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someonegoood · 7 months ago

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MY WHOLE LIFE pt. 3 ✫ mason mount

part 1, part 2, final part.

in which after everything you gave, you're not sure if you're going to keep going. (brother’s best friends troop).

CONTAINS: brother’s best friend troop, angst, some smut (not really explicit) & fluff ! age gap, arguments...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: here's part 3 ! final part for my first two works, I'm proud of how it came out

taglist: @girlidekanymore @sunflower-tia @nicolesainz @chilwellspulisic @anotherfan07

inspired by taylor swift's songs.

The feeling of freshness —the wonderful smells, the damp feel of leaves falling down the trees, the breeze and the rain on your skin. The sound of rain is wonderful: not just between a hard roof and leaves, but you can hear it on different types of trees and hedges.

The flowers, which look like they were painted by Monet himself, have colours so rich that no one can even attempt to imitate them. From the smallest weed to the grandest stalk, they are all beautiful in your eyes.

Around you are your friends; some are talking or enjoying the countryside air. You had decided to take me on a little vacation before returning to the routine of the busy city of London.

No distractions, no disturbances, especially without him. After seeing how Mason smiled at that blonde standing next to him and Debbie's painful look in the boat, you knew all these years were in vain.

The moments when you took care of him after he vomited from all the alcohol he had consumed at the party, when you covered him so he could go on dates with different girls and other things you had done for him.

The last time Mason saw you still burned in the back of your mind, the little stolen glances he gave you while you were wearing a pink t-shirt, the one that you had left back in a drawer in the Mount's house. Stacey had told you the t-shirt drove him crazy.

It had been weeks, and you still couldn’t understand why nothing went your way. Was it you? Had you done something wrong? Had it been you that caused the gulf?

—Babes, how could you ever think it's your fault? Clearly, he is out of his mind. —Clara talked. You and your friends were sitting on the porch in the extensive field that belonged to your grandparents.

Then Adelaida, who was resting her head on your lap, suddenly stood up, leaning on one elbow and said: —Please don't think it's your fault, you would be lowering yourself to his level.

Everyone had been adamant that it wasn’t you... even your mother. But even with those words of affirmation, it didn’t change the internal feelings, the heartbreak that felt it was never-ending.

All you ever wanted was that connection, that string, that feeling that pulled you to another person, that proved he was the person meant to be for you. It was devastating to think back and know he wasn’t.

Even though you were angry at him, you knew that when you saw him you would act like a little girl, crazy in love.

On the other side, Mason was in the kitchen, picking at the leftover food on the tabletop as everyone else was in the living room. His mother walked into the kitchen as he took a bite of little meatballs that looked delicious and she laughed at the pieces of meat that had fallen onto the kitchen counter.

—That’s definitely not the way to eat —she smirked knowing his son wasn't the type of person to sit down and eat properly.

—But you love me anyways, mom. —Mason flashed his puppy eyes as his mum laughed at his actions. It had been a long year for Mason. He stopped turning to family events when he knew you would be there.

—Mason Tony Mount, I gave birth to you, I know you better than you know yourself-

—Mom. —Mason sighed. —Don't start this whole speech about her, please.

—Dear, I don’t even need to say her name... it will always be her. —She smiled, sadly, as she walked over to her son and placed a hand on his cheek.

—She's happy, from what I heard. —he scoffed again.

—So then you know you’re being an ass, right?

Mason's eyes widened at his mother's question but she just laughed and waved him off. —After all the years she spent after you, dear, it would be cruel for you to not let her be happy.

That sentence shattered his heart. You weren't the little girl who ran behind him in search of attention anymore, you were a woman with maturity, feelings and beauty.

—But what if I’m not happy? —he asked his mum. Debbie felt her heart clench at his words, it was never good for a mother when they saw their son being at his lowest.

—Do you love her?

There was no answer.

—See, that would be very cruel. Mase... either you love her or you’re jealous. Just remember that she's a second daughter to me and I know her like the palm of my hand. I'm certain that she’s fragile when it comes to you.

After a week in the countryside with your friends, you were back in the city, at a party the english players were throwing in celebration of their team winning the last few games.

Every time he looks at you, it’s making him go mad. It surprises him how much influence you have on his night out. He actually believed he could handle it, seeing you after a while. Normally he’s the one who takes you to the football after-parties because you begged him like crazy. But not this time.

Did you wear a white dress on purpose tonight? He doesn’t know. You look beautiful and he wishes he had the nerve to tell you how great white looks on you. He remembers the time you almost kiss in the box, you in the white sweatshirt with his number. The guy talking to you on your right was Foden. Did you wear it for him? He doesn’t believe that, he doesn’t think he deserves that.

Mason sighs. This is one of the hardest nights in his life. He shouldn’t have messed it up. If he didn’t follow what Ben said to him, he would probably be the one talking to you. Fucking Ben.

At the same time, you don’t know what’s bothering Mason. You thought he would be coming to the afterparty with Daphne, but his friends confirmed that he forgot her quickly. He didn't even kiss her. Neither touch her.

It surprised you, you were afraid he would show up with that beautiful model. A part of you felt really happy.

You feel his eyes burning into you while you talk to Foden. You quickly take the cocktail out of Phil's hands, while thanking him in the meantime. He shrugs it off.

—What’s up with you? —He asks you after you take a few sips.

—What do you mean? —You ask him. Is he noticing your bad mood? You tried hiding it, but maybe you failed.

—You seem distracted. Did something happen? —he goes on. You take a sip of your cocktail, thinking about your response. Could it be a bad plan to tell him about Mase? They’re friends after all. But on the other hand, it would be nice to talk about it to someone.

—It’s him, isn’t it? —Foden answers his own question. You didn’t even realize you were looking at Mason until Phil spoke. You nod towards him, —Let’s go outside.

Then, you're sitting on a wooden bench outside. The white dress doesn’t give you much warmth, so you embarrassingly start to shiver. Before you can notice it, Phil drapes his jacket around your shoulders.

—Fuck... —he says, regretting. —I knew it would be a bad plan to invite you. —Mutters softly, —I thought it was a good idea to make you feel better, now I just got Mount to get angry at you.

You laughed, thinking that was very cute. —That’s not true, Phil —you try to comfort him, —you can’t help me being an idiot.

—To be fair, Mason and you are both idiots. —Foden laughs, —Definitely unaware idiots-

But before he can explain to you anything, Mason shows up in front of you.

While walking back to his car, he notices the sound of people talking outside. He thinks he’s recognizing your voice. He must be going insane, he thinks tiredly to himself. But still, he walks towards the sound. Quickly seeing you and Phil sitting together... fucking hell, why are you wearing his jacket?

Before he realizes it himself, he stands before you and his teammate Foden. The chattering stops directly, did he interrupt something? He feels awkward with you and Phil looking at him amusingly. How can he fix this awful situation?

—I uh... I wanted to say bye to you. —Mason said, ignoring the existence of Phil. —I am supposed to bring you home or will Phil...?—He stutters eventually, not wanting to finish his question.

—Wait, Mase, can we talk? —You react before Mason turns around and walks to his car in a rush. He nods.

—Of course.

The silence was sharply awkward.

—Don’t forget your jacket, Foden —Mason quickly says, —she can wear mine while we’re outside.

Phil, who no longer was sitting on the bench, laughed for a bit at his hopeless friend. Then he walks up to you, and takes his own jacket from your shoulders, while Mason quickly takes off his. You give Phil a quick hug to thank him, before getting into Mason's jacket.

—Don’t be an idiot to her —says Phil toward Mason whispering in his ear. You smile shyly, flushing with Phil's comment.

Mason doesn’t know how to watch the interaction between his friend and you. He doesn't know where to look when you turn your attention to him. The white dress quickly grabs his attention once again.

Silently, both of you walk to the parking lot where his fancy Mercedes-AMG was parked. You had always made fun of him because the car was too posh in your opinion, although every time you needed a ride home you always ended up in his car.

Firstly he took the car keys out of his pocket and then he opened your door for you. He had always been a gentleman. The situation is unexpected, yet influenced by the tension that’s been built between you two through the last couple of months.

—So, what do you want to talk about? —Mason asks you. You lasted a few seconds thinking about how to answer his question.

—Why were you ignoring me today? Why didn’t you come up to me and Phil to say hi? —You fire multiple questions at him, —did I do something wrong? Are you upset with me? —Your words cut through the thick air inside the car.

—I thought the two of you were busy with each other. —Mason mutters.

You scoff, this was unbelievable. —That’s bullshit Mase, you know I always make time for you.

—God!, I just wasn’t in the mood to see you two. —He said, elevating his tone, trying to sound casual but deep down, jealousy was gnawing at him like a relentless beast.

You don’t know what to say to Mason. You don’t even know what the boy means. He wasn’t in the mood to see you? Since when could that happen?

—Why? —You barely dare to ask him. You have no choice, so you repeat your last question —why, Mase? —Your eyes start to fill with tears.

Mason sighs, —You won’t get it.

—You don’t know that. Try me.

—I just... I just don’t like seeing you with other boys —he confessed. You doubt for a bit. Should you tell him you were relieved he showed up alone instead of coming with Daphne? You decide not.

—Oh, come on Mason! You can't say that! —You almost shout. Mason's eyes open like plates. You had never raised your voice at him like that, so angry.

—Why not? —He, as well, says almost shouting.

—Because you don't have the right! It's-it's just that you can't say that as if my feelings were so simple... —You tried to calm yourself, you could lost everything now.

—Mason, I've been with you since the beginning and you know that. I'm your biggest supporter and deep inside you know I’ll always cheer for you. I’ve spent my whole girlhood- Fuck. —Tears start scrolling down your delicate face. He looks at you as if you were graceful.

—I wanted to be with you tonight, —you eventually say after a long silence—but you looked at me as if I didn’t matter.

—I know.

You sigh. Can't the boy say anything else? You feel obligated to talk further: —Why aren’t you telling me what’s wrong?

You don't get any answer. Looking at the ceiling of the car, you try to keep your cool.

—You know what? I’m going back to the party. Call me when you can explain at least something. —You want to undo yourself from Mason's warm jacket, but he stops you directly by grabbing your arm.

—I know you deserve to know what’s going on, but I don’t want to lose you. I know it’s a shitty excuse which makes everything even more unclear, but please don’t go back inside. —Mason talks soft and fast —and please keep the jacket on.

—What’s so important about the jacket? —You ask with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

—Your dress distracts me and I don’t want to see you in anyone else’s jacket again. —This time he is direct with his words. Almost harsh. You wonder why your dress distracts him. Does he find it ugly?

—Don’t you like the dress? —You ask.

—I fucking love the dress. —Mason says. At that moment you feel something clicking. Despite his short explanation, you wonder if Mason may return your feelings.

—Just give me time. Everything is happening so fast and the fact that I'm just realizing that all these years all I've been doing is hurting you makes me go mad angry at myself. —He says, without breathing. —And... I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for everything I've done, for the countless times I've hurt you. I promise you will have a proper explanation. —He tried to smile, with tears in his eyes.

—That's the Mase I know... —You laugh lightly and Mason just stares at you, sweetly. —Now take me back home, probably my brother is already wasted.

What you didn't know is that that day Mason Mount started falling in love with you.

A few days after you were your house, sat in the cozy familiarity of the your couch while your mother flipped through the pages of a weathered photo album resting on her lap. Each turn of the page revealed a snapshot of your brother's and your past, a journey frozen in time.

—Look! You're wearing my glasses! —Said your mother, with clear emotion in her voice. She turned some pages that had photographs of your childhood: when you were born, your first tooth fell out and many more memories.

Your cheeks flushed with nostalgic warmth, a subtle testament to the innocence and joy captured in each photograph.

Among the sepia-toned memories and faded polaroids, there was a page filled with pictures where Mason and you, both still little children, intertwined in laughter playing in the park.

Your mom pinched your cheek. —Someday you will realize that everything you did was not in vain, on the contrary, it was all worth it. —She stopped to take a breath. —Because golden loves are like that. They stay with you forever.

—How beautiful, mom. —You ironized. She laughed.

—It will, darling... Come here. —And then you hugged her. You hugged her with all your might as you felt her warmth on your face. She giggled, breaking the embrace.

