#the rest are all distant cousins

[birdy-bird27]

I think I need to go to sleep soon my brain is once again is being haunted by the sad thoughts

[lyvhie]

Thoughts on jeno with an impreg kink? I can see him wanting a baby real bad and eventually fucking reader until she’s pregnant…😣

── .✦ nice, full and deep

lee jeno x fem!reader

𓂃 ࣪˖ summary: jeno has always known what he wanted and now he's really fixated on having a baby with you. 𓂃 ࣪˖ cw: smut, mating press, breeding kink, unprotected sex, kinda... kinda possessive words here. 𓂃 ࣪˖ a/n: HII, ANOON!!! it took me a while, but here it is 💐. honestly, this was kinda hard bc bc bc bc im not a fan of breeding, BUT i tried and it was actually fun, i hope you like it 🥺💖 (yes, babies, im changing this layout again, when will i stop 😨)

Jeno never really thought too much about having kids. Sure, he had voiced his desire to build a family with you a few times—it was a big step, but one he was certain he was more than ready to take with you by his side.

But that was it. It wasn’t like he was actively trying to get you pregnant or anything. At least, not until something inside him shifted when he saw you interacting with the kids at the family gathering. The way you effortlessly held his baby niece in your arms, rocking her gently while murmuring soft words, or how you laughed as his little cousins tugged at your hands, begging you to play—it did something to him, something almost primal. Suddenly, the idea of you carrying his child wasn’t just a distant dream. It was a need, a craving that settled deep in his bones.

You're not sure exactly how it happened, all you know is that the moment you stepped inside your house, he was all over you. His hands were firm, almost desperate, as he pushed you toward the bedroom, his lips claiming yours in a feverish kiss, clothes were gone in an instant, discarded with an impressive speed.

And that's where you are now: pinned beneath him, your body folded in half as he pressed your knees against your chest, completely caging you in. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, holding you open as he drove into you, his cock buried impossibly deep, stretching you perfectly. Each thrust pushed you further into the mattress, the sheer weight of him keeping you in place, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You were made for this," he groaned, voice thick with need, his grip tightening on your thighs. The way you stretched around him, the way your body clung to him, pulling him deeper, it drove him insane. "Look at you, taking me so well. You want it, don't you? Want me to fill you up?”

The words sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly. You were too far gone to deny it, too lost in the way he fucked you-fast, rough, relentless, like he was determined to fuck his claim into you. His hips snapped against yours with brutal precision, each thrust forcing desperate moans from your lips as he held you down, making sure you had no choice but to take everything he gave you.

He chuckled, dark and breathless, feeling your reaction. "You like that, hm? I bet you'd look so good carrying my baby," he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips, soft, almost sweet, a contrast to the way he was fucking you. "Gonna make sure it takes," he murmured, punctuating his words with sharp thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix. "Gonna fuck my baby into you, make you so full of me you'll never forget who you belong to.”

His thrusts grew more erratic as he felt himself nearing his orgasm. With a few more deep strokes, he spilled inside you, filling your womb with thick, hot spurts of cum.

Your walls fluttered around him, milking every last drop as he groaned against your skin, his grip on your thighs loosened. The warmth of his release sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you breathless beneath him.

He stayed inside you for a moment, catching his breath, his forehead resting against yours. His hands ran lazily over your body, as if savoring the way you felt beneath him, still trembling from the aftershocks.

"Fuck," he finally muttered, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. "Look at you... all fucked out and full of me,” his fingers trailed down your stomach, pressing lightly just above your navel. "Bet you can feel it, can't you?" He pushed in just enough to make you whimper, your body still sensitive from the intensity of it all.

“Can’t waste a single drop, baby,” he chuckled, leaning down to kiss you and rolling his hips slightly, still impossibly hard inside you as he starts to move again. "Gotta keep you nice and full, make sure it sticks.”

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic idea: The Cousin

Clark had always known that Krypton was an entire planet with more than just a few cities scattered about, but it was a very distant knowledge that he grew up with.

Yes, it was sad that he was among the few Kyptonians left in the universe, but Clark has always considered himself human before anything else. He was Jonathan Kent and Martha Kent's son long before he learned of his identity as Kal-El.

It made him feel guilty that he preferred being Clark Kent to Kal-El, but it was the honest truth, as mean as it was.

Kara had once accused him of not understanding what it mean to have lost their home planet like she did. She often pointed out that his Kryptonese sounded like someone who had learned it as a second language. She also claimed that he was only pretending to be Kryptonian in another argument, and the worst was when she stated he wasn't Kryptonian enough. She raged because she was mourning the loss of her planet and people, and lashing out at him was easier.

He knew that, but it still stung, though not in the way she wanted. It stung because of the guilt: He agreed that he was prouder to be considered an Earthling than a Kryptonian.

He couldn't help that English rested more comfortably on his tongue or the scents of Earth's food were far more appetizing than the meals Kara made (As close to her family's recipes as she could. There were some spices Earth similarly couldn't substitute)

His rocket ship was his parents' attempt to stuff as much of their culture as they could into it before their people were wiped out. He tried hard to learn everything they managed to save, but he didn't connect to it as strongly as he did in history class listening to the USA's humble beginnings.

He felt guilty about that, too.

When they found Kon-El, he let Kara give him a name, only to later discover what Kon in Kryptonian meant. By that point, the clone had built an entire identity out of the name, and seeing his cousin's smug smirk made his insides turn.

He didn't like the clone, but he didn't think the boy deserved that. Though Clark should have done something, eventually, he would help rebrand the name, shifting the translation of the more modern (or it was before Kypton was no more) to an older Kryptonian one. Although Kara acted like he was destroying more of their culture, Clark felt it was better this way.

It was a struggle to be trapped between two worlds, but Clark knew which one he would choose every single time.

Then Bruce found the boy.

As usual, Bruce kept an eye on all major powers, including up-and-coming heroes. He first gained wind of the young hero in Amity Park from a young Wes Weston, who posted daily about Phantom. Since Phantom seemed to fall under the jurisdiction of the Justice League Dark, Clark didn't pay much attention to him.

Bruce had eyes on the young hero and had sent Robin to offer training and support, but the boy seemed much more interested in staying in his own part of the world and fighting the dead. Clark could respect that.

All heroes had an area that was undoubtedly theirs, and Phantom picked the most haunted place in the country to protect. It made sense. Months went by with Bruce occasionally bringing up the boy in meetings, to either update them on his work or praise the child for his missions in that weird, emotionless way Bruce talked as Batman.

Then, one day, Kara barged into the meeting, about to argue for her right to join the Justice League, when her eyes landed on the hologram of Phantom, which was frozen in place. Her mouth opened and closed, eyes wide, before she blurted out, "You found someone from the house of Lor-Van!?"

"What?" Clark sat up, recognizing his mother's maiden name.

"Look at his chest! That's the Lor-Van symbol!" Kara screeched, hope starting to bloom in her eyes. "He's your cousin, Kal. Likely from your mother's young brother! I heard he was attempting to make a rocket on the other side of Kypton, but I never knew if he was successful....but he must have! He has your mother's eyes!"

Clark feels like someone kicked him in the chest. His voice cracks as he asks, "There were other refugees from Kypton?"

Whatever glee was on Kara's face died a painful death as she turned away, hiding her tears. "Not everyone believed Uncle Jor, but not everyone thinks he was lying. They just didn't make it."

The silence in the meeting hall is heavy. Clark is only half aware of his teammates shooting unsure glances between the two aliens until Bruce clears his throat. "If Phantom is truly of house Lor-Van, I think it's time to approach him again, especially since he's a ghost. Anyone with magic can take control of him."

"Oh," Kara's voice is small. "He didn't make it either."

Clark leaps to drag Kara into a hug. She goes willingly, but doesn't hug back as she stays stiff as a board, hiding her face in his chest. "He should have been your age. Makes sense why he's still a teenager."

He doesn't know what to say to make her feel better. Nothing will feel better when you lose your entire world.

"We could go meet him, " he offers instead. Clark feels Kara move her head against his chest in one brisk nod, but it's enough for him to excuse himself from the rest of the League. They wave away his apology, offering to come with them for moral support, but Clark feels it's something he and Kara should be able to handle on their own.

She's crying on her way back to Earth, aiming for the part of the planet that houses Amity Park. Clark could have just had the Zeta beams from the Watch Tower, but he felt a flight would have done her some good.

"I don't know why I'm sad," She laughs wetly. "It's not like he's my cousin. He's a cousin of a cousin. I just thought...."

"I know," he tells her, pretending not to see the flooding tears behind her. Maybe we can find out what happened to him."

Maybe he was raised on Earth before his early death. Maybe Phantom is like me. Clark says, but he hopes. Even if it were a ghost, it would be nice to have someone understand.

The two Supers don't say anything else as they re-enter Earth's skies, and they can spot a ain't green glowing monster fighting against another smaller white glowing figure on the horizon.

[covenofagatha]

Summer Starts With You

Agnes x reader

You're bored at your graduation party until your mom's best friend, Agnes, shows up.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: agnes has a penis, blowjob, sex, age gap, bratty reader, choking, handjob

“So, graduation…what’s next?”

It’s the only question you’ve been asked for the last few months. It’s gotten boring—you’ve lately started switching it up. Sometimes, you’ll tell them that you have absolutely no clue. Other times, you’ll tell them you’re thinking of going on to get your doctorate. 

God forbid they give you more than two seconds after graduating college to figure out the rest of your life. All you know is that you want to have a free summer so you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, with no responsibilities or school or work to worry about. You’re owed at least that. 

You plaster a smile onto your face. “I’m going to probably take a small break, maybe a gap year, and then apply for my Masters.” 

A lie, or maybe not. You don't know yet.

It’s a distant relative you’re talking to, a cousin a few times removed that you haven’t seen in a few years, but for your grad party, your parents pulled out all the stops and invited as many people as they could. It’s a party at their house and guests have been trickling in and out for the past two hours. 

Only one more hour of The Question to go. 

“Don’t take too long in between,” your cousin advises solemnly. “Super hard to get that motivation back.” 

You nod. “That’s what everyone says.” 

There’s people hovering in your periphery, just waiting to talk to you. You told your parents you didn’t want a big thing but of course, this was more about showing their daughter off to everyone rather than actually giving you the small get-together you actually asked for. 

All you want is a break. 

Or someone interesting for you to talk to. 

As if on cue, the front door opens and in walks Agnes O’Connor, one of your mom’s best friends. She’s a detective and you’ve had the hots for her ever since she pulled you over your sophomore year of college for not coming to a complete stop at a stop sign. She had ultimately turned you down after you had flirted for a bit—you could tell she was thinking about it, at least—but she didn’t give you a ticket. A good sign.

That's actually how she met your mom, after you had exaggerated just a little when you told your parents about getting pulled over and your mom had flown into the station in a rage, hellbent on finding the woman who had “accosted” her darling daughter. 

Agnes had explained what really happened—although she left out the flirting; another good sign—and for some reason, that’s what made them click. 

You watch her look around the crowd of people and you lock eyes. She raises a brow and you wink. 

Just because she turned you down the first time, and the second time, and all the other times you’ve tried, doesn’t mean you stop. She’s fun to tease, even if you know it’s probably not going anywhere ever. Plus you see the heat in her eyes, the way she checks you out when she thinks you're not looking. She wants you just as bad, she just has a harder time admitting it to herself.

Agnes walks over into the kitchen where platters of subs, chicken nuggets, and fruit are laid out and she picks up a plate. Her long, dark hair is tied back and she’s wearing a royal-blue checkered shirt with navy pants and black boots. Your vision is glued to the subtle swaying of her ass in those pants that fit her just right and someone says something to you that you completely miss. 

She grabs a sandwich and spoons some watermelon onto her plate and then takes a beer. You feel hope rising in your chest that she’ll come over and save you, but much to your chagrin, she walks over and finds your mom. They strike up a conversation and you’re left having to answer The Question again. 

This time, you tell them that you’re going to try to find a job and the couple says, “Good luck.” You know what that means—you’re not finding a good job right out of college and you better get your ass back in school. 

All of your friends are outside, actually having a good time. You long to join them, but your mom will kill you if you disappear into the backyard, or anywhere. You’ve thought about making a break to your room a few times, but she always stares you down like she knows exactly what you’re thinking and she’s just daring you to try. 

But then Agnes touches your mom’s arm, whispers something in her ear, and walks right past you into the sitting room at the front of the house. It has doors and she’ll be the only one in there. 

“Will you excuse me?” you say to the person you’re talking to now—a neighbor of your parents, maybe a friend of your dad’s—and avoid your mom’s eye contact as you follow Agnes into the room. 

Just as you suspected, it’s only Agnes, and she’s sitting on the gray couch against the wall, right in the middle. Her legs are spread just a bit, the plate of half-eaten food on the end table next to her, and her beer in hand. 

“Thanks for coming, Agnes,” you say as you close the door behind you. She smirks and rakes her eyes over the crop top and definitely too-short jean shorts you’re wearing. “Were you expecting someone in here?” 

She gives you a crooked, wry smile. “Just wanted a little break from the festivities.” It’s not a definitive “yes, I wanted you to follow me,” but you can read between the lines. 

You grin and cross the room in a few long strides and slide right onto her lap sideways, so your thighs are perpendicular on top of hers. You steal the beer bottle and take a swig. 

“Congrats, kid,” she says in a gruff voice and she shifts beneath you. Her lashes are long and you’re so close you think you could count them. Her blue eyes are deep and full of something. You can see her pupils expanding. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing after graduation?” you simper and hand the bottle back to her. 

She huffs and takes it and ignores your fingers blatantly brushing against hers. “Figured you’ve been drowning in that question.” 

You shrug with a coy smile playing on your lips. “I’d happily answer anything you ask.” 

Agnes shifts again and you bite your lip. There’s a hardness—or at least a semi-hardness—in her pants that’s now pressing into your thigh. 

Her cock. 

The outline has been visible before and it makes your head foggy and your cunt wet. You’re not sure when the last time you came not thinking about it was. 

You push your leg further into her cock and she grimaces, but she doesn’t pull away. You can hear people outside talking and you can’t remember if you locked the door. You’re friendly with Agnes in front of others—albeit, not sit-on-her-lap friendly—so it wouldn’t be super damning if someone were to walk in right now, but you don’t want to be interrupted. 

“Did you get me a gift?” you ask teasingly, but there’s no mistaking the heat in your voice. 

Agnes takes a deep breath and she takes a sip of beer before resting the bottle on your thigh. It’s cold and your chest flares. “There’s a card on the gift table. Wrote in it that you shouldn't roll through stop signs.” 

“If it gets you to pull me over again, Agnes, I’d do anything,” you say sweetly and she rolls her eyes fondly. As much as she puts up a front, you know she secretly likes you like this. “But I know something else you can give me.” You wink, just so she knows exactly what you mean, and she scoffs. 

“I’m best friends with your mom and you’re like twenty-five years younger than me,” Agnes points out, as if you can’t feel her erection right now. 

“So?” you breathe, pushing your leg harder against her cock and she presses the bottle harder into your leg with a glare. “Don’t act like that doesn’t turn you on. I can feel you.”  

Agnes grits her teeth. The lines on her face are hardened and you want to drag your tongue over them. “You need to go back out to your party, kid. Your parents will be mad.” But her resolve is weakening, you can tell. 

“Please, Agnes?” you say, giving her puppy-dog eyes. She refuses to look at you so you get out of her lap and sink to your knees on the white carpet in front of her. 

Now she does look at you and there’s no denying the heat in her pupils. You put your hands on her knees and drag them up her thighs until your right hand is right below her bulge. 

“Let me give you what you need,” you plead, taking a chance and laying your fingers over her length. She jolts and bites her lip. 

It’s her, in the end, that unbuckles her belt and unzips her pants for you. She doesn’t take them off, just opens them enough for you to eagerly reach into her boxers and wrap your fingers around her. 

She groans quietly when you pull her out and you’re surprised she made it this long without fucking you if this is the reaction you have on her. Her cock is standing tall in the air, rigid and leaking, and blue veins stretch from the base to right under the head. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper and it’s echoed by her when you start slowly moving your hand up and down her length. You collect the liquid beading at the top to reduce the friction and it works because Agnes’s head drops back onto the couch and her eyes flutter shut from just your hand. 

“I shouldn’t fucking want you this bad,” she spits out, almost as if she’s angry at herself for it, and you chuckle sweetly before rubbing your thumb over her tip. Her hips jerk up. “Your mom would kill me.” 

It should be a turnoff, her mentioning your mother, but something about the forbidden nature of this—and Agnes bringing it up as you're stroking her cock—makes your cunt ache even more. 

“What would she say if she knew you fucked her daughter?” you ask and twist your wrist so she can’t answer the question. She clamps a hand over her mouth because if she makes a loud sound, your mom will know. 

“I don’t fucking care right now,” Agnes growls and a thrill runs through you. She’s leaking copious amounts of precum right now and it’s getting all over your hand and the only thing you want to do is taste her. 

She watches your mouth get closer to her cock and her breathing becomes short and shallow like she can’t actually believe what you’re about to do. 

Your tongue darts out to flick the head and Agnes gasps. You smile up at her and then enclose your lips around her before sucking gently. She moans and it’s muffled by her hand as she struggles to keep eye contact. 

Her hand buries into your hair when you start to move further down her cock, always bobbing back up to give yourself a break and some time, and her fingers tighten but never push. She’s being gentle, even though you can feel the restraint in her thighs. 

One of your hands strokes the bottom half of her cock while you mouth at the top part, dragging your tongue filthily over the tip and tasting the salty precum. You moan softly around her and she screws her eyes shut at the vibrations. 

Agnes is having a really hard time staying quiet and you’re loving every second of it. You almost want her to make noise just so you can know how much you’re affecting her, but her cock is twitching and pulsing and throbbing on your tongue, so you have a good idea. 

There’s an ocean between your legs and you’re a bit worried you’ve soaked through your underwear and shorts. Your entire body is humming with energy and you’ve never felt so alive, even when you take Agnes’s cock all the way down and you feel it hitting the back of your throat. You gag and spit flies out of your mouth and gets on your chin and the bottom of her flannel, but she just whimpers lowly and tugs at your hair as encouragement. 

Her hips thrust up, pushing her cock over and over into your mouth, and more precum is dripping onto your tongue, which you rub on the underside of her length. Her legs spasm and she sharply inhales. 

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” she pants and you chuckle as much as you can with her cock in your mouth, which only makes her whine more. You lose yourself in sucking on her, closing your eyes and getting more enthusiastic with your movements, and you think she’s about to come very soon. 

You open your eyes and look up at her through your hooded lashes and she groans at how you look with her dick in your mouth. The only sounds in the room are her quiet but heavy breathing and your slurping sounds and you wish you were able to hear her falling apart for you properly. 

Maybe next time. 

Your throat is raw but your clit is aching and if you don’t get some relief soon, you’re not sure what will happen. And you have to go back out to your party after this. 

That’s enough for you to pull back with a pop and it takes a moment for the strands connecting your swollen lips to her wet and messy cock to break. You stand up while she watches you, too dazed out with pleasure to ask what you’re doing, and shimmy off your shorts. 

Agnes’s cock lurches forward and spills precum on her shirt when she sees the purple underwear you have on underneath. Can she see how wet they are from there? You can certainly feel it. 

“Do you have—”

She knows what you’re asking for before you finish and she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a gold, square packet. 

You smirk. “Do you always come over to my house with a condom or were you just feeling lucky today?” 

Agnes doesn’t answer; she just tears the wrapper open with her teeth and rolls it onto her cock. You ache for her, you long to feel her inside you, so the moment the condom is on, you’re straddling her lap again, only this time, facing her. 

Her tongue pokes between her teeth as she reaches down between you to pull your panties to the side and then position her cock at your entrance. Even the slight pressure brings you pleasure and you can only imagine what she’ll feel like inside you. 

You move down slowly, pausing after the tip slides inside to adjust to the girth—she’s big, bigger than you realized even when you were sucking her off. Her head drops back again and your forehead falls onto her shoulder, your mouth open-breathing against her flannel as you take her in. Your walls stretch to accommodate and it burns in the best way and you whimper when you feel her finally all inside you. There’s a feeling you’ve never felt before in your stomach, almost like you have to pee, because of how deep her cock is. 

“Fuck, Agnes,” you whine into her shirt and her hands grip onto your hips to hold you still. You can feel her pulsing and she’s holding her breath like she’s afraid to let too much out. 

When you pull back, you see her bottom lip is sucked in between her teeth and the vein in her forehead is throbbing. There’s a pink tint to her cheeks. She’s never looked so hot to you right now. 

“You feel so fucking good,” she groans, voice rough as gravel, and it sends tingles down your spine; you unconsciously clench around her. “Your cunt is so tight. So fucking wet.” 

You nod, not able to put how good she’s filling you into words, and you need to start moving. 

Her fingers dig into your hips when you lift yourself back up, putting your hands around her shoulders to stabilize yourself, and you feel her cock drag against every groove inside your pussy. It’s delicious and mind-blowing and this is the best thing you ever could’ve gotten. 

What are your plans for after graduation? 

Agnes. 

Both of your mouths drop open when you start to slide back down her cock and your warm, wet walls are once again wrapped around her. 

