch his.

“Perfect, I know he’ll be happy to hear that,” he smiles. 

A little later, you both are digging into the yummy dinner as you talk about upcoming games, your schedules, and your sister’s wedding.

“So, you’re good to go with me to Kaylee’s wedding in a couple weeks right?” you ask as you shove another spoonful of rice into your mouth. 

“Mhm,” Joe nods as he finishes chewing the chicken. “I think I have a few suits I can pick from that can match your dress,”.

“Great, I’ll text her tomorrow,” you say as you finish up the last bit of food on your plate. “They’ll be so excited to see you and you know Kaylee will be on our asses for finally making a move on each other,”.

“Oh I am well aware,” he says as he takes one final bite before grabbing your plates and stacking them up to take inside. “I can only imagine how many people we’ll get bombarded by at the wedding,”.

“Bring some edibles or something. I don’t think I’ll be able to sit through the reception without something to take off the edge,” you say as you reach down to unstrap your heels. 

“You got it,” he smiles. “It’s getting pretty cold so why don’t you move over to the day bed by the fire pit and I’ll bring the cupcakes out over there. I’m sure it’s warmer there anyways,” he says as he gets up and starts to clean up the table.

“You don’t want any help?” you ask as you get up from your chair. 

“I’m good,” he smiles. “You just sit over there and look pretty like you always do,”. 

“I love you,” you yell as make grabby hands towards him and you walk backward to the day bed.

“I love you more,” he echoes as he walks inside. 

You hop onto the daybed, feeling the warmth of the fire pit gravitate toward you which was the best feeling since you were pretty cold now, especially since your dress wasn't really helping.  You leaned back against the pillows as you looked up at the fairy lights, humming along to the music playing in the background; a smile appeared on your face as you realized the song that was playing. 

“Say my name and everything just stops, I don’t want you like a best friend,” you mumble, reciting the song lyrics. “Only bought this dress so you could take it off, take it off–”. 

“Oh, I will be,” Joe winks, snapping you out of your daze. 

You look back straight and see Joe standing in front of you, holding a plate with 2 red velvet cupcakes. 

“Hello, again,” you say as you sit up straight and scooch over to make room for Joe. 

“You warm enough?” Joe asks as he settles in next to you, his body warmth making you even more warmer.

“Now that you’re here, absolutely,” you say as you press a kiss on his cheek while you grab a cupcake from the plate. You take a bite of the cupcake, Joe, attentively watching you as you close your eyes and let out a groan because of how good it is. 

“Mmmm, that’s the best thing I’ve ever had,” you open your eyes as you wipe your lips with the back of your hand. You look at Joe, who seems to still be staring at you, not saying a single word. He was thinking about how this was his life. How you were his life and he still hadn’t processed that this was real yet. He felt like he was dreaming and he was 1 moment away from waking up and all this being over. 

“Hey, you okay?” you ask as you put the cupcake back down on the plate.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says while running his fingers through his hair.

“You were staring,” you say as you tilt your head to the side, the purple marks on your neck now fully visible because of the light shining on you from above.

“Just thinking,” he says, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Care to let me in?” you ask as you sit on your knees. “Just because we’re a couple doesn’t mean we still can’t talk about how we’re feeling,”.

He lets out a soft laugh before placing his hand on your knee, “It’s nothing bad. Just thinking about us,” he says. 

“Oh?” you say as you look up at him. 

“Again, nothing bad. I just can’t believe that this is real life and I know that sounds dumb, but it’s true. Having you with me was already the best part of doing what I’m doing, but now having you with me as my girlfriend, as my partner, just feels–,”.

“Unreal?” you interrupt, letting out a laugh when you see Joe shaking his head with a grin on his face. 

“Very Unreal,” he says, reaching for something in his pocket. 

“I feel the same way. I know it's only been a few weeks, but I already know this is everything I’ve been waiting for,” you grin. 

“We’re always on the same page about everything aren’t we?” he says as he pulls out a little box from his pocket.

“My favorite thing about us,” you say as you look down at the box. Before you could ask him what that was, he said something else.

“I just want you to know that you are the most important person in the world to me, and I love you more than words can describe. Everything about you just works for me, it always has and it always will. You light up my life, just like how these lights are lighting up the backyard,” he says as he opens the box. “You’re it for me, Y/N. My best friend, my twin flame, my girlfriend, and the person that I want with me for as long as we’re on this planet. Or any other planet if we end up going to Mars or something in the future,”. 

You feel like you’re slowly melting away at his words and then you look down at what was in the box, now feeling tears pool in your eyes. “Sooo, to show you that, I got you a little something,” he says as he takes the ring out of the box. 

“Joe, I- I,” you barely say before the tears fall from your eyes. He looks up and notices the tears falling from your eyes, puts the ring down, and starts to wipe your cheeks. 

“Hey, why are you crying?” he softly asks.

“Because,” you laugh through the tears. “You’re perfect. Everything about you is fucking perfect,” you say as you stuff your face into his neck. 

He wraps his arm around your waist and moves your hair to the side, “I hope that’s a good thing?” he asks.

“It’s a great thing” you giggle before pulling your face out from his neck. “Can I see it?” you ask as you wipe your eyes and nose.

“Duhh,” he smiles as he picks up the ring again. “Both of our birthstones in an alternating pattern, 9 diamonds to represent the 9 years we’ve known each other, and the date we met plus the date we became an official couple engraved on the inside,”. 

“How do you think of these things?” you ask as you feel fireworks setting off in your heart at how much detail he put into designing the ring. The ring was gorgeous, and it was definitely a pretty penny. “But this was probably really expensive,” you say.

“We’re not doing that again. You said the same thing when I got you this bracelet,” he says as he touches the tennis bracelet on your wrist. “And what did I say?”.

“In case you forgot, I am a millionaire now, and you never wanna upset a millionaire,” you say, recalling his words from a few years ago. 

“Exactly,” he says as he eyes your hands, trying to decide which finger to put it on. 

You watch as his eyes dart from one hand to the other, then eventually setting on your right hand, slipping the ring onto your 4th finger. 

“Why that finger specifically?” you ask.

“It’s your right hand’s ring finger,” he shrugs.

“Soooo,” you say, expecting more for the reasoning behind it.

“Your left hand’s ring finger is being saved for another ring that I’ll give you later on, so this was the next best thing,” he says so casually. He was talking about your ring finger, the ring finger. He wanted to put that ring on it. 

You lean forward and pull him in for a kiss, not needing to say anything else to him because he already knows how you feel. You feel his hands travel down to your waist, gently picking you up and placing you in his lap. His hands travel up and down your sides, and then you feel him pull away from the kiss which makes you let out a little groan. 

“Have I told you how Sexy you look tonight?” he says, his lips all glossy from yours. 

“Ohh yeah," you nod. "Have I told you how great of a Boyfriend you are?” you ask him as you slide your hands up and down his chest.

“Yeah, a couple of times,” he teases. “But seriously, you look hot. Like incomprehensibly hot,”.

“You still thinking those same thoughts you felt when you first saw me in this dress?” you ask as you move your face closer to his, pressing feather-light kisses on his jaw. 

His hands move down to cup your ass and his head shifts so that his mouth was right by your ear, “Those thoughts plus maybe a few more. Why don’t I show you in my room?” he whispers, setting off that warm feeling in your stomach again. 

“Sounds perfect,” you say as you kiss around his neck, hoping to leave a purple spot there just like he did for you yesterday. 

He holds your waist tightly as he slides off the daybed, your legs wrapping around his as his hands slide to your ass again. You hide your face in his neck as he quickly closes the fire pit and unplugs all the lights before walking back inside. 

Once you’re back inside his warm house, you move your head out of his neck and go back to kissing him. You were so lost in his lips that you didn’t even realize you had made it up to his room until you heard him close the door. Your eyes looked to your left towards his bed, stopping at his bookshelf and at the photo of you two that Joe said was his favorite a few weeks ago. You smiled at the thought of how things had changed from then to now, still not quite believing that this was real. 

He places you down on his bed before crawling on top of you, the same position as yesterday before you got interrupted by his alarm. You feel his lips travel from your jaw down to your neck again, slightly sucking on the already bruised spots, making you let out a whimper. 

“Joe,” you blubbered at the slight sting you felt. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave your neck alone,” he chuckles as he moves down to your chest. Your chest was lined with the lacy part of the dress, and Joe felt like a kid in a candy store. He started to press kisses along your soft skin, moving one hand to the strap of the dress and pulling it down slowly. You closed your eyes, feeling desire building inside your body with every touch and kiss from Joe. He pulls down the straps of the dress, his eyes widening at the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra and this was his first time seeing you naked. 

“No Bra?” he asks as he looks up. 

You feel shy all of a sudden and open your eyes, remembering you didn’t put one on since the dress held them pretty well. You move your hands to cover your chest, but Joe stops them before you can. 

“You are beautiful, Y/N. No need to hide,” he says as he presses a kiss to your chest again, getting rid of all your shy thoughts. “Absolutely gorgeous,”. 

“But, no bra makes it seem like you came over with an agenda tonight,” he laughs as he kisses down to your nipple.

“I told you that you’d be compensated sooner rather than–,” you smile before you feel Joe wrap his lips around your nipple and swirl his tongue around the bud. “Oh my god,” you moan at the contact. His tongue continues to work its magic around your sensitive bud, prompting a few gasps and whimpers to leave your lips as you play with his hair. 

“Joe,” you moan as you squirm underneath him, feeling him move from your chest and down your body. He moves down your body, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses along the way as he pulls the dress down with him.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he mumbles as he kisses your stomach. “And your skin is so soft,”.

You smile as you hear him continue to praise you while pleasuring you, making sure that you feel good about yourself in every way possible, physically & internally. 

He moves to your arm, “Absolutely stunning,” he says as he presses a kiss to your forearm. He then moves back to your stomach, “Drop dead gorgeous,” he says as he presses a kiss to your hips. “Hottest girl I’ve ever come across,” he says as he presses a kiss to your belly button. “And all mine,” he says as his lips graze over the sensitive spot on your belly close to your heat, feeling a gush of wetness pool at your core. 

“Shit,” you moan and pull on his hair as you feel him kiss that spot on your stomach, feeling butterflies flying through your stomach. He was so sweet, even in the most heated moments, and that was another thing you adored about Joe. 

“Found another sweet spot I guess,” he chuckles as he presses another kiss to it before moving down to your core. He pulls your dress all the way down your body, now leaving you in nothing but your panties. He looks at you for a few moments, seeing you in your most natural form in front of him, and it makes him feel like he is on cloud 9. The fact that you were so comfortable around him, especially like this, was another reason why he is absolutely obsessed with you. You felt comfortable with him emotionally & physically, and he felt the same with you. 

“You good?” He asks before going further.

“I’m great,” you smile as you make grabby hands towards him.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says.

“That’ll never happen, but okay,” you smile. 

He comes back over you, pushing his lips against yours in a messy kiss that has you both gasping for air and feeling more needy than before. You feel his hand travel down to your thigh, his fingers massaging the plush skin before he pulls away and goes back down to your core. 

You feel your brain click, just like it did last night, as you realize what was going to happen. You feel his hands teasing the band of your panties before you feel his lips on your inner thigh. You feel him suck and nip at the skin, definitely leaving another mark.

“You love marking me up don’t you?” You laugh.

“People gotta know that you’re mine,” he says as he sucks on the skin of your inner thigh. The words coming out of his mouth were still new to you. The thought of Joe, your Joe, doing this to you and saying these words to you was something you never thought would be possible. 

Before you could say something else, you feel him ghost his fingers over your slit, feeling your wetness seeping out of your panties. “So wet for me,” he chuckles before he pulls down your panties and throws them to the side. 

You start to feel those nerves again, so you close your eyes, hoping rid of those thoughts. The cool air of the room hits your core at the same time as you feel Joe’s mouth lick a long stripe from your folds to your clit, sending the first waves of pleasure throughout your body. “Mmm,” you whimper as you throw your head to the side, your fingers twirling the strands of his hair as his mouth starts to go unhinged on your core.

Wet slurping sounds fill the room along with your breaths that are coming out in short gasps. Joe’s mouth was magic, pure magic, and you were mad at yourself for missing out on this for all those years you stayed away. 

“Joey, fuck don’t stop,” you shamelessly moan as you push his head closer to your core, feeling him groan into you as he continues to lap at your folds. You could feel his soft scruff rubbing against your lower half, the real feeling of it better than what you had imagined it felt like. 

“You taste like heaven,” he says as he presses kisses around your skin before attaching his lips to your sensitive clit, sending intense shocks of pleasure throughout your body.

“Fuck, Joe,” you moan as you start to arch your back, but he gently pushes you back down before moving his hand to cup your breast, his thumb sliding across your nipple while his mouth continues to send you to heaven. “God, you’re so good,” you whined. You were melting under his touch, letting him do whatever he wanted to you, and it felt so right. The way his mouth was worshipping you was sending you into overdrive, his soft lips caressing every part and making you lose all control, but you were trying to keep it together. 

He looked up for a few seconds, watching you struggle to hold it together as the sounds coming from your mouth were absolutely unhinged, a juxtaposition to your facial expression. He watched as your free hand was gripping the sheets, your knuckles losing color at the tight grip you had on them. Every time you moaned his name, it felt like everything would just stop, and he loved it. 

His hand slides down from your breast to your thigh, gripping the back of it to throw your leg over his shoulder, opening you up even more. You feel his tongue thrust into your core, just as you start to feel your pleasure building up while his thumb was rubbing circles around your clit. 

“I’m so close,” you whisper as you open up your eyes and look down at him, feeling incredibly dazed at the sight of him doing what he is doing right now. He moves his lips from your core up to your clit, rhythmically sucking and swirling the bud before you let out another moan. 

“Oh my god,” you whine as you feel your pleasure begging to be released. You let go of the sheets, stuffing both your hands into Joe’s hair and grinding against his mouth. The combination of his tongue and your movements push you towards your orgasm as you feel the band in your belly snap hard, seeing stars for the first time in a long time; almost feeling like you had just fallen into a cloud of pink dust and the room had just gotten 10 times brighter, and it was all because of the man in front of you. 

“Joe,” you whimper as you throw your head to the side and smile into the pillow, waves of pleasure crashing over you as he continues to lap at your folds, softly rubbing your shaking thighs and milking every last drop of your orgasm. He continued to lap at your folds, a little more delicately than before. Then he moved back up to your face, he watched as you continued to grin into the pillow, soft moans and whimpers still leaving your lips as you came down from your high. A few moments later, you open up your eyes, panting from the aftermath of your orgasm, seeing Joe’s face just inches from yours. 