—You'll need a spell to make Mason realize what a fool he is.

—Mom!

A couple days later, you were back at Stamford Bridge once again. As you approach the stadium, you can feel the excitement building. The streets around the stadium eagerly anticipate the game ahead.

Inside the stadium, the dominant colour is blue. The stands are filled with supporters adorned in their team's jerseys, scarves, and signs that say "Pride of London".

—Call her Mason, I’m sure she's in the stands —said Ben, while putting on the new shirt they played in today. Mason held his cell phone, sitting on the bench in the large locker room.

Today was Valentine's Day and Mason had a game. Your brother told Mason he was going out on a date with his girlfriend but you would go in his place, as usual. He didn't know if you were coming, so Mason was nervous, especially with the talk you had in his car.

You had called Debbie in the morning, asking her if you should come to the game, and she told you that Mason would be more than happy to see you there. You wondered if he knew what you were up to if your brother had kept him in the loop.

Pick it up.

The third tone rang while Ben tried to hold Mason, about to faint from anxiety. In the background, music was blasting from the speakers while the guys on the team began gathering in the locker room for their last talk before the game started.

Reece James leaned closer, curious why his teammate was sitting with his phone in hand, bouncing his leg nervously.

—What has got Mount that nervous? I've never seen him like this —he says to Ben, seated next to Mason, fixing his shoes.

—It's his girlfriend-

—She's not my girlfriend! —Mason interrupted Chilwell, with an expression of fear. You still haven't answered him and the fact that his friends were bothering him added to his anxiety.

—Give me that shit. —Suddenly Kai Havertz appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Mason's phone and putting the call on speaker. Everyone's attention was on the tones ringing, hoping you'll pick up. The team had witnessed your situationship since Mason had joined Chelsea, so they knew you quite well.

—Hi? Mason?

Kai, standing on the bench in the centre of the room, had the phone in his hand so everyone could hear. His eyes widened and his mouth also opened, in surprise. Everyone stood up while Mason's blood pressure went down.

With a jump, Havertz handed the cell phone to his friend so he could answer you. There was a silence between your response and his because his teammates were signalling to him, guiding him in his response.

—Yes? —That was the only thing he could think of at that moment.

—You... you've just called me minutes before your game. Is everything okay? Do you need something? —For you, it was strange that Mason called you, especially right before his game. Mason's teammates melt with your response, you seemed like a worried girlfriend.

—N-no, I was calling to know if you're on Stamford Bridge. —He stuttered, nervous about your answer. You smiled a bit, already seated between the blue tide of fans.

—Of course! I wouldn't miss a game for anything Mase. —And that was the end of him. He said goodbye saying that he had to go out and play and hoped you liked the game, while all his friends were shouting acknowledging that probably by the end of the year, they would have a new addition on their team.

The match ended with Chelsea winning by two goals and the assistance of Mason. You couldn't be more proud of him and after the exhilarating victory at Stamford Bridge, you made your way to the cooldown room, where players and staff often gather to unwind after the match.

As you entered, you spotted Mason, the hero of the game with his crucial assist. A sense of pride swelled within you as you approached him. He was putting something in his backpack, distracted.

—Incredible game out there, —you said, startling Mason. He turned with a smile, recognizing your voice without seeing your face.

—Thanks, this means a lot to me... —Mason replied, his face beaming with satisfaction. You both exchanged a few more words about the match, sharing our favourite moments and the atmosphere at the stadium. Then, out of the blue, Mason's tone turned slightly more serious.

—You know... —he said, pausing for a moment. —I've been thinking. We've been through so much together, your support has meant a lot to me.

You nodded, feeling a sense of tenderness with him. Mason took a deep breath before continuing. —Listen, I was wondering if you'd like to grab dinner later. Just to say thanks for always being there, you know?

Surprised by the unexpected invitation, you couldn't help but smile. —I'd be honoured to join you. —You said, laughing out of nervousness.

A couple hours later, Mason kept his hand on your lower back as he led you through the restaurant, your body settled into his side. His hand slid around your waist while opening the door, a shiver already wracking your body. You gasped at the white snow starting to lay outside, thick flakes slowly falling from the sky.

—Look there! Mase, it's snowing! —You tugged a little on Mason's hand on your waist, the heat replacing the cold feeling on your fingers. There was already a pretty thick layer on the ground and you wondered briefly how long it had been snowing. —It's so pretty.

Mason watched your smile widen when he was paying the bill, as you tilted your head back, eyes squinting as the flakes cascaded down. He'd never seen anyone get so excited over snow.

You looked so good under the twinkling lights, the candle in the middle of the table illuminating half of your face. He was having an amazing time, already realizing he mad in love with you.

From the way you keep your hair in a messy ponytail to the way you are surprised by the snow. Everything about you was perfect for him.

—Do you want to go for a walk before I take you home? —He slid his hand over your jaw, his thumb stroking away the little flake on your cheek. You gave a small nod, flushed since all of this was new for you. He grinned before stepping back and holding his hand out to you.

—M'lady?

You looped your arm through his and the two of you started off down the street, his gaze darting between you and the falling snow. You snuggle as close as possible to him to steal some of his natural body heat.

Snow was falling and settling into Mason’s hair, individual flakes dropping onto his eyelashes and you were certain he’d never looked prettier.

—Remember the time I tried to sneak out and you caught me? That time I was actually grounded for fighting with my brother and I wanted to buy the new console game you were so interested in. —You said, recalling those silly things.

He didn't know if his cheeks were flushed pink from the cold or from what you'd just said.

—But that game was so expensive!

—I know! I just wanted to give you something for your birthday. That's why I didn't have any presents for you at your birthday party.

Mason caught your gaze, head cocking curiously at the sudden shy look that had taken over your features. You let your eyes wander from him to the snow-filled street around you. You slowed to a stop, right against the barriers of the little lake and you leant against it, the two of you facing each other, your hand still clasped in his.

All you wanted was to grab him and kiss him, you didn’t care who saw or if you got a cold, you just wanted to kiss him in the snow.

After a silence, he said: —You know I want you, right?

You looked at him. Surprised. Self-conscious Scared. But above all, in love.

—I've been thinking and I can't help falling for you now. I’m not jealous because you have other people in your life, I’m not a fucking kid. That time with Phil, at the party, made me realize that I want you with me... By my side. I want to be the one you say 'I love you' to, I want to be the one that cuddles you, that-

You interrupted him. —Mase, I… I don’t know how to say this… —Voice uncertain as you watched for his reaction, for any flicker of emotion that stated he didn't want that.

His face fell, and he retracted his hands from the barriers that before were trapping you between his body and the barriers. Ready for rejection, he looked into your eyes.

—I… I like you too. —You looked down, feigning sadness. When you looked up, he was squinting at you. —I don't know how are you convincing my brother you're good enough for me...

—I'd probably invite him to one of my games and we could go for dinner after the game? I'll book somewhere for us. —You matched his smile with a nod, shoulders relaxing slightly after the confession as you pulled your hand from his so you could settle your arms around his neck instead.

—Sounds amazing. Deep inside he's a West Ham fan, y'know. — Mason's face contorted a little when he bumped his nose against yours, lips lightly brushing together.

—Oh shut up, —he muttered into your lips, —let me kiss you.

And you obeyed, your hands resting nervously at his neck as he ravished you, his tongue begging for entrance. You allowed it, moaning into his lips as they intertwined perfectly. His hands travelled from your hair to your waist where he pushed you closer to him.

You indeed had waited your whole life for this.

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artsandculture · 4 months ago

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The Water-Lily Pond (1899) 🎨 Claude Monet 🏛️ The National Gallery 📍 London, United Kingdom

For Monet, gardens offered a refuge from the modern urban and industrial world, although he and his fellow garden enthusiasts benefited from modern advances in botanical science that were creating new hybrid flowers in a wide choice of shapes and colours that could be produced on an almost industrial scale. He made modest gardens in the homes he rented in Argenteuil and Vetheuil in the 1870s, but from 1883, when he moved to a rented house in Giverny, about 50 miles to the west of Paris, he had more scope to indulge his passion for plants. He became a dedicated gardener with an extensive botanical knowledge, and sought the opinions of leading horticulturalists. As Monet’s career flourished his increasing wealth enabled him to fund what became a grand horticultural enterprise: by the 1890s he was employing as many as eight gardeners.

Monet began by refashioning the garden in front of the house, the so-called ‘Clos Normand’, replacing the existing kitchen garden and orchard with densely planted colourful flower beds that were filled with blooms throughout the seasons. He was able to buy the house in 1890, and three years later he purchased an adjacent plot of land next to the river Epte beyond the railway line at the edge of his property. The plot had a small pond with arrowhead and wild water lilies, which he wanted to turn into a water garden with a larger lily pond ‘both for the pleasure of the eye and for the purpose of having subjects to paint’.

The idea may have occurred to him after he had seen the water garden at the 1899 Exposition Universelle in Paris created by the grower Joseph Bory Latour-Marliac, who bred the first colourful hardy waterlilies. Monet began by requesting permission from the Prefect of the Eure to dig irrigation channels from the Ru – a branch of the Epte – to feed his pond, but the Giverny villagers objected, fearing it would contaminate the water and that the foreign plants would poison their cattle. Monet was furious, but three months later permission came through and he began to enlarge the existing pond, replacing the wild water lilies with Latour-Marliac hybrids available in yellows, pinks, whites and violets.

The pond was enlarged on further occasions – in 1901 and 1904 – tripling the size of the water garden. Together with the flower garden on the other side of the railway track it became the principal preoccupation of the last 26 years of Monet’s life. While the Clos Normand garden was laid out along fairly traditional lines, harking back to the formal French gardens of seventeenth-century Europe, with a central alleyway and geometrically arranged beds, the water garden was more Eastern in inspiration. Its less regimented, more natural design and more muted colours created a quieter, meditative atmosphere. Monet erected a Japanese bridge over the western end of the pond that took its inspiration from the bridges in ukiyo-e Japanese prints. He was a keen collector of these prints and he owned a copy of Hiroshige’s Wisteria at Kameido Tenjin Shrine (1856), one of the many prints that features a curved bridge. In a more general sense, the water garden reflected Monet’s admiration for the Japanese appreciation of nature.

Monet had to wait for his water garden to mature before he could begin to paint it in earnest. As he later recalled: ‘It took me some time to understand my water-lilies. It takes more than a day to get under your skin. And then all at once, I had the revelation – how wonderful my pond was – and reached for my palette. I’ve hardly had any other subject since that moment.’ In total, Monet painted 250 canvases of his water garden. Around 200 of these represent water lilies floating on the surface of the water, while the remainder also show the Japanese bridge, the weeping willow trees and wisteria and the irises, agapanthus and day lilies on its banks. In all these pictures Monet was painting a subject that was already ‘pictorial’ – a landscape that had been carefully composed according to his personal aesthetic. The National Gallery has three further paintings of the water garden :Water-lilies, setting sun; Irises; and Water-lilies.

Monet painted three views of the Japanese bridge in 1895, not long after it had been constructed, but then took a break from the subject, only returning to it in 1899. By now the pool was overhung by vegetation and surrounded by plants, but to judge from contemporary photographs it was never as enclosed as Monet painted it, and he exaggerated the feeling of claustrophobia. In December 1900 he exhibited 12 paintings at Durand-Ruel’s gallery in Paris, all of which showed more or less symmetrical views of the Japanese bridge.

In this painting, as in the others in the series, we are looking down onto the surface of the water, where the lily pads float into the distance, meeting the dense foliage on the far bank. Weeping willows are reflected in the pond and clumps of iris border its banks. The perspective seems to shift so that it is hard to find a single focal point; it is as though we are looking up at the bridge but down on the waterlilies. The picture, like the water itself, seems to oscillate between surface and depth. The mainly vertical reflections provide a counterpoint to the horizontal clumps of the lily pads. Different colours, applied with thick brushstrokes, are placed next to each other. This way of painting has more in common with Monet’s early Impressionist works than his more recent paintings of mornings on the Seine, where he had used softer, more blended strokes to convey hazy atmospheric effects.