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” Agnes says sternly, but thrusts her hips up so she hits even deeper inside you and that’s the message you choose to listen to.

She gasps when you grind on her and then swirl your hips around and it feels like her cock is swelling inside you. 

Her nails scrape against your skin and you stop going slow because both of you need this so insanely much right now. You start riding her, fast and hard and determined, and she bucks up to meet you each time. 

It’s getting harder to stay silent and you reach down to tug at her left hand and pull it up and around your throat. Her eyes flash, her breath catches, and her rhythm stutters and you’re worried for a second that you’ve gone too far, but her fingers tighten around you, not too much, but just enough to make your thoughts blur. 

The light pressure makes your gasps more breathy, but they’re definitely quieter and Agnes’s lip starts to bleed from how hard she’s biting it while watching you move up and down. You arch your back on the way up and her hand still on your hip claws at you. 

Your walls are clenching furiously, spasming and convulsing around her, and you can feel her pulsing inside of you, too. 

“Agnes, fuck,” you moan and her fingers on your throat tighten, making your vision swim for a second. It only makes you wetter and you can feel the slickness on your inner thighs from the mess leaking out of you. Her pants are going to be soaked. 

She nods frantically, cheeks a bright red now, and you never break eye contact. It’s strangely intimate, but you know how long both of you have been waiting for this. 

If only she had let you blow her for rolling through the stop sign the first time you met her. It could’ve been two years of her cock inside you. 

But in some ways, the wait just makes it better. 

The pressure in your stomach is building and it’s getting harder to keep moving up and down on her and she’s feeling it too, based on how sloppy her thrusts have become. Your breaths intermingle and your forehead is resting against hers, sweat mixing, and you’re so fucking close. 

“Agnes, I’m going to—fuck—I’m gonna come,” you pant out and she laughs breathlessly and the hand on your hip moves down and effortlessly finds your clit. You clench around her with a steel grip and you crash your lips against hers without even thinking so you don’t moan loudly. She groans into your mouth and then her tongue is sliding against your tongue and you momentarily forget that you’re supposed to be riding her. 

Her hand tightens around your throat and you keen into her mouth, clenching, and she keeps rubbing your clit and you’re so close, you’re so fucking close—

“Come for me,” she growls and nips at your bottom lip, drives her hips up, squeezes your throat, and presses hard on your clit. 

That’s all it takes and she swallows all of your moans even though a few escape as you fall apart for her, but you can’t find it in yourself to care that someone outside this room at the party—your party—could come barging in and see you coming all over your mom’s best friend’s cock. Your mind goes blank and your vision goes white and for a moment, the only thing that exists is Agnes. 

She hasn’t come yet and she takes her hand away from your throat, letting air finally rush in unrestricted, and paws at your hips with a desperate look in her eyes. 

“Your mouth,” she whispers like she’s hurt and you quickly get off her, the emptiness gaping in your cunt now, and sink to your knees. 

Agnes rips off the condom and her cock is weeping precum and it looks angry and painful with how red it is. 

She grabs your hair preemptively before you envelope her tip with your mouth and hollow out your cheeks. She lets out a strangled groan, both of you apparently past the point of caring if you get caught, and she throbs on your tongue. 

Agnes pumps her cock in hard and fast and you gag but relax your throat so she can use you however she wants. Her face contorts with pleasure; she’s close, you can see and feel it. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come in your mouth,” she gasps and you nod eagerly, sucking and licking and swallowing around her thick length that’s making your jaw ache. You feel tears gather in your eyes and you’re not sure how you’re going to hide your ruined state from the partygoers. “And you’re going to be a good girl and swallow all of it, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” you garble around her cock. 

Her hips jerk and the vein in her forehead throbs furiously and then she thrusts up one last time, stiffens, and lets out a slow groan, idly moving her hips while she pumps a load of cum into your mouth. It’s salty and hot and you make a muffled sound as more strands keep shooting out. 

You swallow all of it the best you can and Agnes nods approvingly. You can feel some of it leaking out of the corners of your mouth and you hope that none of it is dripping onto your shirt. 

“Fuck, you’re good,” Agnes says despite herself and you hold her cock in your mouth as she softens and then she slides out, fully limp. The praise settles warmly in your cunt.

She leans forward to wipe off the excess cum and holds out her finger to you. You suck her off it and she bites her lip at the feeling. Her spent cock gives a little twitch and you wonder if you’ll get her back in here before the party is over. 

You’re willing to bet that you will. 

Agnes stands up and you scooch back on your knees to give her some space. She tucks her cock back into her boxers and zips her pants before fixing the buckle. Her booted foot slides your jean shorts back over to you and she holds out a hand. 

You reluctantly take it and she pulls you up. You fix your underwear and then put your shorts back on while evaluating Agnes’s pants. There’s a few wet spots, but someone would have to look closely to see them with how dark the fabric is. 

Agnes looks at you and barks out a laugh. “You look well-fucked.” 

And of course, you smirk. 

When you both rejoin the party, no one notices that you came out of the sitting room together, looking significantly more disheveled than before. Thankfully, there was an incident with the dessert that your mom had to take care of, so she didn’t have the chance to send out a search group for you. 

Agnes crumples her plate up and slips the condom in between the folds and throws it away, all physical evidence of your tryst gone. 

You’re pulled into a group of relatives, who are all so excited for you and can’t wait to hear about what you’re going to do next. 

You feel someone’s eyes on you and you look across the room to find Agnes staring at you. You give her a wicked smirk and she raises her bottle of beer. 

A silent toast. 

It’s going to be a fun summer. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @500daysofmarissa @tobeawriter98 @hapuchika

[thatdesigirl17]

tolerate it

theodore x fem!reader

based on the song tolerate it by taylor swift

warnings: arranged marriage, reader being really in love with theo, language, implied cheating, angst, theo having daddy issues

part 2

Theodore’s father had arranged Theo’s marriage with Y/N Y/L/N as soon as Theo had reached his last year at Hogwarts. In his eyes, she was perfect for him, a pureblood Slytherin with an influential family background. Y/N was happy, she had always been attracted to Theo but she wished it was them that had made this decision and not their parents. In a few weeks, Y/N had already fallen for Theo who, on the other hand still seemed cold and distant. Yet, she was determined to make him let down his guard and see how perfect they were together. She had been successful in her endeavours to an extent. Whenever she got the chance, she would sit with her head low and watch him intently, reading for school, observing his face or when they would spend the night together, she would watch him breathe with his eyes closed, his face peaceful and serene. The mere sight of him was a source of comfort for her. Whenever he would be upset, frustrated or even excited, she was glad to be there for him and listen to him vent. Theo had gained a soft spot for her, thinking that he could love her. Even when he didn’t wish to accept that his father was right, he couldn’t deny that Y/N was as close to a perfect fit as he had ever gotten, but the thought of giving in to his father was eating him alive. 

Y/N was completely oblivious to these thoughts of Theo. She was elated that Theo had been reciprocating some of her love. Until they had started fighting, Theo had started calling her a bit too clingy and stating that she always took up too much space and time. That hurt her like a dagger to the heart, she had always been trying to be perfect for him, but she tolerated it. She took all his indiscretions in good fun, she tried to be better and give him space. All of that still didn’t seem to satisfy Theo, if only, it made him take her for granted, it made him assume that he always had her to fall back on. Soon, their arguments became more frequent and Theo returned to his cold and distant self. She started noticing the little things that he had started doing to avoid her and the things he didn’t do, the little things that he used to do earlier that made her feel like he could love her back. Y/N thought it’d be best to go home for the weekend, giving Theo some space and then she would surprise him hoping that it’ll make him a bit happier. 

Theo had accompanied her to the station. ‘I’ll miss you.’, she said, pecking his cheek. She felt him get away from her touch as he said, ‘It’s only the weekend.’ ‘Right.’, she sighed, feigning a small smile. Wordlessly, he turned around and walked away as she made her way back to her carriage. 

While she was set to return to Hogwarts on Monday morning, she had planned to surprise Theo by returning on Sunday evening. She had baked lasagne for him, the recipe for which she had taken from the Nott’s house elf, in an attempt to make it taste like his mother’s. She knew how much he missed her and how this dish was his comfort food when she used to make it for him. She had also bought him a watch that he had had his eye on for a while, ‘only the best for Theo.’, she had said after her cousin noted that it was way too expensive of a gift. 

When she returned to Hogwarts, she made sure to enter the Slytherin common room, when it was the time for the boys’ Quidditch practice. She set her luggage in her dorm and got ready in a dress that Theo had gifted her. She went down to the common room and set up a table in a secluded corner to have some privacy. She laid it all with fancy shit, the silverware, the Italian wine that was Theo’s favourite and the dish in the middle. She sat on one of the chairs which had a clear view of the common room door, waiting for him to return, like she had done several times before. She rested her chin on her hands as she laid her head down on the table. It was almost time for dinner, other students were leaving the common room to go to the Great Hall, but Theo still hadn’t returned. She had an uneasy feeling in her chest as she waited for him, her heart growing heavy with every passing moment. 

Soon, the sound of the door opening made her perk her head up slightly. The scene that unfolded in front of her, made her breath hitch and her heartbeat falter. Theo entered the common room with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of another girl, their faces inches apart as Theo leaned in and whispered something in her ear that made her grin. ‘Theo?’, she called out, the feeling of being broken evident in her voice. Theo turned at the mention of his name, his steps faltering and his hand returning to his side quickly as her eyes met Y/N’s figure slowly standing up from the chair. ‘Y/N, wha-what are you doing here?’, he stuttered, the faintest hint of frustration in his voice. His dead eyes took in the view, the table all set in front of him with the food and wine. ‘What-what is going on? Who is she?’, she scoffed in disbelief, her eyes wandering between the two of them. ‘Y/N…Let me explain. Come with me.’, he started, moving towards her, his hand stretching out to hold hers. She snatched her hand away, shaking her head, ‘If it’s all in my head, tell me now. Tell me I have got it wrong somehow. Were you going to cheat on me?’ 

She searched his face, waiting for an answer, waiting to see the briefest glimpse of remorse or guilt in his emotionless eyes. ‘Or have you done it already?’, she said upon not receiving an answer, looking at him, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes. Theo didn’t meet her gaze, his eyes focussed on the floor, ‘I-I’m sorry.’ ‘Oh, you’re sorry? Is that it?’, she said, her anger taking up over the grief. He looked up, meeting her eyes as the tears rolled down her cheek, ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She sighed in disbelief, her rose-coloured glasses coming off. ‘You have always tolerated me, haven’t you? You never loved me, it was always a facade. A fucking act! All of it!’, she spat, her fist slamming on the table. ‘What did I not do for you? I made you this food that you liked! Bought this wine, this watch you wanted!’, she said, as she flipped over the items, throwing them on the floor as they shattered. ‘Y/N, don’t make a scene. It’s not like that.’, he said, closing his eyes. ‘Oh, you have some fucking nerve, Theodore. I made you my everything, gave you all that I had, and went through all that shit you threw at me. For what? For this?’, she spat coming closer to him, the use of ‘Theodore’ instead of ‘Theo’ making him wince. ‘Anyone else would be lucky to have a person who would love them like this, but you had to throw all of this in the flames didn’t you? My love should’ve been celebrated but you tolerated it. All the while I thought that you were finally coming around.’, she said, every word, every bit of realisation making her heart shatter further, as he shook his head, denying her accusations. 

‘Tell me, Theodore. What would you do, if I left everything? If I break free, take this dagger you put in me and remove it? It would leave you in ruins, you know that. You know your father and what he’s capable of.’, she said. Theo looked up and the mention of his father made him realise how royally he had fucked up. ‘I’m sorry, Y/N. Just talk to me once, please.’, he pleaded. She shook her head, ready to walk away from everything with him, ‘There’s nothing left to talk about, Theodore. It’s all over.’

[starsinthesky5]

so high school || joe burrow x reader 

description: who knew that an unexpected relationship with a guy you never thought you’d be with would be the happiest, healthiest, and most special relationship in your life? it makes you feel like you’re back in high school and have a crush on the sweetest boy you’ve ever met ;)

a/n: completely reworked and basically a brand new version with more plot and detail of the so high school fic from last year ;) also, a much needed little thing to make everyone smile after yesterday’s games and because we all miss mr. joey b so badly

word count: 25k 

warnings: hint of smut, too much fluff to handle, language, suggestive themes. MDNI.

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

You took a deep breath, letting the salty aroma of the ocean fill your lungs as your eyes fluttered shut. The soft, sun-warmed sand moved beneath your toes as you wiggled them, savoring the feeling you had been missing for quite some time. The air around you was alive, carrying a sense of youth and freedom, like the whisper of summers gone by. You heard the soft mew of the seagulls above you, their melody threading through the faint hum of a classic summer pop song floating from distant loudspeakers. The sounds and smells were so familiar, so nostalgic, that for a moment you could almost feel 16 again—back at this very place where every day felt endless, and joy was as simple as sand between your toes and the sun on your skin.

Sweetwater Cove. 

Home.

You were finally home. Not just to the sandy shores and rolling waves of your childhood, but to the one place that had always felt like peace. But home wasn’t just this place. Home was him. It was in his laugh, his smile, and the crinkles around his softening blue eyes whenever they met yours.

“Y/N, they said they’re about 30 minutes away!” Joe called from the patio door, where he had been standing for about five minutes, admiring you in your most natural state—so carefree and light as you relaxed on the beach. “Come inside so we can get everything set up,”.

You took in one final breath of the ocean air before tilting your head back with a grin. “Okayyyy,” you said, looking over at him. You noticed his soft golden locks curling at the ends, looking as if they hadn’t been brushed through in a few hours. It had that “post-ocean water” look—slightly messy from the time you’d spent playing in the waves earlier. But somehow, it was perfect, as if the saltwater and breeze had styled it just right, making him look effortlessly handsome, like he belonged to the sea and this moment with you.

You carefully got up from your spot on the sand, dusting off any clinging to your sunkissed skin, and made your way inside the house, wiping your feet on the mat outside since you had just cleaned. Joe stood at the kitchen counter, sorting through the bags of food he had ordered from one of your favorite restaurants—The Salty Gull. “I’m just gonna put out the quick bites for now so the rest doesn’t get cold,” he says, pulling out the seaside shrimp skewers, tidepool tacos, island BBQ drumsticks, and a few more of your absolute favorite items from their coastal themed menu. 

“Thank you, Joey,” you beamed, your heart fluttering as you watched your boyfriend go all out to make your beach reunion with your cousins special. From the nostalgic spread of food to the goofy high school games—like a spin-the-bottle twist where dares and shots replaced the usual kisses—he’d thought of everything. There were boxes of White Claws, High Noons, and bottles of Fireball, all lined up and ready for fun. And to top it off, he’d curated the perfect playlist of old summer hits, from Hey, Soul Sister to Beauty and the Beat to Party in the U.S.A, each song a reminder of carefree nights you spent here in years past. You couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth fill your body, grateful for how much effort he’d put into making this moment feel just like the good old days.

Every summer, your cousins would come to Sweetwater Cove, your home, for a few weeks of sun-soaked memories. You and your older cousins used to make it a tradition—heading down to the beach together for lazy days, impromptu games till 3 in the morning, and nights filled with drunken laughter and stupid teenage fun that almost had you at the doorstep of the local police station. But as time passed, life and responsibilities crept in, and it became harder and harder to coordinate. The summers grew shorter, and the days of carefree fun began to fade into the background. So, when you told Joe about your precious summers at Sweetwater Cove, how the beach had always been a place of laughter and connection for you, he didn’t hesitate. He was determined to bring some of that magic back, to give you a piece of your past amidst the present since you now lived with him in Ohio. Without a second thought, he took control and made it happen—inviting your cousins to join you for a few days during your beach trip just to see the smile on your face grow a little more. 

You honestly couldn’t get over the fact that Joe just…existed. How could someone be so effortlessly perfect at everything? At being the kind of partner who made your heart race with just a look, who somehow managed to keep you feeling the same butterflies you’d felt the very first time you saw him. It didn’t seem fair that someone could be so good at easily making you feel giddy and adored all at once, like you were falling in love over and over again, every single day. He always thought of you in everything he did, whether it was picking up your favorite snack on his way home from practice without you even asking, or remembering the little stories you told him months ago and threading them into your days like they were part of his own memories. Whether it was planning thoughtful surprises like this week at the Cove, or simply pulling you close in the middle of a conversation because he couldn’t stand to not be touching you. Joe had this way of making you feel like the center of his universe, as if nothing else mattered but you. 

When he told you he wanted to experience the summers you couldn’t stop raving about—the ones you’d talk about for hours with a dreamy smile and that look—you almost fell out of your chair. You had always dreamed of bringing Joe to the Cove, but the timing never seemed quite right. Life always had a way of interfering—whether it was work, commitments, or simply the Cove being at the height of its summer season. Knowing how much Joe valued peace and privacy, you’d never want to drag him out here in the midst of all the tourists, locals, and teenage chaos. But it was as if the stars finally aligned. The moment Joe mentioned wanting to come out here overlapped perfectly with the early off-season break out here—a rare window when the Cove was quiet, the beaches less crowded, and the air filled only with the soft hum of the waves and the occasional call of seagulls. It felt like fate, as if the universe itself had devised a plan to give you this perfect moment to share the place that meant so much to you with the person who meant even more.

You managed to take Joe to all your favorite spots, the first being Landry’s arcade, the place where you set the Cove’s Dance Dance Revolution record at 16 years old, which Joe tried to beat when you took him. But your dance skills were so good for the Quarterback’s precise footwork that you ended up almost breaking your own record. The next place you took him was all of the cute coastal shops along the boardwalk, each one carrying its own story and memory that you told Joe about as you walked hand in hand. He couldn’t stop laughing while you were telling him the story about the cooky old lady that owns the antique shop around the corner and how she busted you and your cousins for trying to sneak onto the pier after it closed. He couldn’t stop laughing, practically doubling over as you told the story. His laughter vibrated through him so hard that he grabbed your arm for support, leaning into you like he might collapse if you told him anything else.  

“She came out of nowhere,” you said, gesturing dramatically, your own laughter slipping through your words. “One second, we thought we were in the clear, making a break for the fences, and then BAM! There she was with her flashlight, yelling, ‘I may be old, but I’m not blind, you little hooligans!’”.

Joe practically howled, his head falling against your shoulder as he clung to your arm like a lifeline. “She actually said hooligans? Oh my god, I can’t—did she come with a cane or something too?”.

“She might as well have!” you laughed, shaking your head. “And then she started lecturing us about how the pier was closed for ‘very good reasons’ and how kids like us were going to bring about the downfall of civilization. I tried to apologize, but then James—of course—tripped over a loose board and knocked over a trash can. And she just froze, pointed her flashlight at us, and yelled, ‘THAT’S IT! I’M CALLING THE COPS! in the most grouchy voice ever,’”. 

At that point, Joe was laughing so hard he was clutching your waist for balance, practically using you as a crutch while you walked past Sully’s Surf Shop, the place where you got your first and only surfboard when you were 13. “There’s no way in hell that actually happened,” he shook his head. 

“I swear!” you said, laughing just as hard now, trying to keep both of you upright. “We ran so fast, we probably looked like Scooby-Doo characters. And now, to this day, every time I walk by her shop, she gives me the dirtiest look,”.  

Joe buried his face into your shoulder, still shaking with laughter. “I can’t breathe. I literally can’t. Please tell me she still has the flashlight,” he managed to say, gasping for air.  

“Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised if she sleeps with it under her pillow,” you joked, and Joe completely melted, his laughter muffled against you as he clung tighter. Something about this trip was making Joe relax in a way he had never before, he was so loose, free, and almost acting like his younger self again. He even looked the part with his backwards cap, unbuttoned beach shirt showing off his toned body, and adorable palm tree swimshorts that you swore must have been from high school with how faded they were. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said between wheezes, his cheeks flushed and his eyes watering. “But honestly, if you were a hooligan, I’d totally be your accomplice,”.  

—

You ended your boardwalk stroll with a meal that could only be described as pure, indulgent bliss. It started with a pile of crispy boardwalk fries—seasoned to perfection with salt and a dash of vinegar and so good that you both couldn’t stop stealing from each other’s pile, even though they were meant to share. Next came a slice of pizza so greasy it basically sparkled in the light, but it was hands-down the tastiest pizza you’d ever had. Every bite was a little piece of heaven, with Joe teasing you for trying to fold your slice like a “real pro”.

To top it all off, you shared a huge cherry slurpee, sipping from the same straw until you both simultaneously winced from a shared brain freeze. Joe groaned dramatically, clutching his forehead, while you couldn’t stop laughing, tears forming in your eyes as the cold pounded through your head. “Why do we do this to ourselves?” he asked, squinting at the slurpee like it had personally backstabbed him.  

“Because it’s worth it and we’re a little crazy,” you shot back with a grin, taking another sip despite the risk.  

Joe shook his head with a grin, his eyes crinkling in that way that made your heart flip. “A little crazy? Speak for yourself. I think I’m full-on insane for letting you convince me this was a good idea,” he said, leaning closer until your shoulders brushed. “You know I hate brain freezes,”.

“And yet,” you challenged with a smirk, “You’re going back for another sip,”.

He rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the twinkle in them as he leaned in and took another exaggerated slurp, making you giggle all over again.