His lips and chin were coated with your wetness, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair was all messy. He wiped his chin with his hand before bringing it to his mouth to clean your wetness off of him. 

“How was it?” he pants, praying that you enjoyed it and felt good. He wanted nothing more than to make you, the love of his life, feel good. It’s all he has ever wanted. 

“You’re really fucking good at that,” you breathe out before you pull him closer and kiss him again. You could taste yourself on his lips and that made the kiss even more sweeter. Your tongues tangled in each other's mouths as you moved your hands to his back, stuffing them underneath his shirt and tracing his torso with your freshly manicured nails. You pulled his shirt higher, signaling that you wanted it off. He pulled away from your lips for a few seconds and took his shirt off before going back to you, his lips sucking on your top lip, almost biting it at the feeling of your hands finding themselves inside his pants.

Before you got lost in his lips again, you pulled away, leaving him a little breathless and very needy. “Mm, come back,” he whispered as he moved to kiss you again.

“I think you forgot to take something else off too,” you say as hold his face just inches from your mouth while you look down at his pants.

“Damn, straight to it?” He laughed as he got off of you and started to take his pants off.

“We’ve been waiting for way too long for us to not get straight to it,” you say as you watch him take them off. The nerves only get stronger as your brain starts to fully wake up, and the thoughts of last night come right back. You were about to see him fully naked and have sex, and there was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t enjoy it. But at the same time, why wouldn’t he? He loves you, and he made it very clear that you were the one for him; you both wanted this to happen, and you even said it to each other’s faces many times. 

“No, No No. Stop it Y/N. He loves you,” you think to yourself, trying to get out of your head again. You watch as he is just left in his boxers, expecting him to pull them down any second, but he just stands there with a straight face. 

“Everything alright?” you ask him.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck. 

You stay silent for a few seconds, “I’m on the pill,” you tell him, feeling even more nervous at the thought of him fucking you without any barriers. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna force you into doing something if you don’t feel comfortable,” he asks.

“Joe, I promise you that it’s fine,” you say as you give him a sincere smile. 

He nods his head before he pulls down his boxers, your breath hitching as you look down and see him fully bare for the first time. You felt like you were back in high school and hooking up with a guy for the first time since you were feeling all of the same feelings again; excitement, hesitation, desire, and tension. 

“Are you still good?” He asks as he moves onto the bed, pumping his cock as he gets in between your legs.

“You’re just so-,”.

“I know,” he laughs. “But I promise, you can handle it,”.

“Oh really? What makes you so sure?” You tease.

“Because I know you and you never back down from a challenge,” he winks. 

You let out a soft laugh as you looked down again. Your smile faltered as the thoughts in your head only got louder and now your face was showing it, and he was noticing. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked as he stopped and cupped your face.

“I’m fine,” you sigh.

“Talk to me, Y/N. I know you’re not fine,”.

You let out another sigh, knowing you could never lie to him, “Just nervous I guess,”.

“Am I making you nervous?” He asks as he moves a few strands of hair out of your face.

“No, no. God no. It’s just that I keep thinking you won’t like it, and then I think about the other girls that have been in this position before,” you confess.

He stares deeply into your eyes for a few seconds, his heart dropping at the thought of you feeling like this because you were thinking about other girls.

“You’re crazy if you think I won’t like this. And stop thinking about other girls,” he says. “Look around. You’re the only girl in my bed, you’re the only girl that will be in my bed, and you’re the only girl that gets to have me like this,” he reassures you. 

It felt as if your brain had just gotten a soft blanket and pillow, preparing itself to take a nap and finally turn off for the night, and it was because of Joe. He always got you out of your head when you were too far gone and this was just another example of it. 

“I love you,” you say as you look into his baby blue eyes, filled with desire for you. 

“I love you more than anything in the world. Will you finally let me show you?” He asks as he presses a kiss to your nose. 

“Of course,” you say as you press a deep and passion-filled kiss onto his lips.

He pulls away and says, “Let me know if you want to stop, let me know if it hurts, and let me know if it’s too much,”.

“Joe,” you blink.

“What?” he asks.

“I’ve had sex before,” you laugh.

“Okay, but you haven’t had sex with me before,” he says as he raises his brow.

“Fair point,” You giggle.

“Just know that I'm here and that you’re safe,” he says before you start to feel pressure down below, his cock slowly sliding through your drenched folds.

“Okay,” you whimper as you throw your head to the side, feeling a slight sting at the sensation of him stretching you out. A few gasps leave your lips at the fullness you felt, and then a whine when you feel him stop. “Don’t stop,” you said 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans as he slides in all the way, feeling your cushiony walls wrap around him for the first time. 

“Joe,” you whisper, moving your face so that you are looking into each other's eyes. He starts to thrust into you, setting a slow pace so that you can get used to the feeling. The slow rhythmic pace he set made your toes curl, the feeling of him inside of you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before and you loved it. The way he held you close to him, the sounds leaving his lips, and the feeling of being fucked by him was all too much for you. 

Faint sounds of skin hitting skin filled the room as he moved deeper inside of you with each well-placed thrust. He grabbed your leg, cupping the back of your knee and placing it around his waist, opening you up even more for him to go deeper. 

“Yeah,” you moan as you feel him moving closer to your G-spot. The new angle allows him to move deeper into you, reaching new territory each time he pushes into you. 

“Does it feel good?” He pants as he presses kisses around your jaw.

“Feels fucking amazing,” you say as you open your eyes and move your other leg around his waist. You move your hand into his hair again and push his face closer to yours, soft moans leaving your mouth against his lips before he moves closer and captures your lips in a gentle kiss. 

A few seconds later, a well-placed thrust causes you to pull away, his cock grazing your G-spot.  “Joe, holy fuck,” you moan as you throw your head back against the pillow. You had him so close to you, but you wanted him closer. His pace was fulfilling, but you wanted more. “Joe,” you moan again as you open your eyes. 

“What, Baby?” he breathes out as he continues to thrust into your slick core.

“Fuck me,” you moan. “Fuck me harder, please,”.

He looked into your eyes for a few seconds, smiling at the sight of you begging for more and feeling like this because of him. You felt comfortable with him, and that’s all he wanted. You were the only girl that he wanted like this, and now that he had you, he felt like he was on top of the world. 

“I never thought I’d hear you say that, fuck, that’s hot,” he pants as he begins to thrust into you harder. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, the feeling of him pounding into your core with no barriers was too good and neither of you could get enough of it. 

“You feel so good,” he moaned at the feeling of his cock pumping into your core. You started to buck your hips against him, matching the pace of his rough thrusts and pushing you both into another realm of satisfaction. The sound of skin hitting skin only got louder, just like the sounds escaping both your mouths. One of his hands traveled to your chest, cupping your breast and teasing your nipple with his thumb. 

Hearing Joe like this was sending chills down your body, again thinking about how quickly things changed from innocent to whatever the hell this was between you two. It was pure passion, love, and desire that had built up between you both for years, and it was finally coming out in the best way possible. 

“Yeah,” you groan as you move further up the bed, his cock slamming into your cervix with each snap of his hips. You moved your hands to cup his back, helping him move against you as every stroke hit your pleasure point. 

“J- Joe,” you struggle to moan, his lips move down to your neck again, but this time nestled against the spot by your ear.

“You. Are. Un. Fucking. Real,” he whispers into your ear, punctuating each word with a rough thrust before dropping his head into the crook of your neck. He felt himself getting lost in your touch, the way you felt around him was unlike anything he had ever felt before with any other girl. The sounds escaping your lips, the smile on your face, the softness of your touch, it was all unreal. 

Joe continued to fuck you senseless, your pleasure building inside of you with every thrust. “Right there,” you smile as you feel him find another pleasure point inside of you, your breath coming out in short gasps again as you feel him slam into you harder, making sure he hits that spot just right. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned as he felt your walls start to clench his cock. 

“Mmph, I’m close,” you whimper as you press a kiss to his forehead, prompting him to come out of your neck.

“Fuck,” he pants as his thrusts start to become more erratic. He could never get enough of you, the feeling of being balls deep inside of you was something he needed to feel all the time. He’d never felt this good with another girl before, you were something special. 

You felt your legs start to burn and a thin layer of sweat formed on your body. He moves one hand to grip your waist, his lips find their way to your mouth again, and his other hand starts to navigate down to your clit. The way he was touching you sent electricity through your veins. 

He starts to toy with your clit as his mouth crashes against yours, and a few rough thrusts later, you were clamping down on his cock. “I- I’m cumming,” you moan as you break away from the kiss, digging your head into the pillow again, feeling the band in your stomach tighten.

“I’ve got you,” he says as he presses a kiss to your cheek. Your arms wrapped around his back, drawing him closer to you as you felt the world stop.

“Joe!” you screamed as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your walls clenching his cock in a rhythmic manner making him groan. It felt like a rush of dopamine, a breath of fresh air, and like you were going down a big drop on a rollercoaster. All of which created a feeling of euphoria.

You whimpered and moaned at the feeling of your high; it was a feeling of raw satisfaction. You’d never felt like this with another guy before. Those thoughts and doubts you had were long gone as all you could focus on was the pleasure you were feeling at the man who made it happen. He managed to make you feel like the most extraordinary girl in the world earlier with everything he said to you, and now he just showed you that he meant everything he said. 

He was still moving, but not as strongly as he was before. You didn’t feel him reach his high yet, which made you a little nervous, so you were determined to get him there. You opened your eyes, seeing a content smile on his face as he slowly pumped into you.

“Don’t stop,” you said, maybe for the 50th time, your voice raspy from how fucked out you were. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna push you too much,” he said as he pressed a kiss on your nose. 

“Keep going, it’s perfect,” you whispered as you closed your eyes and let go of all your thoughts and feelings, letting him do whatever he wanted. You felt his pace pick back up, feeling him move closer and closer to his release. 

“Shit, I’m close,” he moaned as his thrusts became rougher. The soreness down below was setting in, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you wanted him to feel good, just like how he made you feel good. A few seconds later, you felt him still inside you and hot spurts of his release coating your walls, just as he gently pressed down onto your body, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he felt his high. The feeling of him inside you was magical, and something you could never get enough of.

“You’re so good, Y/N. Fuck, I love you,” he whispered into your ear, causing you to grin. You both lay there for a few moments, basking in the afterglow of what had just happened, your breaths steadying out. You thought about how exciting this was, getting to finally do this with Joe. Finally getting to be his girlfriend, finally being able to do what couples did. It was all you had ever wanted. 

He moved his face back to your view, seeing your flushed cheeks and messy hair along with the grin on your face. “H- How was it?” he asked as he slowly slid out of you, a hiss leaving your lips at the sensation. 

“I don’t think I can even begin to express how much I loved that,” you said as you pulled his face back down to yours, pressing a big kiss to his lips. “Wait, did you like it?” You asked him as you suddenly pulled away. 

“Does this answer your question?” He laughs as he moves back down and kisses you like he has never kissed you before in his life. “That was the best. You are amazing,” he said against your lips. 

He gets off of you a few moments later, walking into the bathroom to grab a washcloth to clean you up. Then, he walks into his closet and finds a t-shirt for you to slip on, as well as some fresh clothes for him. 

“Here,” he says, handing you one of his Bengals t-shirts. 

“I hope you know that you’re not getting this back,” you giggle as you sit up and slip the shirt on.

“Fine by me,” he shrugged as he put on shorts and clean boxers before sliding back into the bed.

“I should probably change these sheets,” he realized, starting to get back up but feeling your hand wrap around his arm, pulling him back down.

You toss your leg over him, holding him down to the bed. “Later,” you say as you move closer to his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist. 

“Someone’s feeling clingy,” he teased as he kissed your forehead. 

“Clingy, glowy, infatuated, in love. Whatever you want to call it,” you smile up at him. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked you as he rubbed your belly.

“Like I’ve just had the best sex of my life with the love of my life. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on that,” you shake your head. 

“I feel the same way,” he chuckles. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say as you press a kiss to his bare chest. “This was really special,”.

“Don’t thank me,” he says. “You deserve this. Only the best treatment for the girl of my dreams,” he smiles.

“I love you so much that it literally hurts,” you giggle as you hide your face in his chest.

His hand slides up and down your back, his heart bursting at the thought of you both together in this moment. “I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you forever,” he whispered into your ear, making your cheeks turn another shade of crimson. You slide your hand up his chest, softly grazing your fingers over his muscular body and admiring the ring on your finger, having a moment of realization. 

“Hey, I just noticed something,” you say as you bring your hand to your face, admiring your ring. 

“What?” Joe asks as he looks down at you.

“I know you said there’s 9 diamonds for the 9 years we’ve known each other, but you know what else is 9?” you say as you look up at him, your words laced with love.

“What?” Joe asks, not catching on to what you were saying.

“You, silly,” you say as you pat his chest. “You’re number 9 and the ring has 9 diamonds. I’ll always have you with me even if we’re not always in the same place,” you giggle. 

“That’s actually really sweet and wasn’t even on purpose,” he cheeses. “But trust me, we’ll always be in the same place,”.

“Hmm, what about when you have to go to the team hotel the night before games? Or away games since I wouldn’t see you until after the game?”

“I’ll sneak you in. Show up in the mascot’s uniform, and just the uniform,” he winks. “I'm sure you’ll make it up to our floor if you make a good excuse,”

“Oh, I’ll make it up to your floor, I have spy-like reflexes, but I think they’ll realize that there’s a girl in your room once they hear us going at it,” you laugh into his chest. 

“Hey, they should appreciate that I’m letting my built-up tension and nerves out in a healthy way,” he shrugged. “Having your star QB all tensed and nervous before a game is a recipe for disaster,”. 

“You’re too much,” you blush.

“But you still love me,” he laughed, looking down at you.

You crane your head to his face, meeting his ocean-blue eyes that never fail to send butterflies into your body. “That I do,” you say as you shift your body so that you're on top of him, feeling a wet spot on the bed as you were doing so.

He watches as your face scrunches up, looking a little uncomfortable. “You good?” He asked.

“Hit a wet spot,” you laughed. “There’s a lot of body fluids on me and this bed right now,”.

“Do you want to shower?” He asked as the pads of his fingers massaged the plush skin of your thighs. 

“As long as we get to repeat this,” you mumble as you move your face closer to his.

“Already?” He asks as he raises his brow, stunned at your stamina.

“9 years Joey. 9 fucking years,” you laughed.