The Japanese bridge series marked a turning point in Monet’s art. From now on his subjects were painted from an increasingly confined viewpoint, conveying the sense of an enclosed world. In later paintings of the pond, he would dispense with the banks and bridge altogether to focus solely on the water, the reflections and the water lilies. The culmination of Monet’s water lily paintings were the Grandes Dėcorations, 22 enormous canvases each over two metres high and totalling more than 90 metres in length, which he completed months before his death and donated to the French state. These are now on permanent display in two oval rooms in the Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris.

#The Water-Lily Pond #1899 #Claude Monet #The National Gallery #London #United Kingdom #oil painting #painting #oil on canvas #Modern art #Impressionism #french #art #artwork #art history

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arc-hus · 2 months ago

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Corrugated House, London - Mike Tuck Studio

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goblinontour · 2 months ago

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Knives Out

he’s in the studio…

warnings: dad!alex, angst, smut, piv, arguing

word count: 6.6k

The temporary move to LA was rough. Really rough, if either of you were being honest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t anticipated the so-called adjustment period, but you hadn’t quite expected how much it would affect your little family. Poppy had always been easy going for the most part. Manageable. Or so you both thought. But this move had thrown her, and by extension, the two of you, into uncharted waters.

Alex couldn’t begin to guess what was going through her mind. He’d never experienced a move like this as a kid. He’d grown up in the same house for years, familiar streets and faces always within reach. Even if he had moved, he probably wouldn’t have remembered the details at that age anyway. But here she was, uprooted from everything she knew in London and dropped into the sprawling, sun-drenched landscape of Los Angeles. There was a certain helplessness he felt in watching her navigate this huge change.

The silver lining was that, little by little, she seemed to be finding her footing. There were signs of her adjusting, however small. For one, she now had her own separate playroom, a “luxury” they didn’t have back in London.

Not that it made much of a difference.

The playroom, for all its shiny newness, remained largely untouched. Poppy, ever the little shadow, still followed her father into the place he’d affectionately dubbed the “Lunar Surface”. The Lunar Surface was still their shared territory. She hadn’t left his side since the move. No matter how many toys or distractions were placed in front of her, she’d always end up trailing after Alex, as if there was something in there she needed just as much as he did.

It made sense, in a way. Maybe she thought she had important business there, too. Maybe she felt it was theirs, a place not just for him to create, but for them to share.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy every time you saw her curling up in a corner of the room while he worked. She never followed you like that. Never clung to you the way she did him. You were the one who stayed behind when he went on tour, the one who kept everything stable and running at home when he disappeared for months or years at a time. Yet, it was him she trailed after, her little feet pattering through the hallways until she found him wherever he was.

You’d never say it out loud, of course. It wasn’t worth admitting that small, irrational jealousy. But the truth was, it stung a bit. You loved watching them together, his little mirror, absorbing every note and gesture. It was beautiful, really. Still, sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if she followed him because she was afraid he might leave again. That’s what he did, after all. He left. For the studio, for tour, for everything that kept him him.

It was late afternoon, and the house was bathed in a warm, golden light that streamed in through the large windows. From the kitchen, you could see them: Alex, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his guitar resting in his lap, and Poppy, perched next to him, her tiny hands clumsily trying to mimic the way his fingers moved across the strings. He was teaching her some simple chord progression, his voice low and patient, while she watched him with unwavering focus.

You leaned against the counter, drying your hands on a towel, watching them from a distance. There was something so intimate about the scene that you didn’t dare disturb it. Not that you could, anyway. She seemed to have forgotten about you entirely, lost in the little world she and Alex had created, a world you weren’t a part of in that moment.

You didn’t begrudge her for it. Not really. It was natural, the way she gravitated toward him, the way her eyes lit up every time he showed her something new. But as you stood there, arms crossed over your chest, a soft ache settled in your stomach.

Alex didn’t think to include you. It wasn’t intentional, you knew that. He was just so absorbed in what he was doing, in that quiet bond he shared with her. But it hurt all the same, watching from the sidelines, feeling like an outsider in your own home. There was something about the way they were together that made you feel…invisible.

You sighed, shaking your head at yourself. You were being dramatic, you knew that. But the weight of it all, this move, the boxes that still littered every corner of the house, the never-ending cycle of unpacking and cleaning, taking care of her needs and making sure everything ran smoothly, it was all starting to pile up. And then there was him. Alex, waking up at noon with the excuse that he’d stayed up late working. Alex, disappearing into the studio for hours on end, as if the world outside didn’t exist. Alex, coming home and going straight back to his music, continuing whatever song or riff he’d been working on in that damn studio.

And then there was her, always at his side, laughing and playing with him as if everything were perfect, as if the house wasn’t still a mess and you weren’t silently unravelling.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand. You knew how he worked. You’d known from the beginning that this was how it would be with him.

He had the luxury of checking out, of diving into his art whenever he felt like it, and then emerging to be the fun dad who taught his daughter guitar. You, on the other hand, had no such escape. Your days had become a blur of mundane tasks.

From the corner of your eye, you saw her little face scrunch up in concentration as she tried to press down the strings of the guitar, the way Alex had shown her. Her fingers weren’t strong enough yet, but she didn’t give up, and Alex encouraged her softly, his voice a murmur you could barely hear from the kitchen. She grinned when she got it right, and Alex’s face lit up with pride.

You should have been happy, seeing them like that. And part of you was. But another part, the part that was tired and lonely and feeling more than a little neglected, felt like crying. It wasn’t just the move or the endless responsibilities. It was him. He was here, but not really. He was present, but not with you. It was as if the two of you existed on parallel tracks.

And the two of you never quite met in the middle.

You knew it wasn’t fair to think that way. He was doing his best, in his own way. But lately, it felt like his best wasn’t quite enough for you. Not when you were drowning in everything that needed to be done, while he got to disappear and come out only for the fun parts.

You glanced over again, catching the moment when Poppy leaned into him, her head resting against his arm, completely content. He kissed the top of her head absentmindedly, fingers still moving across the strings of the guitar, and she sighed happily, lost in the moment with him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, setting the dishrag down and turning back to the sink. It was silly, really, to feel so left out. You were part of this family too. But watching them from a distance like this, it was hard not to feel like you were slipping through the cracks, becoming a little less visible with each passing day.

You took a deep breath, trying to push away the rising frustration. There were still boxes to unpack, laundry to fold, and dinner to think about. Maybe later, when the house was quiet and Poppy was asleep, you’d talk to him about it. Or maybe you’d just let it go, like you always did.

Either way, you couldn’t help but wonder when, if ever, you’d stop feeling so alone in all of this.

The light was low by the time they finished, the last of the sunset casting long shadows across the living room floor. Poppy was yawning, rubbing her eyes with the back of her tiny hand, though she was still nestled against Alex’s side, not wanting to let go of him just yet. He seemed to have endless reserves of patience when it came to her.

With you, it was different.

He stood up, guitar still in hand, and scooped her up without missing a beat, her head resting on his shoulder, her legs dangling against his side. It was effortless, the way he held her, his lean frame barely shifting under her weight. His T-shirt was wrinkled like he’d been lounging in it all day, which he probably had been. His jeans were slung low on his hips, and the way his hair fell into his eyes, messy and unbothered, made him look like he had just rolled out of bed.

He might as well.

Without a word to you, he carried her down the hall to her room, not even glancing back. His voice was soft, murmuring something to her that you couldn’t quite hear from where you stood. His steps were slow, measured, like he was savouring this last moment of the day with her. The light from the hallway caught the sharp angles of his face, the scruff along his jawline that he hadn’t bothered shaving, his long fingers gently brushing her back as he carried her to her room. You felt the familiar knot tighten in your stomach as you stood there, the sound of his low murmurs barely audible as he settled her in. The house was quiet, but your thoughts weren’t.

You leaned against the counter, the edge pressing into your lower back, and stared after them. He made it look so easy. Effortless. The way he floated in and out of her life. Of your life. Like some distant planet in a lazy orbit. There when he needed to be, and gone when it suited him.

It wasn’t long before he reappeared, the soft creak of the bedroom door closing behind him. He walked back down the hall, stretching his arms above his head as if to shake off the last bit of exhaustion from the day. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin above his jeans. The way the fabrics clung to him was just a reminder that it was still warm in this LA heat, and his movements were slow, like someone who had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. He rubbed at the back of his neck, yawning, and didn’t even glance in your direction at first.

He walked into the kitchen, rubbing his jaw with one hand, the hint of stubble catching the light. “Is there anything for dinner?” he asked, his voice almost too casual, as if he didn’t notice the way you were standing there, still, waiting for something, anything, that resembled effort.

You blinked at him, a little taken aback. He didn’t seem to realise how thoughtless the question was, how it felt like he hadn’t noticed a single thing you’d been doing all day. It wasn’t about the food. It was about everything.

You stared at him, your grip tightening on the counter’s edge. There was a moment, just a flash, where you envisioned throwing something across the room at him. Maybe a plate. Maybe the whole table. Instead, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it didn’t stop the surge of irritation from rushing through you.

“Dinner?” you repeated softly, trying not to let your frustration bleed into your voice.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyebrows raised slightly as if he didn’t understand why you weren’t already moving to grab something. “Yeah. I mean, we haven’t eaten, right?”

“Dinner?” you repeated, incredulous, your voice sharper than you intended. You let the word hang in the air for a beat, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands casually sliding into the pockets of his jeans. “Dinner, Alex?”

He blinked, clearly not picking up on the tone yet. He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Yeah, what?” His voice was soft, a little slow, a little too casual. It grated on you, that easy, laid-back way he spoke, like the question wasn’t loaded with everything you’d been bottling up for weeks. “What’s up?”

You swallowed, your eyes dropping to the floor for a second before looking back up at him. “I haven’t had a chance to make anything.” you said quietly, feeling the lump in your throat grow. “I’ve been…busy. With everything.”

He sighed, but it was subtle, more of an exhale through his nose. “Yeah, me too.” he muttered, glancing down at his hands like they’d been doing the hardest work in the world all day.

You shook your head, letting out a humourless laugh. Me too. You wanted to slap him. Instead, you pushed away from the counter, turning to face him fully, arms crossing over your chest.

“Alex, I’ve been dealing with everything all day. You wake up whenever it suits you, waltz into the studio, and then come home like you’ve done a hard day’s work. You barely notice me, and now you’re asking if dinner’s ready?”

He blinked again, the crease between his brows deepening. “Babe, I was in the studio-”

“I know you were in the studio.” you snapped, cutting him off. “You’re always in the studio. Or with her. But never with me. I know the music’s important to you, but…”

He blinked, finally looking at you properly, but there was a slight defensiveness in his eyes. “What, you think I’m just��what? Messing around all day?” He straightened a little, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, that casual tone turning sharper. “I’m working, you know? It’s not like I’m ignoring you on purpose.”

“I didn’t say you were.” you replied quickly, but there was a tremor in your voice that you hated, like you were apologising for feeling something. “I just…I feel like I’m doing everything else. And it’s exhausting, Alex.”

His mouth twitched slightly, as if he was going to say something but decided against it. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair again, tousling it even more. “Look, I didn’t realise it was that bad.” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still missing the point. “I thought you had it handled.”

“I do have it handled.” you shot back, a little sharper than you meant to. “But I’m tired of having it handled alone.”

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing away, clearly unsure of how to navigate this. He wasn’t great with emotions, never had been. He exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. You could see the tension in his shoulders now, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. He was trying to stay calm, trying to understand, but it was clear he hadn’t expected this.

His eyes darted back to you, and his expression softened, though there was still a hint of frustration in his tone. “I’m not trying to make you feel like you’re on your own, alright? It’s just…I don’t know. I didn’t think about it.”

“That’s the problem.” you whispered, the tightness in your throat growing, but you kept your voice steady. “You don’t think about it. You just assume I’ll take care of everything.”

His shoulders dropped a little, and for a second, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His arms unfolded, and he took a tentative step toward you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.” he mumbled, his words coming out awkwardly, like he wasn’t used to apologising. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

You looked at him, taking in the way his jaw clenched and the way his eyes darted away every few seconds like he was uncomfortable being in this moment with you, but not entirely detached either. He wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how.