The two of you sat there on the bench overlooking the water, the sunset painting the waves in shades of gold and pink. The sea breeze brushed against your cheeks as you took turns finishing the slurpee, both of you trading playful nudges and stolen glances. At one point, Joe turned to you, his blue eyes soft and unwavering. “You know,” he murmured, “I’d get a hundred brain freezes if it meant making you laugh like that again,”.

Your heart swelled at his words, and without thinking, you leaned in to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. “You’re such a sap,” you whispered against his mouth, smiling at how adorable he was around you.

“Maybe,” he replied, his forehead resting gently against yours. “But only for you,”.

—

The entire week you had already spent here with him made it feel like you were back in high school, going to the same places, eating the same things, and making memories in the same ways as you did with your friends and cousins back when you were just a simple girl running around in your worn out converses. Even Joe felt it—that youthful energy coursing through his veins. But for him, it wasn’t just the beach or the boardwalk or the nostalgia the breeze carried. It was you. It was in the way your eyes lit up every time you showed him a piece of your past, how your laughter was louder than the waves, and how your smile seemed to glow brighter here. Every time he looked at you, he felt it—a rush of unfiltered joy and excitement, like he was living out his own version of those golden summers, all because of you. 

You didn’t realize how long you were staring at Joe until he playfully threw a chip at your face, causing you to flinch and snap free from your little re-run of the past few days. “Did I lose you there?” he laughs while leaning against the oven, a smug grin on his face while he eyes you. 

You tried to hide your embarrassment, your cheeks burning as you realized he had caught you staring at him like that. Even after all these years, the way he looked at you still had the power to make you feel like a nervous teenager with a schoolgirl crush. You quickly looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your voice a little shaky as you tried to recover. “Yeah,” you said, your smile trembling as you fought to play it cool. “What were you saying? Sorry, I…uh…got distracted,”.

“Oh, I just said we should hit the pier later tonight if we can…without breaking and entering,” he made sure to mention that last bit because of your near run-in with the cops for trying to break in a few years ago. “I remember you saying that you guys loved going down there at night since the rides would be the most fun in the dark,”. 

“Oh, it’s a must,” you emphasize, nodding energetically as you start to squirm a little under the intensity of Joe’s gaze. His eyes were locked on you as if he could see straight through you, and it made you feel a little too warm.  

“Mhm. Also, quick question…,”.  

You glance up, trying to act casual as you take a bite of the chip he just tossed your way. “Shoot,” you reply, trying to sound cool and calm.  

“Why were you staring at me like that just now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Did you need to say something?”.

The chip caught in your throat, and you coughed lightly, your cheeks instantly heating up. Joe hopped off the counter with that same teasing grin plastered on his face, closing the distance between you in a way that made your pulse rush.

He leaned down, resting a hand on either side of you on the kitchen island, trapping you in his gaze. “C’mon, babe,” he said softly, his voice dripping with mischief. “You were looking at me like I was the last slice of pizza on Earth. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”.

You fished for an answer, but the way he was looking at you—so smug, so knowing—had your thoughts scrambling. “Oh, no reason,” you giggled nervously, trying to brush it off, but Joe wasn’t buying it.

“No reason?” he repeated, his grin growing as he leaned in closer. His voice dropped an octave, sending a shiver down your spine. “You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like my girl’s got something on her mind,”.

You tried to hold your ground, but between his teasing tone and the way his eyes softened just enough to make your heart flutter, you knew you were done for. “It’s nothing important, I swear,” you said, your voice breathy as you wrapped your arms around his neck in a weak attempt to distract him.

“Sureee,” he says, rolling his eyes in the way he always does when he’s onto you.  

“It was nothing important, I swear,” you insist, planting a quick kiss on his nose to distract him.  

“If you say so,” he replies, his smile softening as he mirrors your action, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You look gorgeous, by the way,”.  

Your heart melts a little at his words, the warmth of his arms around you making everything feel a little more right. “You’re just saying that to get me to tell you why I was staring,” you tease, but the butterflies in your stomach give you away.

All you were wearing was a simple pair of jean shorts and a lilac tank top, nothing fancy, but just enough to catch your boyfriend's eye and make his gaze linger a little longer than usual.

“Or…I’m saying it because you’re making me feel a type of way, wearing something that fits you like skin and is a little,” he begins to say, pulling you closer into him mid-sentence and making your breath hitch, “A little…too sexy to wear before your family comes over,” he finishes, eyeing you like a hungry tiger before launching his mouth towards yours and pulling you in for a kiss. His hand slides up your waist and around to your back as he pushes you deeper into him. Your fingers instinctively found their way into his messy golden locks, pulling gently as his lips moved with yours, every touch igniting a fire under your skin. 

“Mm, Joe,” you breathed out, trying to pull back, but he wasn’t ready to let you go. His lips chased yours, his hand sliding lower to grip your ass firmly, producing a quiet gasp from you.

You smiled against his lips, knowing exactly where his mind was heading. His kisses turned more urgent, his hands more wild, and before you could think twice, he had you backed against the counter. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you effortlessly onto the surface, stepping between your legs with a hungry determination.

You hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his hands roamed your thighs, thumbs grazing the edge of your shorts. His lips didn’t leave yours for a second, his tongue slipping past your lips in a way that left you dizzy, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip before soothing it with a kiss. One of his hands slid to the button of your shorts, fumbling with it as he pressed his body against yours. “Joe,” you whispered breathlessly, cradling his face in your hands to steady yourself. “They’re going to be here soon,”.

His lips trailed to your jaw, then down to your neck, leaving a trail of heat as he hummed against your skin. “We’ll be quick,” he muttered, his voice low and husky as his hand grazed your bare thigh.

You bit your lip, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Quick?” you teased. “The fastest we’ve ever been is thirty minutes, maybe,”.

Joe’s lips curled into a sly grin, his blue eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and challenge as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Then maybe we should break that record,” he murmured, his voice dripping with intent. “I’m pretty good at putting up new stats and breaking records…,”.

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, fiercer this time, igniting every nerve in your body. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he pressed himself firmly against you, his heat burning through the thin fabric of your clothes. The counter beneath you felt cool in contrast, grounding you as he took over every sense you had. “Joe,” you gasped again against his lips, but he silenced you with a teasing nip to your bottom lip. His hands slid under your tank top, his calloused fingers grazing your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“You can’t tease me like that,” he growled softly, his lips trailing down your jawline to your neck, where he nipped and kissed, leaving a path of fire in his wake. “You know I don’t have that kind of patience when it comes to you,”.

You couldn’t help but moan as his lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his hands sliding further up your body, leaving no inch untouched. “Joey, they’re going to be here any minute,” you managed to whisper. 

“Let them wait,” he muttered against your skin, his lips returning to yours in a kiss that made your toes curl. One of his hands slipped back to the waistband of your shorts, unbuttoning them with ease, while his other hand held your hip to keep you steady.

“Joe,” you whimpered, your hands threading through his hair as he tugged your shorts slightly down your thighs, his lips moving to your collarbone.

“I’ll make it fast…we don’t have to go all the way,” he promised, his voice a deep rumble that sent heat pooling low in your belly. His kisses became more desperate, his grip on you firm yet worshipful, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You pulled his face back to yours, catching his lips in another heated kiss, your body already giving in to the magnetic pull he had over you. “We’ll definitely need to continue this later,” you whispered breathlessly against his mouth, your legs tightening around his waist to keep him close.

“You can count on that,” he winked, his voice dripping with promise. His hands slid to your hips, firmly yet tenderly guiding you back against the cool surface of the counter. You leaned back, your heart pounding in anticipation, a grin tugging at your lips as his gaze burned into you, dark and blazing.

A few hours later 

A little later, your cousins—Sydney, James, Bella, and Michael—had finally settled into the house, their laughter and chatter filling the air as if no time had passed since your last reunion. The patio was alive with the sound of glasses clinking, plates being passed around, and waves crashing faintly in the background. The warm glow of string lights above created a cozy, magical ambiance, and the smell of saltwater mixed with the aroma of grilled food floating through the air.  

Non-stop laughter erupted as stories were exchanged, each one more ridiculous than the last. James was crouched over, wiping tears from his eyes after Bella’s exaggerated retelling of her disastrous first date. You took another sip of your drink, a chilled cocktail that Joe had made just for you exactly to your liking, and as your gaze wandered, it landed on him—your boyfriend.  

Joe sat beside you on the loveseat, his presence warm and steady, his hand comfortably entwined with yours as if it had always belonged there. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, grounding you in a way that made your heart swell. He was mid-story—the one he loved to tell over and over, about the first time he saw you—and though you’d heard it a million times, you could barely focus on his words because of how captivating he looked in that moment.  

The soft golden strands of his hair, still a little messy from the ocean breeze, seemed to glow under the twinkling patio lights. His smile was so radiant and bright it felt like the world had stopped spinning just to make room for it, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed sent your heart into overdrive. “And I swear, she nearly fell over when I put my arm around her,” Joe said, his deep, rich laugh echoing through the patio. Everyone joined in, and you groaned, your cheeking turning pink in the light as you playfully swatted at his arm.  

“You don’t have to tell that part every time,” you said, shaking your head but smiling anyway. The memory flooded back to you like a breath of fresh air, the same fluttery feeling filling your chest as it had that day.  

“Oh, come on, it’s the best part,” Joe teased, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against your cheek. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing across your knuckles as he grinned down at you, his eyes holding that unmistakable adoration that made you feel like the only person in the world.  

Sydney rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “I’ve heard this story a dozen times, and it still makes me want to gag. You two are disgustingly cute,” she teased, though the smile on her face betrayed her.  

“Disgustingly perfect is more like it,” Bella chimed in, raising her glass with a dramatic touch. “Seriously, you’re what everyone hopes for but never actually gets. It’s not even fair,”.  

Joe chuckled, his deep laugh vibrating through you as he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed the softest kiss to your knuckles. The simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, and you swore your heart might actually burst into a cloud of pink dust. “Hey, I can’t help it if I got lucky,” he said softly, his eyes locking on yours in a way that made everything else fade into the background.  

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your smile trembling as your chest swelled with affection. “I think I’m the lucky one,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, but Joe caught it. He always caught everything when it came to you.  

His arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you just a little closer, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss so tender it made your eyes sting with happy tears. “Nah,” he murmured, his voice soft and steady. “I wake up every day wondering how I ended up with someone like you. I still don’t believe it’s real sometimes,”.  

The group collectively groaned, though they were all smiling, even Michael, who shook his head in mock irritation. “You two are killing me. Can you at least tone it down while the rest of us sit here single and bitter?”.

Joe laughed, holding you even tighter to double down on his point. “Sorry, guys,” he said, but he didn’t look sorry at all. He looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and in that moment, with your cousins laughing and the ocean breeze swirling around you, you knew you’d never felt more at home.

“I still can’t believe how we ended up together,” you murmured, letting out a soft sigh as you rested your head on Joe’s shoulder. The warmth of his body wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, and your mind drifted back to the day your life had changed forever. It was a memory so vivid and precious that it felt like a favorite song you never got tired of replaying.

Flashback to LSU

You were buried in the library, surrounded by stacks of books as you frantically worked to finish your research paper on Metaphysics for your Philosophy class. Time had completely slipped away from you, your focus so consumed by the material in front of you that you’d completely forgotten about your promise to help your best friend get ready for her date. The only thing keeping you grounded was the big, warm cup of coffee at your side, your lifeline in the chaos. Your eyes darted to the clock hanging above the nearest bookshelf, and your stomach dropped. 2:30. Panic set in as you realized you were supposed to be at your best friend’s apartment ten minutes ago to help her get ready for her big date. The same best friend who, not too subtly, had begged you not to be late this time.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your anxiety hitting you like a moving truck as you scrambled to shut your laptop. Your hands trembled slightly as you shoved your books into your bag, not caring how poorly they were stacked. With one hand clutching your coffee, you darted toward the stairs, your mind racing with everything you still needed to do plus helping your friend for her date.

But, of course, the universe decided to humble you.

At the worst possible time. 

You didn’t see the book cart until your coffee was already mid-air, splattering its contents across a fresh new stack of college textbooks.

“Shit!” you hissed, dropping your bag as you instinctively tried to inspect the damage. Coffee had oozed through the crisp pages, staining them with sticky, brown splashes. Before you could even take another breath, the librarian appeared, her sharp gaze cutting through you like a dagger. “What on earth happened here?” she demanded, the stern look on her face making you want to throw up.

“I…I’m so sorry,” you stuttered, dropping to your knees to salvage the books. But it was no use. The damage was done.

She crossed her arms, her expression hardened with disapproval as her sharp eyes bore into you. “Do you have any idea how expensive these textbooks are?” she snapped, her tone dripping with irritation. “This isn’t some kind of playground. These books aren’t just resources—they’re the foundation of education, invaluable tools for learning. And yet, here they are, drenched in coffee. Do you understand the monetary value of what you’ve just ruined?” Her voice rose slightly with each word, the weight of her frustration pressing down on you like a concrete force. 

“I didn’t mean to!” you said quickly, your face heating up and your breaths getting shorter. “I was in a rush! I wasn’t paying attention, and—,”.

“That’s what they all say,” she said while motioning toward the mess, her tone signaling that she didn’t believe you. “Four completely ruined books. That’ll be at least $500. And that’s if you get lucky…some of these were most definitely brand new,”.

Your stomach dropped. “Five Hundred Dollars? I don’t have that kind of money!” you stared, part of you not believing what she just said. 

The librarian’s gaze flicked to the No Food Or Drinks Allowed sign hanging nearby, and her lips thinned. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before bringing coffee into the library,” she said while adjusting her overly large-glasses.

You swallowed hard, already dreading the inevitable hit to your bank account. Your paycheck from the school store wouldn’t even hit until next week, and it was barely enough to cover your apartment’s rent, let alone $500 worth of textbooks.

“Come with me, young lady,” the librarian said firmly, turning on her heel. “We’ll settle this at the front desk,”.

You stared after her in disbelief, a wave of frustration and dread washing over you. “Oh my god, is this karma for something? Did I accidentally step on a ladybug? Did I hit a bird with my car?” you thought bitterly, your inner thoughts spiraling as humiliation burned hot in your chest.

Letting out a shaky breath, you surrendered to your fate and bent down to pick up your bag, your hands trembling even more as you struggled to compose yourself. The sharp sting of embarrassment felt overwhelming, and you prayed silently that no one else was watching your disaster unfold.

But just as you straightened up, something unexpected happened.

You felt it before you saw it—a warm, strong, and steady arm sliding around your waist, pulling you close with easy confidence. The unexpected touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your breath catching in your throat as your heart skipped a beat. Your mind blanked for a moment, your body freezing as a surge of heat spread across your cheeks.

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Cindy,” a low, silky voice murmured from beside you. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, the kind of voice that could soothe a brewing storm, or command it.

Who’s voice…?

“This is my girlfriend,��� the voice continued smoothly, the words sending a shiver down your spine. “She was rushing to meet me for our date at the FroYo place down the street. Punctuality’s not really her thing…lovebug must’ve lost track of time again because she’s just so focused on school and got a little clumsy,” he laughed, that throaty, rich laugh ever so familiar. “Ain’t that right, lovebug?”. 

You froze, your brain struggling to catch up with the moment. That strong, steady arm wrapped around your waist. That teasing charm lacing his voice. And then, faintly, the scent hit you—a mix of fresh-cut grass and something deeper, richer, like…Soleil Blanc? Tom Ford?  

Your heart thudded wildly in your chest as his arm tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, and against your better judgment, you dared to glance up and one look into those striking blue eyes nearly pushed you down to the ground.   

Joe. Freaking. Burrow.  

Your stomach flipped at the sight of him. His golden hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d just walked off a photo shoot instead of waltzing into your train wreck of a life. His piercing irises sparkled with mischief, framed by those unfairly long lashes that made your knees weak.  

And that smirk. Oh god, that smirk. The one you’d seen a hundred times on highlight reels and posters around campus, but never imagined would be this close. It tugged at the corner of his lips, radiating a kind of confidence that somehow managed to be both devastating and endearing.  

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All you could do was stare, your mind a complete whirlwind of panic, disbelief, and something dangerously close to…attraction. 

Your silence stretched thin, hanging in the air like a tight wire about to snap. The librarian’s eyes were locked on you, her disapproval clear, and Joe—still standing beside you—looked equally curious, but much more patient. Yet, you couldn’t focus on either of them.  

You were utterly and hopelessly distracted by the way Joe’s sharp baby blues—the eyes every girl on campus couldn’t stop whispering about—were fixed on you, as if you were the only thing in the room worth looking at. The way they crinkled at the edges when he smiled, how they seemed to study you, almost like he was trying to figure you out. It was disarming. Dangerous.  

And Joe? He wasn’t immune, either. He couldn’t explain why his gaze refused to leave yours, but something about you had him utterly fascinated. It wasn’t just your beauty—though that was undeniable—but the soft nervousness you bled, the way your lips parted slightly, caught between uncertainty and stubborn determination.  

His fingers flexed gently at your hip, grounding you both, coaxing you out of your daze. The warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of your top, sending a jolt down your spine. “R- right,” you stammered, finally breaking the silence, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Joe’s lips quirked up in an almost invisible smile at your flustered tone, a quiet triumph in his expression. He was enjoying the hell out of this. The librarian mumbled something that you could barely understand because for some reason, standing here under Joe Burrow’s protective arm, you felt like you wanted to disappear into him completely, to hide from the world and just stay where his gaze was soft and his touch felt steady.

“Oh, I see,” Ms. Cindy said, her tone softening immediately. “So this was your fault?”.

“Pretty much,” Joe said with an easy shrug as he looked back at her, his lips now curving into a smile that could probably charm his way out of anything his golden heart desired. “So if someone needs to pay for the books, that’d be me,”.

Why was he helping you? You barely knew each other…you’ve literally never had a conversation with the man before.

“Oh, Joe, that won’t be necessary,” the librarian smiled, her cold demeanor melting into something much gentler. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!” she grinned, her random surge of friendliness catching you off guard and making you confused. What happened to the grouchy old librarian that was about to burn you at the stake for ruining a few textbooks?

Your heart raced as his hand slid up slightly, resting firmly against the small of your back. “Yeah, well, she’s pretty special,” he said, glancing down at you with that smirk that made your knees feel weak. “She’s my most prized possession and my lucky charm…don’t want anyone to jinx her or anything so we’re keeping it lowkey for now,” he nodded, leaning into you even more with that sentence. 

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to nod. “Yup,” you said, your voice coming out shakier than you intended. “That’s me. The…special, lowkey, lucky ch– charm girlfriend,”.

Joe chuckled softly, the sound was so soft and boyish it made your heart swell, his eyes lingering on yours with a look so determined to figure you out it felt like he could see straight through you. “We’re actually running late for our date,” he said, turning to Ms. Cindy as if the words that left his mouth were the most natural things in the world. His arm around your waist shifted slightly, pulling you closer, and the warmth of his touch sent a tingling sensation up your spine. “So we’ll come back later about the books. Right, babe? I got them for you, don’t worry about it,”.

Your heart stuttered at the affection in his vocie, and for a moment, you swore the whole library was spinning. “Uh…yeah!” you blurted, the words tumbling out awkwardly as you leaned further into the role he’d crafted for you, your voice a little too enthusiastic. “That FroYo is definitely calling my name. Sorry about the books, Ms. Cindy,”.

Ms. Cindy waved you off with a kind smile, seemingly charmed by Joe’s presence. “No worries, dear, you two go ahead and enjoy yourselves. You’re only young and in love once,” she said, her tone softer than it had been just moments before.

“In love? Oh my god, if anyone hear’s about this I’m so fucked,” you thought to yourself, feeling like there was about a million eyes on you right now in that library…but in reality, the only eyes on you were those of a man who felt his heart stop the moment you looked at him. 

You barely registered the rest of her parting words. Your entire focus was on Joe—the way his arm remained firmly around your waist, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles against your side in a gesture that almost felt like was to calm your nerves…as if he just knew how you were feeling, and the way his body radiated a constant warmth that made you feel both flustered and oddly safe.

Your thoughts were a chaotic mess. He was too much. Too magnetic, too confident, too…him. The kind of guy you’d want to find in a crowd just so you could hide from him. Because how were you supposed to survive the mere force of his presence without completely melting into a puddle?

—

Joe didn’t let go of you until you were outside, and even then, his hand lingered on your waist, his touch tight and steady. The two of you walked in silence for a moment, your mind racing as you tried to process what had just happened.

Finally, you turned to him, your voice barely above a whisper because you just…didn’t know what to do or say, you were just confused. “Why did you do that?”.

Joe stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His eyes softened as he looked at you, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You looked like you needed a lifeline,” he said simply.

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was to you. “But you don’t even know me,” you said softly.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly. He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “But I figured this was a good place to start,”.

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours. “Besides,” he added, his lips curving into that devastatingly charming smile, “I couldn’t just let you drown back there,”. 

You blinked up at him, completely at a loss for words. Was this real life?

“Thank you, Joe,” you smiled, a warm, fluttering feeling blossoming in your chest. It felt so... high school, like that excited rush when a cute guy notices you for the first time and you can’t help but feel all giggly and nervous at once. You hadn’t felt like this in forever, like butterflies were swarming in your stomach, making everything feel just a little bit lighter. The way he looked at you, his smile, the way he touched you—it was all so perfect.  