“Fair enough,” he says as he presses his lips against yours, sliding off the bed with your legs wrapped around his. 

“You might need some Advil after this,” he says as he opens the bathroom door. “I have a lot of energy,” he winks.

“I’d be mad if you didn’t,” you smiled against his shoulder, your entire body sizzling with anticipation. This was going to become a regular thing for you both, and that made your heart soar. He was perfect, your relationship was perfect, everything was perfect.

--The End--

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 4: Zeus, God Of Thunder]

A/N: Can you believe we're already 1/3 done with this series?? I sure can't! I hope you enjoy Chapter 4. I'm so excited to show you where we're headed. The times are indeed a-changin'... 😉

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 7.3k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs @minttea07 @babyblue711

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You unzip the floral suitcase that Alicent gave the nurses to pack for you. Inside are the hundreds of greeting cards sent by people from the Atlantic to the Rockies; downstairs, Eudoxia is distributing a dozen bouquets of flowers throughout the house with appropriate grimness, and more arrive each hour. You lift cards out of the suitcase by the handful and lay them down on your bed. Every movement feels slow, every thought muddled, bare feet in cold wet sand that swallows you to your ankles. The windows are open, the sheer curtains billowing. The wind whips in off the ocean, smelling of brine and sun glare, life and death.

Aemond emerges from the bathroom in a gale of steam. He finishes adjusting his eyepatch and then dresses himself: white shorts, blue polo. Aemond wears a lot of blue. It is Greek, is it American, it is the Democratic Party, it is the color of the sky that was once believed to hold Olympus, it is everything he’s ever been or wanted to be. He’s humming The House Of The Rising Sun. It’s the first time you’ve truly been alone since the night before he caught his flight to Tacoma.

Beneath the greeting cards you find the books, cosmetics, and three new sundresses, none of which you ended up wearing home. Alicent bought you a plain black shift dress, matching gloves and flats, and opaque sunglasses to hide your face from the journalists who waited outside the hospital. And there is one last item to unpack. At the bottom of the suitcase is a clear plastic bag containing fabric, white dotted with bruises of common blue violets. At first you are confounded, and then you turn it over to see the dark, saturated stain of crimson. It’s the sundress you were wearing the day you were rushed to Mount Sinai to have Ari. The nurses hadn’t known if you wanted to keep it, burn it, bury it.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, like he’s surprised by the question. He goes to his writing desk and turns the chair around so it’s facing you. He sits, crosses one leg over the other, leans back and hides his hands in his pockets. His tone is gentle, but his gaze is hard. “By the time I heard that you’d had the baby, it was already over. You were out of surgery, he was in an incubator, and that was the immutable reality. I figured there was nothing I could do at that point to improve the outcome. And that’s true. Me flying back early wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you should have been there,” you insist, eyes wet, voice quivering. “You should have known him like I did.”

“Winning Washington was important.”

“Washington is a basket of votes, Ari was our child, he was real.”

“No one told me he was dying—”

“Because you didn’t pick up the fucking phone.”

Aemond is incredulous, like he couldn’t have heard you correctly. “It’s not like I was playing golf or drinking myself under some bar, I was campaigning 20 hours a day and it worked.”

“Nothing on earth could have kept me away from you when you got shot in Palm Beach.”

“So maybe it wasn’t just about Washington,” Aemond says, and his words aren’t gentle anymore. They are razored, dauntless, daring you to battle him. “It’s about the whole picture, it’s about the momentum. If I had underperformed in Washington, the dominoes would fall in Kentucky, and Utah, and Virginia, and then at the national convention in August, and then against Nixon in November. I don’t have the luxury of disappearing from the public eye to sit adoringly by your bedside when we both know there isn’t a single goddamn thing I can do to help.”

“It would have made you look like a better man.”

“But not a better president.”

And like a fracture being snapped back into place, you remember what Aegon said on that bloodstained night in Florida: You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you. You stare down at the ruined dress entombed in plastic, still clutched in your hands. You don’t dare to let Aemond see your eyes. You’re afraid you won’t be able to disguise the betrayal glistening there. You ask, a whisper, a whimper: “Why aren’t you sad?” I thought you loved him. I thought you were always so worried about him.

“Of course I’m sad,” Aemond says, more kindly now, patiently, like he’s speaking to someone who can’t be expected to comprehend. “But it’s different for the mother.”

You can’t reply. If you do, something lethal will pour out, smoke and poison and arrows, something that shoots to kill. Ari was quietly interred at the Targaryen family mausoleum in Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park. It had felt so wrong to leave his tiny casket there in a silent stone prison full of strangers.

Aemond is behind you now, trying to knead the tension out of your shoulders. And for the first time in two years, you wish he’d stop touching you. Your belly hurts, your head hurts, your heart hurts, you are a garden blooming with bruises and scars. “I know you aren’t in your right mind. Everything will be better soon. I promise.”

Tears gather on your eyelashes. “I miss him.”

“We’ll have others. Here, let me take that…” Aemond grabs the bag holding your ruined dress and it’s out of your reach before you can think to resist. “You should get ready for dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply numbly, now gazing down at your empty palms. Aemond leaves with his grisly parcel, and you never see it again. But once he’s gone you don’t shed your black mourning dress, blood-soaked pad, bandages, and shake loose your hair and step into the shower. Instead, you walk around the bed to pick up the mint green rotary phone on your nightstand. You speak to a series of operators before you reach the Harbour Rocks Hotel in Sydney. While you listen to the ringing through the intercontinental wire, you sit down on the bed. You’ve never felt low like this. You’ve never felt so unmoored from everything you had believed about your life.

A gruff, familiar voice answers. He’s just waking up, slurping on his morning coffee, dabbing his moustache with a napkin. “Hello?”

“Daddy, I don’t think I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“What?” he asks, and immediately he is no longer groggy but desperately concerned. Your parents are away on a month-long tour of Australia and often incommunicado. By the time they received news of Ari’s death and called Mount Sinai in hysterics to speak with you, you had told them not to rush home. You were about to be released, and they would not make it in time for the funeral regardless. Aemond insisted on a swift, private ceremony, a detour on the drive back to Asteria, like it was something he couldn’t wait to put in his rearview mirror. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“Aemond, he…” He’s not the man I thought he was. I don’t know him, I don’t trust him. “He’s not acting right, he’s not…he didn’t…Daddy, it’s like he doesn’t care. And I don’t want to be here anymore. Can I fly down to Tarpon Springs when you and Mama get back? Can I stay with you for a while? And then…and then…” You don’t even know what words you’re looking for. They don’t exist in your universe.

 “Listen, honey,” your father says with great tenderness. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” You’re trying to stifle your sobs so no one downstairs hears you.

“You’ve just been through something terrible. So terrible I can’t even imagine it. And of course you’re feeling out of sorts. But Aemond is your husband, he’s your protector and your ally, your best friend, your partner in life. He’s not the one responsible for what happened. You can’t misdirect your heartache at him.”

“But he’s…Daddy, there’s…there’s something wrong with him.”

“Oftentimes, it’s easier for women to talk about their emotions, both good and bad. But for men—especially men like Aemond who are so self-disciplined by nature—it can be like pulling teeth to express themselves. They don’t like to be vulnerable. They actually think they’re failing in their commitments to their wife if they let her see how much they’re struggling. Aemond is hurting just like you are. He might not show it in the way you expect, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Of course he cares.”

How do you know, Daddy? Have you cut him open and studied his brain, his ropy nerves, the dark chambers of his heart? “I thought he saw me like you see Mama, I thought he included me in everything because he loved and respected me, but that’s not it. He just needs someone to help him get elected, that’s all Ari and I were to him, and I can’t…I just can’t…the thought of him touching me now…”

“Sweetheart, Aemond is a good man,” your father says. “He does love you. He does respect you. And he’s doing such incredible things for this country. I have friends in Florida who’ve been voting Republican since Hoover, but they’re crossing over for Aemond. They think he’s the one to clean up this mess. Vietnam, poverty, civil rights, the riots, the shootings, the hippies, the drugs, the Russians, the Chinese, someone has to pick up the pieces and create something that makes sense. Do you think Nixon or Humphrey would end the war by this time next year? Do you think either of them would compel the South to enforce voting rights or desegregation?”

“No,” you say, closing your eyes. But that doesn’t mean I can forget what I’ve learned about Aemond.

“Here, your mom wants to say something.” Your father vanishes; your mother’s voice comes piping across the copper submarine cables that span the length of the Pacific Ocean. You wonder—randomly, distractedly—if any of the wires connecting you to Sydney run through Arizona, the place Aegon told you he didn’t want to leave.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Mama.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, distraught, hearing the exhaustion and misery in your voice. “You’ve got the baby blues, and no baby to hold good and close to help them run their course. I’m so sorry. It’s just awful, so awful.”

You speak before you know what you’re going to say. “I don’t want to be married to Aemond anymore.”

“You’re confused, sweetheart. Your hormones are all over the place, you’re in pain, you’ve just had major surgery, and after this year with all the stress from the campaign and that horrific shooting in Palm Beach—”

“He’s not like Daddy.” Tears are flooding down your cheeks; your voice is hoarse. “I thought he was, but he’s not.”

“You cannot make a mistake like this,” your mother says, and she’s turned from silk to steel. “If you do something drastic now, you’ll wake up in a month or six months or a year and realize you’ve ruined not just your life, but the chance this country had at a better future. Don’t you realize what’s at stake here? Every marriage goes through tough times. Every husband needs to learn how to care for his wife, and every wife how to best support her husband. That’s natural, and you’ve only been married two years. Of course you and Aemond are still learning how to navigate life together. It only seems so much worse because of what’s happened to the baby.”

Is she right? Am I wrong? “I don’t know,” you say weakly.

“If you leave now, what happens?” your mother demands. “You abandon the campaign and Aemond’s support plummets. You are a divorcee, a sinner, a failure. You don’t get your son back. But you do lose everything you’ve helped build. Marriage isn’t an experiment, ‘oh let’s give it a try and if we hit any bumps we’ll call the whole thing off.’ No. It’s a covenant. Marriage is for life.”

Yes it is, in just about every faith, and certainly for the Greek Orthodox Church. You are suddenly consumed by mistrust for your own body, this flesh that failed your son and now is deceiving you with doubt so heavy—like cold iron or lead or platinum—it masquerades as truth. How could you imagine a life after Aemond? What waits for you in Tarpon Springs besides the promise of an eventual remarriage that is banal, powerless, bleak, exactly what you’ve always plotted so willfully to avoid?

“Do you understand me, honey?” your mother asks, and she’s soft and kind again. “I don’t mean to be strict with you. My heart breaks for you, and I love you. I’m not trying to upset you. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

“Yes.” There are people getting massacred in Vietnam right now; there are people who can’t afford roofs over their heads. Who am I to complain? Your tears have stopped; your breathing is now slow and measured. “Yes, Mama. I understand.”

After you’ve hung up, you stay where you are for a long time, your hands folded limply in your lap and gazing at the paintings hung on the pale blue walls: small replicas of The Birth of Venus, Romulus and Remus, Prometheus Bound, Perseus Rescuing Andromeda, Echo and Narcissus, Jupiter and Io. Then you get up to sift through the greeting cards you’ve piled on the bed, not really seeing them. Only one captures your attention. Only one jolts you out of the fog like a flash of lightning through dark churning clouds.

You take the card Aegon gave you back when you were still a mother and set it upright on your nightstand, consider it for a while, wander into the bathroom to scrub the despair from your skin and change into something less somber for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re playing Battleship with Cosmo by the edge of the swimming pool while all the other children splash around, howling with laughter and diving for toys they throw to the bottom and then fetch with their teeth like golden retrievers, G.I. Joes and Barbies and Trolls and even a waterlogged Mr. Potato Head. The nannies are observing intently, poised to leap in if anyone should appear to be at risk of drowning. If Ari had lived, I wouldn’t have wanted nannies to raise him, you think. I would have wanted him to have a normal childhood. I would have wanted to know him.

“Your turn,” Cosmo says with a grin. He’s the one who looks the most like Aegon, or how you imagine Aegon must have looked before the pills and the booze and the long caged decades. His hair is so light a blonde it’s nearly white, his eyes huge and glimmering and mischievous. Battleship is a bit advanced for a five-year-old. Cosmo keeps guessing the same coordinates over and over, so you periodically lie and tell him he’s sunk one of your ships. When you launch a successful attack against his, he seems to think it’s fair game to relocate the vessel to a more advantageous location.

“D7.”

He picks up his aircraft carrier and repositions it. From the record player drifts California Dreamin’. “Nope! Nothing sank!”

“Wow. I’m so bad at this.”

Cosmo is snickering. “Yeah, you are. Really bad.”

“If I got drafted, the Army would be better off leaving me at home. I’d just be a nuisance.”

“What’s drafted?”

“Never mind. Your turn to guess.”

“J12!”

The grid only goes up to 10. Nonetheless, you slap your own forehead dramatically. “Oh no, not again! You sunk my battleship!”

“Yay!” Cosmo cheers, then turns to the Jacuzzi. It’s brand new, just installed last month. “Mom, did you see? I’m winning!”

You glance over at Mimi. She has passed out, her latest Gimlet drained and her head resting atop her crossed arms, propped on the rim of the Jacuzzi. “Uh, Cosmo, run inside and ask Doxie to make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, okay?”

“Okay.” He scampers off, toddling on reckless little legs.

With no shortage of difficulty, you manage to stand. Each day your abdominal muscles feel less like they’ve been shredded and then mended with threads of fire, but the pain is still bad, very bad, and there are spots of skin on your belly that are numb when you skim your fingertips across them. You will have a long vertical scar like Aemond’s, an irreparable reminder of the blood you’ve paid to the cause. And for all your anguish, this particular fact doesn’t torment you. It is proof that Ari existed, however briefly, however futilely.

You amble over to the Jacuzzi, your roomy lavender dress flowing in the wind, and shove one of Mimi’s shoulders. “Mimi, wake up. Get out of the water.”

She mumbles incoherently in response. You reach for her before remembering you can’t lift anything. You look around. Alicent and Helaena are on lounge chairs at the other end of the pool; Alicent is trying very hard to look interested while Helaena shows her about 100 different butterfly species pictured in a kaleidoscopically colorful book. Criston is off giving Ludwika a tour of the property, flanked by a flock of Alopekis hoping for treats. Ludwika is Otto’s wife of six months but only newly arrived, 30 years old, perpetually unimpressed, modelesque, golden blonde, if Barbie was from Poland. Aemond, Otto, and Viserys—his sparse threads of silver hair hanging like cobwebs around his gaunt face, grimacing and clutching the armrests of his wheelchair—are conspiring on the lawn between the main house and the pool. They haven’t noticed your predicament. Fosco is sauntering by wearing some of the tiniest swim shorts you’ve ever seen. He is the son of an Italian count, gangly and chatty and from what you’ve seen almost certainly addicted to gambling.