“I know you didn’t mean to.” you said softly, your voice wavering slightly but still steady. “But it doesn’t change how it feels.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and for a second, something in his face shifted. His eyes softened, that defensiveness fading. “I’m…I’m sorry.” he repeated, his voice lower now, almost a whisper, like he wasn’t sure if it was safe to speak louder. “I didn’t know you felt like this.”

You laughed again, that same bitter edge clinging to it. “Of course you didn’t. Because you haven’t been here to notice. You’re here, Alex, but you’re not really here. You come home, you play with her, and then it’s like I don’t exist.”

He shifted his weight again, “That’s not fair.” he murmured. “You know I’m trying to balance everything. I’m doing my best.”

You stared at him, your arms still crossed tightly, trying to hold yourself together. “Well, your best isn’t enough.” you said quietly, the words hanging heavy between you.

His expression faltered, the sharp lines of his face softening as if your words had cut deeper than either of you expected. He stood there for a moment, silent, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to find something to say that would make it better, trying to figure out how to fix what was unravelling right in front of him.

But he didn’t have the words. Not this time.

He looked down, his hand rubbing the back of his neck again, a nervous gesture you recognized all too well. His hair fell over his eyes, and he didn’t bother pushing it back this time. “I…I’ll do better.” he said, the words slow, hesitant. He wasn’t sure they’d be enough. “I promise, I’ll try to be more…present. With you.”

You watched him, unsure whether to believe it, unsure if it would change anything at all. But the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his posture slouched now, made you pause. He wasn’t trying to ignore you, not deliberately. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Dinner’s in the fridge.” you said after a long moment, your voice quieter now, the fight draining out of you. “Heat it up yourself.”

He nodded, almost as if he knew it was the best he was going to get right now. He didn’t argue, didn’t push. He just walked to the fridge, his movements slower now, more careful, as if he was trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

As he pulled out the leftovers, you turned and walked out of the kitchen, the weight of the day still pressing down on you, heavier than ever.

You lay on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to will your mind into quiet, but it didn’t come. You squeezed your eyes shut, pulling the covers up closer to your chin as if it could somehow shield you from the heaviness pressing on your chest.

The house was silent now. Poppy was asleep, and Alex was in the kitchen, reheating his dinner. You heard the faint hum of the microwave, the soft clinking of dishes. It was almost too normal, too routine, for how you felt.

You wanted to let it go, to brush it off like you had so many times before, but tonight it stuck with you, sharp and jagged. The loneliness gnawed at you. The kind of loneliness that only comes when the person you need the most is right there, but somehow feels miles away.

You turned onto your side, facing away from the door, pulling your knees closer to your chest. Maybe it was easier to sleep like this, with your back to the world. Maybe if you stayed still long enough, you’d drift off, and the ache would dull by morning.

Then you heard it. The soft creak of the door opening, the faintest sliver of light spilling into the room from the hallway. You didn’t move, keeping your breathing steady, though your heart started beating a little faster. His footsteps were soft, hesitant, the familiar sound of his feet lightly scuffing against the hardwood floor. He was trying not to wake you, or maybe he was just testing the air between you, unsure of how fragile it really was.

The bed dipped slightly as he sat on the edge, and for a moment, you thought he might stay there, distant and unsure. But then the mattress shifted again, and you felt him slip beneath the covers. The warmth of his body radiated toward you as he settled beside you, his movements slow, careful, as if he wasn’t quite sure how close he was allowed to get.

Then, after a beat of silence, you felt it, his chest pressing gently against your back. The weight of his arm tentatively draped over your waist, and he stilled, like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

His breath was warm against the nape of your neck, steady, but you could tell he was awake, his body tense with unspoken words. You could feel the faint tremor in his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing, like he was working up to say something but wasn’t sure if now was the time.

Then, after a long pause, he whispered, his voice low, rough around the edges, as if he’d been holding the words in for too long. “I hope you don’t doubt that I love you.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just that. It was simple, but it felt like more, like it was the one thing he needed to say right now. The one thing he could say.

You lay there, still, your heart beating a little too fast. You didn’t turn to face him. Not yet. But the warmth of his body against yours, the quiet vulnerability in his voice, it chipped away at the wall you’d built up during the day.

“I don’t.” you whispered back, your voice barely audible, but in the quiet of the room, it was enough.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you just lying there in the dark, the silence now filled with something softer, less strained. You could feel him relax slightly, the tension easing from his body, his arm wrapping a little more securely around you.

You reached for his hand, gently curling your fingers around his, and brought it to your lips. You pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand, feeling the roughness of his skin against your mouth. It was a small gesture, one that spoke the words you weren’t ready to say yet. I still love you, I still need you.

Alex let out a breath, but it wasn’t the kind of exhale you’d heard from him before. It was shaky, broken, like something deep inside him had cracked. You’d never heard him sound like that. His arm tightened slightly around your waist, but when you turned to face him, his eyes were still closed, his brow faintly furrowed as if he was holding something in, something he didn’t want to let you see.

You looked at him in the dim light, the faint outline of his face visible in the shadows. You knew he wasn’t sleeping. He was afraid. Afraid that if he opened his eyes and looked at you, everything he was trying to hold together would fall apart. He didn’t want to break, not in front of you, not now. Not when he thought it would only make things harder.

But you could feel it, the way his body seemed to tense and release with every breath he took, like he was fighting to keep his walls up. And you couldn’t let him carry that alone, not tonight.

Your hand moved up to his face, fingers lightly tracing the familiar lines of his jaw, the slight scruff on his cheeks. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, but he didn’t open his eyes either. His breath hitched just slightly as your hand travelled lower, down the curve of his neck, over his chest. You could feel the rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm, the subtle quickening of his heartbeat.

You lifted the hem of his shirt, pushing it up so you could feel the warmth of his skin against your fingertips. There was something grounding about it, something real, the contact pulling you both back from the edge of whatever distance had grown between you. He gasped, just barely, as your hand slipped beneath the fabric, your fingers brushing lightly against his stomach.

His lips parted, his breathing becoming uneven, but he still didn’t say anything. His eyes remained shut, his jaw tight, as though he was trying to hold onto the last bit of control he had left. You felt his muscles tense under your touch, every inhale deep, every exhale strained.

You pressed closer to him, your fingers trailing lower, down the soft skin just above his waistband. His breath caught in his throat when your hand slipped under the band of his sweatpants, your fingertips brushing against him.

“Ugh…” His voice was a low rasp, like he was about to say more but couldn’t find the words. His eyes stayed shut, his head tilting back slightly as if surrendering to the moment, but still resisting. He didn’t want to make this about him. Not when the weight of your unspoken pain still hung in the air between you.

But you didn’t stop. You didn’t pull away. You kept your touch gentle, tender, letting him know without words that it was okay. That tonight wasn’t about blame or anger or hurt.

You trailed your hand back up, over his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, steadying, grounding. You moved closer, resting your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “I’m still here.”

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, he opened his eyes. They were darker in the low light, filled with a mixture of emotion you couldn’t quite name, relief, love, all tangled together. He didn’t speak, but the way he looked at you, like he was searching for something he’d thought he’d lost, said enough.

His arms wrapped around you a little tighter, pulling you against him like he needed the contact just as much as you did. For the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t about what was wrong. It was about what was still there.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, softly at first, testing the space between you. His breath hitched, and for a moment, you both stayed there, suspended in that delicate quiet. Then you kissed him, properly this time, pressing your mouth to his in a way that felt urgent, necessary. He responded slowly, his lips moving against yours, hesitant, unsure where this was headed. But you didn’t hold back, not now.

Your hands trailed back down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, his muscles tensing slightly at your touch. His breath quickened as your leg slipped between his thighs, pressing against him. He let out a soft sound, something caught between a sigh and a groan, his body responding instinctively even as his mind seemed to hesitate.

But then, he pulled back, breaking the kiss, his hand gently pushing against your shoulder. “No.” he breathed, his voice low and rough. “Wait…no.”

You blinked, confusion washing over you as you stayed there, hovering above him. “What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Don’t you…don’t you want me?”

He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as if the question had hurt him somehow. “I do.” he said, his voice soft, strained. “It’s not…it’s not about that, I just-”

“Shut up.” you interrupted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Please, just…shut up.” You kissed him again, harder this time, desperate for the connection, for him to stop thinking and just be with you. Your hand slipped behind his neck, pulling him closer, and for a second, he hesitated, but he didn’t stop you.

You pushed him back onto the mattress, your hands gripping his shoulders as you straddled his lap, pressing your body against his. His eyes flickered open, dark and stormy with the conflict brewing inside him. His hands hovered at your waist. He wanted to hold on but couldn’t let himself give in fully.

“You…” His voice was a low rasp, but he didn’t say anything more. He didn’t pull you off, didn’t push you away. His eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as you sat above him, your thighs pressed tight around his hips.

You leaned down, kissing him again, harder this time, and he groaned into your mouth, his hands finally gripping your waist, pulling you closer. His fingers pressed into your skin, his touch firm, and you could feel the tension in his body as he let go, just a little, surrendering to you.

His hair was messy, falling into his eyes, his lips swollen from your kisses. There was something raw about him in this moment, his usual confidence stripped away, leaving him vulnerable beneath you. His skin was warm, almost burning under your touch, and you could feel the tautness in his muscles, the quiet restraint he was still clinging to.

But you weren’t stopping. You trailed your hands down his chest again, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. His eyes fluttered closed as you rocked your hips against him, grinding slowly. His breath came out in shallow gasps, his fingers digging into your waist, but he didn’t say no again.

“Why are you holding back?” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not…” he started, but his voice faltered, and he didn’t finish the sentence. His eyes opened, meeting yours, and there was something there. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to gather his thoughts, but nothing came out.

You kissed him again, cutting off whatever excuse he was about to make. “Don’t think.” you murmured against his lips. “Just…be here. With me.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you down to him. His grip tightened, his hesitation fading the longer you stayed pressed together. He kissed you back this time, properly, his lips moving with yours in a way that felt desperate, needy.

“Fuck…” he groaned softly, his voice rough, thick with something he wasn’t quite ready to admit. His hips shifted beneath you, pushing up into you as you moved against him. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them tightly.

“Don’t stop.” you whispered, your breath hot against his neck. His skin was damp with sweat, his pulse racing beneath your lips as you kissed down the side of his throat, feeling the way his body trembled beneath yours.

“I’m trying.” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his head tilting back into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as if to keep himself grounded. “I’m trying not to lose it…”

“Maybe I want you to.” you said, your voice low, your hands slipping back under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He groaned again, this time louder, his grip on your thighs tightening as he gave in, finally letting go of whatever was holding him back. His lips found yours again, and this time, he kissed you harder, deeper, his body arching up into yours, pulling you down onto him with a force that sent a shiver down your spine.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t gentle. It was exactly what you both needed.

The room felt thick with silence as the space between you vanished. His hands slid down, trembling as they caught the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down just far enough, exposing himself to you. You pulled off your shorts with a shaky exhale, your body moving on instinct more than anything else. There wasn’t any time for hesitation, no slow unravelling, no careful lead-up. You were both too far gone, too desperate to feel something, anything that would bridge the distance between you.

He was inside you before either of you were fully ready for it, his body meeting yours in a quick, almost frantic rhythm. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t measured, and the sudden rush of sensation felt overwhelming. Your hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt as you moved together, but it wasn’t about pleasure, not in the way it usually was. It was messy, uncoordinated, a little too fast.

His breathing came in quick, ragged gasps, and you could feel his heart racing against your chest as he held you tight, like letting go would mean losing everything. His hips moved roughly beneath you, and you tried to match him, your bodies working in this frantic, unsynchronized rhythm. It wasn’t nearly the best you’d ever had. Not even close. It didn’t matter.

You both were searching for something in each other, something you couldn’t name, something you didn’t even know if you’d find. It was more about release than connection, about letting go of everything that had built up between you, the frustration, the resentment, the silence.

The room was filled with the sound of your uneven breathing, the soft creak of the bed, his hands clinging to you like you might slip away. His hair fell into his eyes again, damp with sweat, his lips parted as he gasped for breath, his brow furrowed with effort. You could feel his body shaking slightly, the tension in his muscles, the way he tried so hard to keep up, to stay with you.

