#if you read this far. WOW. twenty parts. TWENTY.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.�� Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

-

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

-

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

-

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

-

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

-

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

-

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him ��� mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

-

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

-

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

-

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

-

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

-

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[for-a-longlongtime]

Guilty Pleasure (6/7) - dbf!Joel Miller x reader

An open bar and Joel in a tailored black outfit mean trouble at your father's garden party. Enough reason to do something you haven't done before.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, mdni 🔞🔥 Series warnings (tba): Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 43), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU. Word count: 3.4K A/N: I finished writing the final chapter last night and y'all, I'm giddy as fuck. Big BIG thanks to @milla-frenchy and @reallyrallyauthor for your support and reading Part 6 and 7 early to make sure this hits juuust right!

< part 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist

There are too many people in your backyard. Mingling, chatting, networking, kissing ass - all accompanied by canapés that are too fancy, beer that is so painfully hip and micro-brewed that you don’t even want to try it, and outfits intended to seem semi-casual yet also upstage everybody. You hate these gatherings. It’s far from the first time you’ve had to endure them because of your father’s work, though. Even your grandmother liked reminding you when you were little that your grandfather also hosted affairs like this. “It’s important to build connections.”

You don’t care. All you give a damn about tonight - or maybe these days, if you are honest with yourself - was Joel, dressed like a fucking vision. Well fitting black pants, that you suspect are tailored, an ever better fitting black dress shirt which is absolutely tailored, and matching black boots. His hair, usually curly and messy, now looks so sharp that you wonder if he got a haircut this morning; it’s a little shorter, definitely neater, and brushed back a little.

But what your eyes keep going back to the most are the few buttons on his shirt that are undone, showing off his tanned skin and a smattering of freckles you had barely noticed before. It makes you want to trace every single one with your tongue and find out if he would whine when you'd suck a hickey on his neck.

He’s at the bar, waiting for his drink, so you slide in right next to him and bump against his arm. “Hey. Don’t tell me you’re drinking those craft beers?”

“Jesus. No, of course not.” 

The expression on his face is one of instant disgust, and you can’t help but laugh at the candid response. “Wow, didn’t think there’d be someone else who’d hate them as much as I do.”

Joel grumbles something, then gives the bartender a nod as he takes a glass of whiskey from him. When the guy turns to you to take your order, you point at Joel’s glass. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

The guy gives you a doubtful look. “Can I see some ID?”

“Yes, you can. It’s called ‘I’m the daughter of the guy who is paying your salary tonight’ and I’m twenty two. Thanks for making that drink now.” You stare at him, daring him to push back against you - you are NOT in the mood for this tonight, especially not in front of Joel. After a few moments, the bartender sighs and shrugs as he turns around, reaching for a glass and some ice. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, so you turn towards him to give him a similar look. “What? Go ahead. Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m being a brat.”

“Nah.” Joel shakes his head as he sips from his whiskey. “You’d just get off on that. That’s not brattiness - you’re actually being rude,” he says, then wanders off to go talk to someone nearby.

You stare at him with an open mouth, anger starting to creep into you. How the fuck does he dare to just say something like that to you? It hurts, and most of all it gives you a pang of concern that maybe you’ve ruined your chances with him - between this and the way he responded at the pool a few days ago.

“Oh honey, forget about it.” The bartender gives you a look that’s bordering on pity and disdain, his inflection drastically different all of a sudden as he pushes a glass towards you. “That man ain’t into you. Wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. Why don’t you go find somebody of your own age to play with, hmmm?”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”, you snap at him as you grab the glass and stalk off, his words feeling like claws that have sunk into your skin and won’t let go of you. The burn of the liquor doesn’t help you in the way you’d hoped for, and you find yourself craving something stronger, sweeter. Anything that’ll help you take the edge off.

Anything, in this case, turns out to be 6’3”, blond, looks like a jock and is named… Brady? Brody? Brad. Ben. Blake. Something like that, you can’t remember, but it’s unimportant after having chatted with him for all of ten minutes. What matters is that he’s not a bad kisser, smells fine - not woodsy like Joel unfortunately - and his hands are large as well as eager, pressing you with your back against the solid wood of the pergola. 

If it wouldn’t ruin the mood for him, you probably would’ve laughed at the irony of making out with Blaine - Brandon? Brayden? No. Bruno. Bruce. Barry. Maybe it was Chad after all - right against the pergola that Joel had built over the past couple of days. 

You’d been watching Joel from your bay window, his muscles straining in the sun, while he grunted the way you had memorized from his Instagram videos. And for all of those three days, you’d had several orgasms as you’d watched him. Some of them were thanks to your fingers, others due to toys - varying from the small bullet vibe to the thrusting rabbit vibrator you used for longer sessions. But in the end, all of this had been going on for too long. The flirting, the way you’d feel him look at you regularly, the build up of tension; it had you feral by now, and you just wanted Joel.

You are gonna get him. Soon. Even if it means needing to make him jealous.

“Should we- should we go inside?” Jock guy pauses his kisses, leaning his forehead against yours as he runs his hands down your body, and you can feel him press hot and heavy against your thigh. Fuck, he is hung. “We’ll have some more privacy, and…”

“No, this is fine,” you say quickly, your eyes scanning the crowd of people across the yard. Most of them are unaware of your makeout session, and your glance slides right past them, but suddenly you detect Joel not too far away from where you are. He is staring right at you, gripping his whiskey glass in your hand, and when the guy next to him says something, he only shakes his head, not breaking his glance with you.

“Are you…”

“I said this is fine,” you said sharply to the guy with his hands on your hips. A frown plays over his face, and in a gesture of good will you let your hand brush over the crotch of his pants, tracing the outline of his dick. “Nobody is watching.”

He groans, his lips finding yours again as he pushes himself against your hand. You kiss him back eagerly this time, your arms around him as you turn him just the slightest bit so you can keep your view of Joel. He’s talking to the guy next to him now, a back and forth conversation, but every now and then his eyes slide back to you, and then there’s a nod he gives you that makes you shiver.

Baxter, or Bart, Bobby, or whatever the hell his name is, slips his hand under your skirt, and you moan when his fingertips trace your lacy underwear. You hear how he sucks in air for a second, then his chest almost puffs up in pride at how wet he finds you. Silly guy. He thinks it’s because of him, that his not-too-bad kisses have riled you up so much. Has no damn clue how Joel’s eyes are back on you again.

“Touch me,” you breathe at him, and then hold your breath when he does so. Thick fingers - though not as thick as Joel’s - slipping under the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side while your eyes remain locked on Joel. You’re trying to merge the touches with your fantasies and the visual of Joel right in front of you, conjuring up his voice. You think of the way he’d tease you with slow, playful strokes over your pussy, each time a little more focused on your clit, making you delirious with need before he’d even consider sliding a finger into your soaked cunt.

But reality seems more than unwilling to blend with your fantasies. While initially the guy seemed to smell fine, you’re now noticing the overwhelming amount of generic fuck boy cologne he’s wearing, the scent unsettling and clearly something Joel would never even wear. He doesn’t smell like a hard day’s work on Joel does and his hands are too smooth, too well taken care of. No roughness from manual labor whatsoever, no finesse to tease you, and definitely not much muscle memory on how to properly get a woman going. 

Instead he’s just clumsy, perhaps because all the blood has rushed to his cock that’s pressing insistently against you. Substitute-Joel’s fingers slide over your folds only one disappointing time, clearly not even attempting to find your clit. He fumbles around as his own breathing grows heavy, then suddenly tries to push two fingers inside of you - without any further prep or even checking if that’s okay with you. 

It abruptly ruins the horny spell you’d been under several minutes ago, and you swear as you grab his hand to stop him, your pussy strongly objecting to his fingers trying to invade you. 

“Hey! Fucking hell,” you hiss, pulling his hand out of your underwear before he can go any further. “You always fingerbang girls without properly prepping them?”

“What? You’re practically dripping on me,” he hisses back as he looks confused. But you’re not about to end up in a discussion about how being wet doesn’t mean he can just shove his fingers inside of you - let alone without any warning.

“Never mind,” you say as you push him away from you, then straighten your clothes as you move away from the pergola. “Let’s just forget this happened, okay? I’ve gotta go say hi to someone.”

“Bitch,” he mutters at you, adjusting his tie and the collar of his shirt. On most days you would’ve gladly torn him a new asshole for that, but you’re just not in the mood to further engage with him. So you start to head into Joel’s direction, but then see that he seems to have moved elsewhere, leaving you to look around in confusion.

You look up when you hear a group of men laugh, and see your father shake some hands as he offers his audience a few more words. Joel is there too, you realize, still with a drink in his hand. Your father gives him a friendly pat on his arm, which is returned with Joel’s signature nod, as he then heads over to some other people who look more than eager to greet him. It makes your skin crawl to see him acting like some kind of politician, eager to make a good impression on everyone, and you quickly turn away from him to look back at Joel - who is now looking straight at you again, without saying anything.

It’s not until you’re back at the bar for another whiskey - you’ve lost track of how many you’ve had - that he shows up next to you, giving you a gentle nudge like you had done to him earlier. “D’you eat anything recently?”, he asks, absentmindedly playing with a coaster on the bar. You can smell the smokey alcohol on his breath, see that the buttons on his shirt are just a little more opened than they were a little while ago, and it just makes you ache for him.

“Shut up, Joel,” you mutter, but he doesn’t follow your suggestion - instead he picks up the whiskey that the bartender slides over to you and takes a sip of it.

“A water for her, please?”, he asks, then covers the liquor glass with his hand when you try to reach for it. “No. You’re done.”

You’re starting to seethe at this point. “Who the fuck you think you are telling me how much I can drink?,” you snap at him. His eyes are infuriatingly calm, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips makes it clear he’s a lot more amused than you are.

“Easy, darling. Just looking out for you, okay?” He pushes the glass of ice water on the counter over to you, but you have half a mind to throw it at him.

“Why are you bothering me?”

His eyebrows raise at the word ‘bothering’, but he doesn’t quite respond to it. “Just have some water and food,” he says softly. “You’ll feel like shit if you don’t.” 