“Will you help me move Mimi, please?” you ask him. “I’m afraid she’s going to drown.”

“Of course, of course, no problem. Let me handle it. Do not hurt yourself.” He has her half-dragged out of the Jacuzzi before Mimi startles awake.

“What’s going on?” she slurs. “Put me down, I can walk.”

“I doubt it,” you say.

“You are alright?” Fosco asks Mimi as he steadies her on the cement, wet with pool water. She clutches at his forearms helplessly.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Mimi, go inside,” you say. “Eat a sandwich. Tell Cosmo you’re proud of him for winning Battleship.”

“Battleship? Well, that’s just ridiculous. He’s five. Five-year-olds can’t play Battleship.”

“And yet you will congratulate him regardless.”

She can feel your impatience, your judgement, sharp like wasp stings. Mimi retreats like a kicked dog to the main house, somehow summoning the will to remain mostly upright.

You look to Fosco. “Do you know where Aegon is?” You want to see him, but you also don’t; each time you’re in the same room now is a disorienting storm of familiarity, curiosity, painful reminders, annoyance, awkwardness, longingness to again feel as close to him—to anyone—as you did during those fleeting moments at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.

Fosco chuckles. “Where is he ever? Napping, sailing, drinking, on the phone with one of his lady friends. I could not say. I have not seen him recently.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.” The music stops—the record needs to be flipped over—and now you can just barely hear what Aemond, Otto, and Viserys are discussing.

“And you criticized me for going too young,” Aemond says to Otto. “What’s your age difference with Ludwika? 40 years?”

“She’s good publicity. She defected from the Eastern Bloc in search of the American Dream.”

“Being married to you?” Aemond quips. “I think she found the American Nightmare.”

“Speaking of wives,” Otto continues. “I assume since yours had one surgery, that’s how all the future children will need to be born, is that right?”

Aemond nods, frowning. “Yeah. And the doctors said she shouldn’t have more than three. It weakens the uterus, I guess, all that slicing and suturing. Do it too many times and ruptures get more likely, and those can be fatal.”

“Very unfortunate,” Viserys rasps. “Children are our greatest legacy. I wanted at least ten, but your mother…well…after Daeron, it just never happened again.” And you know that this is just one of the ways in which Aemond had planned to win his father’s admiration: by contributing more new Targaryens to the dynasty than anyone else. Now that’s impossible.

Otto sighs wistfully. “To have a brand new baby to parade around in the fall…that would have been wonderful.” For the first time in two years, you can sense that you have disappointed him. Fosco is watching you, uneasy, ashamed, sorry without knowing what to do about it.

“Absolutely,” Aemond says, as if this is not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. “But it’s done now. There’s no sense in dwelling on what might have been. We must look forward. It’s feasible that…well…if we try again and get good news by October, we can announce in time for Election Day…”

You can’t listen anymore. Your belly aching, your bare feet hurrying through warm emerald grass, you traverse the lawn and disappear into Helaena’s garden, painstakingly tended and continuously expanded since she was a little girl. There are marigolds and daffodils, tulips and roses, azaleas, asters, butterfly bushes, chrysanthemums, lilies and lupines, sunflowers, violets, life blooming in a hundred different shades. There are tiny statues too, tucked away in random places, stone angels and untamed creatures, alligators and turtles and rabbits and cats, the only sort the Alopekis will tolerate. At the very center of the garden is a tall circle of hedges with only one opening, an arched doorway cut into the thick lush green. You’ve been here before, though only with Aemond. On a property shared with so many family members—and the occasional intrusive journalist—it’s a good place to escape prying eyes. You pass through the threshold with a hand resting absentmindedly on your belly, as if you’re still pregnant. You keep doing this. Each time you remember you’re at the end of something rather than the beginning, it carves you open all over again.

Around the inside perimeter of the circle are twelve sculptures positioned like numbers on a clock: eleven Olympians and Hades, confined to the Underworld. In the middle of the clearing is the largest stature of all, a wrathful Zeus hurling lightning bolts and surrounded by a gurgling fountain of glass-clear water. Under the shadow of Zeus, Aegon is sprawled on the ground and smoking a joint. “So you’re hiding from them too, huh?” He gives you a sly, welcome-to-the-club smirk, then offers you his joint. “Want a hit?”

You shake your head, not taking another step towards him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He is confused. “Done what?”

“Any of it.” I told him about my life before. I made the mistake of thinking I could go back.

Aegon still doesn’t seem to understand. “You’re scared I’m gonna snitch?”

You shrug, evasive. It’s not just the fact that he knows. It’s the sensation that you’ve unlatched something—an attic room, a jewelry box, a birdcage—and now you can’t get it locked again, and the door rattles with every footstep and storm wind, and you are no longer Aphrodite or Io but Pandora, a hunger growing in your stitched womb like a child.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” And that’s always how he says it, not what’s the matter or are you alright or what did I do or how can I fix it?

“I’m kind of…embarrassed, I guess.”

“Embarrassed,” Aegon echoes. “Because of me?”

“I feel like I said and did a lot of things that were out of character because I was emotionally compromised.”

“They were out of character for who you’ve been trying to convince everyone you are since you married Aemond, sure. But they weren’t out of character for you.”

He’s treading too close now, arrows piercing their mark, a tremor near the epicenter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Au contraire, I have acquired many interesting revelations recently.”

“Where’d you learn French? From Mimi?”

His smile dies. “Boarding school.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to be around Aegon without either hating him or letting him see parts of yourself that you’re trying to drown like Icarus in the waves. You glance yearningly towards the doorway cut into the hedges.

All at once, Aegon is furious. “You don’t want to talk to me? You want to go back to how it was before, you want to pretend Mount Sinai never happened? Fine. You got it. Wish fucking granted. Whatever you have to do.”

He turns away from you. You flee from him. But that night when Asteria is hushed and still—Aemond, Criston, and Otto are attending a fundraising dinner in Philadelphia, and you are temporarily excused from accompanying them as you recover—you creep down into the basement of the main house to apologize. Mimi sleeps in a bedroom on the second floor, but here Aegon can keep odd hours and drink and smoke to his heart’s content, and even entertain clandestine guests, girls who are beautiful and giggling and never invited twice.

Aegon isn’t here. He might be passed out somewhere, or at a party, or maybe even upstairs with Mimi, and something about this idea twists through your mending guts like a blade. In his absence, you take a quick look around his room, something you’ve never done before. You hadn’t had any interest; it wouldn’t even have occurred to you. There’s a large green futon, a matching shag carpet, a television, a bookshelf full of notebooks and paperbacks—Kurt Vonnegut, Harper Lee, Sylvia Plath, Truman Capote, Ken Kesey—and vinyl albums, a record player, and his two acoustic guitars. The first is unpainted maple wood covered with stickers. I’d rather be nowhere reads one; Burn pot not people proclaims another. The second guitar is the souvenir he bought in Manhattan, an aquamarine blue six-string.

There's something strange on his end table. Along with a dozen empty cups is a full ashtray, and there’s a folded piece of paper tucked underneath. You slide the paper out and open it. It’s the receipt you used to solve the long division problem in your hospital room.

Why would he keep this? you think, mystified. There are footsteps above your head, and you quickly return the receipt to where you found it and leave before your trespass can be discovered.

When you emerge from the basement, Fosco is waiting in the hallway and carrying a Tupperware container filled with something that resembles kourabiethes, Greek shortbread cookies. “I thought I saw you sneak down there. What were you looking for?”

You scramble for an explanation. “One of the dogs is missing. Alicent wanted me to check the basement.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” He passes you the Tupperware container. “These are for you. I hope they are not too bad. I baked them myself.”

“Are they…” You shake it. “Biscotti?”

“They are ossi dei morti,” Fosco says. “Bones of the dead. We make them to remember loved ones we have lost. They are hard, so you should dip them in coffee or tea before you try to eat them.”

You open the lid. Inside are long thin cookies coated with powdered sugar. You inhale almond flour, cloves, cinnamon. And you are so touched you cannot find your words.

“You know, there still places in Italy where mothers wear black for years to mourn their children.” This is not trivia; it is an acknowledgement. Your son is gone. There is no shame in the grief that is left behind. In another house, it would be expected, it would be required.

“Thank you, Fosco.”

He smiles warmly. “We are in this together, no? We are pieces of the same machine.”

Then he plods off towards the living room, sliding a rolled-up horse racing program out of the back pocket of his tight plaid pants.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re in Louisville, Kentucky, where thunder quakes the eaves. An hour ago, Aegon was popping Valium and leisurely plucking at his pool water blue Gibson guitar, slumped against the wall, nipping at a flask filled with straight Bacardi. But he’s not anymore. Now he’s gathered around the small color television with you, Criston, Otto, Fosco, Helaena, and Ludwika. The news is just breaking. There was a civil rights protest at the University of Kentucky in Lexington one hour to the east. Someone threw a rock, or someone claims someone threw a rock, or someone threw something that was mistaken for a rock, and in any event the situation escalated from there and local police who were monitoring the demonstration opened fire on a crowd, killing five students and injuring another dozen.

Outside, word is spreading through the crowd of over 2,000 people that have gathered for Aemond’s planned speech at the historic Iroquois Amphitheater, a New Deal project finished in 1938. Rain is pouring, and the venue has no roof. Aemond is already 20 minutes late. The voices are becoming louder, more demanding, more wrathful. They’re shouting that Aemond is too afraid to face them now, that he’s trying to figure out what his statement will be, that he’s cowardly and calculating; and if President Lyndon Baines Johnson was here tonight instead of cursing his bad stars up in Washington D.C., he would certainly have something to say about the capriciousness of voters who love you, hate you, carry you higher, drag you down, all without ever knowing you.

In truth, Aemond is not stalling on purpose. He’s in the bathroom trying to get his prosthetic eye in. It’s been giving him hell all afternoon. He wears his eyepatch at home, but he’s never made a public appearance without his glass eye clean and perfect in his voided socket.

“He’s going to have to say something about it,” you tell the others as you watch the news coverage.

“Say what?” Otto snaps. “If he doesn’t treat those dead kids like martyrs he’s going to get booed off the stage. If he condemns the police he’s going to lose the suburbs. They’ll run to Humphrey now and Nixon in November.”

The weather report called for storms—which is why Alicent, Mimi, and the children are already back at the Seelbach Hotel for the night after a long day of shaking hands and smiling gamely—but no one expected it to get this bad. The room you’re huddled in is just off-stage, so you can see it all: the wind ripping signs and flags from people’s hands, drenched clothes, sopping hair, snarling faces, rain turning puddles to rivers. The stomping of boots is now as loud as the thunder. Rocks and bottles are being pitched at the stage.

“Is America always like this?” Ludwika asks, scandalized.

“No, not at all,” Otto says. “Goddamn animals…”

Aegon replies, not taking his eyes from the television: “You’d be mad too if cops were shooting your friends and the only graduation present you had to look forward to was getting disemboweled by guerillas in Vietnam.”

“I’ve had it with you and your Marxist bullshit! You want to liberate the dispossessed masses? Why don’t you start by donating your monthly drugs and rum budget to the—”

“We should cancel,” Fosco says. “Just call the whole thing off. Tell them Aemond is sick or something.”

“That’s the headline you want? ‘Senator Targaryen hides from grieving supporters who braved a thunderstorm to see him’?! Just give the White House to Nixon now!”

“I don’t think we can cancel,” Criston says softly. “I think if we tried to leave, they’d swarm the car.”

“It’s a riot,” Otto moans, rubbing his face with his hands. “This is what happens when you court voters like this, college kids and hippies, professional malcontents…”

“Aren’t there police outside?” Ludwika says anxiously.

“Yeah, a handful,” Criston tells her. “And if they try to do anything this will erupt and we can add to the body count in Lexington…”

You leave them and follow a hallway to the men’s bathroom; on the periphery of your vision, you can tell that Aegon is watching you go. You push the door open and find a row of stalls and three sinks, one of which Aemond is standing in front of as he stares into his reflection and attempts to shove the prosthetic eye into his empty, gore-red left socket. His suit is navy blue, his hair neatly slicked back, his shoes so polished they’re reflective like a mirror.

“Fuck,” he hisses, flinching. His right cheek is wet with tears of frustration and agony. It’s July 26th, and tomorrow are the final three state conventions in the Democratic primary. Humphrey is almost certain to take Utah; Virginia will go to Governor Mills Godwin, who is only running in his home state to control the delegates and will hand them over to whoever he feels is most worthy in August. But Aemond is the favorite to win here in Kentucky. Or at least, he was an hour ago.

“What can I do? What do you need?”

“You can’t do anything. It’s…it’s this goddamn nerve pain, it feels like I’m being fucking stabbed, I can’t get the muscles to relax enough…”

Like an apology, you say: “Aemond, the crowd is getting out of control.”

“So you came in here to rush me?”

“No, I’m here to help.”

“You’re not helping. You’re doing the exact opposite.”

“I think you should give this speech with your eyepatch on. It looks good, and you’ll be as comfortable as possible, and the crowd won’t have to wait any longer than they have already.”

“No.”

“Aemond, please—”

“No! FDR didn’t make speeches in his wheelchair and I’m not making mine without my eye in.”

“Do you want me to get you Aegon’s pills? Rum, weed?”

“You don’t think I’ve already taken something?” He tries to force his eye in again and strikes his fist against the sink when he can’t.

Then you ask gingerly: “Do you know what you’re going to say about the shooting?”

“Get out!” Aemond shouts. “You’re making it worse, just get the fuck out! Go!”

You bolt from the bathroom, hands trembling, throat burning. You don’t want to return to the television where the others are standing; you’re worried they’ll be able to tell how upset you are. You go to the edge of the stage, arms crossed protectively over your chest, and peek out into the crowd. Above their chants and jeers and howled threats, lightning splits the sky.

I don’ t think we’re going to be able to find our way out of this one. I think this is the end of the road.

“Hey,” Aegon says, tapping your shoulder. “Back up.”

“I’m fine here.”

“No you’re not.” He grabs your arm and tugs you farther backstage. Seconds later, an Absolut Vodka bottle explodes into crystalline shrapnel where you were standing. You yelp and Aegon gives you a little eyebrow raise. I told you, he means.