It was the kind of innocent excitement you’d only read about in teen romance novels or seen in cheesy rom-coms. And now, here you were, living it, as if you had stepped into your own version of one of those movies. You tried to keep your composure, but you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you met his eyes again. There was something about him—about this—that made you feel like a teenager again, all caught up in the thrill of an unexpected moment.

“Anytime,” he replied easily, slipping his hands into the pockets of his purple LSU football shorts. He tilted his head slightly, a playful glint in his eye. “I didn’t catch your name?”.

“Y/N,” you said softly, watching his reaction.

“Y/N,” he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue with a small smile. “You looked like you needed some saving. And I’m one of Ms. Cindy’s favorites, so I figured I could help,”.

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, what was that about? She was ready to charge me $500, and then you waltz in, and she just forgets it all,”.

Joe laughed, the sound becoming something you craved because every time it filled the air, your smile grew just a little wider. And when it ended, all you wanted was to hear it again. “Me and Ms. Cindy go waaay back,” he said. “She really helped me out when I transferred here from Ohio State and had no idea what I was doing on campus. She’s like my campus mom. I’m pretty much her favorite student ever—helped her out around the library, stayed late during finals week when the textbooks were flying off the shelves, and she was completely overwhelmed. She needed a–,”.  

“A lifeline?” you interrupted, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself, a blush blossoming on your cheeks as your eyes met his.  

Joe paused, his lips parted as if he were about to say something, but nothing came out. He just looked at you, those beautiful blue eyes that were practically glowing in the Lousiana sun locked on yours, his expression caught between surprise and something softer—something that made your heart skip a beat.  

“You seem like a helper, Joe,” you said with a soft giggle, trying to fill the sudden silence, your voice carrying a playful edge. “I like it. Your charm is pretty hard to beat,”.  

“Thanks,” he replied, his grin widening, that dimple of his making an appearance. He shifted on his feet, and for a split second, you could have sworn he looked…nervous?

You blinked in surprise. “Wait. Was he…nervous?” you thought. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a habit you recognized as something you did when you were trying to hide your nerves. The thought made your heart flutter.

Before you could respond, Joe reached for your hand, his fingers entwining with yours. “Come on,” he said, tugging you gently toward the street. “I owe you a FroYo now. It’s part of the whole fake-boyfriend package,”.

Your stomach fluttered at his words, the hot sensation spreading like wildfire through your body. There was absolutely no way the quarterback of the LSU Tigers, QB1 himself, was asking you to get FroYo with him. You? Some random girl he helped at the library, who he’d literally never seen before? The thought made your head spin in the best way because you couldn’t quite figure him out…but part of you was up for the challenge.

“Oh, um…are you sure?” you stammered, still trying to make sense of the situation. “I mean, you probably have somewhere to be, and–,”.

“Actually, I just got done with film study,” Joe interrupted, pausing to turn and look at you again. “And I know you're free too because you're definitely late to wherever you were rushing off to,”.

His words hit you like a gentle wave, washing over you with an unexpected warmth you hadn’t felt in ages. Was he…remembering? Did he actually notice how flustered you’d been earlier—how your actions were rushed and chaotic, your face a mixture of determination and panic? He hadn’t just walked in on the aftermath of your coffee-spilling disaster; he’d seen everything leading up to it. He saw how you were scrambling to stuff your books into your bag, how you quickly glanced at the time before attempting to bolt down the stairs, completely oblivious to the book cart.  

He saw you typing furiously, pausing here and there to sip your coffee while muttering something under your breath—probably a half-formed argument about metaphysics or a prayer to make the paper magically write itself. You stayed silent for a heartbeat, caught up in the realization. His gaze was still on you, unwavering and intense, studying you with a focus that felt both thrilling and scary. It wasn’t just polite attention—it was as if he were memorizing every detail, like the way your hair framed your face, the flush creeping up your neck, and the way your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag.  

You felt like the center of his universe in that moment, and it was almost too much to bear. A million thoughts ran through your head, but the loudest one was a quiet plea: Please don’t stop looking at me like that.

Joe added with a soft laugh, “And I would love to know how we got to where we are right now,”. 

Your mind raced as you processed his words, your thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty and curiosity. The part of you that had been skeptical—telling you this was just some fluke moment—was slowly being drowned out by the urge to throw caution to the wind. “Why not?” you asked yourself. “It’s just FroYo. That’s it,”. 

You took a deep breath, and after a moment's hesitation, you finally gave in. “Okay, let’s get FroYo, boyfriend,” you said with a smile, the words slipping out more easily than you expected.

Joe’s eyes sparkled, clearly pleased with your answer. “That’s the spirit, lovebug,” he said, his fingers giving yours a gentle squeeze as he started to lead you down the street.

An hour later 

“So, you really think aliens are real,” you asked, giggling as you took another bite of your frozen yogurt, a big spoonful of strawberry heading for your mouth. 

“1000%,” Joe replied, his eyes lighting up like a kid talking about his favorite superhero. He gestured with his spoon for emphasis, his passion infectious. “There is no way we’re the only intelligent life in the universe. I refuse to believe it. Aliens are just too advanced to accidentally expose themselves. We probably won’t see them for a while, but they’re out there—plotting or chilling or something,”.  

You smiled, leaning in as if his theories were some secret you weren’t supposed to overhear. You couldn’t help but drink in every word he said, everything he thought, his voice weaving a web of curiosity that had you completely hooked. His confidence, his animated gestures—it was all intoxicating. You’d been high off his energy all evening, but his jokes, sharp and perfectly timed, left you completely lightheaded.  

Every time he made a goofy comment or cracked a grin, it felt like another spark ignited between you two, and you were soaking it up like a sponge. You didn’t even care how ridiculous the alien talk might sound to someone else. For you, it was gold—pure, unfiltered Joe. And honestly, you wanted more of it.  

“Fair point,” you said, laughing again at his adorable rambling. That, combined with the way he looked at you—like you were the most interesting person in the world—had you feeling like you were living in a scene straight out of a teenage rom-com. “Maybe you’re an alien,” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “I mean, I can’t think of any other guy on campus who would randomly help a stranger in the library like you did,”.

Joe grinned at you, that devastatingly charming smile making your heart skip a beat. “Maybe I am,” he said with a playful shrug. “I guess we’ll never know,”. You laughed again for maybe the 50th time in the past hour, shaking your head at his playful banter with you. Why was he making you so giggly? You had never laughed like this around a guy since high school. “What was all that about anyway?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, as if your answer genuinely mattered to him.

“I was writing an essay about metaphysics,” you explained, twirling your spoon absentmindedly, trying to sound casual despite the buzz of excitement from just sitting across from him. “I got so caught up in it that I completely forgot I was supposed to help my friend get ready for her date with this random guy she met at Fred’s,”.  

Joe paused mid-bite, his lips curving into a teasing grin as he raised an eyebrow. “Fred’s? Tigerland Fred’s? The sticky-floor, karaoke-at-2AM Fred’s?”.

“Yup, that one. Where dreams come true—or so she claims,” you said with a laugh, recalling your friend’s drunken rambling about her so-called future boyfriend.  

“Dreams or regrets?” Joe shot back, leaning back in his chair with an amused smirk.  

“Depends on the night,” you quipped, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “But hey, my friend swears this guy’s the real deal. Apparently, they bonded over an argument about the best Super Bowl halftime show. Beyonce and Katy Perry were the options,”.  

Joe’s laugh was as rich as gold, the kind of laugh that made your heart race a little faster. “Classic Fred’s. Nothing says ‘soulmates’ like debating pop queens over a background of spilled beer, drunk as fuck college kids, and bad karaoke,”.

“Right?” you said, giggling. “It’s practically a modern fairytale. Although, personally, I wouldn’t trust any guy from Fred’s unless I saw them leave the bathroom and actually wash their hands,”.  

Joe placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be shocked. “Wow, way to lump us all together. Not all Fred’s patrons are degenerates, thank you very much. I always wash my hands. But I’ll admit—Fred’s bathrooms? Definitely a life experience,”.  

“Oh, so you’re saying you’re one of the ‘good ones,�� huh?” you teased, tilting your head as you studied him with mock skepticism.  

He smirked, leaning forward just slightly, enough to make your pulse quicken. “I’m saying you can trust me,” he replied, his voice dipping into something softer, flirtier. “Fred’s alum and all,”.  

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Hmm, that’s a big claim, Joe. Trust is earned, not handed out like FroYo spoons,”.  

“Fair enough,” he said, his grin widening. He leaned back again, that easy confidence of his radiating off him—that same confidence you’d see during football games. “Tell you what: I’ll prove it to you,”.

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”.

He tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Well, for starters, I’ll make sure you get home safe. And I’ll keep your FroYo topped off if you run out. Bonus points if I don’t spill any on myself,”.  

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Bold strategy. But you’re still on thin ice, Quarterback. What else you got?”.

Joe leaned in again, his body language and tone of voice so clearly meant to tease you. He knew exactly what he was doing. “How about this, I won’t just make tonight fun—I’ll make our next date even better,”.

Oh my god.

You felt like screaming—in a good way. He was serious about this being a date. A real date. It was almost impossible to believe, especially given your less-than-stellar luck in the college dating pool. Most guys you met only seemed interested in hooking up or aiming for a casual friends-with-benefits situation. But Joe? He wasn’t giving off those vibes at all, which, frankly, was surprising considering he was a football player. Joe felt different. The way he was treating you, so effortlessly charming yet undeniably genuine, had you feeling giddy, silly, and shy all at once—like you were 16 again, living out a teenage fantasy of dating the star quarterback. But the truth was, Joe being a football player was the least interesting thing about him.  

It was the little things—the way his nerdy side blazed through when he got excited about something, his genuine charm that felt so real, and his easy, down-to-earth demeanor. He wasn’t trying to impress you with his status or his accomplishments. He was just Joe, and that set him apart from everyone else. Your cheeks burned from the feeling that was encompassing you, and you couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across your face which he noticed. “Next date? You’re already planning ahead, huh? I don’t even remember saying that this,” you said, gesturing to the distance between you two, “This was a date,” you finished.

Joe’s lips curved into a slow, confident smile, and he leaned in slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Oh, come on,” he drawled. “You’re eating FroYo with me, laughing at my terrible jokes, and letting me ramble on about aliens. If this isn’t a date, then I don’t know what is,”.

You bit back a grin, crossing your arms in mock defiance. “Maybe I’m just humoring you,” you said, raising your chin. “Ever think about that, Mr. Quarterback?”.

“Humoring me? Nah,” he said confidently. “You’re way too into this for it to be just that. Admit it, you’re having fun, lovebug,”.

You rolled your eyes, but the blush creeping up your cheeks because of that damn nickname probably betrayed you. “Okay, maybe I’m having a little fun,” you conceded, holding your fingers an inch apart for emphasis.

“See? I knew it,” he said triumphantly. “And for the record, I’ve already decided. This is definitely a date. A pretty damn good one, if I say so myself,”.

“Oh, you’ve decided, huh?” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he leaned forward again, his gaze locking with yours. “But if you need a little more convincing, how about we go ahead and plan that next date? Something tells me you won’t be able to resist saying yes,”.

“Your confidence never wavers, does it?”.

“Duh,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling as they locked onto yours. “I don’t play for just one quarter, Y/N. I’m in it for the full game,”.  

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was racing at a mile a second. “Alright, Mr. Quarterback. Let’s see if you can back all this talk up,”.  

“Oh, I will,” he said with a wink, his confidence so intoxicating it made you feel like you were just like one of those drunk as fuck college kids at Fred’s. “You just keep eating your FroYo and let me handle the rest,”. 

“Deal,” you replied, keeping your tone casual even as your stomach flipped like it was auditioning for the Olympics. Your mind was racing, spiraling over every glance, every word exchanged. You were hyper-aware of the way Joe had been looking at you, his gaze steady and warm, as though he was studying every detail of your face during this not-a-date-but-definitely-a-date FroYo outing.

Meanwhile, Joe was quietly letting out a breath of relief, grateful that you seemed just as interested as he was. He had been silently praying you’d be open to more of this—more of him. He knew it was early, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something special about you. From the moment he’d seen you in the library, flustered but determined, he was drawn in. “You’re interested,” he thought to himself, letting the reassurance wash over him. And why wouldn’t he be hoping? You weren’t like anyone else he’d met.

To Joe, this date—or whatever it was—was unlike any he’d ever been on. It wasn’t forced, and it didn’t feel like a chore to impress you. You were genuine, effortlessly funny, and you weren’t trying to win the title of ‘QB1’s girlfriend’. He’d been on plenty of dates with girls who only cared about the status, who weren’t interested in him beyond the jersey. But with you, it felt different. You made him feel like just Joe, the guy who geeked out about aliens and enjoyed frozen yogurt dates.

And that was all he wanted—a connection that felt real.

So, when you smiled softly at him after your ‘deal’ and took another bite of your FroYo, he couldn’t help but grin to himself. This was already more than he had hoped for, and he couldn’t wait to see what came next.

“Anyways, back to my friend…she was totally fine,” you said with a shrug, the memory making you smirk. “I told her why I was skipping out on helping her, and let’s just say she was more than happy to get ready on her own, considering the reason I bailed,”.

“Glad I wasn’t a point of conflict in her love story,” he said sarcastically. 

“Oh, no. She’s on team Joe already,” you teased, taking a deliberate bite of your FroYo as you watched him with a smirk.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said with a half-laugh, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of his cup. Then, with a curious tilt of his head, he asked, “So, your essay…Metaphysics, right? That’s…?”.

“Aristotle,” you answered smoothly, catching the flicker of recognition on his face.

“Right,” he said, nodding like a student trying to piece together notes from a lecture he half-remembered. “Philosophy class,”.

“Mhm. I’m a sucker for anything psychology, sociology, or philosophy related,” you admitted, your tone light but laced with genuine enthusiasm.

“Nerdy...Good to know,” he teased, a playful smirk lighting up his gorgeous face. You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto your lips. “Says the guy who’s spent half this date convincing me aliens are real,”.

“...Touché,” Joe replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But nerdy or not, I think our second date should be at the art and science museum. They’ve got a pretty sick space exhibit right now—and I hear their psychology section is impressive, too. I’m sure you’d love it,”.  

You couldn't help but feel your heart flutter at the thought of spending more time with Joe. The idea of a second date felt…so right, in fact, that you couldn't help but blurt out, “Okay, how about Saturday night?”.  

Joe leaned back in his seat, his hands resting casually on the table as his eyes flickered with a playful challenge. “Saturday, huh?” he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You want it that bad?”.

“Woah, play it cool, Y/N. This is still Joe Burrow—Joe freaking Burrow. The star quarterback, the guy every girl on campus talks about with that smirk and look in their eyes. Don’t get your hopes up; just be normal,” you told yourself, trying to rein in the butterflies taking flight in your chest. “This might not even go anywhere,” you realized, forcing your overexcited heart to settle. Your mind scrambled for a response, desperate to dilute the intensity of your emotions before they spilled over. You then shrugged nonchalantly, trying to keep your cool even though your stomach was dancing with overexcitement. “Well, you did say you wanted to do this again,” you replied, “I thought I’d get the ball rolling,”.

“I did, didn’t I?” his eyes held yours for a beat longer than usual, and you could feel the shift, the chemistry swirling between the two of you like electricity in the air.

Then, with a sigh, Joe ran a hand through his hair, clearly thinking it through. “Saturday’s not gonna work for me, though,” he said, a slight frown appearing on his face. “Quarterback duties and all—big game that night.” He paused, his eyes searching yours, before adding, “But hey, I’ve got a plan,”.   

Your brow furrowed with a hint of disappointment, but you didn’t show it. You waited for him to continue, your curiosity piqued. He looked at you, that signature smirk returning, “You could come to the game. I can snag you a ticket and I’ll get one for your friend too if you guys wanna sit front row on our side of the stands?”.

You were speechless for a moment, your heart pounding so loudly you swore he could hear it. He was serious. Joe Burrow, the quarterback of the LSU Tigers, wanted you to come to his game—wanted you to be there, front and center, watching him in action. It was something straight out of a fantasy, the kind of moment you’d only ever seen in movies or read about in romance novels.

Your mind raced as you processed it. He’s inviting me to his game. Me. Not one of the picture-perfect girls you thought flocked to him at parties or tried to cozy up for clout, but you. And Joe wasn’t just the quarterback—he was the quarterback. Hot and sexy in a way that almost felt unfair, with that chiseled jawline, broad shoulders, and that effortlessly tousled dirty blonde hair. And yet, he was so much more than just his looks. He was kind, attentive, and so…Joe. 

Despite his talent and fame, he didn’t carry himself with the vanity you’d seen in so many other athletes. He was normal, in the most unique way—someone who could make you laugh over FroYo one second and leave you breathless with a smirk the next. You’d never thought a guy like Joe could exist outside of daydreams, let alone show interest in you.

You could feel your cheeks blush as your gaze shifted back to him. The thought of sitting in Tiger Stadium, watching him play, hearing the crowd roar as he led his team to victory—it suddenly meant so much more. You weren’t going to the game for LSU or the love of football. You were going for Joe, and that realization sent a thrill down your spine.

A tiny, excited laugh escaped you before you could stop it. He was making everything feel so airy, so surreal that it was like you were in a daze. Your pulse quickened, but you kept your voice steady, trying to sound casual as your mind wandered to the game.

You weren’t someone who went to football games often. Sure, you’d catch a game here or there on TV, mostly for the atmosphere and social chatter, but actually going to Tiger Stadium, sitting in the crowd, surrounded by thousands of roaring fans? That wasn’t really your scene. It always felt overwhelming, like you were just a small piece in a sea of chaos. But for Joe? For Joe, it didn’t feel chaotic—it felt meaningful.  

You’d heard the stories about him—how good he was, how he was the star of the team, how he carried the entire state of Louisiana on his shoulders game after game. Even if you weren’t a die-hard fan, you couldn’t help but admire someone so dedicated, so talented. Seeing him on the field, doing what he was so clearly meant to do, was starting to feel like an opportunity you didn’t want to miss.  

But what really struck you was that this wasn’t just about football for him. He wanted you there. Not as just another face in the crowd, but as someone he…cared about. And that meant everything. The idea of sitting in the stands, knowing he’d glance over and see you cheering for him, made your chest tighten with a strange mix of nerves and excitement.  

“I’ve never really gone to the games in person,” you admitted, your voice softer now, a little more vulnerable. “But I think for you, I could make an exception,”.  

Joe’s grin widened, and you saw the flicker of relief in his eyes, like he’d been holding his breath waiting for your answer. “Good,” he said, the warmth in his voice showing his sincerity. “Because I want you there,”.  

He wanted you there. Not just for the game, but for him. And as much as the idea of sitting in a packed stadium might have made you hesitant before, now it felt different. “Sounds perfect. I would love to see you in action up close, Mr. Quarterback. Gotta really make sure you know how to ball and that it’s not all talk,” you teased, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

His grin widened and those adorable crinkles returned around his eyes, “Oh, it’s definitely not just talk,” he shot back with a wink. “But yeah, we’ll do the museum on Sunday. We’ll make it a weekend full of firsts. Your first time watching me play up close, and then our first visit together to the museum,”. 

“Can’t wait,” you said softly, a genuine smile tugging at your lips as you met his gaze. His baby blues seemed to hold a profundity you hadn’t expected, a softness that made your heart skip a beat. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you—something equal parts thrilling and comforting, and you wanted to know what it was so bad. 

This was real, he was real, and this—whatever it was—felt like it was going somewhere exciting. You didn’t know where it would lead, but you were more than ready to find out.

Saturday Night – Tiger Stadium 

“Holy shit, that was a dime!” you screamed, jumping up and down as adrenaline surged through your body. Your voice was barely audible over the deafening roar of Tiger Stadium, but you didn’t care. You grabbed your friend Kyra by the arm, pulling her into your whirlwind of excitement as Joe threw his third touchdown pass of the game, the ball landing perfectly in the receiver's hands like it had been placed there by magic.

“He’s too damn good,” Kyra laughed, her eyes wide with disbelief as she watched Joe and his offense celebrate in the end zone. The energy in the stadium was electric, every cheer and chant echoing through your chest as the clock winded down to zero. Nothing could ever match the energy and electricity in Death Valley whenever Joe Burrow stepped on the field, and you were finally getting a taste of what that actually felt like. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off Joe. He moved across the field with such confidence, his composure unbreakable even in the chaos. Every play was deliberate, every throw accurate, and every moment he spent commanding the field had you mesmerized.

For you, the moment felt like it belonged to Joe—and, in some inexplicable way, to you, too. Watching him tear it up on the field with such precision and swagger was intoxicating. You’d been screaming and cheering so much that your voice was already scratchy, but you didn’t care. This moment wasn’t about you; it was about him.

“I mean, is he even human?” Kyra teased, nudging you as she caught you staring.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was racing from the dopamine boost you were getting. “What can I say? The man knows how to put on a show,” you replied, but inside you were giddy, completely smitten by the way he carried himself. It wasn’t just his talent or his looks, though, let’s face it, those weren’t exactly drawbacks. It was the way he made this larger-than-life moment feel personal, like you were watching him play just for you. 