“You’re drunk too.”

Joel rolls his eyes at you. “Yeah, well… have to get through this all somehow, don’t I? Been drinking water too, though.” He gives you a look as he takes another sip of whiskey, sighing.

“I don’t get why you’re here.” Your head is spinning a little, but at this point you’re not sure if it’s the booze or proximity to Joel that’s getting to you. The memory of that jock guy’s cologne is far from your mind by now, replaced now by that smell that you crave - the cologne you would recognize anywhere, layered with Joel’s own scent. And it’s driving you mad. “Nobody is making you, unlike they’re doing with me.” 

A smile plays over Joel’s face and he shrugs. “Your mom asked me.”

You can’t help but laugh. “My— what? And that’s why you’re voluntarily subjecting yourself to all of this?” You gesture around the yard, the groups of stuffy people, pretentious bite sized food and music that makes you desperately want to connect your phone to the speaker system. “I’ve been to so many of these. It’s awful, every single time.”

You’re waiting for him to tell you it’s not that bad, or even that you should suck it up. But instead he simply doesn’t respond, and only gives you a raised eyebrow as he has some more whiskey. When he puts the glass down on the bar, you impulsively swipe it and drain it before he can interfere, waiting for an actual retort this time. 

A frown slides onto his face and you grin almost triumphantly at the reaction, pushing the empty glass back towards him, only ice cubes remaining in it now. “I think you like dramatic,” you then blurt out, and see how he blushes slightly, the red flush creeping up from his chest to his neck.

“That what you think?” His eyes flick over you, and you nod, poking him in the chest with your finger. 

“Yeah. You’re… practical. Proper. Maybe kinda boring. You got your routine.” You really should stop talking with all that liquor in your system, but you refuse to admit he was right about you needing to sober up. “Maybe getting close to a midlife crisis? Working your job and then all the reno on your house. Don’t see you chill a whole lot.” 

You run your finger a little down his chest, then place your full hand against his shirt as you lean over to his ear. “I think you want some fun,” you whisper in his ear, barely audible due to the music playing at the party. “Somebody who shakes things up. Brings a little drama and excitement.”

Joel’s eyes are slightly unfocused from the whiskey, just like yours probably are, and you can tell that his guard is down in ways that you haven’t experienced before. “Old, huh? Boring, old, and close to a midlife crisis,” he says after a moment, a smirk on his face as he shakes his head. “But you would shake things up? Why would you bother with an old man?”

“Maybe I’m into that.” You bite your lip as you hesitate for a moment. “The whole DILF thing. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching me.”

His smirk widens into an actual grin now as he laughs, looking away at some commotion or a gathering that’s happening at the party. When he looks back at you, his eyes are darker than usual, and you can’t help but feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Little girl. You are in over your head.” His words are measured and quiet as he seems to pick them carefully, his hand now reaching for yours that’s still resting against his chest, and he gently pulls it off his shirt. “ Y’don’t even have a clue of what you’re playing with, darling. What are you gonna do? Rock my world? At your father’s party?”

“I don’t give a shit about his party,” you say sharply, but he shakes his head, interrupting you.

“But that’s the thing. You do,” he murmurs. “Y’couldn’t be more thrilled than to do so here, just to make a scene. Like you did with that guy.”

You feel victorious hearing him confirm that he had been watching you, and together with his ‘little girl’ comment it’s enough to make you soak your panties on the spot. “Were you jealous?”, you ask him challengingly.

He chuckles again, this time getting up from the barstool, and you take in his physique, admiring the way those tailored pants fit around his thighs. “Have some more water. And food,” he tells you, and in the split second you have before he turns away, you make up your mind. Perhaps it’s more like instinct, to do what you’ve been stopping yourself from doing for a while now. 

You grope him. 

Fingers quick as you cup him through his pants, closing around his balls and a part of his dick. It takes effort to bite back a whimper at finally feeling him, thick and hot and heavy in your hand, after all those weeks that you’ve been here and tried to figure out what the right move was. You hold his eyes defiantly, lips parted as you’d like to use your words but they all seem stuck in your throat.

His surprised intake of air when you grab him is immediate, and he looks frazzled as he shakes his head, tugging your hand abruptly away from his cock. “You out of your damn mind?”, he hisses, looking more than just a little flustered. “In front of everyfuckingbody?”

“So come insi—” The words die on your tongue when you suddenly see your mom approaching from a couple of feet behind Joel, unaware of what’s happening between the two of you, but apparently in search of you as she calls your name. Joel and you immediately step away from each other, him leaning against the bar as he seems to need a moment to compose himself. You have even less time to plaster a smile on your face for your mother, so you just nod enthusiastically as she rambles at you about some person’s son you should come meet. Your heart feels like it’s hammering out of your chest as you force yourself to tell her that you’d love to meet them, bringing a smile to your mom’s face.

Just as you’re about to join her to meet this person, your mom pauses at the bar and puts her hand on Joel’s shoulder. “By the way, he said that he could use your help with moving that thing, if you have time? Think he’s inside, couldn’t find you,” she said, and Joel nods while humming something affirmatively. His eyes flit to you for a split second before he looks down at the bar again, and he seems to wait until the two of you have moved away until he goes inside.    

You’re in a mild daze as you follow your mom through the crowd, performing the role you’re expected to play, while the moment that you grabbed Joel plays on repeat in your head. The gasp that spilled from his lips, the way he didn’t say “no” - just “in front of everybody?”, which was an entirely different thing, and frankly… he wasn’t wrong.

You can wait. Just that little bit longer. It’ll be so worth it.

Joel's outfit at the party (as a dress shirt and pants instead of a jumpsuit):

series masterlist | main masterlist

Thank you for reading, commenting or reblogging - I appreciate it so very much 🙏

🚨 Follow @longlongtime-updates + turn on notifs to see when the finale drops later this week!

[masonmount-vii]

It'll Make Sense Some Day

Part Three

april twenty-second

"Wait. Back the fuck up. You're going out with Mason tomorrow, and you're just now telling me?" Millie asks the day before you and Mason are going to meet for a coffee.

"We're not going out, Mills, we're just getting a coffee, there's a difference!"

"That's what they all say," your sister mumbles, but you ignore her.

"It's really not a big deal-"

"They all say that, too."

"Because we were friends for a long time, and well... We're both older now. We can handle this like adults, believe it or not."

"I never said you can't handle this like an adult, Y/N," Millie explains, "I just can't believe you just decided to meet up with him without consulting Mum or I, like you usually do."

"I don't always do that!" You protest, crossing your legs underneath you as you sit on the couch, some random show on the TV playing in front of you.

"Okay, maybe not. But the point is, you've not been talking about Mason for 9 and bit years, it isn't likely for you that this just changes overnight. What happened?"

"I need a date to Rachel's wedding, so i decided to make a Tinder for that, and the next thing i know, I matched with Mase."

Millie laughs. "Oh, my god. You know there are plenty of guys at my work that i could set you up with? This one guy, Eric, comes into work everyday and just rants about how he doesn't have a girlfriend. I don't think you'd like him, though. He's a bit self cantered."

"Then why bring him up?" you mumble, as Millie keeps talking.

"Anyway, how did you match with Mason and not even know? Were you swiping through so fast that you didn't know?"

"I honestly don't even know how it happened. I guess i just wasn't paying attention, and the next thing i knew, i was matched with him."

"That's hilarious. No offence, sis."

"None taken, except it wasn't particularly funny in the moment. Actually, it was terrifying. I called him after, though, and we cleared everything up."

"Good. Just remember, i'm going to tell this story at yours and Mason's wedding."

"Millie! I'm not even in love with him anymore, and he sure as hell probably isn't with me. We're just going to be friends and see where it goes."

"Come on, you can't be immune to the fact that your life is like something out of a rom-com. Which isn't a bad thing, in fact, can you send some of that my way?"

"Why? Aren't you still with Leo? Millie, you guys have been together forever."

"Your sister sighs. "i am, yes, but i just feel like our relationship has lost some of the spark it had when we first met, Do you know what i mean?"

"Not personally, no but for the sake of this conversation, yes. What exactly do you mean by 'spark?' Like, sex?"

"That's part of it, but Leo and I never do fun couples' things anymore. He doesn't buy me flowers spontaneously or take me on romantic trips."

"Do you want him to do things like that?" You ask.

Millie has never been a spontaneous person, when she was ten, she showed our parents her entire life plan, and has stuck to it so far to a T.

"I think, I don't know."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

It takes your sister a second for her to answer. "No."

"Well, there you go. Just talk to him, ask if you guys can have a night where you go out for dinner one night, instead of staying at home. Make small changes to your relationship that make you happy, before you expect giant romantic gestures."

"Wow, I should ask you for advice more often," Millie laughs.

"I give good advice sometimes, you know."

"Yeah. Well I should get going, but tell me how your date goes tomorrow!"

"It's not a date!" You yell, but Millie hangs up the phone, cutting you off.

-

Thank you so much for reading! Sorry it’s a really short one 💓

[esamastation]

Part twenty-nine of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight

-

Rude releases a breath when he sees the door leading to the helipad opening and Hewley and Sephiroth finally exiting. He's not terribly thrilled about having to chauffeur a man so fresh out of metal breakdown - especially with the way Reno is cackling in his earpiece - but at least the man is officially out the building.

Now he just has to get him off it, and they'd be good, the building would be secure.

"Oh man, I am so glad that got caught on video," Reno giggles in his ear. "Nothing against the Professor personally, but hoolyy shit, it was downright poetic."

Rude sighs, watching as Hewley and Sephiroth stop to talk by the door - too far to be heard over the helicopter rotors and too obscured by their positions for accurate lip reading. "Perhaps we should be more concerned with Sephiroth's health."

"The man's walking and talking and brushed off Hewley's offer for a Curaga," Reno says. "If he wants to be bleeding internally, that's his problem - all we need to do is get him out of Midgar."

"And then keep a watch over him in Wutai."