“Someone has to go out there,” Otto says, still lurking by the television. Fosco is comforting Helaena, who is quietly weeping; Ludwika is watching the news coverage in horror, surely reconsidering all her life choices. A sixth University of Kentucky student has been declared dead. “We can’t wait.”

“No we can’t,” Criston agrees. Then they both turn to you expectantly.

Your blood goes icy. Tonight was meant to be your first official appearance since the baby. Your hair is up, your dress a navy blue to match Aemond’s suit, gold chains around your wrist and throat, a gold chain of a belt. You thought you were ready. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Don’t you look at her,” Aegon says, sharp like a scalpel, like a bullet, like something that punctures arteries and lungs. “They’re throwing glass. You figure something else out, don’t even look at her.”

Otto relents, perhaps halfheartedly. “No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Criston starts heading for the bathroom to get Aemond. Otto is watching the television again, his face vacuous as his ambitions are carried away by a flood of rain, wind, rage, blood. Aegon snatches his guitar from where he left it by the wall. He tosses the strap over his head, gives the strings a few experimental strums and retunes them, starts walking towards the stage.

“Aegon, what are you doing?” you ask, panicked.

“Someone has to distract the crowd.”

“No, stop, you can’t—”

“Hey,” Aegon says. And when you glance past him at the uproarious, storm-drenched frenzy, he turns your face back to his to make sure you’re listening. His hand is insistent but gentle, his voice steady. “Don’t go out there. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, startled.

He gives you one last small, parting smile, a flash of his teeth, a daring glint in his murky blue eyes. Then he’s out in the torrential rain, soaked to the skin in seconds. His frayed green Army jacket clings to him; his hair is ravaged by the wind. As he takes his place behind the microphone, a stone that someone has hurled skates by him and nicks the apple of his left cheek. You can see a trickle of blood snaking down his sunburned skin before the rain washes it away; you feel a desperate gnawing dread that someone will hurt him, not just here but anywhere, not just now but ever. The crowd is still seething, shouting, stomping their feet to join the inescapable growl of the thunder. Aegon’s pick flies over the guitar strings as he begins playing, raindrops cast from his fingers like spells. At first, you can barely hear him.

“Come gather ‘round, people, wherever you roam

And admit that the waters around you have grown

And accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone

If your time to you is worth saving

And you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is settling down now. Some of them are singing along. You can feel that Otto, Ludwika, Fosco, and Helaena are gathering around you, but you don’t grasp anything they’re saying. You can’t tear your eyes from Aegon. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, this radiant sunbeam of a man, a light in dark places, a constellation that whispers myths through the ink-spill indigo of the night sky. How could you ever have hated him? How could you ever have thought he was worthless?

“Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pen

And keep your eyes wide, the chance won’t come again

And don’t speak too soon, for the wheel’s still in spin

And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s naming

For the loser now will be later to win

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Aemond and Criston appear beside you at the edge of the stage; Aemond’s prosthetic eye has at last been successfully placed with no lingering evidence of a struggle. You expect him to apologize for what he said in the bathroom, but he doesn’t. Instead he says when he sees Aegon: “What the hell is he doing?”

“Saving your career,” you reply simply.

“Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call

Don’t stand in the doorway, don’t block up the hall

For he that gets hurt will be he who has stalled

The battle outside raging

Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Now Aegon peers pointedly off-stage to where Otto Hightower is gawking. Aegon beams, throws his head back to get his dripping hair out of his eyes, comes back to the mic.

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land

And don’t criticize what you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly aging

Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Everyone you can see in the crowd is singing and swaying. It’s not just a Bob Dylan song from 1964 but an anthem, a prayer, a rallying cry, a dire warning for the powers at be.

“The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast

The slow one now will later be fast

As the present now will later be past

The order is rapidly fading

And the first one now will later be last

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is applauding and whistling. Aegon steals a glimpse of where you are standing backstage, checks that Aemond is still there with you and that he’s ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aegon broadcasts with a wicked grin. “I am now proud to present the next president of the United States of America, Senator Aemond Targaryen!”

And Aemond is crossing the stage, no trace of pain or self-consciousness or prey-animal fear, no mere mortal but someone chosen by the gods, and the rain is slowing to a drizzle, and the clouds are opening to let through rare pinprick aisles of daylight, and the riotous spectators are now his disciples, exorcised of any rage they’ve ever felt for the scarred senator from New Jersey. He and his family are not the enemy; they are the solution. They are revolutionaries who have bled for the cause. They bring with them the change that is required. Aegon steps back and the rest of you join him in a semi-circle like a crescent moon behind Aemond. When you walk out onto the stage, the cheers swell to screams.

Aegon takes off his guitar and then leans into you. “He’s lucky you aren’t 35,” Aegon whispers, soft lips that curl into a smile as they brush your ear. And he’s teasing you but he’s not mocking, he’s not mean. He’s so close you share the same atmosphere, the same gravity. “Maybe when he finishes up his second term you can start building your resume for your first.”

“I want your endorsement.”

“From the disgraced former mayor of Trenton? What an honor. You’ll have to fight for it.”

You ball up a fist and playfully bump your knuckles against his chin. He pretends to bite at you. And you laugh for the first time since a doctor and priest entered your hospital room 13 days ago. Aegon slings an arm around your shoulders, pulls you against him, soaks you in his rain.

“Today in Lexington, we lost six brave and brilliant souls,” Aemond says, his voice booming through the amphitheater. A hush ripples through the crowd as they listen, enraptured. “Their sacrifice was for the most noble of causes, but they should never have been forced to pay the ultimate price. They deserved long, full lives in a better America than the one we now call home. This tragedy is a symptom of the sickness that has infected this nation, a fatal failure to empathize with our fellow countrymen, a deafness to pleas for justice, a blindness to mercy. But the remedy is within all of us, for it is our own humanity. When we purge the diseases of war, prejudice, and ravenous greed, we will reclaim our best selves—our true selves—and our nation will at last be cured.”

The amphitheater is illuminated with not only strobing lightning but the flashbulbs of cameras. The journalists have arrived just in time.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

fidds and reader newly wed headcanons?? maybe how the dynamic changes after being married, OwO im feral over that man I cant help myself (im so sorry emma-may 😔)

♡˚· fiddleford x reader newlyweds headcanons ·˚♡

a/n: a little bit nervous because ive never written him before, but he's such a sweetheart! i got some reqs for him, so expect more Fiddleford fics <3 (especially that ford x reader x fidds one ohh)

୨ৎ the first morning after the wedding you both wake up and realise you’re actually married now. it hits differently. you’re just lying tangled in sheets and he looks over at you all goofy-eyed, he’s not entirely sure how to start the day now that you’re his forever. so, naturally, he presses a kiss to your forehead and says something ridiculous like, “well, darlin’, guess we don’t gotta pretend anymore. you’re mine now.”

୨ৎ honestly, he thrives on the idea of being your husband. his heart beats faster whenever you call him “my husband,” and you’ll catch him grinning like a fool, no matter how much he tries to hide it

୨ৎ when he’s proud of you ohhh, boy he’ll tell everyone. “did I mention my partner just finished this big project? oh, you gotta see it, they’re a genius! ABSOLUTE genius! smarter than me, even!”

୨ৎ he's still awkward, so awkward. before, he had his own world of gadgets and mysteries, but now, you are the new mystery. his brain goes into overdrive at the simplest things, for example when you call him “honey” or leave him little notes around the house, doesn't matter how silly, it melts him. you might find him randomly fixing stuff around the house, but he's also sneaking glances at you, totally lost in his new reality of "oh, wow, this is MY person now." honestly, he gets all shy around you, still a little clumsy, but he loves you so much. when he tries to give you something he made, his hands shake a bit

୨ৎ he’s touchier after marriage. he was always affectionate, but now he does it ALWAYS. he’ll wrap his arms around your waist while you’re cooking, press his nose into your hair when you’re reading, fall asleep holding your hand. he’s yours now, and he wants to remind you of that every single second

୨ৎ after the wedding, Fidds is lowkey obsessed with documenting every little thing about married life (because he still can't believe he married such beautiful person like you). if you both take a walk through the woods, he’ll bring out his old camera, snap a photo, and get all sentimental about it. "i reckon this here’s the first time we’ve taken a walk together as a married couple. gotta remember this moment.” expect a scrapbook of your married life by next week

୨ৎ your wedding bands become a point of obsession for him. he’s constantly fiddling with his ring, twisting it around his finger and grinning every time he catches a glimpse of yours. “still can’t believe it,” he’ll say, holding your hand and running his thumb over the metal. “we’re really married. that's. . . wow.”

୨ৎ when you gently wipe grease off his cheek after he’s been tinkering for hours, he just stops, blinks at you. he’s trying not to cry. he fails

୨ৎ if you'll kiss him first (usually it happens when hes rambling about some invention), so you just kiss him mid-sentence, he freezes for a second, hovering his hands in the air, not knowing what to do, before melting into it, kissing you back with this little laugh. he loves the fact that you’re so open with your affection, he’s a big softie in disguise.

୨ৎ speaking of coffee, he steals sips of yours all the time, because “yours just tastes better, somehow”

୨ৎ your own inside jokes have blossomed since you married. Fidds can make a random reference about something that happened years ago and you’ll both burst into laughter

୨ৎ when you’re doing something productive, like working on a project or focusing on a task, Fidds likes to be near you. he can be just tinkering with his own creations, but he’ll make sure to peek at your work every now and then, and give you the most proud smile. “look at you, my little genius,” he’ll say, completely unaware that his compliments are giving you butterflies

୨ৎ shopping trips together!! he’s just so excited by the smallest things. he’ll find a weird gadget and be like, “hoo boy, look at this! can we get it? what if we used this for the house? or better yet, for our projects??” and just like that you’re leaving with random junk, this guy is obsessed with collecting anything that could possibly make your life together more fun

୨ৎ married life and science is a whole thing now. Fidds will tell you about new experiments, and instead of just nodding along, you end up helping out, usually in the form of holding things while he gets super excited. you’re his sounding board for crazy ideas. he looks at you as if you’ve just solved the world’s biggest mystery when you suggest something small, “hey Fidds what if we tried using duct tape for that?” you’re the reason his inventions have a chance at working

୨ৎ Fidds is an inventor, but he’s also a man who shows love in action. if you’re tired from work or a long day, he’s the one finding the blanket, making sure your feet are propped up and bringing you whatever snacks he can find in the fridge

୨ৎ one day, after a particularly frustrating project Fidds will come to you looking all defeated and will sit down on the couch, burying his face in his hands. and in that moment, you just get it. you sit beside him, silently handing him a cup of tea (you know he needs it) and just let him have a moment. sometimes that’s the thing he needs most. hes such a sad puppy though

୨ৎ also, spontaneous bursts of affection have become a thing. ehehehe he’ll walk in the door, glance at you, and before you know it, he’s spun you around for a hug like you’ve been apart for years. it’s never just “hey,” it’s always “there you are!!” you’ll be sitting on the couch watching TV, and suddenly he’ll kiss your temple without warning and murmur, “couldn’t imagine life without you, baby.” and then he goes back to his tools like it was nothing

୨ৎ arguments are rare, but when they do happen, he always apologizes first and his sincerity makes it impossible to stay mad at him for long

୨ৎ suddenly, every little thing becomes a team project. you’re cleaning up the attic, and Fidds already running to you, “hold on, hold on, we can make this a fun thing!”

୨ৎ dates with him be like: stargazing on the roof, a picnic under the tree in the yard or walking around the weirdest, most obscure spots in town just because they’re “interesting” (and because it’s funny to him). but more than all its because you’re his favorite person to explore the world with, no matter how strange

୨ৎ late-night talks about dreams and what the future holds when you both lay there, staring at the ceiling, he’ll start talking about the life you’re going to build.

“i wanna grow old with you, sugar. like, I don’t even care where we live, as long as I get to wake up next to you every day.”

୨ৎ you show him love too, of course. when you catch him fiddling with some new idea, you’ll pull him away for a break and give him the softest kiss on the cheek, telling him how amazing he is. “you’re brilliant, you know that?” and his whole face lights up because you’ve given him the biggest compliment ever

୨ৎ when you both get out of the shower, dripping wet, he’ll always catch you in a hug, pressing you against him. he’ll nuzzle into your damp hair and kiss your temple, feeling the droplets between you both. ahh this man is so tender

୨ৎ romantic dinners at home are perfect. its not some fancy restaurant, you prefer to eat home-cooked meal that Fiddleford probably messed up, but it still tastes amazing because he made it with you in mind

୨ৎ after a long day of work, Fidds doesn’t just greet you at the door with a kiss, no, he prefers to pick you up, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground for a second as he spins you around in a dizzying, loving hug

୨ৎ sometimes he’ll just stare at you while you’re doing the most mundane thing, washing dishes, tying your shoe, whatever and then blurt out something like, “y'know, marryin’ you was the smartest thing I ever did.”

୨ৎ he’s the kind of guy who’ll pull you into a sudden, twirling hug just because he missed you while you were in the other room

୨ৎ Fiddleford is the most affectionate husband ever. this man’s idea of waking you up is to just cling to you, half asleep, rubbing his face into your hair. if you're a heavy sleeper, he’ll just nuzzle you with an adorable grunt and whisper, “i love you,”. he’s a bit of a morning cuddler, okay, maybe A LOT of a cuddler. you can't get away without some snuggles, not with this man.

୨ৎ he still blushes like it's the first time when you compliment him. especially loves when you say stuff as “you’re so smart, Fidds,” and he’ll literally hide his face in his hands. ("aw, shucks, don’t go makin’ me all red now…")

“cmon, darlin’. . . just five more minutes” as he clings to you like a koala. when he eventually gets up, he grumbles, almost falls out of bed, but always kisses you first trying to prolong the moment

୨ৎ cooking together, absolutely. Fiddford’s idea of cooking is throwing random ingredients into a pot and seeing what happens. loves experiments!! he gets real excited when he’s got you by his side, though.

୨ৎ there's probably some moments where he's way too deep in his work and forgets to take care of himself, but you’re there to remind him to drink water and maybe throw in some playful teasing (sometimes gets embarrassed about it, but also secretly so happy)

୨ৎ he loves going on random road trips with you! he's packing up in the car and driving nowhere in particular. he usually turns on the radio, and it’s either some classic country or him singing at the top of his lungs to songs. he’s terrible at directions, so you end up lost, but it’s okay, because you end up having the best spontaneous adventures!