A personal show. Just for you. 

After dapping up Justin, Joe glanced toward the stands, and for a brief moment, you swore his eyes landed on you…which was his goal. He was looking for you. Looking for the one girl he was trying to impress amongst the thousand that were screaming his name. 

Your breath hitched, the connection between you so brief yet so undeniable that it left you feeling lightheaded. Kyra smirked, clearly noticing. “I seriously can’t believe you’re dating Joe freaking Burrow,” she said, poking you with her elbow.

“Woah, slow down. We’ve been on one date, and we’re not even official,” you replied, though the blush creeping up your cheeks betrayed you.

“Mhm, sure. So, have you picked a wedding date yet? You know, I’d like to save the date early,” she teased with a sly grin.

You groaned, swatting at her arm. “Shut up, Kyra,” you said, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face at the thought of being married to a man like him—someone so…perfect and dreamy. 

“Hey, I’m just saying, you’ve got a front-row seat to the hottest quarterback in college football, and I’d like to thank you for dragging me along to this magical little love story,” she joked with a dramatic wave of her hand. “You two already talk baby names, yet? Seriously, you’d make the cutest kids…just saying,” she wiggled her eyebrows dramatically as she continued with the silly teases that she knew were making you giggly inside. 

You tried to hide your smile, shaking your head at her irritating yet slightly amusing antics, but your laughter caught in your throat when she suddenly froze. “Uhh, he’s walking over here,” she whispered, eyes wide as she looked back and forth.

“What?” you spun around so fast your head nearly whipped off. There he was—Joe, helmet in hand, his grin so wide it could light up the entire stadium. He jogged toward the barricade, his golden brown hair a little messy from the game, and his eyes locked on yours like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Oh my god, he’s coming to you,” Kyra whispered, squeezing your arm before quickly excusing herself. “I’ll, uh, go to the bathroom…Mrs. Quarterback,” she added with a wink before darting away.

Your heart felt like it was about to leap out of your chest as Joe came to a stop right in front of you, his helmet tucked under one arm, his other hand running through his slightly damp hair. His cheeks were flushed, a faint pink that shimmered under the twinkling stadium lights, and his boyish grin made your knees feel like jelly. You couldn’t believe how effortlessly handsome he looked, even after four quarters of football. “Did you have fun?” he asked, slightly out of breath. 

“Are you kidding me?” you said, leaning forward over the barricade, your excitement spilling out before you could stop it. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had at a game. You were…incredible, Joe. I mean, you killed it out there,”. The words rushed out, your voice still buzzing with adrenaline, and your cheeks burned when you realized how starry-eyed you probably sounded.

His grin grew wider, his crinkling eyes softening in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “Thank you,” he said, his tone gentler now, almost intimate, as his gaze swept over you. “And by the way…you look really pretty tonight. That LSU purple and that ‘9’ look amazing on you, lovebug,”.

Your breath hitched for a second, and you felt a shy warmth creep up your neck as his words sank in. Lovebug. That damn nickname sounded so sweet and natural coming from him, like it belonged to you all along. You looked down at the jersey you’d worn just for him, suddenly hyper-aware of how much effort you’d put into looking good tonight. “I’m glad you like it,” you murmured, biting your lip as you met his gaze again. “I think I could get used to this…purple might just be my new favorite color,” you teased, giving him a flirty smile.

“Well, you should wear it more often,” he said, leaning just a little closer over the railing. “You look absolutely gorgeous in purple, so I’m definitely not complaining,”.

Your heart was doing somersaults. Literal Olympic gold medal-winning somersaults because of the way he was looking at you…talking to you. Oh, you were so down bad already. “Thanks, Joey,” you said softly, trying to calm yourself by pulling your eyes from his. 

He noticed your eyes drifting away from him for just a moment, and he wasn’t having it. His hand, warm and calloused from the game, moved up from his hip with purpose. Before you could process what was happening, he cupped your cheek gently but firmly, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “Hey,” he murmured. He tilted your face back toward his, his eyes locking with yours, baby blue and burning under the glow of the stadium lights. “Keep looking at me,”.  

The way he said it—steady, certain, yet laced with something vulnerable—made your breath hitch. You nodded slightly, completely under his spell as your eyes met his again. There was something about the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in this electrifying moment. It was all about him, they were all chanting his name, but here he was with you. You couldn’t help but think how surreal this all felt, like you’d been transported back to high school, standing by the bleachers with your dreamy crush. He made you feel bittersweet 16 all over again, that lovely mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in your chest.

“I like seeing your eyes on me,” he admitted, his thumb brushing just under your cheekbone now, his touch so tender. “It’s distracting, sure, but in the best way. Makes me feel like I did something right tonight,”.  

“Joe,” you whispered, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. “You just threw for three touchdowns. Pretty sure you did everything right tonight,”.  

He playfully rolled his eyes as his hand didn’t move from your face. “Yeah, but those touchdowns were for everyone else,” he said, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “This right here? This is just for me,”.  

You reached up, your fingers brushing against the wrist of the hand that held your face, grounding yourself in him. “You’re making it really hard to think straight,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You didn’t know why you were saying that, but for some reason it felt so right.   

His grin widened, playful and smug, but his eyes stayed soft, still scanning your face like he couldn’t get enough. “Good,” he said simply. “Because you’re all I’ve been thinking about since the moment I saw you,”.  

You opened your lips to say something back, not sure exactly what you would say to that, but before you could he pulled his hand away from your cheek and spoke up again. He rubbed the back of his neck. “So,” he said, “I’ll be wrapped up here in about 30 minutes. If you’re free…maybe we could grab something to eat after?”. 

The way he asked—so casually and confidently—made your heart melt. He wasn’t just the star quarterback right now; he was just a guy, standing in front of a girl…his girl, hoping she’d say yes.

“I’d love to,” you replied without hesitation, not a hint of uncertainty in your voice. You leaned down impulsively, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips, and when you pulled back, his eyes were wide with surprise, his cheeks blushing even deeper under the lights.

“...You’re making it really hard to focus on football right now, lovebug,” he murmured, his voice teasing you on purpose, but his smile showed how smitten he was.

You laughed, your own cheeks blushing as you playfully brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, you better focus because I’m holding you to that dinner,” you shot back, trying to match his playful tone but failing miserably as your voice came out all breathy and soft.

Joe’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer like he physically did not want to look away from, you, and his smile turned into something more tender. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine, “I’ll be there. Just don’t disappear on me, okay?”.

As he jogged back to his team, his steps confident yet light, you couldn’t stop watching him. Every muscle moved with a grace that was almost unfair, and your heart swelled knowing that all of this—the smiles, the teasing, the kiss—was just for you. Tonight wasn’t just a game. Tonight, it felt like a dream. And the best part? Joe Burrow, the star quarterback, wasn’t just part of that dream—he was the dream.

—

Half an hour later, you met Joe outside the stadium. The night air was cool, the buzz of the game still lingering in the distance as fans trickled out from the staidum. Joe stood beside a sleek black car, his bag tucked under one arm and that same lovesick smile lighting up his face. He moved toward you with purpose, opening the car door before you could even reach for it.  

“Getting my car door? Isn’t that sweet?” you thought to yourself, feeling a twinge of surprise at how much the small gesture made your heart flutter.  

“Your chariot awaits,” he teased softly, his free hand brushing lightly against the small of your back as he guided you in.  

“Thank you,” you said, glancing up at him with a shy smile as you slid into the leather seat.  

Joe climbed in beside you, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He quickly reached forward and pressed a button, and you watched as a tinted partition slowly rose, cutting the two of you off from the driver. You raised an eyebrow, about to ask why, but the words disappeared when he turned toward you.  

His arm was around your waist in an instant, his touch carrying something that you hadn’t felt in a very long time, as he pulled you closer. Your knees bumped against his, and his other hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin so softly it sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve been thinking about this all week,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.  

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. Soft but so deliberate, the kiss was everything at once—sweet, needy, electrifying. You felt like the air had been stolen from your lungs, your pulse pounding so hard you thought he might feel it through your skin.  

“No one’s ever had me like this,” you thought as you froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. You’d only known him for a few short days, but something about him made you want to forget about everything, forget that this was still new, to let your hair free in the wind and go with your heart and not your mind.

But then you relaxed, leaning into him as his hand slid up your back, pulling you even closer. Your own hand found its way to the back of his head, your fingers threading through his slightly damp hair as you kissed him back.  

His lips moved with a confidence that made your stomach flip, his tongue brushing against yours, igniting sparks that coursed through your entire body. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline leftover from the game or just the way he made you feel, but you were dizzy with it.  

When his lips left yours and trailed down your neck, you couldn’t stop the quiet gasp that escaped you. His name slipped from your lips like a whispered prayer, “Joe…,”.  

His breath was uneven as he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His swollen lips now coated with some of your cherry red lipgloss as you couldn’t help but stare at him, enchanted by the boyish charm that seemed to be the complete opposite of the intensity he carried.  

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he huffed, like he was still catching his breath. Like you took his breath away. 

Your fingers stayed in his hair, your other hand resting lightly against his chest where you could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat. “Well, I’m glad you finally did,” you whispered as your heart swelled.  

His lips curved into a smile that made your knees weak all over again, the kind of smile that sent a thrill straight down your spine. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, barely above a whisper, leaning in again as if you were drawn by some magnetic force you couldn’t fight even if you wanted to. This kiss wasn’t soft anymore, not that it ever was. It started slow, like a fuse being lit, but it didn’t take long for the fire to burn hotter, fiercer. His hand found your waist again, pulling you against him, and you couldn’t hide the shiver that ran through you as his lips claimed yours with a confidence that made your head spin. “You taste so damn good, you know that?” he mumbled in between the kiss.

“Good enough to come back for seconds?” you questioned as you pulled away from him, your doe eyes making his knees weak. 

He tightened his grip on your waist and brought his lips back to yours. “Oh, I’m not stopping at seconds, lovebug,”.  His kisses trailed from your mouth to your jaw, and then to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his lips and tongue leaving a heated path of want. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you as his teeth grazed your skin, his chuckle vibrating against your neck.  

“Joe,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, laced with need.  

“I know,” he murmured, his voice rough as he buried his face in the crook of your neck for a moment, like he was trying to ground himself. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were darker, his gaze flickering over your pretty face and pinker than ever cheeks. The car hit a soft bump, and it snapped you back to reality for a moment. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your hand brushing his jaw as your eyes fell back to his lips. “This car ride’s about to feel a whole lot longer,”.  

Joe smirked, his lips brushing against yours once more, teasing you but not committing to another kiss just yet. “Patience, lovebug. We’ve got all night,”.  

And as the car continued its journey, you couldn’t help but think again, “Getting my car door? Then pulling me to the backseat so easily? And kissing me in a way that’s definitely going to screw me up forever? Oh, what did I get myself into,”. 

This was either the worst thing you could’ve ever done…or the best. It was brand new, but you were going full throttle. And for some reason, even though there were so many unanswered questions and untouched feelings…it felt so right to be here…like this. 

With him. 

Joe Burrow wasn’t just good at football—he was good at absolutely everything, especially at making you feel like the most desired, cherished, and irresistible girl in the world despite knowing him for such a short amount of time. 

No one’s ever had you, not like him. 

There was something special about Joe. 

End of flashback 

“Oh my god, that was the most embarrassing moment of my life,” you laughed along with your cousins, your cheeks burning from both the memory and the silliness of retelling it. 

Joe chuckled softly beside you, “Embarrassing? Maybe. But it was also the best. Without that moment in the library and that night at the game, we wouldn’t be here,” he said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips again for another soft kiss. 

You smiled at the tenderness in his gesture, but couldn’t resist teasing him. “Who would’ve thought, huh? I seriously thought you’d forget all about me once you got drafted to the Bengals,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him, but there was a hint of genuine vulnerability in your tone.

Joe looked at you, his expression softening as if he could read every hidden fear you ever had. “Forget you?” he repeated, shaking his head slightly before his hand slid over to your thigh, giving it a firm yet reassuring squeeze. “Ditch you for what? I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted—and everything I’ll ever need—right here,”.

Flashback to Draft Night - Athens, Ohio 

The air was thick with anticipation, and you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. It was Draft Night—the night that would change Joe's life, and yours, forever. The tension in the room was electric, but in Joe's eyes, there was a calm certainty. He already knew. He knew he was going to be the first overall pick, and he knew, without a doubt, that Cincinnati was in his future. Earlier that year, before graduation, Joe had turned to you with a rare, serious glint in his eye. He'd told you, with all the confidence in the world, that wherever he ended up, he wanted you there beside him. At the time, you thought he was just joking—playing around with a future you hadn’t fully imagined yet. But now, watching him on the verge of living out his dream, you realized just how serious he'd been.

The realization hit you harder than you expected. This wasn’t some playful promise—it was a commitment. And here, on the edge of this life-changing moment, you felt it for real.

Flashback to Graduation – LSU

After the ceremony ended, the world seemed to slow down for you and Joe. You had just walked across the stage, caps thrown in the air, hands shaking from the excitement and adrenaline. The weight of the future was looming, but there was something undeniably exciting about the unknown ahead. Joe decided to take you back to the FroYo place, the spot where everything had started between the two of you. It felt fitting, like it was full circle. This was where you had your first “unofficial official” date, and now, it seemed, everything was about to change in the blink of a crinkling eye. 

As you both sat down at the same table you had sat at countless times before, the hum of the FroYo machines and the buzz of conversations around you seemed so distant. You were already digging into your frozen treat, trying to make light of the moment. But you could tell, something was on Joe’s mind. His usual confident demeanor had slipped into something more uncertain, more vulnerable. 

He took a deep breath, setting his cup down beside him. His fingers twitched on the edge of his own spoon before he finally spoke, his voice quiet but shaky. “I want to talk to you about something,”.

Immediately, you stopped eating, sensing the shift in his energy. You put your cup down and reached across the table, taking his hand in yours, rubbing your thumb over his skin as a silent reassurance. “What’s up?” you asked softly.

Joe looked at you, his eyes filled with more emotion than you had ever seen. “We just graduated,”.

“That we did,” you chuckled, trying to keep things light, but there was a heaviness in your chest that you couldn’t ignore.

“And I declared for the draft,” he added, his words almost shaky. The weight of that statement hung in the air, and you felt your smile falter. “That you did,” you replied, voice a little quieter now, the realization settling in.

Joe rubbed the back of his neck, clearly struggling to find the right words. He was never one to shy away from a challenge, but this was different. This was his future—and, as you could sense, he wanted it to include you. Without another moment of hesitation, he squeezed your hand. “Come with me.”

“Come with you where?” you giggled nervously, unsure of where this was heading.

“Wherever I end up,” Joe said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “Whichever team drafts me. Come with me. Be with me,”.

Your stomach twisted in knots, and your breath caught in your throat. Was he really asking you this? The future, before so uncertain, suddenly felt incredibly clear—and scary. You had known this day would come—the moment when he would have to leave Louisiana, leave everything behind—but you never really thought about what it would mean for you two. The thought of a breakup, the thought of being left behind, had loomed over you in the back of your mind like a shadow, but now, hearing him speak, you realize that wasn’t his plan at all. He wanted you.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Really?”.

“Really. It’s true, I swear. Scout’s honor,” Joe said with fierce sincerity, squeezing your hand tighter. “I need you with me. I love you so much, and the thought of us being apart is…bullshit. I can’t do this without you, Y/N. I won’t,”

You sat there in stunned silence for a few seconds, trying to process everything. It was so much to take in; the gravity of the situation, the promise in his words. You had been dreaming of a future with him, but this...this was more than just a dream. This was real. You’d be moving with him, wherever he went. You’d be starting this new chapter, side by side, facing everything together. It wasn’t just about football or school anymore. It was about life—your life, together.

You thought about everything—finding a job in whatever city you’d end up in, living together, moving at a new pace, navigating the unknowns that lay ahead. And for the first time, it didn’t seem so scary. It didn’t seem scary because even in the whirlwind of it all, one thing stuck out.

You’d be with him. 

You shifted your gaze to meet his again, locking eyes with the man who, in that moment, had just offered you everything you’d ever dreamed of, everything you never thought possible. His eyes were filled with such intensity, so much hope, and so much love that it made your heart race, each beat echoing in your chest like a drum. You couldn’t help but smile, a soft, tender expression that was just for him. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice full of warmth and certainty. “I’ll go with you,”.

His breath caught in his throat, a moment of disbelief flashing across his face. “Seriously?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were really saying it. 

You nodded, feeling your heart swell with an overwhelming affection that seemed to fill every inch of your being after saying it out loud. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” you replied. Each word carried the weight of everything you felt for him and the future you were about to step into together.

As he stared back at you with those ocean blue eyes, filled with promise and a love so deep it seemed to consume you both, you knew that this was just the beginning.

Flashforward back to Draft Night

“Are you excited?” you ask as you sit next to Joe on the couch. The draft night had taken on a different feel this year, virtual for the most part because of COVID-19, but the electricity between you both was undeniable. It didn’t matter that you weren’t at the event in person. What mattered was that you were together, and the future ahead of you both felt like an open road waiting to be explored.

“Excited, nervous, and a bit scared,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the screen as the pre-program was starting up. You can see the nervous energy in him, that usual cool demeanor slightly cracked, but the way he leans into you and makes sure your legs are touching shows he’s not as worried as he’s letting on.

Joe leans back, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm as he speaks again, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. “You know, it’s hard to put into words how much this means. Getting drafted into the NFL...it’s surreal. But it feels like I’m coming home,”. His eyes meet yours, and there’s a weight to his words, something deeper than just football.

“Home?” you ask, your brow furrowing slightly, even though you know exactly what he means.

“Yeah,” he nods, leaning in just a little closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Cincinnati...Ohio…it’s my home state. There’s also this unfinished business from Ohio State you know, I didn’t get to finish what I started there, but now? Now it feels like I have the chance to go back, make it right,”.

You smile softly, understanding the quiet fire and drive behind his words. You knew how much he’d poured into every moment of his career so far, how his passion for the game ran deeper than anything else. “You’re going to crush it, Joe. This is your chance to rewrite everything. It's not just a new chapter, it's a whole new book,”.

He grins, pulling you closer again, his hands resting on your waist. “It doesn’t feel like just a career move. It feels like a homecoming. A chance to really show people what I’m capable of—what I can do when I’m finally in the right place. And the fact that you're coming with me, that I get to do this with you by my side, makes it feel even more right,”.

The way he looks at you, full of determination and love, makes your heart swell. You knew he was destined for greatness, but hearing it from him, feeling the importance of his hopes and dreams in his words, makes everything feel so real. “We’re in this together,” you remind him, your voice full of certainty. “And you’re going to make them all see exactly why you belong there. Why you’ve always belonged there,”.

He chuckles, pulling you close for a quick kiss, "Thanks for believing in me, lovebug. I think I finally feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be. And that means everything,".

“Sounds about right, Superstar. Your life’s about to change,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as you settle back in next to him.

“Our life,” he corrects, his voice a little more serious now, a touch of possessiveness in it that makes your heart flutter.

Butterflies start to flutter in your belly. “Right, our life,” you repeat, smiling up at him. It wasn’t just about the draft, it was never just about the draft. It was about everything that came after. The life you’d be building, side by side.

“Did you hear back from the job you applied to in Cincy?” he asks, his gaze now fixed solely on you. “Not yet. Should be hearing back tomorrow. Buttt, I talked to one of my connections there, and they said to be expecting a positive answer,” you beam, your excitement unmistakable. There was a certain joy you couldn’t contain knowing you were taking this leap with him—both of you starting a new journey in your careers.

“That’s amazing, Y/N. I’m so proud of you,” he says, pulling you close, his arms tightening around you. His hug feels safe and warm, like everything in the world is aligned and you are right where you need to be. 

You laugh softly as his arms envelop you, “I can’t wait for this, Joe,” you murmur into his chest, your voice full of that sweet anticipation that both of you are holding onto right now.

“Me either. It’s starting to feel real. Like real real,” he admits, his tone laced with childish wonder, as if it’s finally sinking in that your lives are about to change—together.

“Oh, it’ll feel even realer when we go house hunting in Cincy on Sunday,” you tease, your lips curling into a playful smile as you pull away from his embrace slightly. You can’t help but feel giddy about it all. 

Joe rolls his eyes dramatically but then smiles. “Mm, I can’t wait for that fun experience,” he mutters, giving you a mischievous look as if he knows what’s coming. “You better not pick the ugliest place out there,”.

“Oh, you know I have impeccable taste, Joey,” you reply, raising an eyebrow, a flirtatious challenge in your tone. “I’m thinking something with space for a huge bed. You know, somewhere with plenty of room for...you know, us,”.

His eyes flicker with something deeper now, a kind of heat that makes you both pause, the air between you thickening. “A big bed, huh?” he says, the suggestiveness in his voice making your skin burn. “I can’t wait to keep you in bed all day, every day. You think I’ll be able to get any work done? Or are you going to have me distracted in other ways?”

You laugh softly, your cheeks flushing at the thought of having all the time, privacy, and space to do whatever the hell you wanted with each other. “You’re incorrigible,” you say, biting your lip as you look into his eyes, both of you sharing a knowing look. 