But it wasn’t perfect. It was quick, almost too quick. You felt him stiffen beneath you, his grip tightening as he gasped out your name, his voice rough and broken. You followed moments after, not because it was the height of pleasure, but because the emotion of the moment pushed you over the edge. It was more like giving in than being consumed.

When it was over, the silence between you returned, but it felt different now. Less strained, more exhausted. You stayed there, your bodies still tangled, your forehead resting against his chest as you caught your breath. Neither of you moved for a long time, neither of you said anything. The moment wasn’t about words.

He let out a long, shaky sigh, one that seemed to start deep in his chest. But as the air left him, it got stuck in his throat, and that was when he broke. You could feel it. The sudden shift, the way his body tensed beneath you before he closed his eyes, trying to hold it together. He gently pulled you off him, moving you to the side, his movements almost too careful, like he didn’t want to add to whatever mess was already between you.

He quickly tucked himself back in, pulling his sweatpants up. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of everything had finally come crashing down on him.

“Sorry.” he muttered, his voice muffled by his hands. But this time, it was different. He wasn’t saying it because he thought he was supposed to, or because he wanted to end the argument. This time, he really meant it. You could hear it in the way the word caught in his throat, like it was hard for him to even say.

You sat up slowly, still catching your breath, watching him as he sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his face.

“I’m sorry.” he said again, quieter now. He dropped his hands from his face, staring down at the floor like he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You swallowed hard, feeling your own emotions tugging at you, but you stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I tried.” he said, his voice rough and halting. “I tried to be here. For you, for her. I really did. But I…I don’t know how to do it right. I don’t know how to be enough.”

His words hung in the air, and you could see how much they cost him. He wasn’t the type to talk like this, to admit when he was struggling, but there it was, laid out between you.

“You’re trying.” you said softly, unsure if it was the right thing to say, but needing him to know that you saw him. That you understood.

He shook his head, letting out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Trying isn’t enough, though, is it? I’m here, but I’m not really here. Not the way I should be. And I know that. I know it, and I hate it, but I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to…be better.”

You shifted closer to him. “You don’t have to be perfect.” you whispered. “No one’s asking you to be perfect.”

“But I’m not even good enough.” he shot back, his voice cracking slightly. Frustration and confusion etched into every line of his face. “I’m not there when you need me. Not really. I get wrapped up in everything else, in the music, in…whatever, and I can see it. I can see how it’s pushing you away, but I don’t know how to stop.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, but you forced yourself to push through it. “I don’t need you to stop everything. I just need you to…be with me when you’re here. Be present.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face again. “I thought I was. But I look at you and Poppy and…God, I feel like I’m just standing on the outside, watching, and no matter what I do, it’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he looked away, his jaw tight, like he was ashamed of what he had just admitted.

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him like this. You reached out, gently placing your hand on his back, feeling the way his body stiffened for a moment before he let out a shaky breath, as if he was finally letting himself feel it.

“You are enough.” you whispered, and you meant it, even though everything felt tangled and complicated. “You are. You just…you get lost sometimes. But you’re still enough.”

He closed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists on his thighs. “It doesn’t feel like it. You’ve said it.” he muttered. “I feel like I’m failing you. Both of you.”

He let out another shaky breath, dropping his head forward, and for a moment, you thought he might cry, but he didn’t. Instead, he just sat there, his shoulders slumped, his body heavy with everything he had been holding inside.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered again, and this time, it felt like the apology was more for himself than for you.

You slid closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. His body was warm, his breath still uneven, but he didn’t pull away. He sat there, letting you hold him, letting the quiet between you settle into something softer, something that felt like the start of understanding.

a/n: i don’t know what this is.

tags: @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @aacheinthejaw @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

#dad!alex #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner angst #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour

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lionesses-lover · 1 year ago

Text

Planned to Perfection - L. Williamson

The one where she knows what she wants but you’re afraid of ruining things for your best friend.

Word Count: 2.1k

Victoria was your best friend. You two had grown up together and you were so proud of her for everything she had achieved. So, when it was announced that she was moving to Arsenal you jumped for joy. Finally, you were going to be back in the same country as her.

You had moved to London two years ago for work. You were an in-house lawyer for a big finance company, which was wonderful but quite stressful at times. So, the idea of having your best friend living in the same city as you was a dream come true. You couldn’t wait to see her and watch her play the sport you both loved.

Football had always been something you enjoyed watching, but never something you enjoyed playing. When you and Vic were 11 you were always in the stands supporting her at matches, and later when she started playing for the national team you were there with your Dutch-orange Pelova shirt shouting loudly how proud you were.

You couldn’t wait to do the same thing in a red Arsenal Pelova shirt.

———

You did every possible thing you could to ensure that everything was perfect for Vic when she moved over to England. She was very nervous about fitting in with the group, telling you that many of the players were quite intimidating, especially the two captains - Leah and Kim - so she didn't want to do anything wrong. But soon enough, she started sounding a lot brighter when she called you after training everyday, telling you about the stories people had told her and what she got up to in training.

When Vic finally finished unpacking all the boxes in her house, she decided that it was time you met her teammates who she was quickly becoming very close to. She was desperate to show off her new house and equally as desperate for you and a certain someone to meet. But you didn't need to know that.

So, she decided to invite you and all of her Arsenal teammates round to her house one night for dinner, as she couldn't throw a big party because the season was very much still in progress. You were the first to arrive of course, making sure to be there to help her cook, making sure she didn’t burn the house down trying to use the oven. Vic was a wonderful footballer but you had been cooking most of her meals since she moved to London, because she was a chaotic chef.

You sat on one of the stools in her new kitchen, giving clear instructions on how to turn off the oven, when there is a loud knock at the front door.

"I'll get it!" Vic shouted, jumping up excitedly and running to the door, leaving you to just laugh and make sure the oven was actually turned off.

You were then suddenly bombarded by about a dozen women who had just walked into the kitchen, all eager to introduce themselves and get to know you. It was very intense but they were all very friendly and you were so happy that they seemed to love and care about Vic.

However, there was one person who greeted you slightly differently. You knew exactly who she was, having lived in London for two years and having done extensive research into the Arsenal women's team the second Victoria told you that she was signing for Arsenal. It was Leah Williamson. The English captain greeted you with a warm smile, immediately pulling you into a hug. Then, she pulled away and slowly looked you up and down, her beautiful eyes taking in every part of your body.

At first you thought you were imagining it, but then she caught you looking back at her and gave you a small wink. Leah had checked you out. This realisation made you quickly turn around to check that Vic was plating the food in the correct way, eager to hide the pink blush that was spreading across your cheeks.

———

As the evening progressed you were more than happy to see that each one of the Arsenal girls absolutely adored Vic. Viv, Lia and Kim helped her wash up the dishes from the meal, before taking over completely when she was swept away by Jen, Steph and Beth to play FIFA on the TV. They all cared for her so much and it warmed your heart to see each player looking after her in their own little way.

The only person who didn't seem to want to spend all of their time with your best friend was Leah. This wasn't because she disliked Vic, because you could tell very early on into the evening that the blonde had a soft spot for your Dutch friend after she helped her choose the perfect outfit for an event later in the week. The reason that Leah wasn't crowding around Vic as she showed everyone her new football boots was because of you. Leah was determined to spend as much time as possible getting to know the gorgeous girl that Victoria had been telling her about.

The pair of you had been quietly chatting on Vic’s sofa for a few hours, watching the chaos of over a dozen girls hanging out in the same house. She asked you question after question and carefully listened to your answers before replying to the question you had asked in return. You found yourself becoming obsessed with her beautiful eyes and stunning blonde hair. She seemed completely different to the intimidating captain you were expecting to meet.

Little did you know, Leah was also finding herself obsessing over you. She had been looking forward to meeting you for a while. Ever since Vic had mentioned her best friend, Leah had found you on Instagram and found herself entranced by your beauty. She needed to meet you. Luckily, she now had the opportunity and she wasn't going to let it be wasted.

As the evening progressed she became more and more flirty, making you more and more flustered. Leah knew what she wanted and she was making that crystal clear.

You were more hesitant. There was no denying that you found yourself drawn to the blonde who you had spent the evening with. You wanted to get to know her more but you were worried about the consequences. What if something went wrong? What if you broke up? What would happen to Victoria?

Your best friend was finally beginning to feel at home in London and with the Arsenal team. What would happen to her if you started dating one of the captains?

However, you tried to ignore your worries and your growing feelings for the Englishwoman. You focussed on just enjoying chatting to her and watching your best friend mess about with her teammates. Maybe all Leah wants is someone to flirt with?

———

Leah did not just want someone to flirt with.

At the end of the night, everyone slowly began to leave, some on their own and others in groups. Your personal favourite exit was watching Beth, Viv and Kim escort a slightly-more-than-tipsy trio of Gio, Katherine and Laura back to their respective homes.

When Leah finally decided it was time to return home, you walked her to the door because Vic was busy saying goodbye to Caitlin, Steph and Lia. She leaned in slowly and gave you a long, caring hug, allowing you to get lost in her embrace. When she eventually tore herself away from you, she looked you up and down once again slowly and asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue all evening.

"Can I take you out on a date tomorrow? Or on Monday, or whenever really I just really want to take you out."

You looked into her her beautiful eyes when she said this. Oh no, you thought to yourself, what were you going to do? But your hesitation only lasted a second, because you were suddenly interrupted by your mad best friend running through the door with Lotte as they laughed about something Lotte had said. Victoria looked so happy with her new friends. You knew what you had to in that moment, as much as it broke your heart to do so.

"Leah," you said slowly, not wanting to disappoint the blonde, "I'm so sorry but I don't think that's the best idea."

———

"So, what was happening with you and Leah last night?" asked your best friend as you walked over to sit next to her, handing her the breakfast you had made.

Last night you had stayed over at Vic's to help her clean up and re-organise her house after having dozens of tipsy Arsenal players round.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I saw you both chatting all night and she's definitely your type, so what happened."

"Nothing," replied, eager to reassure Vic that you weren't going to ruin her career at Arsenal, "we were flirting a bit and she asked out but I said no don't worry."

"What? You said no!" Vic gasped, "You idiot, why did you say no?"

"Why are you annoyed," you protested, "I did this for you. I don't want to be responsible for something going wrong with the team dynamics at Arsenal if it doesn’t work out."

"You are so stupid," repeated you best friend, "Did you not realise that no one came to interrupt you both? Did you not realise that no one ever sat on the same sofa as you both? I told everyone before they got here that I wanted to introduce you and Leah because I think you guys would be perfect for each other. You are both hard-working, kind and determined."

"Wow," you said, in shock at this new information. You genuinely thought you had been doing the right thing by saying no to Leah. Maybe you should have said yes?

As if she could read your thoughts, Vic asked, "So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know, I really messed up," you answered, feeling disappointed at the thought that you had potentially ruined your chances at a date with Leah.

Vic looked at you, feeling utterly confused at how someone who was so clever could be so stupid at the same time.

"You could call her?" she prompted.

Once again, you sighed at your stupidity. Of course you could call her.

"Can I have her number please," you asked your best friend, eager to call the blonde as soon as possible in order to try and fix your stupidity.

Laughing, Vic gave you Leah's number before ushering you into the kitchen so you could have some privacy to make your phone call while she watched TV.

You felt very nervous as the phone began to ring and you realised that you were actually going to have to speak to Leah and try and explain everything.

"Hello?" she said when she answered the phone.

"Hi Leah it's y/n," you said, "Vic gave me your number.

"Oh, hey y/n," she answered, feeling a bit shocked to hear your voice so soon after you had rejected her, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine don't worry I've just realised how much of an idiot I am and I'm so sorry."

"What do you mean?" asked Leah, chuckling at the way all of your words seemed to rush out at once.

"You asked me out and I really wanted to say yes but I was scared of messing things up for Vic and her career so I said no even though it’s not what I wanted to say."

"It's okay, I get it you just want to be a good friend," she said sadly, "We can just pretend it never happened don't worry."

"No I don't want that," you said quickly, realising Leah still thought you were rejecting her, "Vic wants us to go out, she planned for us to meet."

"Oh I understand now," she said, before finding the same confidence she found the previous evening and asking: "So does that mean you want to go on a date tomorrow?"