"Yes, and that, but nowhere does it say we need to nurse him into health too," Reno says. "Just get him and Hewley in the air and out of here before Hojo realises he's leaving."

"Hn," Rude answers, not looking away from Hewley and Sephiroth and not relaxing until they finally approach the helicopter and Hewley stoves away their blades.

Rude has seen Sephiroth personally a number of times - they often serve together as bodyguards for the President, Rude sent in by the Turks and Sephiroth called upon by the President, because the SOLDIER looks good in papers. So most of the times Rude has seen him had been him being annoyed, resigned, and bored.

The Sephiroth that awkwardly enters the helicopter looks a little queasy and embarrassed - but also excited.

Hewley hands Sephiroth a headset and pulls another one on himself. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?" He says over the headset.

"I'm fine, Angeal - I promise I don't have internal bleeding," Sephiroth answers, indulgent and looks around. "... There isn't a seatbelt in here, is there?"

"What's a seatbelt? No, never mind," Hewley sighs, sounding a little exasperated. "Sephiroth, you threw up blood! That's not normal."

"Maybe I just bit my tongue and swallowed some blood before, it's fine -"

"Some blood - it was a lot of blood!"

"Barely even a litre -"

"A litre! Of blood! You would've had to have bitten your tongue clean off to swallow that much!"

Sephiroth sighs. "Angeal, I swear I didn't bite my tongue off -"

Well, he sounds fine, Rude decides, and after making sure the helicopter is secure and there's no one else on the pad, he takes off. "Phase two complete," he reports to Reno. "The big guy is off the building."

"Sweet," Reno says. "I'm off then - meet you at the airport."

"Roger that," Rude agrees, bringing the helicopter above the Shinra Building and then turning it towards the airport. Below them the city whirls around, its lights leaving streaks in Rude's vision.

The bickering in the backseat takes a pause as Sephiroth peers outside in apparent amazement. Then Hewley continues to poke and prod at the man, and Rude pretends to tune them out - all the while listening to every word. Mostly it's Sephiroth trying to convince Hewley that he isn't in some kind of acute organ failure or about to hack out a lung. Hewley isn't very convinced.

"You're very nonchalant about this," Hewley says dubiously. 

"Trust me, it was bad blood, it's better out than in," Sephiroth answers, craning his neck to look down through the window. "Oh wow…"

"Bad blood. That's what you said to Hojo," Hewley points out. "Like it actually means something. What do you mean by bad blood?"

Sephiroth doesn't answer, pretending to be utterly preoccupied by the view.

Hewley sighs. "Sephiroth, please. I'm really concerned - if there's something wrong, you should tell us -"

That makes the other SOLDIER react. "Oh, please, spare me the power of friendship speech -"

"I absolutely will not," Hewley snorts. "If it's the only thing that gets you to talk about this, I'll even throw in sincere emotions."

Though jokingly said, it seems to be an effective threat, judging by Sephiroth's disgusted expression. "You're an evil man, Angeal."

"Yes, how dare I be worried about my friend, how utterly unforgivable. Now please tell me why you throwing up blood isn't a health concern."

Sephiroth sighs. "I… it's hard to explain."

"Because you don't know."

"No. Because the terminology doesn't exist," Sephiroth mutters and then sighs, looking outside again. "Before I was interrupted, I was attempting to, uh, align my internal energies properly, and repair some of the damage done to my system previously. It's a delicate process and can go horribly wrong if interrupted, which is exactly what happened. As a result of the interruption, my internal system went wildly out of alignment, which caused some issues. I fixed those after, as much as I could, and what I threw up was essentially… waste produced by the progress."

Rude wishes, not for the first time, that there was a way to record stuff said on board a helicopter. Thankfully, judging by Hewley's expression in the mirror, the man doesn't understand what Sephiroth is saying any better than he does.

"Internal energies - you mean your MP?"

"MP," Sephiroth repeats and hums thoughtfully. "That's part of it, I guess."

Hewley shakes his head. "So your… MP is out of alignment?"

He sounds confused, and Rude can't blame the man. He didn't know MP could even have an alignment.

Sephiroth is quiet for a moment, looking away. "Tell me, Angeal. What is MP? Where does it come from, where in your body does it reside  - how is it produced?"

"Uh. It's just an intrinsic quality people have? Which increases the more you use it - and with Mako exposure? I don't know, I guess I never thought about it," Angeal admits. "You'd have better luck asking Genesis."

"Hmm. Is he coming to Wutai?"

Hewley shakes his head. "I don't know, but there's no shortage of missions to be completed there. Still, Sephiroth. That was a lot of blood."

"I'm not throwing up blood now, am I?" Sephiroth says. "I'm fine, Angeal, I promise. Hopefully that was the worst of it."

Hewley doesn't look particularly reassured. "Hopefully?! Wait, you don't mean to say you're going to continue with this… alignment stuff?"

Sephiroth hums noncommittally and looks outside the window again. They're getting to the airport now.

Rude blows out a breath. "It's time to land," he informs his passengers and hopes Reno wouldn't take too long to catch up with them. Maybe he would have some idea what the hell Sephiroth is on about. If not, then he'd at least pretend he did.

Rude is with Hewley on this one, though. Sephiroth intending to continue with his alignment practice with the risk for further… misalignments… It didn't sound good.

Interesting though that Professor Hojo clearly had no idea what his son was doing either. Whatever it is, it isn't anything Shinra Science had figured out. Hmm.

Something to add to Sephiroth's file, Rude muses, and brings them to the ground.

[lizzyk137]

Baby's Secret- An Agent Gibbs Fic (Gibbs X Reader)

Description: After keeping your relationship a secret, what will it take for Gibbs to admit your his. Warnings: Mentions of bombings, swearing, hospital, fluff

(Part One) Want to read more, visit my Masterlist!

Dinner at Gibbs place was great, and it certainly wasn't food you both were devouring.

The next few months kept you busy with new cases, therapy sessions and at-home date with Gibbs. Gibbs wasn't one to leave his house much when he was home from work. He was stubborn, stating he goes out enough at work that he doesn't need to on his days off, and he stays with that statement no matter how much you try to change his mind.

Now you didn't mind staying home with Gibbs. It was relaxing and brought a calm over you that you needed after a stressful job, plus, some of the activities were very entertaining. But you wanted more.

As time went on, and your relationship stayed a secret from the team, due to Gibbs breaking one of his own rules, you were starting to get irritated that it didn't seem like he wanted people to know about you. On cases he always stayed a far enough distance away from you so no one could assume and reserved to checking on you when you were out of work when you got hurt. He also never expressed how he felt about you. He was a man of few words and you could feel that he cared about you when you were alone but you also know that things could be very much different as they were presented to you. And as good as he made you feel, he also equally was hurting you.

"Where are you going?" He asked six months into your relationship. It was a quiet Sunday morning, and it was gorgeous out, so you thought of going out and enjoying it.

"I'm going to the farmers market with Tim." You had answered back as you grabbed your purse and a reusable bag.

"McGee?" You could hear him getting up from his chair.

You turned around to meet his eyes, "Yes McGee, we always go to the farmers market on our days off."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. We've been doing it for the last year." You laughed.

"Oh." You walked up to him and gave him a peck on the lips, hoping his scowl would wipe away from his face, but it stayed.

"I'll be back in a few hours. See you!"

You didn't realize that day would leave to you two having to expose the very secret Gibbs had hidden for months.

"Y/N, look at this!" McGee was holding up a poster for an old video game.

"Wow, twenty dollars? I don't know if it's a steal or a rip-off." You laughed as he handed you the framed poster and reached into his wallet for cash. He paid the merchant and grabbed the poster back.

"Defiently a steal for me, the starting price online for this is $100. So where to next, Y/N?"

"There is a cute little stall selling plushies that I was eyeing, if that's okay?" He nodded, and let you lead.

You headed over to the stall when you felt a pair of eyes on you in the crowd. You scanned the area but didn't seem to find anyone out of the ordinary. You reached your stall, and you and Tim were checking out the plushies when you felt the same feeling as before on you.

"Tim, I think someone is watching us." You whispered as you held up a small plush bat.

"Really?"

You showed him the plush bat, "Yeah, while we were walking over here and now. No one seems out of the ordinary. I might just be paranoid. What do you think for Abbie?"

He nodded, and you held the bat in your arms. "I'll keep an eye out." You nodded back to him and grabbed a cute orange kitten plush.

"I think I want this!" You smiled up at him, trying to make the air a bit lighter.

His lips morphed into a smile, "Well then, I guess we better get it. It's on me since you bought me coffee."

"Aw, Tim! That's sweet of you, thanks!" You showed the merchant your items and they tallied them up and you both paid. "Alright, I think it's lunch time!"

Tim stood next to you, looking around. "I feel it too. Lets head to another stall, I don't like this feeling of being watched.

"Sure." You took a step forward when you felt and heard a sudden blast behind you. Warm air hit you, shoving your body forwards as you flew through the air, body tumbling as soon as it touched back down to the ground. Wood flew everywhere around you, as you tried to get up to look at the damage, when you felt another blast from another stall besides you as the world grew black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gibbs was frightened. He hadn't been this frightened in a long time. Two of his teammates were lying unconscious in the hospital from some lunatic setting of a bomb and your condition wasn't the greatest as he watched your heart monitor bounce around irregularly.

"Hey, boss." Tony's voice interrupted his thoughts. "McGee just woke up. The doctor is checking him over and once he's done, we can talk to him."

The doctor came out an hour later and let the team know they could go in to see their friend.

"Take your time but what happened, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"Everything was normal until we got to our last stall. Y/N said she felt like someone was watching us but she didn't see anyone, and neither did I. I felt it as we were leaving but it was too late." McGee looked worried as he explained what happened to Gibbs. "I didn't see anyone but if I had just suggested we leave right off then she wouldn't here."

"Hey, nothing could have stopped those bombs from going off." Tony said gently, seeing McGee getting worked up as his heart monitor started beeping louder.

"Bombs? There was more than one? I only remember one of them."

Ziva nodded, "There was two. One at the stall you went too and one that was behind it."