୨ৎ tries to teach you how to fix one of his machines, but you keep getting distracted by how cute he looks explaining everything. eventually, he catches on and starts teasing you about it

୨ৎ will always try to make you laugh, even if his humor is as chaotic as his brain, “why don’t skeletons fight each other? they don’t have the guts!”

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!

EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire

Time jump: 5 years into the future. 

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.

But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.

The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.

A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.

It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen. 

Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation. 

Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.

Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it. 

Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin. 

And five years since his death.

Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.

And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.

Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.

In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt. 

You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.

“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree. 

The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.

Aemond’s sapphire.

Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.

There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.

His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.  

The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.

The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost. 

Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.

But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.

You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.

And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.

Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you. 

You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.

Familiar. 

That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.

You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her. 

The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.

“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.

“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”

The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”

Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.

“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.

“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”

“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!” 

Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”

Lucerys beamed.

“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.

“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”

Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”

You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”

“But I-“

“-Hush, my sweet.”

Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”

You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”

Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”

You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.

Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?

Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”

Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born. 

None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.

Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty. 

The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each. 

"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”

Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”

Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”

Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”

Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.

They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn. 

“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.

As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.

And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.

His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.

He had not left you.

He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.

Zaldrītsos.

It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.

It was never malicious.

Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.

There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.

Your heart ached at the thought.

Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.

“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.

Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.

Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.

In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.

It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.

It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.

You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.

Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.

It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.

The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.

My son will hate me for what I have done.

I took his father from him.

He will never love me.

He will resent me for my sins.

The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.

But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.

So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.

Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.

“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.

“Merbugon!” Hungry!

Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.

“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.

The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect. 

Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.

Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.

“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”

“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked. 

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.

It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.

She had kept true to her word thus far.

Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.

Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.

You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”

Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”

You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.

You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.

They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday. 

Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.

The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.

You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side. 

Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger. 

“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.

“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”

Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.

“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.

“I did not! Not once did I bite you.” 

"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”

Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”

Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”

Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.

You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."

All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.

“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”

“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”

Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.

“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view. 

Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.

“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks. 

“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.

“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.

“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another. 

As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin. 

His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”

“Cregan.” They nodded.

Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.

Though you knew they were listening.

“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.

“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”

“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”

“Good memory, Stark.”

You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”

Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”

You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.

A stern word. 

Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”

“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.

“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”

Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.

He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation. 

Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.

“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.

Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”

You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.

“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.

Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”

You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter. 

“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up. 

Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage. 

Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected. 

“I must apologise, Your Grace-”

“-Y/n.” You corrected him.

“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”

“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.

“There is still time for that I suppose.”

Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.

Five years ago, to be exact.

“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.

Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.

“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.

“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?

A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”

You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.

“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”

“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.

You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”

Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.

You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.

Dornish wine.

Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.

How did he...

“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”

“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.

Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”

The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”

Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.

Oakmoss, ginger, pine. 

Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.

It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.

“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”

You swallowed, looking away momentarily. 

The energy around you shifted.

“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.

Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You blinked.

Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat. 

People congratulated you for killing the man you loved. 

But not him. 

Not Cregan.

And it intrigued you.

You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation. 

“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”

A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”

Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”

“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.

Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell. 

“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”

“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”

“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”

Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.

“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted. 

Devoured.

I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.

You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”

Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”

You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”

Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.

“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”

“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.

“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”

“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”

Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”

“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”

“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.

There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence. 

In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family. 

But Cregan?

It was different.

It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.

And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.

“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.

A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar. 

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”

Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips. 

“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”

Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.

He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.

Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”

You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”

“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”

“That you will, and that I do.”

With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze. 

You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem. 

The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all. 

How things had changed.

Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement. 

Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.

There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty. 

Maelor, was very much like Aegon.

Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth. 

He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful. 

They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.

If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived. 

You had changed. 

But so had they.

And there were some things that would never change. 

Some things that would always stick.

And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more. 

Or at least, you hoped they would.

As a reminder.

As a punishment for your deeds.

As a comfort.

Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were. 

Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.

The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you. 

He never left. 

He was always there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.

“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.

“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.

“Cregan, what did he say?”

Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.

“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”

Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”

“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”

Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”

A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry. 

You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.

Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”

Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”

And Jacaerys was right. 

There was a pull. 

And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you. 

“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.

Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.

And Cregan was his closest companion.

“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“

“-I am not hot headed-“

“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”

Fire and Ice.

A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.

“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”

Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“

“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”

“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”

“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”

You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.

He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.

Instinct.

That pull.

“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.

“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.

As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.

It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought. 

But you knew your answer already. 

You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you. 

Instinct.

“Yes.”

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.

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Lost Girl

Lost boys fanfic, will be multi-chapter fic.

Lost boys (Michael as well) x reader.

Watching them through your dream had you worried, most people have 1 or 2 soulmates. You believed 3 is the max amount recorded, yet here you are dreaming of 5 men, well if you can call guys in their 20's men.

Sitting up in bed, you peered over at your phone. It hadn't long stopped beeping its annoying tune, it's 7am and you had to hurry up and get ready for work. Rubbing your eyes you swing your legs over the side of the bed, you peer down at the 5 names written on your arm; Michael, David, Marko, Paul & Dwayne. Supposedly the order of names in when you will meet each of them.

You have yet to meet a single one of your soulmates, but you guessed that having only just had your birthday 2 weeks prior it wouldn't really give you much time to have met them anyway.

Walking out of your quaint little bedroom, you make your way over to the bathroom, stripping off you begin turning the knob on the shower toas hot as it can go, (which really is pitiful) the landlord still hasn't been and fixed it even though you had alerted him to the fact its been playing up since you had moved in when you'd turned 20. You guess you can't rush these things.

After you've gotten yourself ready, you set off to work, you've been working as a receptionist in a Library since you had turned 18. You had been to college and finished between the time of finishing high school and turning 21.

As you make your way through the busy town, you can't help but sigh seeing the various couples holding hands making their own ways to work. Every day you see it, heck you even see it with working in the library. You can't help but just wish that one day you'd meet your own soulmates.

The work day went quickly, answering phones, scanning books through which people came and dropped off, passing books onto those who placed them on the correct shelves.

There was a thunder storm wracking through the sky as you made your way home, you were not going to spend a fortune getting a taxi and get stuck in traffic just to go 7 streets over. just as your were rushing past a tree when an almighty bright light shot straight in front of you hitting the tree a massive crack was the last thing you heard and an almighty pain and didn't see again.

~*~*~*~*~

The first thing you heard was screams, and the second thing you noticed was the fact you were lying on a beach, you could feel the grains of sand underneath your fingers, peering down at yourself you were wearing the same clothes you had gone to work in, yet you were nowhere near home, the nearest beach was 200 miles away and you don't think you would have not noticed going in a car to get there. So where the hell were you.

Standing up brushing the sand off my clothes, I looked towards where I could make out some steps, I set off to see where the hell I had turned up.

As soon as I got to the steps I could see rides, people dressed like they were from the 80s and a lot of people running around. I stumbled forward heading towards a shop which I could see had a newspaper stand out front like I'd seen in American movies. I peer in and spot the year 1987, I stared in shock, I looked to the top corner, it said 'Santa Carla' I felt like I was going to throw up, I could feel myself getting light headed. I stumbled over to a bench and placed my head in my hands.

I had somehow ended up in America in the late 80s, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?

I peered around trying not to throw up, my brain was going a million miles a minute, how the hell had I gone back in time. The last thing I remembered was walking home in the thunder storm and seeing a bright light and then nothing.

I panic, feeling my chest, my arms trying to find burn marks, nothing appeared to be on me, 'I must have died' I couldn't help thinking. 'How else would I have ended up going back in time, to freaking America'. A sob escaped my lips, I couldn't believe this was really happening, I pinched myself sharply on the arm to double check I wasn't dreaming.

I stand up from the bench when I finally feel like my heart isn't going to beat out of my chest, I slowly walk down what appears to be some sort of boardwalk, I get towards the end and lean against some metal bars which over looked the sea. Wiping the tears from my face I start to worry about where I am going to sleep tonight, how I'm going to live.

A sharp pain slices through my arm, I look down at my arm, the name 'Michael' is practically glowing red'. Turning around I spot another person grabbing their arm in pain, his eyes meet my own, his head turns to look me in the eyes as he steps towards me, "Hi, I'm Michael," he says as he takes a tentative step towards me. You can tell he's nervous, hell; I'm nervous. I've just gone back in time, and now I'm meeting on of my soulmates?!

"Uhm, nice to meet you, I'm Y/N" I say stumbling over my words, I look him up and down, he's pretty; wild dark hair, dark eyes. He's beautiful. I can't help but feel plain while stood next to him.

He steps towards me, his hand caresses my arm, in the spot where my soulmate mark is, he looks towards my arm and spots the names written on there. A frown marred his features, he slowly takes in the names; his frown turns into a scowl. It makes his face seem to take a different look, his eyes seeming to yellow out of nowhere, which surely must be the light?

His fingers grasp my wrist bringing it closer to his face, he looks up at me, "I think you should come with me, y/n." he says as he looks around at his surroundings like he's expecting someone to jump out at any moment.

Chapter 2

[evermoresversion]

HIIIII!!!

Could you do promise rings with Jeremiah Fisher x reader where he goes all out, like walk onto the beach and rose petals and everyones there and all that fluffiness, and like promising to marry her after collage.<3

Have a good day/afternoon/night

-Nessa<3

🌺

CRAZIER, JEREMIAH FISHER.

A/N Thank you so much for your request, sweetheart. <3

I really got butterflies writing this, I can't believe it.

The name of the fic is because I was listening to that song while writing this.

PAIRING Jeremiah Fisher x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Pure fluff, established relationship.

SUMMARY You and Jeremiah have been in a relationship for a year now, both going more stable than ever, he decides it's time to take the next step.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | JEREMIAH'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

There was this day where Jeremiah woke up more affectionate than usual. And he was always affectionate with you.

The two of you have known each other your whole life, since your mother, Christine, Laurel and Susannah had always been best friends.

You grew up with the Fishers and Conklins. And while Susannah entrusted Conrad to Belly, she entrusted Jeremiah to you.

She said you were the one for her sunshine boy.

And that's what you did, you took care of Jeremiah's heart and soul as if they were your own, which led him to fall in love with you and you started dating.

That was at least a year ago, if not longer. Returning to the present it was summer, everyone was at the summer house, the day was starting and Jeremiah was already all over you.

His head on your chest so you could caress his hair while he hugged you around the waist. His eyes were closed and her legs were tangled between yours. All on top of you, pinning you to the mattress so you couldn't leave his side.

And you really didn't plan on doing it.

Until Conrad went to get you out of your love nest.

"Hey lovebirds, breakfast is ready." he announced and then left the room. Jeremiah groaned with his face now hidden in the crook of your neck.

"Let's stay here," he murmured tightening his grip on your waist. "forever."

"That's what I want the most, but I'm afraid that if we don't go down now my mother will come for us to get us off our ears."

He complained again getting up from the bed and stretching out his hand for you to take it.

When you got up, he hugged you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, letting you lead him into the kitchen.

"Good morning." Susannah greeted with a wide smile looking at the two of you. He was really glad that the two of you were together.

In addition to the fact that the reason for her smile was one that you didn't know.

You sat next to Jeremiah at the kitchen breakfast nook and both ate in peace.

That same afternoon you had returned from shopping with Belly and Taylor since both had insisted that they wanted to buy some dresses and they convinced you to buy one yourself.

"Where is Jeremiah?" you asked your mother who was with Laurel in the living room, she having a coffee while the other was typing something on her computer.

"He said he was coming in a while, don't worry." She nodded and you sighed going up to your room.

When you left, Laurel and your mother looked at each other knowingly, also knowing what was going to happen that night.

Later that day, once again the girls convinced you to get ready, put on makeup and do your hair because they 'felt like it' even though they hid the real reason from you by disguising it so you wouldn't find out anything.

"You look beautiful." Belly flattered smiling when she finished doing your hair.

"Never mind that she looks beautiful, she looks super hot." Taylor said, making you both laugh.

"How about we go for a walk on the beach?" the brunette offered as Taylor nodded her head.

"Dressed like that? I don't think so, I'm going to change and let's go." before you could move they both exclaimed a 'no' confusing you even more. "Okay girls, you always act weird but this time it's too much."

"It's just that I saw that there's a party on the beach and we're going to it, besides we're not so formal, they're casual dresses." the blonde shrugged and Belly nodded. When they convinced you, you agreed sighing.

You saw Taylor wrote something on her phone but you brushed it off.

"Good!" Each of them linked their arm with one of yours, each one being at your sides.

"Tonight will be unforgettable, I promise."

How correct was Taylor.

When you entered the beach you frowned not seeing any party on the beach.

"Where's the party, Tay?"

"We're almost there, wait." She tapped your arm twice and you kept walking.

Just when you were about to complain again, you saw something in the distance. You narrowed your eyes to get a better look and you could see... Jeremiah? What was he doing there?

And then you looked at the whole scenario.

The warm lights that shone where he stood. Along with Laurel, Susannah, Steven, Conrad and your mother. Jeremiah was standing in the middle of all of them.

And then you started connecting all the dots, but there was still something that didn't add up.

"Come on." Belly added smiling, leading you to where your whole family was.

When you got to where the others were, they left you in front of Jeremiah.

"You are welcome." Taylor commented making Jeremiah smirk.

Your face was totally a puzzle. And then Jeremiah took a deep breath, looking directly into your eyes and took your hands in his.

"I had a whole speech prepared but you look so stunning that you have left me speechless." he started by making you laugh softly and you heard some light giggles from the others. He took another breath of air, compose himself to be able to order a little everything he wanted to tell you.

"You've always been my favorite person, always, the only one I wanted to share my toys with when we were kids," you grinned at the memory, it was true. "The only one with whom I wanted to share my most deepest secrets and dreams." Your heart began to beat at an accelerated rate, and you waited for him to continue talking.

"And now I know that you're the only one I want to share the rest of my life with." when he said that suddenly everything stopped, even your heart. "I know that we are young, that we have a lot to live for, a lot to go through, but I know that I want all this together with you. With you I can be myself, with you I have everything. Everything I was looking for in a person I found it in you without even trying. You are the kindest, prettiest, funniest person I know. I want this to be eternal, for us to be eternal."

"So," he took a small box from the inside pocket of his jacket and bit your lower lip to keep from crying. Seeing him kneel in front of you. He opened the box letting you see a ring in it. "Will you marry me when we finish college?"

"Yes, Yes, Yes!" You exclaimed, nodding, and he rose to gently take your hand and put the ring on you.