Smiling widely at the thought of going on a date with Leah you replied, "I'd love to Leah."

When you walked into the living room after chatting to Leah for about 20 more minutes, you proceeded to tell Vic everything and she was over the moon.

It had taken a little longer than she had hoped but her plan to set her best friend up with her teammate had eventually worked out perfectly.

———

#woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #woso fanfics #woso #engwnt #engwnt x reader #lionesses #lionesses x reader #awfc #arsenal women #leah williamson one shot #awfc x reader #arsenal wfc

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years ago

Text

Maroon (part two)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

And I wake with your memory over me

That's a real fucking legacy to leave

a/n: just a little explanation on their ages, since they are aged up for this series. Jace, the reader, Helaena and Aemond are in their mid-twenties. Alys is in her mid-thirties. Luke is around 21/22. Feel free to adjust if you wish.

Also, the photo I used is of Tom Bennett, as I felt the need to use a modernized look for Aemond, but nevertheless, he is still Aemond - silver haired, sullen, and soon enough, sapphire-eyed. If my photo editing skills are up to par, then I would have edited shoulder-length (yup, for this story) silver hair and modern clothes on our Aemond, but alas...

happy reading, beautiful people. 🖤

themes/warnings: fluff, angst, slow burn, mutual pining, slight love triangle, language, accident/severe injury (towards the end)

word count: 7.3k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The morning after their interrupted kiss, the reader learns more about Aemond's apparent lover. She grows discouraged with striking up a romance with him, but he is determined to change her mind.

There is a curious knot in your stomach when you wake, remembering the night before. Aemond had leaned in close, so close, that you feel as if his scent still surrounds you.

The deep green walls of his bedroom are still burned into your eyes. From then on, there is no way that this particular shade of green won’t bring you back to that night. With him.

With Aemond. The one who has flooded your thoughts for almost a year now. The object of your desire.

Although, it seems… that he might already have his own object of desire.

Why did Alys visit him so late last night? You want to feign innocence, and remain oblivious to any and all lewd possibilities. Maybe she’s just a dear friend, who needed some company. Perhaps to have a drink, or to borrow a book? Or perhaps she has had some romantic trouble earlier last evening, and needed to vent her heart out to Aemond, who is nothing if not an attentive listener.

Well, shit. You slam your palm to your forehead as you allow reality to set in. You can continue to hope, but deep down, you know that Alys is not just a friend to Aemond.

This might be one of the very few instances wherein tabloid fodder has some truth to it. Dragonstone heir and model socialite spotted leaving Claridge’s Hotel in London after a wild night out.

That was just one of the several headlines that caught your eye, and immediately chose to ignore. You don’t even remember how long ago that was, but it seems as if their story is yet to reach its end.

If, indeed, it ever will.

But why was he going to kiss me? I mean, he was, wasn’t he?

You turn to the side, and notice that you’re all alone in bed. Helaena always wakes up much earlier, preferring to be awake as the sun rises, which leaves her ample time to go about her extensive morning routine.

Before you allow your rampant thoughts to get the better of you, you finally get up, wiping sleep from your eyes, and stumble to her bathroom. As you study your reflection is the mirror, one thing springs to your mind. What is going to happen if you meet Aemond downstairs? Granted, it is rare for the whole family to convene early during weekdays, but he did say he will meet you in the morning.

You take your sweet time getting ready, delaying the inevitable, before finally heading downstairs.

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

The clock above an alcove in the kitchen reads 8:17. The smell of pancakes waft through the air, calming your senses. Breakfast food is always a good idea.

Helaena comes into view, stacking the last pancakes on a plate.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Nice face.” She jokes, smiling in her carefree way.

“What about it?” You scrunch your nose in response, picking off a blueberry from a glass bowl on the kitchen counter.

“Rough night?” She turns off the induction stove, having finished, and you help her carry the dishes to the dining table.

Talia, their housekeeper, walks in the kitchen. A worried look is etched on her face. “Ma’am, are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you? I can cook you something else, or fetch something from the store? Your mother says - ”

“Everything’s fine, Talia.” Helaena assures her. She has never really indulged having a maid to clean up after her. One thing about Helaena, she’s very likely the most simple one out of the family, not bothering with the usual trappings of luxury, and that includes having a maid at her every beck and call. Helaena only asks for help when she needs it, and as it stands, she’s perfectly capable of cooking up a damn good breakfast. “Why don’t you attend to yourself this morning?”

“A-attend to myself, ma’am?” Talia asks.

“Yes,” Helaena shoots a smile at you conspiratorially, “Talia, go out and take a walk, or watch a movie, or get a massage. Whatever you want, it’s on us. The rest of the family are either busy working, hungover somewhere, or out of town, anyway. We’ll be fine for today.”

Talia smiles brightly in appreciation. “Very well then. Thank you, ma’am. Please do call me if you need anything at all.”

Helaena nods her head once. Talia makes a move to leave, but she seems to recall something.

“Oh, uh, Miss Y/n?” She addresses you this time. “Sir Aemond did say that he’s very sorry that he isn’t able to see you this morning. He left very early, quite in a rush. There must have been something very pressing at work.”

“Oh.” You could not hide the disappointment in your voice. Or was it relief? “Aemond’s not here?”

“He did say he would call you, though, as soon as he can.”

Aemond isn’t here. “Right. Well, thanks for letting me know, Talia.”You smile at her genuinely, while feeling slightly empty inside from the notion of Aemond’s absence. There was no reason to be excited or nervous, after all. A shame, really. “And please, call me Y/n.”

“Of course, Y/n. And, it’s not a problem. Sir Aemond did seem quite distressed about having to leave. I’m sure he’d be annoyed with me if I don’t let you know.”

“Oh, that’s for sure.” Helaena rolls her eyes, smiling at you. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that my brother’s kinda infatuated with you.”

Before a warmth can develop in your chest from what Helaena claims, another person walks in the kitchen. A long-legged, impossibly unblemished figure that is Alys Rivers.

Talia straightens, not as comfortable around Alys as she is with you and Helaena. She takes that as her cue to leave. She politely addresses each of you in turn. “Have a lovely morning, Ma’am. Y/n. Miss Alys.” Her tone bristles at the last name.

“Sooo,” Alys saunters over to the table, and daintily plops down on the seat opposite you and Helaena, “good morning, girls. You don’t mind if I join you for breakfast, do you?” She pops a piece of fruit in her mouth before you could respond.

“Not at all, Alys.” Helaena sighs. “It would be nice to finally speak to my brother’s…” She trails off, one eyebrow raising slyly. “…friend.”

Alys simply laughs it off, unfazed. “That’s nice of you, Helaena, but you don’t need to watch your words around me. I know that Aemond has never clearly stated what we are yet. But we are something, that much I’m sure of.” Her gaze trails over to you. “Nice sweater. You know, it looks a lot like my Aemond’s.”

My Aemond’s. God help me. “Oh, uhm,” you balk, not wanting to overstep the line with something that is completely none of your business, as far as you’re concerned, “he lent it to me last night. Clumsy ol’ me apparently can’t handle too much red wine. Literally and figuratively.”

You smile at Alys placatingly, but you’re not sure what for. Nothing happened last night, right? Nothing at all.

“Well, it looks good on you, darling.” She winks at you. The more she speaks, the more you realize how self-assured she is. Your first meeting, you’re wearing her… boyfriend’s…. sweater, and she’s only quick to accept your explanation. It’s as if she’s truly certain that no one can steal Aemond away from her.

“Thank you.” You awkwardly say, taking a sip of your coffee.

“So, Alys,” Helaena says, “tell us more about yourself. Surely we cannot just believe everything the gossip blogs say about you.”

“Right, well. I’m aware that I do have a certain image, but that’s all it is. An image. A kind of persona. It makes it easier to draw a line between my job and my personal life. I do enjoy the luxurious and fast-paced lifestyle that modelling brings, but that’s not everything. I am… more than that.”

Her statements catch you by surprise, slightly. You knew more than just to take her reputation at face value, but it’s different now. Aemond’s attraction to her might run deeper than you had hoped.

“I think it’s right that you do whatever you feel is best for you.” You find yourself genuinely saying, empathizing with how she feels. “I can’t claim to know exactly what it’s like, being in the public eye like that, but it must be hard. You should protect yourself, and if keeping up a kind of mask is something that works, then…” You purse your lips, and tilt your head, a show of your approval.

“Solidarity, sister.” Alys smiles at you, one which you return. “I mean, thanks for not judging me right away. Most people do.”

The rest of the morning is spent in a way you never would have expected to enjoy, but you do. Alys turns out to be more friendly than she seems, and it’s plain to see that she truly cares for Aemond. She did share her insecurities when it comes to him, and how he has set implicit boundaries between them.

Whenever she gets too close, he’s only quick to pull away. Aemond has predictably not made it clear what they are, and has never protested when Alys goes on dates with other people. Although she wishes that he would.

Each time Alys hints at how Aemond means to her makes you feel guilty. You know you want him, but she has been in the picture much longer than you. Do you even have a chance? Do you want one?

Eventually, Alys receives a call, which she explains is from her disgruntled manager, telling her that the call time for her photoshoot is nearing. She excuses herself, sashaying confidently out of the apartment. You can’t help but feel small, and the fact that you find her a tad intimidating is the least of your worries.

Aemond seems farther away from you, if he ever was close. Helaena notices your lowered spirits, and she spends the rest of the morning helping you get your mind off things.

But no movie, series, or copious amount of baked goods proves effective.

Despite your best efforts, Aemond Targaryen has taken refuge in your mind. And perhaps, your heart. But you would never admit that too soon.

Especially not now.

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

The weekend is a welcome respite from your busy university schedule. Although you have to work a full shift at a local bookstore, you wouldn’t complain about it. It’s a calm and decent enough part-time job, and while it doesn’t pay much, you’re more than happy to be surrounded by books all day.

You rush into the bookstore, already half an hour late. Your bus was delayed for too long, and you did not even get to pick up your usual coffee on the way.

“Mel?” You call out to the owner. She’s always the first to come in, and open up shop. You rub your boots on the welcome mat, and make your way around the tall bookshelves. You spot her at the counter, arranging yesterday’s receipts into a folder.

“Good morning.” She greets you with her usual warm smile. “Don’t even worry about it, y/n.” She reassures you in time, already knowing you would apologize profusely for being late.

You breathe a sigh of relief, dropping your bag behind the counter. “I’ll just stay a bit later after closing. Help clean up everything.”

“No need.” She places a hand on your shoulder, and whispers close. “By the way, you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?”

“A handsome one, might I add. He’s sitting in the corner desk by the Classics section. I found him waiting outside so early. Poor kid said he wanted to be here as soon as the shop opened, and I don’t know about you, but I hardly believe it is because of his raging love for literature.”

“Oh, I see.” You stand dumbfounded, a new sense of nervousness settling over you. That handsome visitor can only be Aemond, can it?

“Go on, honey. Take your time. It’s not like the shop gets particularly busy this early.”

You slowly walk deeper into the shop, past the new releases, the sci-fi section, and then the romance.

And sure enough, there he sits.

His shoulder-length silver hair is in its usual half-up style, and his expensive black coat is draped on the back of his seat. His left hand holds a book on the table, while the other props up his face, his index finger absentmindedly running over his lips, deep in thought.

Your footsteps carry no sound, so he does not notice as you walk closer. You almost don’t want to bother him, as he looks so serene. Faint sunlight from an awning window warms the scene, casting a glow over him. Beautiful.

You find yourself leaning against a bookshelf, studying him, flashes of that night running through your head. He did leave you a message, explaining why he had to leave the morning after. You were not sure what to respond with, apart from “No problem. See you soon.”

Impersonal. Direct. Safe. Getting to know his lover that morning was a sort of wake-up call. You aren’t sure whether you’re ready to dive in deeper into the enigma that he poses. So you decided to leave it at that.

But it clearly was not enough for him, as evidenced by numerous subsequent missed calls.

His head turns, languidly, finally sensing your presence. When your eyes meet, a soft smile forms on his lips.

“Hello, darling.”

Shit. Two simple words and you’re all but ready to let go of any uncertainty you might have about him, then and there.

“Aemond,” you can’t help but smile in return, “to what do I owe this visit?”