They eventually left McGee after calming him down, and headed back into the waiting room.

"Tony, see what Abby has on the bomb. Ziva, figure out what stalls McGee and Y/L/N visit every week this past year."

"Past year? McGee didn't say anything about the past-"

"Just do it, Ziva!" Gibbs barked out.

"On it."

Gibbs circled around back to your room and watched you lying there. "We'll get them for you. I won't stop until I catch those bastards. Wait for me just a little longer."

Gibbs didn't visit the hospital for the next few days as he stayed up going over every little detail they had and trying to discover new leads. You still had yet to wake up, which fueled him even more to find whoever did this to you.

"Gibbs, I found something." Abby said over the phone.

"I'll be down." He said and ended the call. "Abby has a something, let's go."

The elevators chimed and as he and the team stepped off and into Abby's lab. "Whatcha got, Abs?"

"I found something in the security cameras. The shop that Y/N went to every week was this one here," Abby pulled up the shop's logo on the screen, "it's a small business that sells stuffed animals. She had been eyeing this cat for weeks. With my findings on the surveillance and evidence from the bomb, it looked like whoever made the cat used it as a trigger. Once out of the safe zone, it set off both bombs. The second one was delayed due to the stall being moved slightly during set up." She showed a few slides of the stuffed cat, one that looked similar to her cat that had just past away, and then to a video display of how the bombs worked. "I did some more digging, and found that the maker for these stuffed animals come from a company located just out of D.C."

"We spoke with the shop keepers and they said they draw up the designs and then send them out to a group that then goes around to manufacturers." Tony said.

"Tony, Ziva, go to the factory and interview the workers."

"Wait! I can do you one better." Abby said. "I managed to hack into their surveillance cameras, courtesy of McGee, and found exactly who worked on the stuffed cats for our small business. He goes by the name, James Harrington." Abby hit a key on the keyboard pulling up his James' social media. "It looks like Y/N and him had gone out a few times but about six months ago they haven't communicated or gone out."

"Let's bring him in." Gibbs said through a clenched jaw.

Gibbs was pumped for the interrogation and with a bit of yelling and one slam of the desk, James was putty in his hands. Spilling everything from how you rejected him after a few dates, and that you were always around McGee and he was furious that you could be with anyone but him.

"She always was with him. It was disgusting to watch them together every Sunday. I had to teach her boyfriend a lesson." James spat.

Gibbs eyes narrowed at the word boyfriend. "Well lucky for you, her boyfriend gets to ruin your life. Have fun in prison, while I get to continue dating her." He got up and slammed the interrogation room door closed and headed straight to the hospital, ignoring the shocked looks from Ziva and Tony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gibbs pulled your hand closer to him and rested his cheek on it as he clasped it in his. Ever since he got the confession out of James, he had been by your side waiting for you to wake up.

Ziva, Tony and McGee watched from the door way, Gibbs oblivious to the three of them watching which was very much unlike him.

"I can't believe they're dating. How did we miss this?" Ziva whispered.

"What I wanna know is how." McGee answered back.

Tony chuckled, "I bet it was after they went 50 Shades of Grey during that undercover mission."

"Do you think they've been together that long?" Ziva questioned. "That was like half a year ago."

"It explains why Gibbs avoids her during cases."

"But why keep it a secret?" McGee asked.

"Maybe it's because they're happy with just each other." Tony replied, watching Gibbs gently kiss your forehead.

Gibbs watched as you slept peacefully. You looked like an angel, to him you always did, but especially now because you looked so peaceful. You were always peaceful when you slept. He could watch you for hours, running his fingers through your hair as you cuddled into him, your head on his chest.

He closed his eyes, feeling days worth of no sleep catching up to him.

"Jethro?" He thought it was your voice, but how could it be? You've been unconscious for the past week.

"Jethro?" The voice was clearing up and it definitely sounded like you. But it had to be a dream, he thought.

"Jethro!" Your voice was much louder this time, enough that Gibbs' head sprang up off the mattress and his eyes opened to meet yours.

"Y/N?" Gibbs said shakily.

You were sitting up, your hand still in his, with a big smile on your face. "You've been asleep for a few hours, you're quite cute when you're sleeping." You giggled.

Gibbs looked at you in disbelief for a second before he crushed you to his chest, holding you tightly. "Don't you ever leave me like that again." He whispered. "From now on, anywhere you want to go I'll follow. I can't lose you."

You pulled him away and cupped his cheek. "Are you okay with that?"

"This whole thing has made me realized how much I care for you. I'm not letting you walk out that door again, especially when you want me there."

He watched you smile, cupped the back of your head and placed a sweet kiss on your lips.

"No more hiding?"

"No more hiding."

Taglist:

@crimeshowjunkie

@slxmw

So sorry this took forever! So many things in my life popped up half way through writing this! The second half of this doesn't do the story line justice. Let me know what you think down below!!

[wolfjackle-creates]

Wow. I am blown away by the response to my bang fic so far. I did not expect a Jazz POV fic with a (relatively) rare pair to do half so well as it has.

But here's another scene I love from the first chapter. Consider checking out on AO3 if you haven't already!

-----

Twenty minutes later, they were curled up together on Dick’s bed with the lights out. Jazz had insisted on being the little spoon. After the last few days she’d had, she wanted nothing more than to have her boyfriend curled protectively around her.

“Jazz?”

“Hmmm?” she replied, already half asleep.

“Do you— Are you— Is it good for you, to work with metas in trouble?”

Her eyes flew open and she stared into the dark room. Any hint of sleep was gone as she lay there tense. Dick’s arm tightened around her stomach. She took one deep breath, then another. “You’re worried because of my brother.” It was a statement, not a question.

Dick hummed, “We’re similar in some great ways and some terrible ones. I want to make sure taking cases like Callum’s isn’t going to keep you wallowing and unable to move on.”

Jazz screwed her eyes shut against the burning. “My brother is dead,” she said, the half-truth ash in her throat. “He is dead and I couldn’t stop it. His powers only made him more of a target and not a single adult tried to stick up for him.” Each word was harder to say than the last. “If I can keep it from getting that bad for anyone else… I need to do it. I wouldn’t be able to face myself in the mirror if I didn’t try.”

“Okay,” said Dick. “Okay. I believe you.”

Jazz forced herself to relax again. Of course Dick would be worried. If their positions had been reversed, she would’ve asked the same thing.

Just as she was starting to relax, Dick spoke again. “Would he have liked me?”

Jazz sucked in a breath; behind her, Dick tensed. Before he could apologize or try to take back his question, Jazz replied. “Danny hated every guy I dated in high school.”

Dick’s arm tightened around her, and Jazz grabbed his hand to thread their fingers together.

“I can’t blame him, though. I dated some horrible guys. The worst, get this, he only dated me because he was part of some weird magic cult. They fucked up a ritual or something and he wanted to use my body as a host for his real girlfriend’s soul when her body got destroyed.”

“What the fuck?” asked Dick. “Didn’t you grow up in the middle of nowhere? That’s some Blüdhaven or Gotham shit.”

Jazz laughed and squeezed his hand. “The corn makes people crazy. Now hush, let me answer your question.”

“Sorry,” said Dick, but Jazz could hear the smile in it. And feel it when he kissed the back of her neck.

“Quite all right. Now, Danny, as I said, he hated every guy I dated.” She bit her lip. Despite the jokes, she struggled to talk around the lump forming in the back of her throat. “But none of them were good guys. If I had been able to introduce the two of you, he’d be mistrustful. And probably try to interrogate you.” She chuckled, though it was a bit wetter than her normal. “Not that it’d phase a police officer like you.

“But… Yes, Dick. Once I’d convinced him to give you a legit chance? He’d have loved you. The two of you have the same sense of humor, the same sense for justice, and the same disregard for personal safety. I’d go gray worrying about what the two of you were up to behind my back.” She let out a shaky breath and repeated, “He’d have loved you.” The truth of that statement burned more than the lies and Jazz kept herself still so Dick wouldn’t notice the tears she couldn’t stop.

It was a long moment before Dick replied. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Now, let me get some sleep.”

Dick kissed her spine again. “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

-----

Read more on AO3

[bepisbee]

ayy college au meet cute

read on ao3

Shadow was dreading today. He was already the odd one out transfer student. Now he had to use the damn library too? He took a big breath in and out, looking at the looming building. It was only for a semester, by then he would have enough saved for a decent working laptop. Most of his meager funding went to his rent and food. He refused to skimp on good homemade meals. Even if he only ate them once a day. They were made with real food damnit! Shadow shakes his head. The longer he stood there the more likely these overcast dark clouds would open up and pour ice cold rain on him.

He stepped in, a warm blast of air whooshing over him. The doors auto shut behind with a heavy thunk from the thick wood. Shadow made his way inside, all lights a dim yellow. Surprisingly not the kind that buzzed. He appreciated that. He walked to the counter, behind it someone in blacks and purples bent over to the bottom of a book cart mumbling. He seemed annoyed. Shadow stood there awkwardly for far too long before speaking.

“Um- h-ey?”

“Fuck!” The man shot up in surprise, skirt billowing as he did so. His cheeks flushed at the outburst. Shadow’s cheeks flushed for another reason entirely. He was beautiful. Near perfect dark complexion, stunning purple eyes behind glasses. His lips curved slightly thin on top and thicker on bottom, scarred from obvious chewing and biting them. A small scar across his eye and brow, making one eye a shade lighter than the other and missing part of the eyebrow. His hair, a warm honey, pulled behind in a messy butterfly clip. Shadow’s heart was thudding. Vio was also short as hell. The desk came up to just below his pecs where it was at Shadow’s hip.

“Uhh- ahem. M-my apologies, you startled me.” his voice was smooth, and Shadow faltered.

“I- I uh.” He is unable to look away. “S-sorry, Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“It’s alright.” The warm smile does things to his insides. “What can I do for you?” Was it just him, or did maybe this guy also like him? Shadow sure hoped so.

“I need a library card to use for uh books and the computer, for school.” Shadow rocked on his heels, “Uh- please.” he tacked on. He felt the politeness necessary for some reason. He usually never bothered.