Joe’s smirk deepens as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your ear with a teasing whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. “Seriously, though,” he murmurs, “I can’t wait to have you all to myself in our place. We’ll make it ours... every single inch. And I’ll keep you in bed all day, every day, if that’s what you want. No interruptions, just us,”.

A rush of heat floods through you, the playful banter turning into something much more intense so quickly. Your pulse quickens, and you meet his eyes, feeling the weight of his words as they settle into your chest. “I think I could definitely get used to that,” you reply, your voice teasing, yet laced with a quiet promise of your own that you’d follow him wherever he wanted the both of you to go. 

Joe’s fingers trail down your side, his touch light but calculated because he knows exactly how to set you off, and he leans in, his lips grazing yours with just enough pressure to make your heart skip a beat. “Oh, you will,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and heavy. “You’ll be begging for it by the time I’m done with you, I can’t wait”.

His words, so confident, so sure of what’s to come, send a thrilling shiver through your entire body. You pull him closer, unable to resist the pull between you, and his lips meet yours again, but this time, there’s an undeniable hunger to the kiss. It’s deep, passionate, and promises so much more than just a kiss—it promises everything.

As you pull away, breathless and flushed, the reality of what’s coming settles over you both. The house, your new life, the future you’ll share together. It’s all so vivid now, so real, and you can’t help but grin as you gaze up at him. "I can't wait for any of it either," you whisper, your voice thick with anticipation, knowing that what you two shared was about to get a whole lot more intense, and you were more than ready for it.

End of flashback 

“Aww, you guys are so cute,” Sydney coos, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches the way you and Joe interact with each other. “You guys just exude young and hopelessly in love energy and I’m so obsessed with it,” she smiles, raising her drink glass in the air as if she’s toasting to it. 

“Agreed,” James adds with a grin, leaning back in his chair as he takes a sip of his drink. “I’ve never seen Y/N happier and freer like she is with you, Joe. You really just…get her,”. 

Joe looks over at you, his smile lighting up his whole face. “Well, I’m lucky to have her,” he says, his voice filled with so much love and endearment for you that it makes you shy, prompting you to stuff your face in the crook of his neck. 

You can’t help but grin, though; your heart swelling with so much love that it’s almost overwhelming. Being surrounded by your favorite family members, in the arms of the love of your life…it couldn’t get better than this for you. You meet his gaze, the kind of look that’s full of so much comfort, trust, and everything you’ve ever needed. No one has truly ever had you, not like Joe has. He brings out the best in you; you’ve felt it since day one. You can see it reflected in the way everyone else looks at the two of you—everyone can see how much he completes you, how much you’ve blossomed with him by your side.

—

Later, everyone heads back inside, naturally breaking off into their own little groups for some well-deserved downtime. The guys sprawl across the couch, eagerly setting up for a nostalgic session of Grand Theft Auto, while you, Sydney, and Bella gravitate to the kitchen island. With glasses of wine in hand, the three of you settle into the comforting flow of girl talk, sharing laughs and stories.

From where you're sitting, you catch a glimpse of Joe on the couch, his eyes bright and glued to the TV screen as he fumbles with the controller. His excitement is palpable, his boyish grin stretching wide as he banters with the guys. It’s so unguarded and carefree that it makes your chest warm. You stifle a giggle, watching him bounce slightly in his seat like a kid on Christmas morning. “God, he’s so cute when he’s like this,” you mutter, the words slipping out as you absentmindedly sip your wine.

Sydney raises an eyebrow, grinning. “You’re, like, disgustingly in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” you say with a laugh, glancing back over at him. He’s furiously pressing buttons, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, but that goofy grin of his hasn’t faded. 

“So high school,” you grin, the fondness in your tone making the other two girls laugh.

Bella nudges your arm, smirking. “What’s the story? That sounded suspiciously nostalgic,”.

You freeze at Bella’s question, your cheeks instantly turning red. The memory that popped into your head wasn’t just nostalgic—it was scandalous, the kind of thing Joe would absolutely kill you for sharing. 

Flashback to a few years ago

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and you’d just gotten back from lunch with friends—the little lunch date much needed after the jam-packed past few weeks you’d had with work, Joe, and football. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the TV and the familiar chatter of Joe’s voice, mixed with laughter from his high school friends through his headset.  

As you walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, you spotted him lounging on the couch, completely absorbed in the game. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, the fabric clinging to his shoulders in a way that drew your eye. His legs were spread in that effortlessly confident way he always seemed to sit, and the sight sent a small flutter through your stomach. When he noticed you, Joe muted his headset and placed it around his neck. “Hey, babe,” he greeted with an easy smile. “How was lunch?”. 

“Good,” you replied, stepping closer. “The usual gossip, shit-talking, Becca venting about how she’s tired of waiting for Lance to propose but doesn’t have the courage to say something, and too many mimosas,”.  

His gaze lingered as he nodded, completely used to the subjects you and your friends would cover during these lunches as you moved to sit beside him, a playful flicker lighting his eyes. “You look really good,” he said, the only thing he truly cared about was how gorgeous you looked.

You couldn’t help but grin, brushing his comment off with a teasing, “Thanks,” though your cheeks warmed at the way he was looking at you. As you leaned back into the couch, your flowy pink skirt shifted higher on your thighs. Joe’s eyes flicked down for the shortest moment before he smirked, his hand resting casually on your knee. His fingers traced lazy circles, light, and teasing, moving a fraction higher with each pass.  

“Joe,” you murmured softly, your tone a mix of warning and intrigue.  

“It’s fine,” he assured, his voice dipping lower. His hand slid higher, brushing the edge of your skirt. “They can’t see or hear. And besides…,” he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You owe me for this morning,”.  

Your breath caught at the reminder. That morning, you’d left him with just enough to keep him on edge, teasing him with a brief but intense moment before you rushed out the door. Now, it seemed he wasn’t planning on letting you off so easily.  

Joe leaned back into his casual pose again, headset in place, controller in hand. To anyone watching, he looked completely focused on the game. But the way his hand trailed higher, slipping under the hem of your skirt to brush against your bare thigh, told a very different story. “Joe,” you whispered again, your voice trembling as his fingers grazed your skin, igniting a fire that spread through your whole body.  

“Relax,” Joe said, his voice so calm and unbothered it made your skin tingle. “Just sit back and enjoy.” His hand moved higher, fingers warm against your bare skin as they brushed the edge of your panties. Your breath caught as he let them linger there, teasing you with the promise of more. Slowly, he hooked a finger under the fabric, tugging it aside to expose your heat. The slight movement sent a shiver through you, anticipation pumping in your veins.  

“Already this wet?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the chatter of his friends in his headset. There was pleasure in his tone, but also something darker, something possessive that made your cheeks flush. He knew he was the only one that got you like this, that had you like this. 

When his finger slid inside you, the slow motion made you gasp softly. He was torturously unhurried, his pace designed to drive you insane. You bit down hard on your lip, struggling to hold back the sound building in your throat. His finger curled slightly, finding the spot that made your thighs tremble, and he stayed there, pressing just enough to send a shockwave through your body. Your hips bucked instinctively, seeking more, and his smirk deepened. “Careful,” he whispered, his eyes flicking to you briefly. “They might hear you,” he smirked, hitting unmute and sliding his headset back onto his ears.

“Oh my god, he’s insane,” you thought, your eyes widening as Joe continued chatting with his friends like nothing was happening. The ease in his voice was maddening, especially considering his hand was all over you right now. You shifted slightly, trying to keep your composure, but the intensity of his touch made it nearly impossible.

What if they heard you? The thought alone sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, mortification and arousal swirling together in your chest. If they found out, you’d never be able to look them in the eye again—hell, you’d probably never show your face in Athens again. But Joe didn’t seem to care. His thumb slid to your clit, brushing over it with precision. The sensation hit like a jolt of electricity, sharp and immediate, pulling a gasp from your lips that you barely managed to stifle.

You gripped the fabric of your skirt in desperation, trying to ground yourself as the pleasure threatened to consume you. His finger pressed deeper, the slow, deliberate rhythm making your pulse race. He wasn’t in a hurry—oh no. He moved as if he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction he coaxed from you.

You clenched your fists, your breaths coming faster, and your head fell back against the couch. Joe added a second finger, the stretch making you gasp again. He began to pump them in and out, the pace steady but building, each movement sending you closer to the edge. “Joe,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible. Your body was trembling, heat coiling tightly in your core as he worked you over with such skill only he could have.  

“I know, baby,” he murmured after muting himself again, his voice low and full of satisfaction. “I’ve got you,”.  

His thumb circled your clit in time with the thrust of his fingers, the rhythm perfect and unrelenting. The pressure built and built, a tight knot of pleasure in your belly threatening to snap. Your thighs shook as you tried to stay quiet, but every motion, every touch made it harder.  Joe turned his head slightly, pretending to adjust his headset as he leaned closer. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Just a little more,”.  

The sound of his voice and the way his fingers moved inside you sent you spiraling. The tension in your body reached its breaking point, and your hips bucked against his hand as the climax tore through you. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your entire body trembling with the force of it. You bit down on your lip, muffling the cry that escaped, but Joe wasn’t satisfied. His fingers slowed but didn’t stop, dragging out every last wave of your release until you were left trembling and motionless against the couch.  

When he finally withdrew his hand, he brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked on yours as he licked them clean, his expression filled with smug satisfaction.  

He picked up his controller again like nothing had happened, unmuting his headset and rejoining the conversation with his friends. His voice was casual, easy, as if he hadn’t just unraveled you completely.  

You sat there, trying to catch your breath, your body still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened. Joe leaned over, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “That’s better,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your flushed cheek, his tone so smug it made your face feel like it was on fire. 

His hand brushed your thigh one last time, a teasing reminder of what he’d just done, before he returned his full attention to the game. Meanwhile, you were left trying to steady yourself, still spinning from the way he’d left you completely undone.  

End of flashback 

You smile fondly at him after snapping back to the present, watching as he gets into “game mode” like he always does. It’s these moments, the little, playful ones, that make you realize just how lucky you are. The fact that he’s so fun, so carefree, yet still so committed to you—everything about him just feels right. It’s like you’ve found your person, and that feeling never gets old.

“It’s nothing, I promise,” you smile back at your cousins, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Just a little moment between us that I remembered,”. 

Bella raises an eyebrow playfully as she looks at Sydney while taking a sip of her wine, lucky for you they know you too well and know exactly what you were daydreaming about and decided to skip right over it. “Joe’s a really great guy,” she says, her voice soft and sincere as she smoothly switches the topic. 

“Mhm, he really meshes with everyone so well,” Sydney adds, nodding thoughtfully. She pops a chip into her mouth, chewing slowly as she watches Joe laughing with your other cousins in the living room. “I swear, it’s like he’s known all of us since we were little. I mean, them on the couch is a splitting image of all of us from our summers here,”.

You smile, feeling a swell of pride in your chest as you look over at Joe. He’s so comfortable, so at ease with everyone around him, so in tune with your family as if they were his own—which he always told you they were. “He does,” you agree. “It’s one of the things I love most about him, how natural he is with everyone. He just fits,”.

Bella smirks and leans in as she glances back from Joe to you, “Anddd, he’s absolutely amazing to you,” she says, her grin widening. “It was so sweet of him to call us all over here because he knew how much you missed the summers here from our childhood. He’s such a sweetheart, like your real-life prince charming—the kind of guy you used to dream about in high school, right? Tall, starry eyes, broad shoulders, those adorable crinkles around his eyes, a football player to act like fire to your ice,”.

A blush creeps up your face, and you shift slightly in your seat, suddenly feeling shy under the weight of their words. But there’s a sense of warmth and safety in their teasing, and it only makes you think of Joe that much more fondly. “He’s...he’s just so normal, you know?” you say, your voice so featherlight which was always expected when you talk about him. “Even though he’s a millionaire NFL quarterback, he never lets it get to his head. He’s just...Joe. And that’s more than enough for me,”.

Sydney pats your thigh gently, “And he is absolutely head over heels in love with you. Like, you can see it in everything he does, Y/N. It’s impossible not to,”.

“Yeah, he really is,” you reply, your heart gushing with affection. You take a sip of your wine, but it’s not enough to quiet the warmth blossoming in your chest at the thought of him.

Sydney leans in, her eyes twinkling with curiosity as she tries to dig for something that had been on her mind for quite some time now when it comes to you and Joe. “I mean, it’s been what? Five, six years now?”.

“Yup,” Bella responds, giving a knowing glance to you and Sydney. 

Sydney chuckles, shaking her head. “Five, almost six years, and you’re still grinning like it’s the first day you two met. I mean, look at you. This is it, Y/N. This is the real deal,”.

Before you can respond, Bella jumps in with a dramatic flourish. “Here comes the bride!” she sings, mimicking a slow dance and causing you to break into laughter, unable to keep the giggles from escaping. Your cousins are both so playfully dramatic, but you wouldn’t trade them for anything. They knew how to make you feel loved and supported, especially when it came to Joe.  

“Bella, you’re too much,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at her antics but secretly enjoying the teasing. 

“Seriously though, is there a wedding in your near future?” Sydney asks, her tone more playful but still full of curiosity, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Don’t keep us in suspense, baby cousin. I need to know if I need to order cardboard cut-outs of Joe’s face for the bachelorette party ahead of time,”.

You glance over at Joe, who’s still lost in the game, chatting with your cousins, his laugh echoing in the room. The sight of him, so happy and nonchalant, makes your heart skip a beat. You smile to yourself before looking back at your cousins, a soft warmth spreading through you as you answer their questions. “Actually, yeah,” you say, your voice soft but full of certainty. “We’ve talked about it,”.

Both Sydney and Bella’s faces light up in unison, their expressions radiating pure, unfiltered joy. Bella lets out an excited squeal while Sydney leans forward and clutches your forearm, her eyes wide. “No way,” she says, a grin spreading across her face. “You’re seriously talking about getting married?”.

You nod, your smile growing as you feel the full weight of the moment. The future, the life with Joe you had planned out when you first came to Ohio with him, it’s all starting to feel so real. “I really think the idea of marrying me popped into his head the moment we met,” you giggled, “But it’s something we’re both excited about and I can’t imagine my life without him, and he feels the same way,” you smile, floating back to the memory of the moment the topic was first brought up.

Flashback to last summer 

The sun was high in the sky, its warmth wrapping around you like a comforting blanket as you lounged on the pool chair. The soft creak of the chair beneath you paired with the rhythmic chirping of cicadas created a soothing soundtrack to the lazy summer afternoon. With your eyes closed and a peaceful smile on your lips, you let the gentle hum of summer wash over you.

The moment’s peace was interrupted by the faint dip of the chair beside you. You opened your eyes to see Joe kneeling next to you, his mischievous grin making your heart skip a beat. “Think you can make some room?” he asked, his tone playful, a wink punctuating his words.

Without hesitation, you smiled back and spread your legs slightly. “Always,” you replied, the playful tension building between you like the rising heat of the day.

Joe slid into the space between your legs, resting the back of his head softly against your belly. His arms encircled your thighs, holding you close, and you instinctively ran your fingers through his sunlit hair. The golden strands were soft beneath your fingertips, and a contented sigh escaped your lips as you let yourself relax completely. For a few moments, the two of you simply existed in each other’s presence, your heartbeats syncing in the quiet intimacy of the afternoon. Then, breaking the silence, Joe’s voice drifted up to you.

“Do you wanna get married?”.

The casualness of his tone caught you completely off guard. You blinked, lifting your head slightly to make sure you hadn’t misheard him. “What?” you asked, your eyes widening as you tried to see if he was serious.

“I said, do you wanna get married?” he repeated with a little laugh, shifting slightly so his head now rested against your chest. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, his eyes peeking up at you with a mixture of vulnerability and charm.

You chuckled, your surprise giving way to amusement. “Is this your way of proposing?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you looked down at him.

Joe laughed at your lack of faith, did you seriously think that this is how he’d ask the love of his life, his favorite girl, to be his forever girl? “Not exactly. I don’t have a ring yet, and when I do propose, trust me—it’ll be a moment you’ll never forget. But I still want to know…would you want to marry me?”.

The question lingered in the air, and for a heartbeat, everything else seemed to fade. You could barely believe this was happening. You’d imagined your wedding day countless times before, wondered about the person who’d stand by your side, and now, here he was. Joe. Your boyfriend. Your best friend. Your everything.

The man you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl, the man who knew what he wanted and got her with such ease, confidence, and a love that knew no limits. 

“Of course I would,” you smiled, the words slipping out of your mouth so effortlessly, like they had always been meant to be spoken. But as you said them, a whirlwind of emotions surged through you, leaving your heart racing in a way you hadn’t expected. 

At that moment, it wasn’t just a simple response. It was everything you’d ever dreamed of; the feeling of being seen, loved, and cherished by the one person who had truly captured your heart. You couldn’t help but admire how far the two of you had come, from the innocent coffee spill in the library to this beautiful, heart-stopping moment when Joe was asking you if you wanted to marry him. You’d spent your whole life imagining what it would be like, dreaming of the perfect person to share your future with, and here he was, your person, looking up at you with so much love and hope in his eyes. It felt like your heart had exploded, radiating warmth and love that stretched through every inch of your being.

The weight of his question hung in the air, and you realized that this wasn’t just about the moment—it was about the entire future that was waiting for you both. The life you had always wanted, with the person you had always dreamed of. And as you looked down at Joe, his gentle smile and the sincerity in his eyes made you certain that this was it. You were ready.

“I couldn’t think of a better person to spend my life with,” you added, your voice soft but filled with certainty. The love you had for him was undeniable, and the realization that he wanted you beside him for the rest of your lives made you feel like the luckiest person on earth.

Joe’s eyes lit up, his grin wide and genuine. He half-expected you to say something half-assed and brush it off because even though he knew you loved him more than anything in the world, he always got in his head. “Really?” he asked. 

“Really,” you replied, your heart swelling as you smiled back at him. “You’re my dream guy, Joe. Everything about you…just works for me. The way you love me, make me smile when I feel like the walls are caving in, the way your physical presence just brings me back down to earth. And I can’t forget the way you make me laugh when I’m on the verge of tears, or the way you make me feel so young…like I’m in high school every time I look at you and those gorgeous starry eyes. And I’m so glad I spilled that coffee on your textbooks in the library at LSU—it brought me to you. The best thing that could have ever happened to me,”.

Joe chuckled, his shoulders shaking lightly against you as he pressed a soft kiss to your chest. “Best accident of your life,” he murmured.

You ran your fingers gently along his back, the weight of his words settling into your heart. “I know life’s a little crazy right now with football and everything,” you said, your voice soft. “Focus on your goals, okay? And when the time is right…I’ll be here,”.

Joe lifted his head from your chest, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He moved closer, pressing soft kisses to your lips, one after another, each one filled with so much love and promise. “I love you so much,” he murmured between kisses.

“I love you too, future husband,” you whispered, and as Joe kissed you again, this time with a little more passion, you couldn’t help but feel that everything had already fallen into place. The dream of your future, of marriage, of a life with Joe, was no longer just a fantasy—it was becoming your reality piece by piece.

End of flashback 

You blush, the memory and the weight of your cousin’s words from tonight feeling like an affirmation of everything you’ve always wanted. You look back over at Joe, watching as he finally notices the three of you watching him. He grins, his eyes softening when they meet yours. It’s that familiar look—filled with love, trust, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

“I think I’ve found my forever,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else. You know it, and they do too.

“Awwww,” your cousins say in unison, their voices dripping with excitement for you and Joe.

You laugh softly, trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck, but you can’t help the wide smile that spreads across your face. “So yeah,” you breathe out, “It’s gonna happen when it happens,” you shrug, pretending to act nonchalant, even though your heart is doing flips in your chest.

Sydney, ever the perceptive one, raises an eyebrow, her grin only getting wider. “Well, I have a feeling it’s gonna happen soon. My intuition has never failed me,” she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, clearly loving her role as the self-proclaimed psychic of the group.

“Syd’s right. Remember when her intuition said that the Zipper ride at the pier was going to break down mid-ride and that we shouldn’t go on it? And then 15 minutes later, what happened?” Bella chimes in as she raises her brows dramatically, referencing a memory that still makes you and the group laugh to this day because of how you and James almost got trapped there by yourselves.

You roll your eyes, laughing at how they always bring that up. “You guys are too much,” you giggle, getting off the barstool and heading to the sink to put the empty glasses away. But despite your words, there’s a warm, soft feeling in your chest—your cousins’ excitement only makes everything feel more real.

“Can’t help it. Baby Cousin is gonna be a Wifeyyyy!” Bella sings, dramatically twirling you around, her energy contagious as she pulls you into a hug. The way she says it—so full of love and excitement—makes you want to laugh and cry all at once. “Shut up,” you laugh, rolling your eyes as you wrap your arms around her, the moment feeling like one of those memories you’d treasure forever.

—

The next hour flew by faster than you imagined, and part of that had to do with how you and the girls spent the entirety of your girl-talk planning out your and Joe’s wedding in your minds. From the flowers to the location to the honeymoon destination, even the kind of car you both would drive off in—everything was discussed, every detail thought out as if it were already real. It felt like your heart was racing with excitement, each idea sparking another, like you were crafting the most perfect version of your future.