He closes his book and sets it down on the table. He turns his body towards you, still seated, leaning back to take you in.

“Would you believe me if I said that I missed you?” He says smoothly, so sure of himself. He stresses, “I miss you.”

“It’s only been days since I last saw you, Aemond.” You roll your eyes in a poor attempt to hide the way you grow flustered.

“Feels like forever.” He stands, walking over to the bookshelf you’re leaning on, making a show of perusing the titles. “You have not answered my calls, darling. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re ignoring me.” He steps closer to you, mirroring your position.

“I was busy.” You respond quickly with a defensive tone. And you were, but not busy enough to avoid staring at your phone every time his name blinks on the screen, waiting for his call to drop.

“Hmm. I was hoping we could have a moment alone. To… talk,” His eyes rake your face, landing on your lips, “or perhaps, more?”

“More? Getting ahead of yourself, Aemond?” You look down, unable to meet his heated gaze.

“I really enjoyed our night together, and I was hoping we could have some more time to ourselves.”

“I’m sure we will. The next time Hel invites me over, or you guys throw a party…” You trail off, raising your head to look at him again, and sure enough, he continues to watch every change in your expression.

“How about now? Could I steal you away for an hour or two? I’m sure Melanie wouldn’t mind.”

“Already on first-name basis with my boss. Fast work, Aemond.”

“She’s a sweet woman. Nurturing. I’m glad you have someone like her as your supervisor.” His lips quirk in amusement.

“Really…” you raise your eyebrows.

“Mhmm. If she was unfair or unpleasant to you in any way, I would not hesitate to have someone better appointed in her stead.” He explains smugly.

“It’s an independent bookstore, Aemond, and not one of the hundred businesses your great empire owns. You wouldn’t have the jurisdiction.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” He lowers his face nearer to yours, his breath fanning your face. He continues, “I don’t believe you understand how much I would be willing to do for you.”

His proximity makes you short of breath, so you take a step back, wanting to clear your head. A frown materializes on his face, but it disappears just as quick as it arrived. He is determined to make himself heard.

“I have known you for a good part of a year now, y/n. And… my admiration for you has only blossomed as time passed. When we had a moment to ourselves that night, it just felt… right.”

“Aemond… ”

“I’m inclined to assume that you feel the same way. At least, I hope.”

Your throat feels dry all of a sudden, and you struggle to match his unabashed sincerity. “I’m not sure where this will lead. What you expect this to be. You already have… someone… ”

“Someone?” Props to him for seeming genuinely clueless as to who you’re referring to.

“I met her the morning after. Alys. She’s actually quite lovely.”

“It’s not what you think.” He finally looks away, his mood changed with the mention of Alys.

You sigh flatly, "That is exactly what someone involved would say. Look, I have no interest in ruining anyone's relationship - "

"I am not in a relationship - "

"But there is something between you and Alys, isn't there?"

"We aren't together. I have made this clear to her, time and again." He paces at the aisle, running his hand over the books. "Though I admit, in the times when I need... company... she's the one I have become accustomed to calling."

"Company." You almost roll your eyes at his casual implication.

"Hmm." His lips curl in distaste. "It does not come easy for me to connect with anyone. Even for a purpose as unseemly as that."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know, I just... hope that you don't think any less of me."

"Aemond," you take a step forward, "you're free to want... company with whomever you want. So is Alys. But I can't get into this, whatever this is, with you if I will have to share you with anyone else."

"You won't. That already is far from the truth, darling. I have not even considered anyone else for a while now."

"But Alys - "

"I did not invite her over that night. I hadn't even seen her in weeks. Nothing happened after you left my bedroom."

"She cares about you. A lot."

"I know," he shakes his head slightly, "and I care about her, too. But it never became..." He bows his head, almost sheepishly. "... it's not... I don't love her."

Your gaze softens as you watch the torment in his expression. It becomes clear that Aemond does not throw around the word love without care. He sounds cautious. Nervous, almost.

His eyes find yours suddenly, the intensity behind them catching you by surprise.

"But you..." His brows furrow in frustration. He takes a deep breath, before repeating, almost accusingly, "You."

Suddenly, he pulls you close by the waist. His violet eyes keep you in place, holding you dear.

You take each other in with hungry eyes. His every little movement, every twitch, catches your attention. The way his lips purse, the way he swallows nervously. A stray strand of silver hair has fallen in front of his face, and you unconsciously reach up for it, your hand freezing mid-air when you realize what you're doing.

His hand comes up to caress yours, and slowly, he presses a soft kiss to your palm.

A soft moan nearly escapes your lips at how soft the gesture is. How gentle it feels. How right.

"I want you." He says, still holding your hand.

The two of you stand, mere inches away from one another.

Until a startled voice pierces the atmosphere, destroying the mood. "Shit, excuse me."

A boy stands in the middle of the aisle, a book in his hand. The day's first customer. He smiles sheepishly, pointing to the section you and Aemond have conveniently blocked, "Sorry, uh, I need to check out some of those."

You quickly step away from the shelf, and from Aemond. "Oh, excuse us. Please go right ahead." You wave him through.

Aemond does not move, his eyes irately landing on the boy. He is plainly displeased at the intrusion, not bothering to hide it. Spoiled, rich baby.

"Aemond, move over here." You address him, pulling at his hand. That gets his attention.

He does not let go of your hand, and directs you to the next aisle. But the haze has subsided for you. Or at least, it has to, for now.

"I have to work." You mumble. The words sound so dull after everything that has been said.

"Alright. I'll wait here."

"Pardon?"

"I'll wait here until you can leave with me for a little while."

Your mouth parts in frustration, confusion, or is it awe? You no longer know for sure. This day is certainly shaping up to be more eventful than you are prepared for.

"Aemond," you try to implore gently, "my first break is in four hours. Surely, you won't just wait here until then."

"Why ever not?" He looks amused at your growing incredulity. "I've got time to kill. Besides, I've got all these books to keep me busy."

"You would wait for me for four hours, and then what?"

"Then, I suppose, I'll take you out for lunch." His thumb continues to draw circles on the back of your hand, which almost escapes your notice. It felt so normal, just as if he has held your hand a thousand times before.

His hand reaches up to stroke your cheekbone, before tilting your head up at him. "Please say yes, darling."

Your heart races, even without its usual helping of caffeine. Looking at Aemond, you think that your break cannot come soon enough.

"Okay."

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

For the next four hours, Aemond keeps his word and waits.

He moves to a table within eyeshot of the counter where you're working. It is clear that he is watching you, glancing at you from time to time and throwing a smirk your way.

You struggle to keep up appearances, cordially greeting customers and ringing in their purchases. You fight the temptation to walk over to Aemond, nudge his face towards his book, and tell him to quit staring at you like that.

His presence makes you infinitely more self-aware, and you try not to watch your every move, but you do anyway.

Aemond seems content to wait in silence, poring over the pages of his novel, until someone in particular walks in the store.

“I’m sorry, miss, I must be in the wrong place. My good friend Y/n promised that this would be the best bookstore in the city.” A familiar voice says. “Seems cozy, sure, but far from the best, wouldn’t you say?”

You look up at the new arrival, whom you immediately recognize. Aemond visibly straightens in his corner, noticing him as well.

“Jace!” You exclaim brightly, reaching over the counter to give him a hug.

Jacaerys chuckles deeply, and you can't help but feel warm at the sound. The sound of his laughter is something you love about him, genuine and free.

"Somebody missed me." His voice is muffled against your hair, and his arms wrap around you tightly.

"Course I did." You move to stand in front of him. "Back from Pentos so soon?"

"Yes, I finished my course early. I'm just that smart, as you well know." He taps the side of his head smugly.

"Ha-ha." You playfully punch his shoulder.

"Nephew." Aemond greets, interrupting your little reunion. "It's been a while."

"Aemond," Jace turns around to face him, "I didn't notice you, dear uncle. You look well."

"As do you." Aemond replies stoically. His hands are neatly kept behind his back, and he watches you and Jacaerys with keen eyes. "I was not aware that you and Y/n are so close."

You know that Aemond does not have the best relationship with his half-sister Rhaenyra's children. At first, you could not understand why. Jace and his siblings are among the kindest boys you've met. Luke is a bit roguish, but that is part of his charm.

But that was before Helaena explained to you how Aemond must have felt neglected growing up, always in the shadow of his nephews, who are much favoured by his own father Viserys. Helaena learned not to mind, telling you how she has found peace with her own self and her passions. She is aware that Viserys loves Rhaenyra above everyone else, and by extension, Rhaenyra's children. His marriage to their mother Alicent was borne out of necessity, not love.

And she only hinted at it, but apparently, Aemond was also bullied by the younger boys when they were children. Of course, that was long ago, but some scars never fully heal.

"We're good friends, Aemond." Jace responds, putting one arm over your shoulders, a movement that makes Aemond's lips curl in distaste. "Met her through Hel, of course, and I just couldn't get enough of this little rascal." He squeezes your shoulders, pulling you closer, making you wrap an arm around his waist.

"You're the rascal, leaving me for nearly half a year like that." You jest, matching his smile.

"Well, I'm back now, aren't I?" He says, then he turns back to his uncle, "What are you doing here, by the way? Just browsing for a new read?"

"No," Aemond loosens his stance a bit, looking at you, "I'm actually waiting to take Y/n out on a date."

A date? Is that what I agreed to?

"To lunch." You clarify, meeting his gaze.

"A lunch date." Aemond simply shrugs, deeming the matter settled.

"Uh-huh." Jace looks between the two of you, growing amused. "Listen, uncle, could you give me just a few minutes with Y/n. Then, I promise, she's all yours."

Aemond stands still for a few seconds, deliberating whether he should leave you with Jace. The silence is utterly deafening, so you say, "Aemond. I'll be with you in a bit. We can head out soon."

"Hmm." He relents, then stalks back to his table, his silver hair gently flowing behind his neck.

Jace watches Aemond walk away with a weird look on his face, and you already know what's coming next.

"Y/n?" Jace smirks at you. "What is going on?"

"He's... here for me."

"Worked your magic on him, I see? I remember you having a crush on him and all..."

"Alright, pipe down about it." Your face becomes flushed, and you catch Aemond's eye in the corner. "I didn't even do anything. He sought me out."

"Riiiight," Jace says, "and this is what you want?"

You shrug, "I do like him. You know this."

Jace studies your expression, seeing sincerity but also a tinge of something else. Doubt, perhaps? "Just be careful, alright? My uncle can be a little... unpredictable."

"He's... I mean, he actually seems a lot better than I expected. It's a shame you two aren't close."

"Yes, well, some things can't be helped." Jace's eyebrows furrow in thought. "What about that model that he's rumoured to be seeing? He can't keep messing around with her, if he wants you, y/n."

"Oh, I even met her, actually. She's nice. But Aemond says that they're apparently... over. Or... not working out. You know, I'm not sure." You shake your head, not wanting to think about it any further. It isn't really a matter that's been resolved yet.

"Okay, just be careful, alright? You're too good for him, y/n."

"Don't worry about me, Jace." You smile, looping your arm with his as you lean against the counter. "How's the family? How are Luke and Joffrey?"

"Well, Luke is Luke. You know. Gets into a fair share of trouble, what with his penchant for racing cars and all. Bloody well gives mum a heart attack each time he has to do a competition. I think he's coming back tomorrow from some race in Casterly Rock."

"That's our Luke." You sigh fondly.

"And Joff's as sweet as ever. Nearly done with middle school, that one. You're invited to his finishing ceremony, of course."

You smirk at his assurance, "I think Joff should be the one to invite me, no?"

Jace moves to stand in front of you again. "Doesn't matter. I'm the big brother, I say you're in."

He cages you in, with each of his hands on the counter. You then press your forehead against his chest, and he rests his chin atop your head. A position that the two of you have gotten so used to doing. Jace is truly like a brother to you, and he loves you like his actual sister in turn.

"Mmm, I did miss this." You breathe.

Aemond's fist bunches on the table, his book long-forgotten. You and Jacaerys were only friends, right? So why did he have to feel so uneasy?

He stands, not able to watch the scene any longer, and walks over to claim what he thinks should be his.