“Well I can certainly do that. Do you have your student ID? Or regular, either is fine but the student ID gets you longer book check out time regulations and reservation priority.” He dug into his side bag and grabbed the loose ID card, handing it over. Vio started typing on the computer.

“I’m Shadow… Uh- you knew that I just gave you my ID…” He flusters and Vio laughs.

“Vio.” he glances up from the screen, amused. “New here or just new to the library?” He takes mercy on him, continuing the conversation.

“Both. I Transferred. The arts focus here is a lot better than any schools in Lorule. The magic arts classes are really cool, they go into more schools than I could count.” Shadow falls into comfortable nerding.

“Ahhh, I see.” he hands the card back, brushing their hands. “Well, I hope I get to see you in my class then.” The librarian smirks at him.

“You’re a teacher??” He feels so embarrassed to already have a teacher crush.

“Haha, yes. Don’t look so scandalized! I graduated last year.” he raised the glasses to the top of his head, now that he wasn’t reading things. “Youngest professor here!” he beamed, “I bet you’re pretty close to my age, honestly. I skipped a few grades. I’m twenty-two”

“No shit?” He blinks. “I”m twenty-four. I’m older than you?” Shadow huffs a laugh.

“Wow, an older man? Now that's scandalous.” Vio teases, leaning forward on the desk. “Especially since we have a date this Friday, at the diner on eastside. At 2?” Wow that was smooth, Shadow turns pink again.

“Y-yeah?” his eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah,” Vio slides him his paperwork, the library card and a post it note with his phone number. “Just don’t be late~” Vio winks and turns back to his book cart, dismissed.

Shadow takes it with shaky hands and fluttering insides. Holy shit. He has a date with the pretty librarian he has talked to for five minutes.

Yes!

Shadow looks around the empty library and goes for the computer, unsure how much work he can actually focus on now.

[cinnamoodles]

the language of flowers — part two, irises

warnings: more angst than part one which is great, also reader throwing stuff bc she’s a badass, and in character Anthony which is honestly more of a red flag than ooc Anthony but you love him anyway you nasty :)

word count: 1.4k (wow I impress myself sometimes)

author’s note: we love this part bc reader stands up for herself and Anthony is one major daddy issues boy.

read the other parts! — part one, daises | part three, peonies

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

--------- . . . ---------

ii. 1804, iridaceae versicolor. irises, trust

Anthony paced the length of this study—which wasn’t all too large, but stress relieving nonetheless. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempestuous mix of newfound worry and lingering doubts. Today marked one year, one year without his father, one year his mother was cast into a depressive state, one year since he had taken on the mantle of viscount, and become the father figure that his youngest siblings did not have.

It had been far too long since he had last spoken to you—days? Weeks? He had never gone so long without even seeing your face, and that was a stretch. He’d spent his last few months mourning, brooding, and perhaps being a tad overbearing on himself, but he had to, for the sake of his family’s honour, it’s prestige. 

There’s a sharp knock on his door, it’s most likely Colin or Daphne, who are frequent in irritating him. He makes no effort to open the door, and with a practiced gesture, he dips his quill into the inkwell, resuming his task of poring over the estate's financial matters. How often had his father sat here, absorbed in these very same calculations? A pang of longing pierces through him at the thought, his heart echoing the emptiness his father's absence had left behind.

Another knock.

It must be Colin, his eyes sparkling, attempting to irritate him once again. “I’ve got a job,” he snaps, “and I suggest you get one as well, one that does not involve vexing me at every given minute.”

The door creaks open, candlelight flickering over the stacks of leather bound tomes and haphazardly organized scrolls, casting lanky shadows over his face, playing upon the strong angles, highlighting the lines of exhaustion that marred his usually composed countenance. His normally impeccable attire was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair in frustration, and his ink-stained fingers spoke of long hours spent in diligent work. He wasn’t in a position to meet anyone, much less usher yet another one of his young siblings out of his room.

“Oh, I vex you? Is that why you've been evading me like the plague?” Your presence was like a sudden burst of sunlight piercing through the storm clouds—startling, yet warmly welcomed. The quill slipped from his fingers as his eyes widened in surprise, locking onto your face, a vision that brought back a flood of memories and feelings he had attempted to suppress.

Your stormy eyes burned through his deep brown ones, and you crossed your hands across your chest. Your soft hair was tucked behind your ear, and your eyes were wide, as if staring directly into Anthony’s soul, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to become lost, to dream, and to gaze into them as if he was merely a boy again, holding you in his arms.

“Say something, Anthony! I’ve not seen you in weeks, properly, and you’ve barely held a conversation with anyone other than your butler, and frankly, I—” 

Anthony quickly wrapped you in a hug, burying his face in your shoulder, your cotton dress soft to the touch. He mumbles. “I missed you.” He can feel you stiffen, but soon gently relax into his arms.

“That is why I came,” you smile, and pull away, holding him at an arm’s distance. “Oh, and my brother is getting married. I wanted to invite you personally to the wedding.” Your oldest brother, twenty eight years of age, was getting married, Anthony recalled. He was, of course, to be the next Duke when your father inevitably passed.

Anthony rubbed his eyes. “My sisters will come, of course, but I may not be able to.” Your invitation was tempting, and the prospect of seeing you again filled Anthony with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed you until this moment, when you walked in the door. But his responsibilities as the viscount weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he feared that leaving the estate at this crucial time might jeopardize his mother’s already precarious emotional situation.

"I wish I could attend, truly," Anthony replied with a hint of regret in his voice. "But with the estate's financial matters in such disarray, I can't afford to be away for long. I must attend to my duties here."

You frowned slightly, concern glazed across your soft, delicate features. "Anthony, you can't carry the burden of the entire estate on your own. There must be someone who can assist you, even for a short time."

"I've considered that," Anthony admitted, his mind aching from the internal struggle. "But finding someone trustworthy, capable, and knowledgeable enough to handle the estate's affairs is not an easy task. I fear leaving things in someone else's hands might cause more harm than good.”

You crossed your arms, frustration evident in your expression. "Anthony, you can't keep shutting yourself off from the world. Your family's honor and prestige won't matter if you run yourself into the ground!"

He takes a step back, feeling defensive under your stern gaze. "I am taking care of things. I'm doing what I need to do to ensure the estate's survival, which is all that matters to me, at this point in time."

"Are you?" you snap, your voice tinged with disappointment that Anthony could see etched in your face. "You've barely spoken to anyone, including me, for weeks. You're burying yourself in work, and for what? To prove some sort of point? That you’re fit to be the man of the house?"

"I don't have a choice," Anthony replied tersely. "As the viscount, it's my duty to oversee everything. And after losing my father, I can't afford to let anything else slip through my fingers."

"You can't live in the past, Anthony," you urged, taking a step closer to him. "Your father's gone, and while it's natural to mourn, you can't let grief consume you. Of course, you have responsibility—"

His jaw clenched, and he shot back, "Responsibility? What would you know of responsibility? You don't understand the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I can't just leave everything behind and go gallivanting off to weddings, like an immature child."

Pain flashed across your face, but Anthony was much too in his head to take a look at his surroundings. He continued, as if possessed by some spirit. “You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You’re spoiled, and the only thing your family has ever thought of doing for you is getting you married.” He spit. “So why don’t you worry about your responsibilities, and I’ll worry about mine.”

A single tear fell from your eye, and in that moment, Anthony wished he could take it all back, swallow the poison he had thrown at you so mercilessly. “I…” you bite your lip, and he wanted to take you in his arms, comfort you, and hold you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I’m sorry for whatever sin I’ve done to have you treat me like this.” You quickly wipe your tears and rush to the door. Anthony wanted to stop you, to scream about how he didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You quickly turn around, revealing a bouquet of irises, the specific ones Anthony had commented on the last time he visited your estate. He could barely remember when. “By the way, I bought you flowers. I thought they’d cheer you up,” you retort, before throwing the delicately tied bunch of flowers straight to his head, hitting his nose.

The door slammed, and Anthony was once again left alone, only this time, he’d have done anything to bring you back. Slowly, the petals of the irises cascaded down onto the ground, fracturing the flowers, and Anthony noticed a small piece of paper.

The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: In the quaint world of botany, the charming iris blooms have long been regarded as symbolic emissaries of trust and faithfulness. Like an ancient scroll unraveling before our very eyes, the iris, with its alluring hues and delicate petals, unravels the story of steadfast devotion and allegiance. Just as an honest man's handshake vouches for his sincerity, the iris bestows its trust upon those who approach with an open heart and gentle touch, and a receiving of this gentle bloom from either gender discloses that the gifter trusts you with their whole heart. Its regal demeanor, reminiscent of a gallant knight in armor, instills in us the assurance that this flower is a beacon of loyalty and constancy.

Trust. You had trusted him, and what had he done with that? He’d tossed it away, and your gift had broken. Anthony wasn’t usually one for symbolism, but these broken irises were pretty damn apparent.

[sitp-recs]

Hi ,its my first time asking you anything since maybe one year ago that i found your reclist that in my opinion is one of the best IF NOT THE BEST drarry reclist to exist. Not only is so well organizased but is amazing how you cover almost avery theme, tag, request....Thanks for the effort that you make ❤️.

Since you an amazing reccer i wanna know if its posibble asking you for some recs, the thing is that i love the kind of stories tha break my heart into pieces while reading more so when our boys have to suffer to finally have peace and enjoy themselves. By any chance do you know stories where Harry and Draco have to give up their relationship and their love for other things or people like draco for his parents or Harry for the Weasleys or the greater good?

If by any chance you read this thank you so much and keep blessing us with your presence here. ❤️

Oh wow what a way to start my week! Thank you for the kind words, I’m so happy that you enjoy the blog and are finally sending your own request. I appreciate you ❤️ I see you’re going for hardcore angst with the self-sacrificing trope! I think you might enjoy these treats:

The Promise by Frayach (M, 4.5k)

Draco made two promises that pulled him in opposite directions. He can only fulfill one.

An Emerald In The Sky by corvuscrowned (M, 6.6k)

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone.