Sydney and Bella were fully invested in helping you design your dream wedding, offering ideas that ranged from fairy-tale castles to cozy beachside ceremonies. Bella was stubborn about having soft, twinkling fairy lights everywhere, while Sydney kept throwing out ideas for a rustic barn setting, complete with twigs and greenery lining the aisle. You couldn’t help but laugh at how different their visions were, but at the same time, you loved it. Every suggestion felt like a tiny piece of the perfect puzzle that would eventually come together.

But before you could get too deep into things, you heard the video game sounds coming from the living room stop, followed by a voice breaking through the chatter. Yo, you guys ready to go to the pier?” Micheal called from the living room, his voice brimming with excitement.

Sydney and Bella exchanged a look before Sydney stood up with a mischievous grin. “Looks like the fun's just beginning,” she said, smoothing down her sundress as sat up from her barstool. “We’ll pick this up later, don’t worry. We can’t leave the guys hanging too long or I think James and Micheal would convince Joe to leave without us,”.

“Those two love that old ass rollercoaster overlooking the water so damn much, I think they’d actually jump the fences this time around if we weren’t allowed in,” you giggled, as you turned your head toward Joe, who was now standing by the door, arms crossed and leaning casually against the frame. He caught your eye and gave you that signature smirk, the one that made your heart do a little jump every time. He was clearly waiting for you, as if he couldn’t imagine going anywhere without you by his side.

You walked over to him, his arms already opened and waiting for you, like they always were. The second you were close enough, Joe pulled you into his chest, his warmth wrapping around you as effortlessly as his love always did. His scent—fresh, a mix of his usual Soleil Blanc and the remnants of your dip in the ocean earlier—hit you immediately, grounding you in his presence. You giggled softly, leaning into him as if he were the only thing keeping you steady from the amount of alcohol you’d consumed in the past two hours.

“Those two are going to be the death of me,” you murmured, your voice tinged with playful irritation, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed the warmth you felt. “I swear, I was two seconds away from playing referee between them while they argued about whether we should go rustic or coastal for our wedding vibe.” You rolled your eyes for effect but couldn’t help the soft laugh that followed, your mind replaying Sydney and Bella’s relentless bickering.

Joe chuckled, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through his chest as he pulled you a bit closer. His hands rested gently on your waist, thumbs tracing absentminded circles over the soft fabric of your lilac top. The subtle touch sent warmth spreading through you, like you were a planet caught in his orbit. “They do realize it’s our wedding, right? And that we’re going to make the decisions?” his voice was light, teasing, but his eyes held that familiar spark of adoration.

“They’d lose their minds if I told them we tossed around the idea of getting married in the backyard,” you joked, tilting your head to look up at him, your expression mischievous.

Joe smirked, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that made your heart flutter. He leaned down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, his voice dipping into that low, intimate tone that always sent shivers down your spine. “Which is exactly why we’re not telling them,” he whispered, the corners of his mouth twitching as his eyes gleamed with humor.

You burst into laughter, shaking your head at how effortlessly he could make you feel like you were the only two people in the room. The rest of the world—your cousins, the chaos of dream wedding planning, even the little stresses in the back of your mind—faded into the background. All that mattered was the way he looked at you, like you were his entire world.  

“They’re never going to let us live this down,” you said through your laughter, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. Your forehead dropped against his, the intimacy of the moment settling over you like a warm blanket.

Joe’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something deeper, something that made your breath catch. “Let them try,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, grounding you in the same way his touch always did. “As long as you’re happy, I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks,”. 

Your chest tightened, the sincerity in his voice hitting you squarely in the heart. You leaned your head slightly, your nose brushing his as your voice softened. “You’re too good at this, you know that?” you teased, though your words were wrapped in affection.

Joe’s lips quirked up into a tender smile, his blue eyes locking with yours in that way that always made you feel like time had stopped. “Not too good,” he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse race, “Just good enough for you,”. 

He closed the small distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and consuming. It wasn’t hurried or brief; it was the kind of kiss that left you breathless, the kind that spoke of everything words couldn’t quite express. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid the moment might slip away. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a soft, content sigh. “You ready to go, beautiful?” he asked, his voice tinged with a comforting warmth as he reached over to grab the car keys sitting on the counter. 

You smiled, leaning into him for a brief moment longer like you were trying to absorb all the love and reassurance he gave so effortlessly. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice soft.  

It wasn’t until you stepped back and glanced toward the kitchen that you realized all your cousins were standing by the island, unabashedly staring at the two of you with wide, knowing grins plastered across their faces. “Y’all are disgusting,” James deadpanned, breaking the moment with a dramatic roll of his eyes, though the amused twitch of his lips betrayed him.

Sydney smirked, “Seriously, we’re all standing right here. Get a room,”.

Bella groaned as she dropped her head on Micheal’s shoulder in sadness, “You’re setting the bar way too high for the rest of us, Joe. I’m painfully single and no man ever treats me like that,”. 

You felt your cheeks heat, but before you could respond, Joe just grinned and threw his arm over your shoulders, effortlessly pulling you against his side as he walked you both toward where your shoes were. “Can’t help it,” he said easily, shooting your cousins a smug look over his shoulder. “She’s the love of my life. What do you expect?”.

Your cousins groaned in mock protest, but you couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across your face, your heart soaring at the way he acted so possessive with you. Joe leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your temple as you reached the door, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “And don’t you ever forget it,” he whispered, his words wrapping around your heart like a promise.

You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with emotion, and in that moment, you knew: he wasn’t just good enough for you. He was perfect.

A few minutes later

The car hummed softly as you and Joe cruised down the beachside roads, the late evening light casting a golden glow through the windows. You leaned back against the headrest, stealing glances at Joe as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. He had that familiar concentration on his face, the one he always wore when he was focused on something, and it made you feel a little giddy inside.

Joe broke the comfortable silence eventually, looking over at you with a grin, “So, Micheal’s been bugging me about growing my hair out again,” he said with a slight chuckle. “He’s convinced that the long hair brings good energy around…something about how something about how it makes me look younger and carefree. I think he just wants to see me with a ponytail. But he better not ever hold his breath because I am never growing it out that much,”.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “Long hair, huh?” you said, tilting your head as you stared at him. You couldn't help but imagine it again, his hair the way he had it just a few years ago.

The hair that had you weak in the knees for months. 

“Yeah, man keeps saying I should try it again and not just cut it after having one bad game,” Joe continued, glancing at you for a second with a small, teasing smirk. “What do you think? Should I?”.

You bit your lip, trying to hide your excitement as the thought of him with longer hair started to swirl in your mind. The image of him with his hair just enough for a headband to keep it out of his face—it made your heart race. There was nothing more you loved than Joe’s little long hair period…god those curls…those curls were still present in your dreams. 

“I’m so down bad for that,” you blurted, your voice almost a little breathless. “Like, seriously.” You leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on his body as you tried to control the longing in your voice. “I love it when you wear a headband. You look...so much younger. In the best way. Like, I can’t even tell you how much I love that look on you,”.

Joe chuckled, clearly amused. “You like that, huh?” he said, his eyes flicking to you for a moment before he turned back to the road. His lips curved upward as he took in your expression.

“You have no idea,” you replied, the heat in your voice rising with each word. “It drives me crazy. And not just because you look cute with a headband, but because I love pulling on your hair during—,”. You cut yourself off, suddenly realizing where the conversation was heading, but the tension between you two already felt thick the promise from earlier in the day—finishing what you started before your cousins got here.

Joe’s smirk only deepened, a knowing twinkle flashing in his eyes. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” he teased, his a little raspy now. He reached up, running a hand through his hair, and you couldn’t help but feel the heat rising in your body at the thought of his hair long enough to tug on.

The silence that followed was comfortable but charged, the air between you two humming with something you both felt but didn't need to say out loud. He turned onto a quieter road, the faintest smile playing on his lips as he clearly thought about the very thing you'd just mentioned.

“You know,” Joe began, his voice quieter, more intimate now, “Maybe I should grow it out just for you. Screw being more carefree…I could just give you more to pull on,”. His eyes flicked to yours again, and you both shared a look, your heart racing, the playful banter now laced with something deeper.

You leaned back in your seat, feeling a mix of desire and affection as you watched him. “I think you should,” you said, your voice just a little breathy. “For me? Definitely,”.

Joe chuckled again, that deep, smooth sound that always made your stomach flutter. “Alright, well, looks like I’m growing it out then,” he said, with a wink. “And maybe I'll even rock that headband more often for you,”

You grinned, feeling the rush of anticipation bubbling inside you. “Good,” you replied, voice dripping with teasing sweetness. “And just so you know, I’ll be taking full advantage of that hair...every chance I get,”. 

Joe moved his hand from the center console and gently placed it on your thigh, the weight of his touch grounding you in the most comforting way. His hand was warm and steady, a quiet reassurance that he was there, always there. The soft squeeze he gave your thigh sent a ripple of love through you, making your chest ache in the best way. “You having fun?” he asked, his voice filled with nothing but affection, like it was impossible for him to speak to you any other way.

You leaned into him slightly, smiling as your fingers grazed over the back of his hand. “I am,” you said, your voice warm, sincere. “Thank you so much for doing this, baby.” You lifted his hand to your lips, brushing a soft kiss over his knuckles. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt monumental, like every touch held the weight of a thousand unspoken promises.

Joe glanced at you with that smile—the one that could make your heart stop and your breath hitch all at once. “Hey,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes serious, filled with the kind of love that made you weak in the knees. “They’re my family too,” he nodded toward the road ahead where your cousins’ car was just up the way, but his gaze quickly returned to you. The look in his eyes told you everything—this wasn’t just for you. This was for him, too. Being with you, being part of your world, was exactly where he wanted to be.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on him a little longer than you intended, the moment stretching out between you. The soft glow from the boardwalk lights reflected off his face, and for a second, everything else melted away. God, how was this your life? Joe wasn’t just a dream come true—he was the dream. The man who had walked into your world and made it brighter in every possible way. Your family adored him, your friends sang his praises, and you? You were so in love with him, it physically hurt and sometimes it felt like you couldn’t breathe. No one else could make you feel this way—no one else ever would. The Cove might have been your home, but you realized that home was wherever he was. 

He was your home, your peace, your future. Just as this place was for you when you were younger. 

“You know,” Joe said, breaking the silence again and glancing at you quickly before turning his focus back to the road, “It’s crazy how everything changed in the blink of a crinkling eye,”. “Feels like just yesterday we were sitting across from each other at that FroYo place near campus,”.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the memory, the sound warm and nostalgic just like the thought of that date. “I know,” you replied, leaning your head back against the seat. “You were so nervous…it was so adorable,”.

Joe chuckled, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. “I was not nervous,” he protested, though the playful tone in his voice betrayed him. “You were just…you were something else. You still are. I remember sitting there, trying to act all cool, but the second you smiled at me like how you do now, I was done for. Take my heart, my attention, my breath, my last name. It’s all yours,”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart swelling with the memory. “I remember thinking, ‘This guy? The quarterback? He’s way too good to be true.’ But then you made that dumb joke about how toppings are what separate FroYo from ice cream and that little conversation about Fred’s and I thought, ‘Yep, this one’s a keeper’,”. 

“I still stand by that joke. It’s a classic one my dad used to tell, I do a great impression of him…as you know, and that was one of them,” he smiled. 

You grinned, the warmth in your chest spilling over into your words. “It’s wild how far we’ve come, though. From that little FroYo shop to this…to us,” you paused, your voice softening. “Back then, I had no idea how much my life was about to change,”.

Joe’s hand left your thigh for a moment, only to reach over and entwine his fingers with yours. “Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But I knew, even then, that you were it for me. Everything else—the football, the attention, all of it—it never mattered as much as being with you,”.

Your throat tightened at his words, the significance of his sincerity washing over you. “Joe…,”. you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “You make me feel so…safe. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,”.

Joe glanced at you again, his blue eyes soft and full of love. “That’s because you are,” he said simply. “And I am too. Right here with you,”.

The car fell into a comfortable silence after that, the hum of the engine and the soft sound of the ocean breeze outside the only noise. You reached over and placed your free hand on his arm, squeezing gently, as the glow of the Ferris Wheel grew brighter in the distance.

Being here with him, in this moment, felt like stepping into a dream. The memory of that first date at LSU seemed both so far away and yet so close, like it had all happened in another lifetime. And yet, every step since then had led you here—to this moment, to this life, to him.

It really did feel like everything had changed in the blink of an eye, but somehow, it also felt like it had always been leading to this.

“Y/N,” Joe’s voice pulled you back to reality, light and teasing. “You’re staring at me again,” he said, his lips curving into a smirk.

You blinked as your laughter bubbled up, “I know,” you admitted. You glanced back out at the boardwalk lights as they came into clearer view. You hadn’t even noticed how close you were to the pier—the car rolling into the lot barely registered in your mind. You’d been too busy getting lost in him.

Joe shot you a knowing look, his smirk growing. “Well…you gonna tell me why this time?”.

You let out a soft, content sigh, your heart feeling impossibly full. “I just feel so high school every time I look at you,” you confessed, the words tumbling out without hesitation. Your voice was light, almost dreamy; just like him. “Like, I feel 16 again. I’m dating the quarterback—the one who notices me in the stands and actually falls for me. It’s like every stupid fantasy I had when I was younger, but so much better. I never thought I’d have the courage to make a move, but you did. You knew what you wanted, and now, here we are. It’s like I’m living a teen rom-com with you,” you paused, glancing out at the pier where the Ferris Wheel spun slowly in the night sky. “Being here, doing all of this, it just feels like I’ve stepped into one of my favorite memories and brought you with me,”.

Joe parked the car, his hand still entwined with yours, but his eyes were now fully on you. His gaze softened as your words settled in, and you could see the way his heart melted in real-time. He leaned closer, his hand leaving yours to cup your cheek instead. His thumb brushed along your jawline, slow and tender, as he whispered, “Y/N, I love you,”. The raw emotion in his voice made your heart race. “You’re my dream, too. Then, now, and forever,” he added, his words barely audible but no less powerful.

You leaned in, closing the small gap between you, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “I love you too, Joe. Thank you for making my dream a reality,”.

The kiss that followed was soft, sweet—one that held the weight of everything you both felt but didn’t need to say out loud. The neon glow from the Ferris Wheel bathed you in its warm light, painting the moment in hues of magic. It was like something out of a high school movie—the kind of scene that stayed etched in your memory forever. Sitting there, in the car with the man of your dreams, at the very place where so many of your favorite memories were made, felt like a full-circle moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless but grinning, your laughter bubbled up, soft and full of warmth. “You know how that felt?” you asked, your voice light but tinged with meaning, your eyes never leaving his.

Joe’s lips curved into that familiar, boyish grin that always made your heart skip. His voice was playful yet tender as he replied, “So high school?”.

A laugh escaped you, your chest tightening with affection. “So high school,” you echoed, your voice carrying a mix of amusement and something softer, something deeper. You leaned in again, brushing your lips against his for another quick kiss, but before the moment could last, a loud knock against the window shattered your little bubble.

“Come onnn, lovebirds!” Micheal’s teasing voice broke through, loud and full of mock impatience. “We don’t have all night!”.

Joe groaned, shaking his head as he chuckled. “They’re relentless,” he murmured, shooting you an amused glance before opening his door and stepping out. In one smooth motion, he rounded the car to open your door, as he always did. His hand was there immediately, warm and steady, as he helped you out. His fingers entwined with yours, fitting perfectly like they belonged there and you could just sink into him. 

“Let’s make this night ours,” Joe whispered, his voice low and intimate, meant only for you. His thumb brushed softly over your hand, a silent promise in the touch. You looked up at him, your heart full, and nodded, unable to do anything but smile.

Together, you walked toward the pier, your steps falling effortlessly in sync as if your bodies knew the rhythm of being together better than anything else. The neon glow of the Ferris Wheel reflected in his eyes, making them shine even brighter than usual. The salty ocean breeze danced around you, lifting your hair and kissing your cheeks, but all you felt was the warmth of his hand in yours and the unshakable joy radiating between you.

It wasn’t just a walk to the pier—it was a moment that felt timeless. Being with Joe felt like those endless summer nights you’d spent as a teenager, where the world seemed to stop spinning and all that existed was love, laughter, and the glow of possibilities. He made you feel carefree and infinite, like you could bottle this moment and carry it with you forever.

As the sound of the waves filled the air, and the lights of the pier painted the night with magic, you squeezed Joe’s hand, glancing up at him. His expression was soft, his smile easy, but the way he looked at you held so much more. It was a look that said you were his world, his dream, his forever.

The future stretched out ahead of you, glowing with promise like the lights strung along the boardwalk. With Joe by your side, it didn’t feel uncertain—it felt certain. Certain that no matter what was to come, you’d face it together. In that moment, your heart swelled with the kind of love you’d only dreamed of, the kind that made everything else fade into the background.

Joe glanced down at you, his grin turning playful as he nudged you lightly. “So, you wanna hit the Ferris Wheel first or grab some cotton candy?”. 

You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder as you walked. “Both,” you said, your voice light with excitement. “We’re doing everything tonight, Mr. Quarterback,”.

He chuckled, his hand squeezing yours as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Anything you want, lovebug,”.

And just like that, with the Ferris Wheel spinning above and the sound of your cousins laughing in the background, you knew. This was your forever. With Joe, every moment felt like a dream you never wanted to wake up from—a love story that would only grow sweeter with time.

–The End–

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Streamer Boyfriend//////

Rules | Kofi | Masterlist

Streamer boyfriend who on the first date is really upfront about what he does. What seemed like a preview of transparency turns out to be a warning for the erosion of your privacy. As you begin to spend more time with your Streamer Boyfriend you’ll find just how much it’s beginning to bother you.

“Chat you guys are so mean! Their bathroom is a little messy but it’s not a red flag!”

Off-screen and whispering you ask, “Why are you filming in my bathroom?”

“Because chat wanted to take a look at your place? Why what’s the matter?”

“I don’t want these random people knowing the layout of my house!”

“Oh….well you can stay at mine if you want...for safety!”

If it weren’t for his impossibly good looks and otherwise male wife behavior you would have left him then and organizing your schedules so that you’re not forced to be a part of his vlogging. It’s a little tiring because sometimes he ‘forgets’ or ‘slips up’ putting more of yourself on the internet than you were ever okay with doing. 

“Everyone be sure to tune in four hours by then I’ll have eaten, slept, and finally get to tear up that cute jumper my baby’s got on.”

“Wrath!?”

“Sorry guys signing off! See y’all later!”

You give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s his livelihood, his business, his community, his hobby—you wouldn’t want to take that away just cause it occasionally makes you uncomfortable. So you excuse them all. His mistakes, his overreaching. It doesn’t really hit you in the face until something terrible has happened.

“Are you (Y/n) (L/n)?”

“Is there a problem officer?”

“I’ve been told to inform you…about your cousin's passing.”

“Oh my gosh!? No!”

“We’d also like to know when’s the last time you spoke to them…we suspect this is likely a homicide.”

Your poor cousin who you recently reconnected with has violently perished. Unfortunately because the majority of your family is out of the country or otherwise indisposed, it’s up to you to handle most of their investigation. Identifying her mutilated body and telling the detectives what you knew about each of their friends. For a while, the investigating officers are relieved to know you have a loving boyfriend to support you during this rough time only for that relief to turn into disgust when your boyfriend whips his phone out in the morgue….

“I’m going back to mine. I’ll have my friends come pick anything else I need.”

“B-but babe weren’t you worried about your place getting exposed? I-I’m okay if we take the break at mine–”

“No. I’ll be staying with a friend.”

 “Who?”

“None of your business. Thanks for the…memories.”

It's a shame you are no longer dating the infamous WrathWarrior according to your more distant friends who ignore the reason you left in the first place. Thankfully a few good friends are all you need, you take on the funeral preparations, and the rest of the homicide investigation smoothly. When you aren’t crying your eyes out, brainstorming with a detective, or crying in your bed you occasionally venture to your ex-streamer boyfriend’s stream. 

“Hey everyone it is Day 11 of being without the love of my life….Let’s have fun, with this game today.”

There he is still smiling and streaming as if he didn’t do this to himself.  You figure it’s better off this way. If he had the camera in your face during moments of crisis, he may have never come to respect your desire for privacy and would one day cross a line that would change everything forever. It really was better off this way.

‘Go back to him. You don’t want anyone else to die.’

The cryptic message on your social media came a month after your breakup. Still recovering from your loss and suffering the sting of an unsolved investigation, you are puzzled over the message from what looks like a newly created account. Knowing better than to click on some scammer's link, you blocked the message, thinking that would be the end of whatever weird new scam this was. But alas, a newer account sent the same thing on everything, including your direct messages.

“See detective? Isn’t this weird? It wouldn’t let me take a screenshot but it’s in every app!”

SNAP

“Well, we’ve got a record of it now. Don’t click the link until I can get the team to hook up to this. Go home stay safe.”

Doing as you're told, you return to your temporary home. Waiting for your friend to return you end up looking at the message again, filling the hours with your theorizing at the mysterious link and the ominous tone of the words itself. Narrowing down who it could be there’s only one man you can think of needing to ‘go back to’ is none other than Wrath. When you think about it that way this makes sense that it’s some dedicated and deluded fan probably some mining link to get more of your private info. You sighed exiting the app and attempting to relax again while waiting for your friend to return…they should of got off work hours ago…

Ring. Ding. 