"Let's go." Aemond's voice pierces the silence, catching you by surprise. You move away from Jace, and throw him a sheepish smile, as if to apologize for Aemond's behaviour.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Jace’s arm drops from your sides, and he takes a step back to keep Aemond’s envy from worsening.

“Won’t you join us for lunch?” You ask Jace. One glance at Aemond, and it’s plain to see that he’s not particularly fond of that idea.

“Nah, you two go ahead. I’ve got some matters to attend to.” Jace is quick to respond. Whether he’s telling the truth, or he just wants to appease Aemond, you remind yourself to ask him about it later.

“Nice seeing you, uncle.” Jace says to Aemond, as he heads for the door.

His hand is already at the doorknob, when he recalls something. He calls out to you, “Y/n, you will be coming to the Dragonstone ball, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet.” You reply. The annual Dragonstone ball is a grand event held by the Targaryens, and almost anyone of repute is sure to be invited. Celebrities, philanthropists, academics. You vaguely recall seeing last year’s ball everywhere in the news. That must have been around the time you first met Helaena, your friendship quickly developing soon after.

“Well if you are, would you - ” Jace begins to say, but he is immediately interrupted by Aemond.

“She’ll be coming with me.” Aemond declares.

“I am?” You say, startled, as you pick up your bag from behind the counter.

“Mmm. You are, darling.”

What the hell?

“See you around, y/n.” Jace relents, taking note of the heightened tension in the room.

As soon as he’s gone, you address the silver-haired scoundrel who was quick to make a decision for you, much to your annoyance. “Listen, sweetheart,” you pat him on the chest, and head for the door, expecting him to follow suit, “it’s not going to be that easy.”

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

The two of you sit in the secluded veranda of a Valyrian restaurant that, unsurprisingly, is owned by the Targaryens. Beautifully gilded tables are nestled in a garden, and Aemond had led you to their best section under an archway. The restaurant had been empty when you arrived, with all the staff standing ready to usher you inside. You suspect that Aemond went ahead and purposefully reserved the entire place for this very afternoon, but you let it slide.

“When is the Dragonstone ball?” you ask, after finishing most of your meal.

“I’d say in around two months. My mother is overseeing everything, as usual, so it’s really all up to her.”

“And,” you lean back, smiling wryly, “apparently, I am going with you?”

Aemond smirks, “Why wouldn’t you?”

You scoff. The ‘Prince of the city’ sure has a pair on him. “I don’t know, Aemond. Maybe because you did not really ask me to come with you.”

His smirk does not fade. He leans forward, taking your hand from across the table, his fingers tracing your skin. Your prideful facade is at risk of breaking, and you wish to simply hold his hand back lovingly.

But you keep a hold of yourself, waiting.

“Darling,” the corner of his lips turn up in amusement, most likely at your rapidly changing expression, “would you do me the honour of being my partner…” He deliberately pauses, taking delight in how your eyes widen, “… to the Dragonstone ball?”

Oh, you little shit. “Mmm,” you swallow, attempting to steel your nerves. Aemond patiently waits for your response, the damage already done. For a split second, he gets the urge to reach for your knee underneath the table.

Perhaps to comfort you. Or solely for his pleasure, adding to your already fluttering heartbeat. Or both.

“Okay,” you clear your throat, “I will go with you. Thank you for asking.”

Aemond smiles brightly, the dimples on his cheeks deepening. “I’m glad, darling.”

Something crosses your mind, and before you can push it down, curiosity gets the better of you. You find yourself asking, “By the way, who did you go with last year?”

His face falls, “You probably already know. Alys.”

“Of course,” you nod, “and the year before that? Her as well?”

“Y/n,” he says sternly, “that’s not of any importance.”

“Won’t she be expecting to go with you again this year?” You ask.

He simply shrugs, “She may have mentioned something recently to that effect.”

“Aemond - ”

“Look, the main reason why I brought her to previous balls was because I’ve always been expected to take a date. It’s just the proper thing to do, to keep up appearances, though I don’t really agree with it. If I were to bring someone, I don’t want to do it out of obligation. And I can finally do that now, with you. I want to be with you, and take you as my partner for the ball.”

How can I argue with that? It’s almost impossible, when his violet eyes blaze at me in the way that they always do.

“I just,” you look away, choosing to admire the way the vines wrap themselves around the archway, to distract yourself from Aemond’s heated gaze, “I don’t want her to feel like she’s being slighted in any way. I don't want her to feel like I’m… stealing you away… or something.”

Aemond smiles, “By all means, steal me away, darling.”

“I’m being serious.” You attempt a stern tone, but it falls flat as soon as you see his smile.

“I was never hers to keep. You, however…”

“What?”

“You’re more than welcome to call me yours, if you wish.”

“Aemond.” You want to scold him for being so forward, not when there are some things that still need to be resolved. But you also want to trust him, to trust in whatever it is the two of you are becoming.

You realize you are already in too deep. How? The possibility of ever losing him is enough to fill your stomach with dread. If Aemond will be yours, then he will also be yours to lose.

And you don’t know what you will do if that happens.

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

The next two weeks pass by in relative bliss. Aemond makes an effort to see you almost every day, visiting you in the bookstore or meeting you after your lectures. You learn more about him in this time, than in the past year you’ve known him. The two of you have always admired each other from afar, but now that Aemond has begun to completely open up to you, it’s as if you’ve known him your whole life.

It's as if he’s one of the pillars holding everything together around you. A comfortable constant. As well as a conflagration, casting his radiance over everything. Aemond is like a magnet, a desirable paradox drawing everyone to him. The amount of looks you get from your fellow students whenever Aemond picks you up from university made you uneasy at first, but you’ve learned to find the humour in it.

Aemond’s smug smirk at their reaction each time he takes your hand, stealing you away, is surely enough to make you feel giddy inside.

Everything seemed too good to be true, and perhaps it was.

The abrupt end to this brief golden period began one evening, as you and Helaena are in her bedroom, perusing through countless gown designs online to wear for the Dragonstone ball.

Aemond had been away on business to a nearby city, and you eagerly await his return. Then a sharp ringing echoes throughout the room, coming from Helaena’s phone, a sound that makes you anxious though you cannot pinpoint why in the moment.

She glances at the screen, before quickly turning to you. “It’s my father.”

“Oh, answer it then.”

“That’s strange,” her face contorts in confusion, “he almost never calls.”

Helaena excuses herself, walking over to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her reflection on the glass is only faintly visible to you, and you struggle to make anything out of the muffled conversation.

A long, torturous minute passes before the call finishes. When Helaena turns to face you, her face is white as a sheet.

You stand, and rush over to her side. “Hel? What is it?”

At your touch, something snaps in her, and she becomes frantic. “It’s… it’s my brother… it’s Aemond… ” She quickly scrambles around the room, putting on her coat and shoes.

“Aemond?” You feel nauseous with worry. “What happened, Hel?”

“I have to get to the hospital. Aemond and Luke got into an accident.”

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

An entire week passes before you hear from any of them. Helaena had rushed off alone to the hospital that night, and while you were desperate to come along and see Aemond, she explained that her parents preferred that only family came to visit.

You understood. Or at least, you tried to. You went home feeling weak all over, and it only worsened when you saw that the accident was already plastered all over the news.

It was reported that Aemond and Lucerys were each driving their cars at dangerous speeds, when one of them must have collided with the other, crashing onto the freeway. It was alleged that Aemond’s car had flipped over multiple times before finally landing down a hill. The extent of their injuries are not made public, probably at the authority of Viserys himself, but the masses have been quick to speculate.

Jace calls you while you are staying home one afternoon, having opted out of attending all your lectures for the day. For the past few days, actually.

“Hey, you,” He greets softly, knowing how you must already be reeling with stress. “Holding up okay?”

“Me? What about you, Jace? How is everyone? How is Luke? Aemond? Fuck, I haven’t heard from anyone.”

He breathes, “We’re fine, y/n. Luke just has a broken leg, but it should heal fine. He does have to put up with a cast for several weeks, though.”

Okay. Luke is alright. But you still can’t let out a sigh of relief, not until…

“What about Aemond?” You ask nervously.

“That’s… another thing.”

“Please just tell me, Jace.”

“Are you home? I’m actually nearby. We should maybe discuss this in person.” He offers.

And only half an hour later, he is standing at your door. You quickly envelop him in a tight hug, and he breathes deeply, feeling comforted by your presence.

Once the two of you are settled on your couch, cups of warm tea held between each of your hands, you begin talking.

“Aemond is fine. For the most part.” He says. “He’s alive and well, but he’s suffered an injury.”

“What injury?”

“He doesn’t want anyone to know, Y/n. At least, not just yet.”

You pause, unsure if you want to press further. You do want to know, but you also want to respect Aemond’s privacy. Besides, if he wanted you to know, he would tell you himself, wouldn’t he?

“I understand,” you relent, sinking into the couch, “I’m just glad they’re okay.”

Jace notices your distress, and reaches for you, “Come here.”

The embrace offers a momentary respite. Your head drops down on his shoulder, and you both enjoy the silence that follows.

“One thing’s for sure,” Jace says after a while, “There’s no way in hell that mum is letting Luke drive again. At least not for a long, long fucking time.”

You smile at that, feeling light for the first time in a while.

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

The Dragonstone ball is once again making its rounds in the media, and this year, it is reported to have been delayed for two more months, allowing the dust to settle over the terrible accident that befell two of the Targaryen heirs.

Just a week after you learn about this piece of news, you finally hear from Aemond.

Your heart skips a beat when his name flashes on the screen, and you pick up your phone with a slightly trembling hand. You press the green button, and lift the phone to one ear.

Nothing. But then, you hear soft breathing at the other end. It’s a silly notion, but you think you recognize those breaths to be his. It can only be him.

“Aemond, I know you’re there.” You say, biting your lip in anticipation.

“Dar…” he cuts himself off, “Y/n. I’m alright, I apologize for only calling you now.”

Coldness seeps in your bones when you notice how he corrected himself. Why?

“It’s alright, Aemond. I’m just relieved that you’re fine. I was so worried, you have no idea.”

The sound of your voice tugs at his heart, one which he sorely missed. He swallows, struggling to bring himself to say what he means to. “I need to tell you something. About the ball… I’ve decided that I should take Alys instead. She was already expecting that she is to be my date, and I just think that it’s rude if I…”

“That’s fine.” You say, far too quickly, not believing your own words. “I… I did consider that. You should take her.”

“Darling,” Aemond finally says, unable to hold back, “I…”

“It’s okay,” you attempt to comfort him, but it’s mostly for your own sake, “I completely understand.”

He takes a deep breath. As he envisions how you must look on the other line, he instantly feels a pang of regret.

“I’ll… I’ll see you around, yeah?” You say, wanting to be done with this damned call.

“Hmm. I’ll see you, darling.”

You throw your phone down on your desk. Feeling numb all over, you make your way to the kitchen, and quickly take a bottle of red bottle from the cabinet. You make quick work of the cork, and pour yourself a hefty amount.

You slosh the liquid around your glass, staring at that familiar shade of maroon.

And sure enough, it brings you back to that night on their balcony.

“For fuck’s sake.” You whisper to yourself. Closing your eyes, you see him.

What happened, Aemond? Have I already lost you?

“How could I?” You say bitterly. “When he was never mine?”

The part two preview that I posted, has been relegated to part three, after much editing. It's meant to be a steamy, little scene that unfolds in the Dragonstone ball.

And I had to work in the tragic injury that Aemond suffers in a way that might be suited to this modern setting. It's just hard for me to picture child on child violence happening here, with one of them taking a brutal dagger to the eye. At least not in this world, which is meant to resemble ours 😂

Oohh and thoughts on Jace? I actually don't intend him to be a love interest for the reader, and more so a genuine friend. But Aemond doesn't need to know that, does he? He surely won't believe it in the events at follow... 😏

Taglist for this series is still open (for now) so comment below if you wish to be added. 🤍

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @bdpst-massacre @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @depressedperson88 @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @noxytopy @louschan @aemondssuit @virginslut08 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @booknerd2004 @sarcasticfangirl @witchyvik @julieeba @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @account3168 @this-is-a-bad-idea @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @its-hopes-world @ririrare @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #midnights #maroon #modern!aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader

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