The Eighth Tale by lettered (E, 12k)

Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

Us, in Lieu by Tepre (E, 29k)

Teddy needs help and Harry needs funding. Draco sits in the other room and plays the piano.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 33k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils. If you are triggered by infidelity, this is not the fic for you.

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by Femme (E, 70k)

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

Close Behind by oflights (M, 134k)

To rescue Draco from the Underworld, Harry has to look forward. Unfortunately, Draco has to look back.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (T, 300k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Scott and Hope’s child (Hank Jr. Edition)

Scott Lang/Hope van Dyne x child!reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Scott and Hope have a baby girl (reader). And everything seems to be fine, but somewhere from the age of five, it becomes clear that the reader is a complete copy of her grandfather Hank Pym, that is: she is incredibly smart, she loves ants (she can talk about them for hours), she also has problems controlling anger (she hit a guy in the face at school for saying that ant-man sucks), thinks that there is no one smarter than her and her grandfather, and she also transferred his sarcastic communication style and views on things and people around, for example, when she first met Tony, she said: "You can never trust Stark."”

somewhere in the distant future a special kid was born

and that special kid had special parents and special grandparents

and those parents and grandparents were two generations of superheroes who saved countless lives (and, well, the world)

so it was no surprise to them that this next generation would be just as intelligent and caring as the ones before them

*cue a toddler with crayons in class*

“and then my grandpa asked the ants nicely to fly him to a bunch of different places and do all these cool things like move stuff around and like do other stuff” -you rambling on

“do you like anything besides ants?” -your teacher

“no” -you, continuing to draw ants on your paper

hank and janet were quite proud grandparents

and scott and hope, your wonderful amazing parents…couldn’t get enough of it

“honey, what about wasps? wasps are cool, right?” -hope

“no” -you

“she’s spending too much time with my dad” -hope

“well, he’s the only babysitter we’ve got since cassie got that new job” -scott

“oh, you mean our old job? yeah, miss those days where we could go flying around getting into trouble and beating people up” -hope

“well, you promised we’d retire so y/n wouldn’t end up with a childhood like yours” -scott

“y/n’s gonna want to be a superhero when they get older, arent they?” -hope

“let’s not think too far ahead. it might kill me” -scott

scott reads you his biography every night before bed

and you always giggle at the parts where your mom and grandpa bully him

“hey, not funny!” -scott

“so funny” -you

“dont get any ideas” -scott

“daddy, are you gonna get arrested again?” -you

“if i do it’ll be grandpa hank’s fault” -scott

you continued spending time with grandpa hank and grandma janet

and they spoiled the crap out of you

hank…got you an ant farm

“now you’re just being ridiculous, hank” -janet

“what? i’m just having some bonding time with my grandchild! hope never wanted anything to do with me growing up” -hank

once you started getting older, you wanted to hang out in grandpa’s lab allll the time. day and night

your parents hated it

“hey, think this one will suck us all into the quantum realm?” -scott

“it was one time!” -cassie

cassie was at hank and janet’s a lot, too, actually. they always wanted to help her with her suits and gadgets and all that

and make sure she had plenty of pym particles

“you have enough, right? here, take some more, i have plenty” -hank

“grandpa, please, i have more than enough, thank you” -cassie

“can i have some pym particles?” -you

“we can play with them in the backyard next time youre over” -hank

you draw new suit designs for cassie all the time

some of them she actually incorporates into her suits

and as you get older, you try to start designing more tech for her

“y/n is really scaring me” -hope

“why?” -scott

“just watch her and my parents together…they’re the same” -hope

“dear god, what have we done” -scott

“dad, look at this new pym particle powered weapon, i just finished the prototype!” -you

“okay, now i’m mad because where was this when i needed it!” -scott

“fifteen to twenty years too late” -hope

“we should have gotten together sooner” -scott

“i disagree” -hope

“wow, not even a pity agreement” -scott

asking your parents if they’ll get back into crime fighting

they said no

asking if you can get into crime fighting

they said no again

so you just kinda stockpiled all your ideas

and did everything you could to further your grandpa’s work

and help your sister

and keep your parents’ minds at ease (doesn’t really work)

and maybe one day you’ll be able to ride those ants and kick some ass like you always dreamed

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @zoeyserpentluck // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 //

[filletedfennysnake]

for the character ask game 2, 9, 12 and 25 for palamedes!!

RICHIEEE how did you know I just wanted to talk about him <3

2) favorite cannon thing about this character: perhaps one of the most crucial Ingredients to canon palomides is that, despite everything, he must stay a little silly! he only seems relatively normal because he’s standing next to lancelot and tristan. important not to forget that my pal is out there crying over wells (why?? what is it about wells, pal???), hunting the questing beast with the all fervor of an underfunded lepidopterist on three hours of sleep, reading horrible love letters out loud to his crush (you didn’t have to read the sexy bits, pal. you really didn’t have to), asking a toddler if he can ride a horse, seeing a naked woman tied to a tree and being like “wow I’m sure that’s normal here,” and reciting long stretches of depressing Arabic poetry for his dear friends. liek. yea he’s amazingly strong and brave and chivalric and a diversity hire, etc. I genuinely love those characteristics as well. but he’s also an odd cookie and I cherish that

9) could you be roommates with this character: HELL YES we could be roommates! he seems like someone who would take pride in keeping his living space really tidy. I’ll bet he enjoy trying new foods; we could hold a competition every week to see who found the best recipe and then spend the night like total nerds, just lying on the floor and discussing The Fun Biology Facts We Learned That Week. plus it would be in-character for him to have a snake as a pet (something that really requires proper care, like a ball python. or scrub python���) and I’ve always wanted to live with one despite being scared of the care commitment

12) what’s a headcannon you have for this character: despite not being fully fleshed out my personal hc for his backstory is very complex and angsty. I think his mother was from Nubia (modern-day Sudan) and travelled far up north, eventually marrying into his father’s nomadic family in Egypt (I think of them as Bedouin, but I don’t know what they would have called themselves at the time. I need to do more research). palomides grew mostly on the Sinai peninsula before being sold as a 9-year old to become a mamluk (an educated , high-ranking warrior slave). he advanced quickly, due to his military prowess and ability to hide emotions until when he was 22, a Mysterious Disgrace necessitated that he flee the continent. he ends up in britain during his mid-twenties, weary, uprooted, and utterly dejected. eventually he is adopted by sir esclabor, at which point he begins taking part in the stories we know and love today!

25) what was your first impression of this character? how about now: the first time I heard about palomides was either through Roger Lancelyn Green’s King Arthur (where he’s just mentioned in passing) or on @gringolet’s blog (where I got to see some lovely fanart of him). honestly at the time I just thought it was neat that not all of the knights were white (I imagine most of the characters as poc anyway, but you know what I mean). the real Indoctrination happened when I read The Ballad of Sir Dinadan. Gerald Morris, the madman (affectionate) really said this is the first canonically non-white character in this series. okay. I’m going to make him so honorable and intelligent and competent. he’s going to smoothly deliver one-liners in his second (third??? fourth????) language before single-handedly beating up all the Recreant Knights. he’s going to face microagressions but he will be so Brave about it. he’s going to travel thousands of miles away from almost everything he knows to fight in a doomed war, just because that’s where dinadan is going. he’s going to spend the rest his life traveling the world and singing. with dinadan. he. anyway. the whiplash of going from that to Le Morte D’Arthur palomides (who I also love for very different reasons) was rather jarring. I’ve now experienced way more versions of palomides, and developed more nuanced feelings about him. I think we can recognize that a lot of pal exists as a foil to tristan (which is not great, considering that tristan is meant to be the virtuous white one who Gets the Girl) while also noting that he never entirely cast in the role of antagonist. It’s just so amazing to me that he exists as a character at all, and for the most part it’s his flaws— regardless of the intentions with which they were created— that make him such an intriguing character, even centuries later

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Finally it’s the stories where Magic is watching season 8 and can tell that we’re gonna get canon Buddie and has decided to get involved to speed things along! Which is honestly so valid of Magic I would do that too if I could

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️ (It makes me so happy that every story with a bucktommy breakup is now just realigning with canon! We love BtBones! And we love this fic! I still have no real clue what’s happening and it’s delightful!! Loving the ride!)

🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️ (IM. SO. NORMAL.) (No I’m not but that’s okay! Is this another “buddie sees snippets of their future” type story and that future includes a Nico? I love your other ones like that and I already love this one too!!)

I hope you have a nice time in Jamaica Cal! And I hope you enjoy the continued journey of Getting Eddie Out and getting Buck off the hamster wheel and the return of Brad and HotShots! Wow I really love this show right now (and always) and I’m so glad to share it with lovely people like you!

- PCA <3

HELL YEAH TO THIS THEME TOO.

And thank you! Jamaica was awesome. Very affirming career wise. And YES I am loving it!

78 for ⚖️ (THANKS! You are going to find out a bit more of what is happening here.)

---

She sighs. “My name is Nemesis.”

“Oh,” Buck replies, concealing a grimace. Parents were edgy then? Then Buck remembers the scales on his arm. His mind flashes to an illustrated mythology book that Chris once showed him. “Or… Wait a minute. You’re not saying you’re that…” 

She nods. “The very same.”

Buck’s shoulders drop. “Okay. That’s… That’s not real.” 

“Oh? It’s not?” She raises her eyebrows, casually amused. “You’ve seen yourself this week how very real I am.”

Buck swallows. He can’t deny that. 

“What did you do to me?” Buck asks. “And how can I get my life back?”

“Oh, you can’t. Sweet thing. You just can’t. It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Buck echoes. 

She nods. “I’ll break this down really simply. I haven’t had a proper representative over in these parts for… Well, since 1911.”

1911. 

Why does Buck know…

Oh. 

“That’s the year Billy Boils died,” Buck says. 

She nods. “Mmm. Sad time. Even sadder? How long it has taken to find a replacement.”

Buck feels queasy. “Me? I’m the replacement?”

“No one else that came in contact with the body was quite right,” she says. “Too power hungry. Too selfish. Too weak. You, though? You’re just right.”