He took your cheeks while you cradled his face in your hands to kiss him slowly, enjoying the moment.

When both parted, the mothers congratulated both of you, but especially Susannah and your mom.

"I know you will both be very happy." Susannah said caressing your face and once again you felt like crying, you hugged her tightly and she hugged you.

"Thank you so much."

When everyone congratulated both you, y'all returned to the house and when you and Jeremiah were in his room he kissed you again.

"You don't know how long I wanted to do this." he murmured joining his forehead with yours.

"I'm glad you already did."

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2023.

[norwegiankafka]

Hi, I really like your work, If possible could you please write a one shot with Taehoon and his s/o where his father caught them kissing (possibly a hint of nsfw) and what his reaction would be, how he will behave, if not then everything is fine

Lipbalm [Seong Taehoon, Fluff]

Synopsis: You were being caught. By who? His dad.

a/n 𖦹 new fic in years LMAOAOA hope you like it nonnie <3

tw & cw ✰ cursing. a little [dissapear from the world] joke.

If there's one thing about Taehoon that you truly despise and adore at the same time, it would be his randomness, kissing you randomly when you had just applied lipbalms.

It was just a fine afternoon in his house, with you successfully dragging Taehoon to do his homework. After all the nags and things, he managed to finish it with your help. You turned the TV on later, just before your upper lip brushed your lower ones. Think its been a long time ever since you applied lipbalms.

You pulled out a cherry-flavoured lipbalms from your backpack, applying it softly. With few strokes, you closes the cap and put them back in your backpack. It reaches Taehoon's attention, who was just trying to find snacks in the fridge. After finding some snacks, he sits down, huffing loudly.

You would never expect the words rolling out of his mouth. "Can I try 'yer lipbalm?"

"Huh?" You hum confusedly. The Seong Taehoon that uses nothing and licks his own lips because he's too lazy to use lipbalms (even after you gifted him one), is asking to use your lipbalm? Think the world is in a sorta apocalypse.

"Yer got a new one.. right? So.. y'know, wanna try how it tastes," he replied casually.

You muttered a small 'Oh' before pulling out the lipbalm from your backpack and handling it to him. Until he denies.

"No, idiot. Wanna taste it like this," Taehoon touches your chin softly but firmly, tilting you in a position that creates an easier access for his lips (and so your noses didn't bump). He slowly nibbles on the lower lip as you relaxes into the kiss, letting him do whatever he wants.

With closed eyes, you savour the feels of his mouth slowly devouring yours. His tongue dancing, giving yours a lingering taste of a peppermint candy he ate on your way home. Slowly, your hands finds its way on the light brown strands of his hair, tugging and pulling the hairs on the nape of his neck. Also, simultaneously pulling him closer.

Both of you were so deep in the moment, you did not realize the sounds of the locks and doorknob being pulled. Hansoo, just stand awkwardly when he just entered home. He clears his throat, signaling both of you.

You pulled out of the kiss quickly, being the one of you who realize Hansoo's presence. Taehoon, on the other hand, did not realize. It was only when he realizes you're blushing, and trying to find what or who made you did that (aside from him). And there, Hansoo is, in the doorway, trying to check the perfectly fine shoe rack.

"Ugh, just go away, dad." Taehoon grunts as his dad enters his bedroom, chuckling softly while muttering a word or two.

With the click of the door that was closed, you sighed. The day was going late, and you're.. pretty embarassed after being caught kissing with Taehoon. Damn. The thoughts itself makes you wanna dissapear from the existence.

You stood up from the couch and fixes your skirt, taking your bag. "I'm gonna head home. It's gonna be late,"

Taehoon also stands. "'M gonna walk you home, 'kay?"

"But it's late-"

"Because it's late. Can't let ya walk around this late alone, huh,"

He intertwines his hands with you as he guides you out, softly (or not) yelling at his dad that he's gonna walk you home for a few minutes.

Arrived at your home, he makes sure you're already inside the house and had locked the door before he left. And then, on his way home, he sent a simple text,

Thank you for the lipbalm. ㅋㅋ

Best believe he sent it with the biggest grin you see on your entire years of life, smiling like an idiot on his phone.

[blouisparadise]

Today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis and/or Harry have popular jobs such as firefighter, flight attendance, florist, and mechanic. Since we get requests for rec lists with these particular jobs often, we decided to compile them into one list. We're marked each fic according to which job it features. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog the post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) December | Not Rated | 1,924 words | 💐

Magic happens here, in December.

2) Pilot | Teen & Up | 5,279 words | ✈️

“We have fifteen minutes.” Harry glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “How fast do you think my tongue can make you come?” Still against the wall, Louis felt a shiver run from the back of his neck down his spine. In three years walking on moving planes, he’d never had such zero control over his legs. At least not until now.

3) Your Apathy’s Like A Wound In Salt | Explicit | 5,312 words | 🛠️

“What a fucking ass!” Louis shifts his body so he’s completely facing away from the scene. “I asked him last night to fix my car and he said he would accept a payment in the form of me sucking his dick. I guess he’s really desperate, I can’t believe him.” Louis rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink in one go. Niall shakes his head and shrugs, “I told you to ask any other mechanic in town but you didn’t listen to me.” “Well, I didn’t think he would fucking say that now did I, Niall?” “Louis,” Paige rests a manicured hand on his shoulder, “So, you’re saying you still wouldn’t hit it?” “My ex?” She nods. “Yeah, I’d still hit that. Except this time it would be with a car or a baseball bat.” Suddenly, Niall spits out his beer all over the table as Paige bursts out laughing. “Fucking ruthless, you are.” Niall runs a hand through his styled hair.

4) Oil and Lube | Explicit | 5,552 words | 🛠️

The one where Harry's a car mechanic and Louis' engine can't seem to stop revving around him.

5) A Place To Call Home | Mature | 8,113 words | 💐

The thing is, he’s pretty sure he’s found home in a person in his life, someone who’s been essential in everything he’s done since he was seven years old. Through every broken bone, through every breakup, through every failure; through every triumph, personal and professional, and every goal he has scored in his time in Man U, there’s been someone there for it all.  That’s his best mate. Harry. A twenty-two year old with the kindest heart known to man, a slow drawl that is entirely too endearing, with the dreams to open up his own flower shop. A quiet and earnest boy with those he doesn’t know, and open and honest and absolutely lovely with those he loves.  It all hits him, really, the night of their final game of the Premier League. Again, timing is not his forté. They’re gearing up, ready to hit the field for the second half against Liverpool that determines their ranking in the League, when his brain decides to come online (after seventeen years, apparently), and conveniently supply him with the revelation that oh yeah, you’re kind of in love with your best friend.

6) If This Room Was Burning | Explicit | 8,629 words | 🔥

Where Louis’ cat gets stuck on the roof and Harry is the firefighter who ends up saving her.

7) Decorated Emergency | Not Rated | 10,359 words | 🔥

So what if they kissed once. It was the end of a shift that had seemed to drag on for twelve days instead of twelve hours. Their doctor was slow and felt the need to transfer every single patient, putting more work on every member of staff. Harry was stressed. Louis was the one who crowded him up against the door in the break room. It was Louis' fault, he was always pulling shit.

8) Taking The Long Way Home | Mature | 12,499 words | 🛠️

Coming home from the beach, Louis' car breaks down and he has to call mechanic Harry.

9) Bloom | Explicit | 24,887 words | 💐

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry tucks the flower into the top pocket of Louis’ jacket, patting over his heart just once. “What is it?” Louis asks, eyeing the sunny little yellow flower, a bit like a buttercup, “It’s lovely.” Harry pushes a piece of hair behind his ear and smiles, “It’s a primrose. I got them in this morning, reminded me of you.”

10) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27,083 words | 🛠️

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

11) A Hungry Heart | Explicit | 27,601 words | 💐

Harry Styles, florist and Great British Bake Off contestant, loves many things. He loves his flower shop, he loves baking, and there’s also that little crush he has on pop star Louis Tomlinson. But when Louis arrives on set as the surprise guest judge, Harry’s worlds collide. Throw in a cup of cuteness, a teaspoon of teasing, and a pinch of pining, and there’s all the ingredients for an epic love story, or absolute chaos.

12) Tangled Up And Blue | Explicit | 30,159 words | 🛠️

Kai just shakes his head, making his way down the small batch of stairs with a hop in his step. “Have fun on your weird adult date.” Harry sighs. “It’s not a date.” “Dad, you already have him in your bed most nights,” Kai sings, walking backwards towards Louis’ car with an insufferable smirk on his face. “It’s not looking too good for you,” he shrugs, hands curled around the straps of his backpack.

13) You Wish I Was Yours And I Hope That You’re Mine | Not Rated | 31,259 words | 💐

“What did you wish for?” Harry blushes, “If I tell you it won’t come true…” Louis sits straight again, a cute little determined look forming on his face, “I wished that a certain curly ‘aired boy would take me on more dates because I ‘ad such a good time on this one. And that’s going to come true, isn’t it?” “Of course,” Harry nearly splutters. “Yeah, yeah definitely.” “See?” Louis grins smugly. “Now I told you mine and it’s still going to come true, so will you tell me yours?” Their wishes were different though, because whereas Louis’ wish was cute and endearing, Harry found his own wish rather embarrassing. But he can’t lie to Louis, nor can he say no to Louis, so he sucks in a shaky breath of air before he speaks softly, “I wished that I was brave enough to kiss you…”

14) Stay Until Tomorrow | Explicit | 36,766 words | 🛠️

There’s a dull ache seeping through Louis’ body as he wakes up; a mild headache from last night’s alcohol intake, a cramp in his right arm from sleeping on it weird and a familiar soreness between his arse cheeks that Louis fully blames on his lousy one night stand.

15) One Heart Broke, Four Hands Bloody | Explicit | 47,429 words | 💐

Louis’ life is really fucking dull until one day he happens upon the scene of a crime, as said crime is happening. A murderer with big hands and a charming smile somehow manages to change his life for the better.

16) Once Burnt, Twice Shy | Explicit | 52,644 words | 🔥

Louis and Harry are polar opposites in every way. Where Louis is a bestselling author from the city, Harry is a small-town firefighter who’s never left his home. Where Louis is spontaneous and spirited, Harry is introverted and calm, never straying from routine. When an ill-fated accident and an exceptionally intelligent tabby bring them together, they are forced to confront their pasts and forge a better beginning for themselves. Will sparks fly, or will it all go up in flames?

17) No Going Back | Explicit | 56,102 words | 🛠️

Sales reps Harry and Louis are bored with their jobs and their lives. After meeting at a conference in Cardiff they hook up, have a few too many drinks, and jokingly apply to become remote lighthouse keepers. Six months, just the two of them, looking after the southernmost lighthouse off the bottom of Australia. It’s not like their applications will be accepted. Right? This is the story of how one choice - a left instead of a right, a go instead of a stop, a yes instead of a no - can change the future forever and that sometimes, taking that leap of faith, is worth the risk.

18) Between The Sand and Stars | Explicit | 63,128 words | ✈️

When an earthquake strands flight attendant Louis Tomlinson on a tropical island, he’s got paradise at his fingertips - miles of sunny beaches, immersion in vibrant culture, and a beautiful seaside mansion to enjoy. Unfortunately, it belongs to the egotistical musician Harry Styles, whose incorrigible management can do little to hinder his playboy complex. Despite Louis and Harry’s abhorrent first impression, contrasting backgrounds, and tendency to bicker every time they speak, who says opposites can’t attract? Them, of course, because they hate each other … right?

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[annerbhp]

Omg just realised it’s 5 years since Armistice 3! Crazy!! Thank you for that series, it’s always been something I go back to x

That is wildly hard to believe. Five years!! (Which also means it's been five years since the Covid quarantine started, which is also mind-boggling).

Still can't believe I finished those fics sometimes. Many thanks to all the people who have read it and interacted with me and others about it, when I was writing and long after. It really means a lot to me! 💕

[cha-melodius]

2024 Fic Year in Review

My fifth fic year in review! It's always wild to go back and look at how far I've come. As always, feel free to grab this if you want to do your own; I've stitched it together over the years. And thank you to everyone who read my fics this year, whether it was one or all of them.

2020 | 2021 | 2022 | 2023

AO3 Username: chamel My Page: Link Active Fandoms: Red, White & Royal Blue: 14 works Loki: 3 works The Man from UNCLE (2015): 1 work New Fandoms: The Pairing (CMQ novel; 1 work) Total Number Of Completed Works/Word Count This Year: 23 works, 303k words All Time: 135 works, 1.57 million words

Most Popular One Shot (by kudos): This Year: Trying My Patience (Try Pink Carnations) (RWRB, Alex/Henry, E, 9.4k) All Time: Class(room) Warfare (RWRB, Alex/Henry, T, 7.8k words)

Most Popular Completed Multi-Chapter (by kudos):  This Year: False Dichotomy (RWRB, Alex/Henry, E, 62k) All Time: Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood  (RWRB, Alex/Henry, E, 20k words)

Events/Challenges: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Gift Exchange 2024, A Royally Big Bang, Lokius Reverse Bang, idk do what you want exchange

More reflections, stats, and planned fics below the cut!

Additional Random AO3 Stats

By number of fics: 79% one shots, 21% multi-chaps

By word count: 69% multi-chaps (nice), 31% one shots

Ratings by number of fics: 48% E-rated, 26% M-rated, 26% T-rated

Musical artists contributing highest number of titles: spread out this year, but Wilco, Metric & Sufjan Stevens came in with 2 each

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?  I was wrong in my 2024 roundup post—I wrote 25k more words this year despite having 10 fewer fics. Which I did NOT expect. I figured I was trucking along to make my usual ~270k, but I forgot about The Secret Fics lol.

What’s your own favorite story of the year?  I think I have to go with Body and Soul(mate), which I'm just so so proud of. I love how it came out and I think it's really original.

Did you complete your writing goals from last year?  The Goal: My goal is to have a similar mix of fics as least year, and also to write my first collaboration with @cricketnationrise, which will be a long multichap. First part, pretty close. I wrote more multichaps (21% vs 15%) this year, which meant fewer fics in total. Second part, oops. Cricket and I have both been busy, but the hockey fic lives!! We'll get to it eventually!

Do you have any writing goals for the New Year? I can't believe I'm gonna say this but... write more original fiction. See below for more on that. Fanfic wise... finally finish some of the planned stories I've had kicking around for a while.