“I knew I was cursed,” Buck hisses. 

“Cursed?” She protests. “No, it’s a gift! How many times do I have to say that?”

“Maybe I’m too stupid for it, then,” Buck says. “Should probably revoke it.”

“The only revocation is death, Evan Buckley,” Nemesis snaps. 

He pales. Fuck. 

“I almost did die,” he reminds her. “How is that a gift?”

“Oh, well that’s all part of it,” she shrugs. 

“All part of it?” He demands. “I got so sick they told my family I was on death’s door. That was you?”

She nods. “It was.”

“I was covered in boils!” 

She nods again.

“You dislocated my shoulder!”

This gives her pause. “I did what?”

“Uh… When my shoulder dislocated just like… Just like I accidentally did to Billy.”

She snorts. “That was all you.” 

---

144 or 1k for 🌤️ (THANK YOU! It's a trope I love to write and I missed Nico!)

---

Also that Eddie’s not far off. But still. Eddie plans on holding this over his head.

But that also means… Chris is twenty. Twenty. 

He opens his messaging app and searches for Christopher’s name. He’s right at the top. According to his phone, they talked the day before. He scrolls up without really reading. They talk a lot. That’s a good sign. Better than their current state of affairs. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and hits the call button.

It rings a few times. Enough that Eddie starts to get nervous Chris won’t pick up. 

But he does.

“Dad?” An adult male voice answers groggily. 

Eddie finds himself smiling and shaking a little, all at the same time. 

“H-hey, Chris. Hi.”

“Is everything okay?” Chris sounds a bit alarmed.

“What? Yeah. Yeah, of course. I was just hoping to talk.”

“At seven in the morning on a Saturday?”

Oh. Whoops.

“I mean, I expect this from Buck, but I thought you were reasonable.”

“Oh, wow. Sorry. I didn’t realize the time.”

“Nico wake you up stupid early?” 

“Something like that… Hey, uh… Speaking of Nico. Uh, your brother.” 

“You’re being weird. He okay?” 

“Yeah. He’s great,” Eddie guesses. He thinks so anyway. “But he wants to put up the Christmas tree.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m coming over Monday night, right?” 

Monday night. That’s why Nico was asking how many days. Okay, that’s not so long to tell him. But… But what if Eddie and Buck are back to their proper timeline by Monday night? Which would be ideal. Eddie should get back to his proper life. Ideally. But… But how can he miss this chance either? To see Chris, twenty years-old, and not… Gone from his life? A Chris nearby and in frequent contact? Or, at least Eddie assumes he’s nearby. If he can just pop over for Christmas tree decorating. 

“Yeah, Monday. We can do that. Uh, you busy today, though?” 

Eddie has no idea what he does or where he lives or what’s going on in his life. This might be an absurd ask. 

“Uh… I was going to do some schoolwork, but I guess I could postpone it.”

Normally, Eddie would say no. Don’t put off schoolwork for him. School comes first. Whatever school he’s in these days. But… But Eddie really needs to see him. He hasn’t seen Christopher in months, and he’ll take him at whatever age he can get. 

“Is that… Is that okay?” Eddie asks. “I mean… There’s sort of an adorable kid really hoping it is.”

Chris chuckles. “Yeah, that’s okay. You good to pick me up?” 

Eddie exhales, relieved. “Yes! Just tell me a time that works.” 

They agree upon a time and end the call. Eddie is so happy he feels like he’s floating. It only takes him a minute to realize he has no idea where Chris lives. 

🌤️

Buck is pretty excited to hear that Chris is coming over. Less excited to learn both their ages. Because what? That’s an insane amount of time to miss. That means Jee-Yun is ten. Jee-Yun! That means… Well, is Bobby still working at the 118? Are Buck and Eddie still working at the 118? There’s a lot to catch up on. A lot Buck feels uncomfortable to have missed. 

Buck is less excited when - through helping Eddie search his Google Maps history to find what must be Christopher’s apartment - he realizes Eddie will be collecting Chris by himself. Meaning, Buck will be staying home with Nico. Alone. And, yeah. It sounds lame. He’s sort of afraid of his future son. If this is the real future. Which, once again, is somewhat dubious because of the whole Eddie marrying him part.

It’s not that he’s afraid of Nico specifically. The kid is adorable and pretty sweet. Buck gets the sense he’s a bit more hyper than the kids he’s used to. A bit less able to sit still.  Always got something to do or say. He’s sort of busy. But… Well, that’s just kind of par for the course if he is Buck’s. So no concern there. He likes Nico. The problem is that he doesn’t actually think he wants to know him. 

It seems cruel, right? Like fate or the universe or whoever is playing a very sick joke on him. One day he’s broken up with by someone who pretty much changed his life. The next, he’s being shown some sort of dream future he won’t ever actually get to experience. Nico isn’t actually going to be his. So the idea of getting to know him sort of hurts like a bitch.

“You’ll be okay,” Eddie whispers, seeing the hesitation on his face before he leaves the house. “You’re great with kids. You know that.”

It’s been about an hour since his call with Chris. They’ve finished eating. They’ve all gotten dressed. Buck has discovered Nico has an extensive collection of firefighter shirts, whether LAFD in origin or otherwise. He insists on wearing one today. 

“I…” Buck sighs. “I know that. I just… I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”

He doesn’t know how to explain this to Eddie. That he doesn’t want to look too hard at this beautiful fantasy life. It’ll come too close to admitting he thinks he would want exactly this. Exactly something that Eddie can’t and shouldn’t have to offer him. That’s an unfair expectation. Learn how to be queer because I really like playing house with you. Yeah, no. It’s there or it’s not, right? 

“I’ll just be gone for a bit,” Eddie says. “Then we’ll have Chris as a buffer anyway.”

“You don’t think Chris will figure us out?” Buck asks. 

Eddie looks skeptical. “Why would anyone, in a million years, ever guess this?”

Well, because not everyone is a raging cynic. But, Chris is twenty. Maybe he’s grown into his father’s brand of in-the-box thinking when it comes to the way the world works.

[artemistorm]

Avalanche Rescue Part 6 - Final

Whumptober day 25 completed--Finally finished this! Yaaay! Will put this on AO3 shortly.

Other parts if you haven't read them yet:

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5]

****** (874 words)

While Wolfie groomed Smallest Pup's fur, other pups change clothes, wrap in blankets, be cozy cuddle pups. Sky pup give out hot stinky plant drink. Battle pup, Bunny pup, and Old Father bury hole in snow.

Lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick--

“Urgh,” Smallest pup groaned. Pup move! Pup open eyes! Pup waking up! Yay! Tail wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag--

“Uhhh... Wolfie. Hi.” Four said and scratched Wolfie head.

“Hi! Hi! Happy you wake up!” Wolfie whined. “Long sleep worry Wolfie!”

“He's awake!” Sky exclaimed. Time jumped up and hurried to Four's side.

“How are you feeing?” Time asked Four.

“I've been better,” Four said.

“Would a potion would help?”

“Ugh. Probably.” Four put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes again.

Smallest pup in pain. Wolfie worry whined.

“I have one here for you. Wolfie, back up. Give us some space.” Time nudged Wolfie away.

Wolfie get up, go to Special cub and Bunny Pup. Ow ow ow sore legs. Squeeze between pups, lay down.

“Wolfie!” Legend laughed and scooted away from Wild to make room for Wolfie.

“Is he limping?” Wild asked.

“Did anyone bother to check Wolfie for injuries?” Warriors asked.

“I didn't,” Hyrule said. “He seemed fine earlier.”

“Why don’t you change back into a human?” Wind asked.

“I think he wants to be Dog today,” Wild answered. “Some days are dog days.”

“I'll check him,” Hyrule said. “Move over, Wild.”

Wolfie let Wander pup check him for injuries. Silly pup, Wolfie was fine. Only tired sore. Lick, mouth Wander pup's arms.

“Nothings broken or bruised as far as I can tell,” Hyrule said.

“Could just be sore joints,” Legend said.

“He has been doing a lot of running today,” Wind agreed.

“I think I have something for that,” Wild said and started digging through his bag.

Hmm? What's that? Wolfie sniff Special Cub's bag. Food? Food? Is that... meat? Special cub have meat for Wolfie? Wolfie suddenly very hungry. Wolfie dinner time? Meat for Wolfie?

“Here you go Wolfie. You deserve it.” Special cub give Wolfie roasted meat. Wolfie take it, carry it away from other pups. Wolfie's meat. Not pup's meat.

OM NOM NOM NOM Mmmmm. Meat. Mmmmm. Om nom nom nom. So tasty. So meaty. Tasty deer meat. Om nom nom nom.

“Looks like he was hungry,” Hyrule laughed.

“I would imagine so with how much digging and running around he did,” Time said helping Four to settle sitting up against an old log.

“Hi Four!” Wind chirped. “How are you doing?”

“Uh. Hi everyone,” Four said awkwardly, his hair stiff with Wolfie spit and sticking out every which way. “I'm alright. Is everyone else okay?”

“Yeah, we're all fine, thanks to Wolfie,” Wild said.

“Wolfie certainly is the hero of today,“ Warriors said. “He saved my life.”

“Mine too,” Four replied.

“So what exactly happened?” Legend asked. “Wild and I were down here this whole time and we didn't see what happened to any of you.”

The Chain spent the next twenty minutes each telling the story of what happened from their perspective and sorting out how it all fit together.

“Wow. So it sounds like Wolfie himself is responsible for finding and rescuing pretty much everyone,” Four said.

“I think he deserves a treat,” Sky said. “Wolfie, do you want a treat?”

Treat? Treat? Wolfie stopped listening to boring talk long ago. Ate meat, started to doze, but Wolfie heard the word 'treat!' Wolfie always hears word 'treat!'

“That's right! Here! Have a fish! Thanks for helping dig me up, and, uh, you know. Laying on me while Hyrule fxed my arm.”

Sky pup toss whole fish. Wolfie catch it in the air! Yum!

“Ew. Did you just have a raw fish in your bag?” Warriors asked.