Did you take any writing risks this year? I submitted a pitch for an anthology, was accepted, and wrote my first original story! I had a lot of fun with it and I think I'll purse more next year. Idk if I'm ready for a whole novel and trying to get (more) published, but we'll see.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Even though it's numbers have come up since publishing, I'm still gonna go with The Impossible Soul, aka my Westworld-esque android/human AU.

Most fun story to write: Probably Body and Soul(mate). Figuring out all the body swaps and soulmate lore was a lot of fun and the whole thing just flowed so well.

Biggest disappointment: Why do I keep this question? I hate complaining publicly. 😂 My biggest disappointment is that I sometimes let fandom drama/trends/popularity make me feel bad. Being mad because a fandom loves X type of fic doesn't help anyone.

Biggest surprise: I'm not sure I really had any big surprises this year. Biggest surprise in my stats was that my percent of explicit works is way up—T used to be my most-used rating. Part of that is publishing fewer one-shots, since those tend to be T for me, whereas a long fic is more likely to be E.

Coming soon/planned for 2024: It's a little depressing how so many of these are the same as last year. Hence the resolution above, I guess.

Kissed Out (RWRB pro-pool players AU)

RWRB 1940s noir AU

RWRB conductor/piano soloist AU

RWRB Jurassic Park AU

RWRB rodeo rider/polo player AU

RWRB hockey AU (with cricket)

A shitload of prompts from my fandom fest

Extremely delinquent MTH fics

TMFU art thief/gallery owner AU

Thanks to folks who tagged me in their year in review posts, including @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @kiwiana-writes, and @porcelainmortal

[ddoxhan]

prettiest to me

I'll write the melody, you write the words for me it might not be the prettiest, but it's the prettiest to me

word count : 2k words

genre : fluff & fluff; when minji wrote a melody and asks if you could write lyrics for it; minji's a simp for you; singer-songwriter! minji x uni student! fem! reader

t/w : slightly suggestive(?) ig (idk how to do this we ride or die)

a/n : to commemorate the ending of pr stunt by @silantryoo, here's a minji oneshot to thank bestie silan on making me squeal at 3am with this smau, it was a wonderful journey and I still can't believe it ended :') this marks my first nwjns fics :3 plot has nothing to do with pr stunt and I wrote this in one sitting so there might be errors or just weird flow since I didn't proofread enjoy !!

"babe! come down for a minute!"

"what is it? I'm a little busy with my assignments."

"that can wait, I'm more important here."

"well, you aren't wrong."

just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you don't seem to see your girlfriend anywhere in sight. that's when you figured she was in her mini recording studio. she would always be there if it wasn't the garden, which is her favorite spot for handling her work.

"so, how may I help you, my dearest minji?"

you weren't sure why she needed you in here, when you made it a fact that you weren't exactly musically gifted with that time you tried to serenade her but failed miserably (you practiced real hard and she appreciated your efforts).

"can you cook up some lyrics for this melody I wrote?"

"me? are you sure that's okay? I mean hanni would be able to create a masterpiece with your melodies, better than I could ever."

"sure she can, but this is for us. I write the melody, and you write the words."

"umm, okay? don't expect too much out of it though."

it would be a lie that minji didn't have a slightest expectation because she knew you had a way with your words. that was one of the reasons why she fell for you, amongst hundreds of them. utmost of all, you treat her real good, like she's your world and your one and only, which isn't wrong at all. you do love her more than yourself, and you don't mind throwing yourself in front of a truck for her (which had her smacking you on the back when you told her that).

as much as you don't enter her studio, there was only one chair and of course, it was already taken by the owner. minji saw how your eyes were searching for an extra one, so she just put her hands over your waist before pulling you over onto her lap.

the slight red tint on your ears doesn't go unnoticed by her, making her heart swell at the fact that you still burn bright red whenever she gets intimate. despite being together for years, you still do, and that reassures her that you feel the same for her, just as she does for you.

"I c-could have just gotten another chair from the kitchen."

"yeah, but I like it this way."

minji snakes her arms around your waist, giving you her signature cheeky smile, which you have a love-hate relationship with. it's just so annoying, but endearing because you love her. all you could do is role your eyes at it and pretend you don't like it.

she leans forward to get her earphones before handing you one side, putting the other into her own ear. with a click on the space bar, the melody she had just finished perfecting flowed out in the earphones.

with every stroke of the electric guitar, you found yourself lost in her eyes, and same goes to her. it made you feel so nostalgic as you reminisce the moments you shared with minji. the first time you met her, all the dates you went to, all the hours you spent staring at her eyes more than the scenery, all the times you said 'I love you' (that were three times in total of the 3 years you've been together for).

you just knew, this wasn't just some typical love song. it was your love song. yours only to listen to, which made you so sure, that you were going to spend the rest of your life with this girl in front of you, kim minji.

it made you feel loved by her, and also made you realize how madly in love you were with her. so this was why she insisted on you writing the lyrics. you didn't know how only just a melody could make you feel this way. god are you smitten by kim minji.

"min, you're a genius."

"are you sure? I'm pretty sure you literally just called me an idiot two days ago."

"I take it back, you're a bitter meanie."

"hey! you can't blame me for having good memory."

your glare seemed so 'intimidating', minji couldn't help but crack a smile at your attempt at being scary. and you followed suit, weak at how her lips would curl up and her eyes folding into crescents.

"you're adorable."

"don't think you're off the hook just because you call me cute."

"didn't think of that but yes, you are cute and I love you too."

she leans forward to steal a kiss on your lips, smiling sweetly at you as she stares into your eyes again. knowing the effect she had on you, minji purposely did so because it was fun to see you flustered, which makes you a thousand times cuter than you already are (minji's words not mine).

and she was absolutely accurate with how the red tint on your ears prolong and your gaze fall to the ground.

"so how was the melody? what makes you say I'm a genius just hearing that?"

you glance over at minji, full of curiosity and anticipation, as if she doesn't know how that melody just made you fall for her further.

"because that screamed 'I love you and no one else'? you just made me remember the feeling of being in love with you, baby."

to be honest, minji's heard countless 'I love you's' and 'baby's' in her entire career. but when it comes from you, it makes her heart flutter and all giggly like a lovesick schoolgirl. she too, remembers when you spell it out for her.

the feeling of being in love, and specifically with you. she could never forget how she fell for you. it wasn't love at first sight, but she did realize she was in love with you at a particular moment. that moment you smiled at her as you pulled her along by her wrist to the arcade. she didn't know what it was, but that endearing smile that tugged perfectly on your lips led her to offer you her heart.

and it was the same smile minji loved seeing every day, the smile you only showed when it came to her. you could very well call it 'minji-exclusive smile' and your friends would 100% agree because there was just a different glint in your eyes and a higher tug against your lips when it was for her. dani mentioned that and was so supportive of you two while hanni gives you her signature side eye. (she secretly likes you two together because you treat her bestie well and vice versa)

"now that you say it, I guess it does sound like that. well then I believe you have your inspiration right there."

"of being in love you?"

"yes, that, and us. this is our song, so it's about us, our love."

"I suppose I can start from there."

you still can't get used to minji using the word 'love' so easily, rolling off her tongue like it meant nothing. but you knew she means it every single time she stares into your eyes, saying it with utmost warmth. she makes you feel at home, as you are wrapped up in her arms. although you two are cotton candy clouds most of the time, there will always be times where you two bicker and argue over something unimportant just like other couples out there. even so, voices are never raised and what more physical.

it was an agreement made at the start of your relationship and it was never once broken, which made you love minji more than you thought you could ever. your previous relationship begged to differ, so you were honestly afraid to start another one. yet this girl in front of you showed you that you were worth every drop of love she could offer, every kiss you shared, every night you spent cuddling with her. the list could go on and on, and she would still have so much to give to you because you deserve it.

"then there's that. now you can attend to your assignments, but make sure to be down here later for dinner."

minji squinted her eyes at you, making you look away as you remember how you used to starve yourself just to finish your thesis. all that was past you when you moved in to live with her. of course it was when she'd make you meals so you never skip, and being the stubborn person she is, she makes sure you finish it. (minji treats you like a kid but she does so because you do act like one at times, and she's not complaining since she loves taking care of you)

"okay, mom."

you lift yourself off from her lap to get back to whatever you were working on, but as you did, she pulled you back down. what she does next catches you so off guard, you push her away, running out of the studio before she can see how you're about to explode from embarrassment.

"I don't think you suck your mom's lips off, do you?"

to top it off, she puts her lips near your ears and whispered, extremely seductively. her breath tickled and lingered against your skin in the best way possible. you couldn't deny though, you quite literally sucked her lips off the other time you spent the last friday movie night, making out with the movie just playing on in the background. if someone were to ask you about that movie, you were sure you aren't going to be able to tell them what it was about. you apologized to her after the session when you saw how red and swollen her lips when you two finally got out of it. (your lips weren't any better either)

"I hate you."

"thanks babe, I love you too."

you were pouting as you made your way back upstairs, but was stopped by your beloved girlfriend before you could take a seat to continue your assignment. minji threw her arms over your shoulder, hugging you from the back as you refuse to look at her. she loves teasing you because you just give her the best reactions, and it's become a routine.

"if you keep teasing me, I'm not writing the lyrics."

"what's that gotta do with the lyrics? you promised, and remember, no breaking promises."

"that's up to me."

folding your arms across your chest, you turn your head to the left because minji leaned forward to look at you from the right.

"babe."

"what?"

just as you turn your head back to the right, kim minji once again steals another peck on your lips. if she thinks she can get you to stop being 'angry' at her with this, she is absolutely right. (she just knows you too well, and also because she knows you love her very much)

when she notices the way your lips become less pouty, minji tightens the hug as she buries her head in the crook of your neck. she takes a seat on the chair with her still hugging onto you like a bear, mumbling against your skin, sending shivers down your spine (in a good way).

"don't be angry with me."

"I'm not..."

when clingy minji shows up, you just know you can never win against her.

"you will write the lyrics right?"

"of course, I made a promise. and I'll make it the prettiest in the world so you won't be disappointed."

"if it's written by you, I'll love it no matter what. you can write me a nursery rhyme, and I'd give you a nobel prize."

her jokes never fail to crack you up, as if her sense of humor was built to match yours. she never fails to amaze you every single day you wake up to seeing her by your side, soundly asleep. minji used to suffer a lot from insomnia but from the day you slept by her side, there wasn't a single night she spent awake.

"whatever you write, I just know it's gonna be the best. even if you think it may not be the prettiest, it's the prettiest to me."

"you're the prettiest to me."

[lottiesnotebook]

2024 Writing Roundup!

So in retrospect this is a WILD thing to post on NYE, but thank you to @miladydewintcr for tagging me by proxy! I can't take full credit for a lot of these words, as I cowrite all my Dragon Age fic with @adainesjacket, so this is kind of a collective wordcount for both of us...

words posted: 75,300

additional words written: 228,259 (Mostly on The Kick Inside, which is now 135,000 words long and STILL NOT DONE DX)

grand total of words: 303,559

fandoms: Dragon Age Origins, Dragon Age 2, Dimension 20 (A Court of Fae and Flowers), Grishaverse (so actually my most varied year in terms of fandom so far!)

highest kudos: what stays and what fades away, with an unbelievable 363 kudos??? I still can't believe that my little Grishaverse fic I intended to be 3 chapters long ended up being my most-read fic ever. I technically started this last year, but due to Life Happening, I didn't get round to finishing it until April this year.

Anyway, I'm really proud of this particular canon rewrite of the Shadow and Bone trilogy focussing on childhood friends Genya and Nikolai, and I'm crossing my fingers that this year, I'll get the Wedding Sequel finished and posted to celebrate it as it deserves...

highest hit oneshot: I have not really gone in for oneshots this year, so the season of possible miracles wins this category by default with 206 hits - my Dimension 20 Exchange gift for @justiceforprincecorrick. It ended up running a little later than I wanted it to, but I reread it as preparation for this year's exchange, and I think it holds up as a cute, winter-themed Cinderella AU for Binx and Andhera from Dimension 20's A Court of Fae and Flowers.

new things I tried: Dragon Age fic, writing outlines, and writing fight (and smut) scenes that should be posted in the new year!

fic I spent the most time on: The Kick Inside, or my Dragon Age Origins Rapunzel AU, as it was originally titled in my heart, has been a labour of love since August, and I've finally started posting it weekly. Please give it a read if you enjoy Dragon Age at all - it's an alternate universe where a pregnant Warden recruit provides Morrigan with an alternative to the Dark Ritual, and the ripples this causes in the world.

fic I spent the least time on: merry solstice (please don't call), cowritten with my beautiful wife @adainesjacket, at least proportionally - the Dragon Age 2 Justice/Anders/Hawke Christmas RomCom AU that nobody asked for but people have been very kind about! We wrote this in a single month and it came out so perfect that I just want to write it all over again.

favorite thing I wrote: The Kick Inside is still my beautiful, terrible baby and I am actively afraid of not finishing it because it's been eating my brain for five months.

favorite thing(s) I read:

Top of the list has got to be the His Delicious Materials series by @elodieunderglass, the best Dungeon Meshi/Delicious in Dungeon fics and possibly the best fics I've ever read. I squeak audibly whenever they update, and read them aloud whenever given the opportunity. The narrative voices range from Tamsyn Muir (Nona the Ninth) to Terry Pratchett, and they are truly a joy to read if you enjoy fantasy worldbuilding, Daemon AUs, or simply to feel Joy and Hope in this Cruel, Dark World.

I've also really enjoyed Something Lonesome and Wild, by passing_lives, a BG3 fic my wife recommended when I started writing The Kick Inside that's provided a key inspiration in terms of the hazards of Adventuring While Pregnant. This is an Astarion/Gale fic and it managed to charm me despite not particularly vibing with either of the boys when I started playing, so now, in my heart, this fic is happening in the background of my playthrough while my disaster of a Dark Urge commits atrocities. Beautifully written and incredibly compelling, give it a look!

Finally, in terms of Dragon Age fic, I haven't played Veilguard so I have to be careful about what I read, but I've been slowly making my way through:

Will-O'-The-Wisp, by lovenug, an Emmrich/Rook fic from Mannfred's perspective (perfect, as I love a non-human narrator)

where the heart is by ghostbunny and PhantomsLost, a truly delightful Hawke/Anders Stardew Valley AU, which I did not realise I needed until I started reading it this Christmas

writing goals for 2025: Finishing The Kick Inside! Also, ideally, finishing that Ketterdam Wedding Sequel and Daughter Phoenix Rise (a Dragon Age 2/Inquisition take I don't think anyone has done before...)

new works: Just the four listed here, plus a few snippets that are going up in the new year... :3

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