“I keep whatever I want in my bag,” Sky answered.

“I have a treat for you too, Wolfie,” Warriors said.

Treat? More treats for Wolfie? Yaaayyy! Wolfie very happy, tail wag and beg in front of Battle pup.

Battle pup give Wolfie a cheese sandwich. An old cheese sandwhich. Old and stinky. Need to roll in it before eating.

“Wolfie, I have something for you too,” Smallest pup said. ”It's not much, but you should have it.”

Smallest pup toss food at Wolfie. Wolfie catch it. Mmmm! Sausage roll! Wolfie eat it very fast.

“I think that's enough people food for Wolfie,” Time said. “Don't want to make him sick.”

“It's 'give Wolfie food' time. What will you give me?” Wolfie begged Old Father. Other pups laugh.

“...Alright. You got me.” Old father give Wolfie head scratch. “Here's some roasted pumpkin.”

Wolfie sniff. Not meat, but okay. Wolfie always take offered food.

Wander pup give Wolfie mutton leg. Baby pup give Wolfie oatmeal cookies. Bunny pup give Wolfie mushrooms on pokey stick.

Wolfie eat lots, bury extra for breakfast. Pups cook and eat and talk. Sun set. Moon rise. Wolfie greet, sing to moon. Wolfie and pups cuddle together, pups go to sleep. Wolfie sleepy.

Wolfie good wolf. Wolfie found all pups. Wolfie save buried pups. Wolfie bring pack together. Wolfie help heal, groom hurt pups. All pups okay. Wolfie tired, fed, sleepy, safe.

Wolfie very happy.

[cedarbranch]

twenty questions for fic writers!

tagged by @sunriseverse thank you!!

tagging: @figbian @shark-myths @stoplightglow @zipegs and anyone else who wants to participate (with no pressure if you don't!) questions below the cut :-)

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

currently 65! i've orphaned several over the years though. unfortunately i am an Extremely Slow Writer so i always wanna see this number go up and it never goes as fast as i want it to :') we can hit 67 this year... surely....

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

847,778! used to be higher (more in the 950k range) prior to orphaning, i'm not sure if i've actually written over a million words or not at this point? v excited for the day that milestone actually shows up in my stats though! my current wips could tip me over, we'll see how it goes... 👀

3. what fandoms do you write for?

currently hannibal and stranger things! i've bounced around many fandoms in my day, but my most significant contributions thus far have been for mcr/bandom and the magnus archives. really hoping i end up writing enough for my current fandoms that i can consider them part of that shortlist too!! :-)

4. top five fics by kudos

like a moth to light (like a beast to bait) / 2117 kudos, save that heart for me / 1480 kudos, how particular, my fondness of you / 1445 kudos, convicted criminals of thought / 1177 kudos, and questionable decisions / 847 kudos! wow, that last one took me by surprise, it was such a jokey little fic i often forget about it. nice to look back at these and see things with over 1k kudos though, i remember that being an unattainable pipe dream back when i was writing mcr in the dead era that was 2017 :')

5. do you respond to comments?

i often do! i try to respond to every comment i get when a fic is published, and i like to respond much later on as well, it just tends to slip my mind if it's an older fic. stuff gets lost in my inbox. i certainly read every comment though, and the comments left on older fics are often the ones that make me happiest!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmmm... i mostly write happy endings unless they're character studies. the true angstiest ending i've written is for a fic i haven't posted yet (hint: it's a sequel to a oneshot of mine!) but i do have short fics about both michael and gerry's deaths in tma? i'll go with the gerry death fic, thinking of the sun.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

they're mostly happy!!! but the one that ends most on a note of Joy, i think, would be rosemary and thyme, my fae!martin au :-)

8. do you get hate on fics?

nah. i have an extremely vague memory of getting a comment that made me go "omg my first hate comment" but like it's so vague that i can't tell if it's a false memory or not 😭 people have always been quite nice to me, thankfully!

9. do you write smut?

i do! i tried to avoid it whenever i could when i was younger but these days i've actually become super interested in sex as a vehicle for character studies. that tumblr post that's like "the plot of this smut fic is that character A believes himself abandoned by god" is one HUNDRED percent my approach recently, definitely expect some of that upcoming on my ao3 lolll

10. craziest crossover?

i don't really write crossovers! i like them in comic/fanart form, but i tend to be less interested in crossover fic (unless it's HEU, i do quite like spacedogs)... the only times i've ever thought about creating crossover content myself were for a couple pacrim fusion ideas!

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

eh, not really. a long time ago i did have someone basically rip the worldbuilding from one of my AUs with the serial numbers filed off, but they did ask permission - i said yes because i was like 16 and felt too awkward saying no. so that was weird! but not quite stealing.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!! to steal a kiss from borrowed lips was translated into russian, such an honor :D

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have, a really long time ago. i don't think i would do it again (unless it was with, like, one of two specific irls) bc i think i'd struggle with figuring out a collaborative workflow. part of me also thinks it could be a fun exercise though...

14. all time favorite ship?

OUGH..... mannnn what a question. it changes every few years and i feel like my response is influenced by not just the source material, but the quality of the fan content and the fandom interactions i've had... you know what? i know i have current-hyperfixation bias, but for now i am gonna say hannigram. it's just too peak.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Too Many Of Them - but in particular, my chrissy cunningham-centric longfic. it's an entire treatise on sapphic loneliness and small-town queer isolation and i do think it'd be a fucking masterpiece if i ever managed to commit to it, but it's on the forever back-burner i think.

16. what are your writing strengths?

hmm... characterization through dialogue is the main thing, i'd say. i'm always thinking about how to match a given character's speech patterns and i think i tend to capture their voices pretty well!

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

i'm my own biggest critic so i could list a bunch, but pacing is a big one. i tend to let things run too long and i feel like i've only just managed to balance it better in my current wip... only took a decade of fic-writing to get there 😭

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

depends a lot on context. honestly too many thoughts to condense well into an answer for this djglfg but in short: usually nice if it's just a few words, but can get unwieldy otherwise

19. first fandom you wrote in?

kuroshitsuji 💀 self-insert and OC-centric fic. how very unlike me

20. favorite fic you've written?

moth to light has been the reigning champ for a while now, but i think several of my current wips could potentially unseat it!

[bewareofitalics]

I started reading Ragtime in preparation for the Encores production, and I just got past the one part I really remember from the first time I read it (over twenty years ago, either shortly before or shortly after I saw the show on tour). That part being, uh. That one scene with Mother's Younger Brother in the closet. Or rather out of it. If you've read it, you probably know what I mean, it is pretty memorable. I thought I was prepared, but wow is that description gross. The whole book (thus far) is rather more salacious than I remembered/expected. How did it get made into such a squeaky-clean musical? I am reminded of Wicked, which I've been thinking about rereading in preparation for the movie(s). (Not the sequels, though. Dear God, not the sequels.) Though I don't think Maguire was nearly as graphic as Doctorow (at least when he was talking about actual sex and not random things that really shouldn't have had anything to do with sex, why are you so weird, Greg).

Anyway, I can deal with that. More disturbing is the lack of quotation marks. Why, Doctorow??????????????????

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters From Watson, The Noble Bachelor

Part 3: The Fun Bits

- Holmes did NOT have to make this a dinner theater, but he did. Because Watson is trapped at home by the weather? Because Lord St. Simon is footing the bill? So Hattie and Francis would get a much-belated wedding dinner?

- He also appears very ready to argue St. Simon down from his anger. And the feeling is valid but anything St. Simon would do stemming from it would do nothing but make the lives of innocent people more difficult.  - Missing, presumed dead is a trope, but it’s a lot easier to achieve believably in these days with travel and sending messages far more difficult. It’s made more believable by Victorian attitudes about the USA.  - Holmes’ visit to Hattie and Francis is also interesting to imagine. He’s a detective, but he knows you didn’t do anything wrong, you just... planned hastily. Everybody will feel a lot better if you all meet in secret at his place to talk it over - he’ll even provide a nice meal to celebrate your wedding! You mustn’t mind his roommate.  - Hattie must care enough about St. Simon to want this to go as least-terribly as possible for him. And this route does save her father a lot of grief too. St. Simon is... not so quick to cooperate.  - Holmes’ ideas regarding a US/UK global empire are, uh. You know the kind of retrofuturism that is so hopeful but also so fucking cringe? Yep. My dude. I have some READING for you to do. (How long do you think it would take to radicalize a victorian?) - After all this we skip the wedding dinner, which Holmes appears to have attempted to make enjoyable... if all went as he planned, would St. Simon and the Moultons be friends by the end? Does he think he can show off a little, feed everyone a nice dinner, and happily, instead of bittersweetly, resolve what is ultimately a case where nobody is to blame, or at least, nobody acted with malice? He doesn’t get a lot of those. - Love the actual evidence-finding in this case - the recipt. The prices alone narrow it down quite a bit, but were doubly lost on me when I first read this, being a modern american. I’m triply at sea because  the prices here are also so low that they’re really impossible to ballpark using only inflation calculators. The prices of food and lodging do not correspond to inflation anyway, as basically all of us are aware. Maybe I’ll add some historical comparison of wages vs. expenses to my projects along with the ongoing amended timeline. - Holmes gives the Moultons some “paternal” advice. Of note he’s like, barely thirty: Hattie is in her very early twenties and Francis presumably similarly aged. On the one hand, sir you are a hypocrite, on the other hand, I’m thirty and twenty-two year olds are kids. Especially if the solution to the problem is “you need to get over yourselves and talk this out.” - Holmes’ closing comments regarding that he and Watson are unlikely to ever be out both a spouse and an income in the same day are very, very hilarious if you, like me, presume that Holmes is aroace. I have legitimately told friends and acquaintances relating tales of romantic trouble (not theirs! I have some sense of when to shut up!) “Wow, glad I’ll never have that problem.” Also, when one remembers that Watson is weeks away from his own marriage, this could also be a clumsy attempt by Holmes to reassure him. This won’t happen to you, old chap. You’re the first and only person in Mary’s heart.