Your phone rings with a new message and reading it makes your blood run cold.

‘You need to see this. It’s about your friend.’

It feels voyeuristic that this unknown person would have the answers to your creeping anxiety. The urgency of the message makes it that much easier to ignore the detective’s warnings, finally clicking on the link. Expecting to see your phone flash with a threat for your information you aren’t prepared for the video that loads. Seeing a blurry video of some incredibly familiar pixels squirming in a chair slowly becoming clearer.

“This is Day 34 of being without the love of my life and we’re getting ready for a very special night where we break-in some of our new arrivals. Especially this one.” 

It’s Wrath unmasked and pulling at the hair of what is definitely your friend crying behind a ball of cloth. It’s horrifying and you almost don’t believe what your seeing is even real. The continued ramblings of Wrath fogging your brain as you try and piece everything together. The controls to interact were darker than the streams you’d looked at before, the url for the website was different, and most glaringly different was the oddly opulent room with furniture restraining your friend. 

“On top of this thing,” he poked at them aggressively–no doubt puncturing with his nail.”We’ve also got an entire group. Silly little investigators looks like they’ve never heard of Wrath’s Colloseum! Guess we’ll have to show all of them what kind of fun we get down to chat!”

The familiar officers and the detective being wheeled in on chairs matching that of your friend’s. It looked like a row of electric chairs attached to one another, wood and dotted with the blood of what you guess must be from past ‘guests’.

Your phone rings again. It’s the anonymous user.

‘It’s up to you. If they live.’

The message was your last wake-up call. Wrath had pulled out a tray of tools, showing them off to the camera as he spoke about what gruesome bloody acts he could do. He kept turning back to your friend who wiggled in protest everytime, he decided to model what the tool would do. It’s then that you were finally able to do something about this. 

RING–

“Hello?”

“...Hey, I really missed you and I was wondering if you could come over. Like right now.”

You tried to silence your trembling breath. Watching the man on his stream kick his foot up. 

“Awww so cute! Are you drunk calling me? Ugh you’re just as precious as before!” You let out a relieved sigh, thankfully you could save your friend and the investigators tied on screen. “But Daddy’s got a wrap something up so I’m going to make it as soon as I get finished okay?”

No that was not okay! If he finished what he wanted to you wouldn’t have a friend or any local police dedicated to solving your case. So with bated breath you reveal your only card.

“Wait! Please don’t kill them! I’ll get back with you! I’ll do anything just don’t hurt them!”

You watched the wistful kicking from your streamer boyfriend stop slowly turning to the camera. Completely unmasked and wearing a leaver trenchcoat stained with dried crimson spots, he saunters over to the camera lens. Staring into your soul through the lens he smiles. Just like he used to when you’d chat from your alt account, or when you agreed to hold the camera for a cooking stream or when you told him you loved him even though he was a streamer. But it turns out that was the least of your worries when it came to your exboyfriend. In truth, your ex-boyfriend was the worst kind of monster–an untouchable one. A monster that can abduct and torture people without needing to cover his face. An entertainer who was so coonsumed by his career that he had no problem letting the talons of his lifestyle suffocate anyone who tried to impede it. 

“So your watching, huh?”

The voice echoes from your phone and the stream playing on your computer. You barely have half a mind to see what the chat says firing off so incredibly fast. 

‘Is that them?’

‘ is honey bun back’

‘KILL THEM ALREADY’

‘aw is this the end of the series’

Your exboyfriend giggles at chat’s messages, turning to look over his shoulder openly sneering at all of his victims. He quickly snaps back

“Alright sweetie, I’ll save one just for you. Even better I’ll give them the antidote to a little concoction of mine if you come and join us on stream!”

“But I don’t know where you are and–”

“I’ll come pick you up in a bit, after chat votes on what we’ll be doing to the unclaimed meat. Like that chat? A big bang to wrap up the worst series of my life? I think that sounds like a great idea, chat!”

[densoro]

Seeking help for Asma Ayyad

I'm writing to signal boost @asmaayyad2 a 26 year old lawyer from Gaza. She's caring for a family of 8, including two little sisters and her mother, who suffers from diabetes, high blood pressure, and arrhythmia.

Temperatures in Gaza have dropped to 13°C/55°F, and the Ayyad family has no home. One year ago, they had to evacuate without time to pack any clothes or blankets, and by the time they returned, this is all that was left of their house.

The Israeli military wasn't content to leave them freezing in the rubble. 3 months ago, Israel's army massacred the Mawasi Khan Yunis refugee camp, where Asma's family was staying. They killed two of Asma's aunts, and one of her young cousins, and sent the Ayyad family once again on the run. For now, they live in a worn-out tent made of nylon and wood.

Between the diseases, treatment for existing medical conditions, food, and the distant goal of evacuation, costs keep piling up. Still, this community has come together and contributed 27,730 Euros -- 62% of her campaign goal. That's wonderful. I just have to ask that anyone who can give, continues to give. We've gotten her over halfway there; let's help her the rest of the way. To safety.

Her campaign has been verified by @gazavetters #43

[miley1442111]

fix it together- a.hotchner

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :) thank you guys for all the love on the first part of this!!!!

please don't read if you have emetophobia!!!!

summary: aaron said some horrible things. He's trying to fix it, right?

pairing: husband! aaron hotchner x wife! reader

warnings: mad angst, aaron is so mean, reader believes she is a bad mother, heartbreak, feelings of disappointment, reader is pregnant, talks of pregnancy, talks of vomiting and morning sickness, happy ending :)

part 1- fix it.

Aaron

The last few weeks had been… tense. Going back to work was fine and we still acted like a couple, don’t get me wrong. Yet, everything felt disgustingly different. The gifts hadn’t been working. The dates hadn’t been working. Every second of my days were spent thinking over what I’d said on that horrible night. Did I ask for an annulment? What was I thinking? I love you more than anything, I want you forever. Since the first date I’d known you were my girl, my forever girl. Every night I’ve been trying to make it clear to you that I want you. That I think you’re a good mother. Even the nights you'd stayed at Penelope's.

After Jack's birthday, you'd gone to Penelope's for 3 nights, I only saw you during the day at work, and even then you didn't look at me, let alone speak to me. You came home because you missed Jack.

Since then, you’ve been distant, focusing on work, or Jack more often than not. So I decided something. 

I made all the distractions go away. Jack went off to his cousin's house, and I pulled us out of work for a full week, much to Strauss’s annoyance. Only thing is that I hadn’t told you. 

Well, this better work. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Honey?” I cleared my throat, still groggy from waking up a few minutes prior. You weren’t in bed, you’d recently stopped our regular 5 minutes of hazy cuddling as we both wake up. My third favourite part of the day. My second favourite being when you come to me at 2:07pm everyday at work and give me a kiss, my first favourite being the kiss and hug you give me at the end of the day, just after tucking Jack in. All three had stopped in recent weeks.  

“Yeah?” You called from the bathroom, doing your regular morning routine. 

“I called us out of work,” I yawned and heard your quickened footsteps, then you appeared in front of me. You looked so beautiful, as always. A random and oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts that left little to the imagination. I started to sweat just thinking about it. 

“What? Why?! We have people who need our help, we have cases-” You started rambling as I got up and cupped your face, kissing you. 

“Because I need you. I need you to be you again,” I whispered against your lips, hoping this would work. “So we’re going to have a nice few days, yeah? Today we have your appointment and we’ll have another talk. Then we can just relax for the rest of the week.”

“The week?” you stressed and I rolled my eyes, kissing you again. Your lips were so perfect. You’d brushed your teeth, not that I mind your morning breath. Not that I mind anything about you. 

“Please,” I was begging and I wasn’t even ashamed. “Please honey,” I wrapped my hands around your waist, trying to persuade you. 

“Aaron-”

“Don’t call me Aaron,” You’d stopped calling me the usual ‘baby’ or ‘darling’, or my favourite ‘love’. “Please. I want to be normal again. I don’t want this distance, I adore you more than anything.”

I could tell you felt conflicted. I hurt you. I know I did. 

“Aaron,” another stab to my heart. “Fine, we’ll take this week off, and we can… talk.”

“Thank you my love,” I smile, pressing kisses along your exposed collarbone. You chuckled. I’d missed your laughter. I’d missed you.

“Ok baby, come on, I need to shower,” you giggled against me and I could feel my heart mending. Baby. I couldn’t stop the grin on my lips. I let go of you, but not before kissing you again. My perfect wife. 

“Can I join?” I smirked, and you scoffed. 

“Don’t push your luck Hotchner,” You chuckled. This was it. This is what it used to be. Flirty, loving, and fun. Before I ruined everything. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You

Forgiving Aaron was the easy part. Worrying if every parenting decision was the right one, was pure agony. 

Is it wrong to say that like that? Should I have done this a different way? Was that right?

And your brain’s personal favourite: 

What would Haley have done? 

You were beating yourself up about it all for the past few weeks. You felt you had ruined Jack’s birthday with your own insecurities, since he’d asked if you were alright the day after.

Telling Jack you were pregnant was a highlight from the past few weeks. He was ecstatic to find out he’d be getting a little sibling. He already wanted to meet them and he understood that there would be times where either of you wouldn’t be able to play with him when his sibling arrived. 

Aaron had been grovelling to the highest degree. Flowers once a week, date nights, house chores, taking paperwork from you so you don’t need to do it, getting any and all pregnancy cravings, and helping you deal with all your morning sickness and migraines. 

It was maddening. You were going to go insane if you weren’t careful. 

Yet, you felt like every second of every day was spent thinking about your parenting choices and just wondering if having another baby was even a good idea. Would your new child even like you? Would this ruin your relationship with Jack? What was going to happen when they grow up? Did Aaron really think your parenting is terrible? 

Ok, so maybe you haven’t forgiven him just yet. Or at all. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You lay back in bed, a book in hand as Aaron pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. You stared at the words on the page, trying to make sense of them when your brain was so clouded. Your levels of anxiety had risen greatly, which you both knew was not good for your baby. Aaron had been trying to lift some of the stress off your shoulders with his constant doting, but you knew that the stress was Aaron. From the moment you woke up to the minute you fell asleep, you felt like you were putting up a show. Being the perfect wife, perfect (probably shitty, you thought anyway) mother, perfect agent. It was exhausting. You wanted to go back to before, back to when you didn’t have to pretend everything was alright. 

You pushed him off you and lay on your side, a regular occurrence. Aaron felt dejected. He’d hurt you so badly, and he didn’t know what to do to fix it. 

“Baby?” he spoke into the room. 

“Yes Aaron?” You answered. 

“Do you still love me?” He asked in a small voice. He felt raw and full of emotion. Honestly, he was terrified of the answer. 

“Do I still love you?” You scoffed. “I think I should be the one asking that. You were the one mentioning getting an annulment.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that… I was just-” He tried but you shot out of bed, staring at him with an anger in your eyes he could only describe as animalistic. 

“ 'You just' what Aaron? What?!” You squealed, all the emotions that you’d let build up, coming out at once. “I’ve been trying to be a good wife, to be a good mother for the past 4 fucking years Aaron. I have been that for you, I have been that for you and Jack, and I’m so happy to do it because I love the both of you more than anything! And all I ask in return is that you love and respect me! That is what you promised me on your wedding day! You didn’t fucking do that. You threw our marriage under the bus and compared me to your ex wife, the second you got slightly stressed. I’m sure Haley did a much better job than me Aaron, I’m sure she did! But I’m here Aaron. I love you. I love Jack. I have dedicated my life to the two of you, to our family! And now I feel like I’ve made a mistake in doing that, because the second you get overwhelmed, I’m in the first person that gets thrown under the bus?! To get reduced to nothing by you?! That’s not fucking fair Aaron, It’s not fair! And the worst part is that I fucking forgave you weeks ago, but I can’t forgive myself! I feel like such a shit mother every single day! I feel like I’m failing everyday, and that our baby will fucking hate me because it’ll somehow know that I’m the second choice! That it’ll know you’d rather be with someone who’s dead! So don’t come to me asking stupid fucking questions like that when you know the fucking answer Aaron. You don’t need to humiliate me more than you already have.”

You walked out of your shared bathroom, down the stairs into the living room, and sobbed your eyes out. 

Aaron sat up in the bed, thankful that Jack wasn’t home today, but devastated by your words, and his actions. Why had he even brought up an annulment? 

He couldn’t even begin to dissect the feelings he had when the bile in his throat suddenly came on and he had to run to the bathroom, and spill it into the toilet. Your words hit him like a knife, throwing his own words back in his face in the most disgusting way to do it, directed at you. You were an amazing mother, an amazing wife. And yet, you thought you were worthless. He had made you feel worthless. He felt terrible. He didn’t want Haley. Yes, he’d loved her for a long time, yes their divorce was heartbreaking. But he loved you now, and he didn’t ever want to take that for granted. He’d gotten two people who loved him unconditionally, two people who loved him enough to have a child with him, two people that would put themselves in harm’s way for him. 

And he fucked it up. Twice. 

He followed you downstairs, standing in the doorway as you sobbed into the couch cushions, then walked over and put a hand on your back. You didn’t push him off, that must be a good sign, right? He moved you to sit on his lap, your head in his shoulder as he calmed you down.

“I’m so sorry Y/n. I was awful to you. I don’t want an annulment, I never want an annulment. I know it sounds bad but I was just so used to Haley hanging a divorce over my head for so long, it just came out. You are who I want, who I would choose, every single time. You are a good mother. You’re going to be a good mother. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt yourself. That I ever made you doubt me. I never want to hurt you like this again. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done, I’m so sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

You let out a half chuckle- half sob and pulled away. “Aaron, I need you to swear to me that you will never fucking bring up us breaking up again, unless you actually mean it.”

“I swear.”

“And I need you to promise me that you’ll work on stopping all the reactive bullshit we’ve been doing,” You sighed.

“I promise.” 

“Then, I think we’ll be ok,” You smiled softly and kissed his cheek, settling your head back against his neck. 

“So we’re ok again?” He asked hopefully. 

“Not yet, no,” You stated and his hope vanished. 

“Honey-”

“We will be, soon.” 

He smiled again. You were his, always. Just as he was yours, always. Anything, you could get through. 

Together.

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

people that asked to be tagged: @michasia24 @pear-1206 @randomrosie01 @tonystankhere

[winxanity-ii]

FOXED IN [2/2]

ship: fem!fennec fox!reader x various!beastar warnings: non-explicit ( maybe cursing/profanity; sorry y'all I gotta loose mouth) word count: 4.4k a/n: lolol y'all tell me why it took me like 3 weeks to write just 4k words?? i swear school work got my ass writing like 150 words a day/whenever i can 😭😭 coutning down to christmas break mwah... Part 1

★·.·´🇧‌🇪‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇦‌🇷‌🇸‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You were staring at yourself in the bottom-left corner of the mirror, crouched like you were hiding from your own reflection.

It wasn't like the rest of you had changed. Same face, same skin, same... everything.

Except for those. The ears. And the tail.

You ran your hand over your head for the fifth time in ten minutes, fingertips grazing your human ears where they'd always been, before trailing upward to the new set. Secondary ears, perched high on your head, covered in soft, velvety fur. They flicked lightly at your touch, like they were alive—like they could feel you.

And then there was the tail. You could feel its weight behind you, swishing gently across the floor like it had been there your whole life.

"Calm down, ____. Calm the fuck down," you muttered, your voice tight as your hands dropped into your lap. "You're not a freak. You're just—"

You paused, staring at your reflection. Your tail swished in your peripheral vision, as if taunting you.

"—just... anthropomorphically challenged," you finished, deadpan. "Yeah, no, that doesn't help."

You tilted your head, the new ears moving along with the motion, twitching at the sound of your voice echoing softly off the dorm room walls. Twitching. Like they had their own independent nervous system or something.

"Oh my gods, I'm like a walking FurryCon booth," you hissed under your breath. Your tail wagged again, making a soft thump against the floor. "Cut it out!" you snapped, glaring at it.

The tail stopped, curling slightly like it was offended.

For a moment, you just stared at yourself, breathing slow and deep, trying to will away the rising panic. But the longer you looked, the harder it was to ignore how... not normal this was.

You reached up again, brushing your fingers over the fur. Soft, velvety. Honestly, they felt kinda nice—like luxury pillow material—but that only made it worse.

You could feel the touch through the ears, every stroke and tug sending tingles down your spine, all the way to your toes.

It wasn't bad, exactly, but it wasn't something you were used to, either.

You squinted at your reflection. "Okay. Pros and cons. Pros and cons." You tapped a finger to your chin like you were about to make a PowerPoint presentation to yourself.

"Pro: I didn't, like, fully mutate. Still got my face. I'm still me. Kinda." You gave your reflection a once-over. "Con: I now look like I could be fan-casted into a BTS Hybird AU fic."

Another pause. Your tail thumped lightly again, this time like it was trying to soothe you. Oh, we're friends now? you thought bitterly.

You straightened up from your crouch, squaring your shoulders as you stared yourself down. "I'm still me. This is fine. You're fine, ____. Nobody even knows you're... this."

Except that was a lie, wasn't it? Blond Labrador Boy had seen you.

Your 'cousin' had definitely seen you, tackling you like a rugby player on the street and announcing your new school enrollment to the entire city.

And who knew how many other people were out there, casually walking around with ears and tails like this was a thing?

The thought sent a chill down your spine. Your tail swished again, making another faint thump.

"Oh, so now you're nervous too?" you hissed at it. The tail stopped mid-swish, freezing awkwardly in the air like a guilty child caught red-handed.

You sighed, finally breaking eye contact with your reflection and dropping into the chair beside your bed.

The ears twitched at the sound of faint chatter outside your door, catching snippets of distant conversations you wouldn't have been able to hear before.

It was a weird feeling, hearing things so clearly and intimately.

You groaned, flopping back against the chair. "Great. Super hearing. Now I'm a discount superhero too."

Your gaze flicked to the mirror again, to the reflection of your tail, curled awkwardly around your chair like it didn't know where it was supposed to go. It looked so out of place, just hanging there, like someone had pasted a sticker on a portrait.

"This is fine," you said again, more to convince yourself than anything. You leaned forward, running a hand through your hair and tugging gently at the ears again. They flattened slightly, and you sighed.

"Totally fine," you muttered. "I just need to figure out how the hell I ended up in a whole-ass Disney movie."

You dropped your hand, letting out a shaky breath. Your tail twitched again, brushing against your ankle like it was trying to reassure you. Yeah, sure. That's comforting.

"Okay, think," you said aloud. "I was at the pool. There were kids—too many kids. Somebody's wet-ass croc sent me flying. I hit the water. And now I'm..."

You trailed off, looking at yourself again. The reflection didn't offer answers, just more questions.

"Maybe I hit my head," you tried, your words shaky but gaining confidence as you spoke. "Yeah, that's it. Smacked it real good on the bottom of the pool. This is a concussion thing. Right? This is my brain making stuff up. Any second now, I'm gonna wake up in the shallow end with chlorine in my nose and my baddass nieces and nephews laughing at me."

The tail swished again. Your ears twitched, catching faint noises outside the door—muffled voices, footsteps, distant laughter.

"It's fine, ____," you told yourself, your tone sharper now. "You're gonna figure this out. One step at a time."

That's when you smelled it.

A soft, flowery scent filled your senses; it was faint at first but grew stronger, making your nose twitch involuntarily and your new ears perk up.

Before you could puzzle it out, a knock came at the door.

The voice was muffled but clear enough to make you freeze. Your ears caught the sound of footsteps shuffling just outside, even before the knock—a light, hesitant rhythm that matched the voice perfectly. You blinked, the scent hitting you again. Your tail twitched, matching the rhythm of your thudding heart.

"Uh, ____, your cousin Vox is waiting for you outside the dorms... he said something about beating the lunch rush?"

The voice was soft and kind of awkward, carrying an airy quality to it.

You stared at the door for a moment, your reflection forgotten. "Yeah," you called out, your voice a little higher than you wanted it to be. "I'm... Uh, thank you! I'll be right there."

"You're welcome," the voice replied, followed by the soft shuffle of footsteps retreating, the scent fading with them. You exhaled, realizing you'd been holding your breath.

"Right," you muttered to yourself, standing up and brushing your clothes down like that would somehow help you feel normal. "Pay attention later. Deal with this... whatever this is."

You froze mid-brush, cursing under your breath. "I should've asked how to get outside."

You glanced around your room, biting your lip as you remembered how confusing it had been just getting here. The winding halls and staircases that twisted in ways that didn't quite make sense.

You were pretty sure you'd passed the same painting of a sunflower three times before you finally found the door marked with your room number—901.

In the corner of your eye, you caught sight of your reflection again—this time, ears drooping slightly. You frowned, then made a face at yourself, sticking out your tongue. "Yeah, real helpful," you muttered, shaking your head before deciding to just thug it out and go.

You stepped out of your room, closing the door behind you and taking a deep breath. "Okay. Just... find the exit. How hard can it be?"

As you started walking, you quickly realized you were surrounded by others—just girls. Your eyes flicked around, taking in the different forms.

You remembered your 'cousin' rambling about gender-segregated dorms, so you chalked it up to being in the girls' dorm.

But as you kept walking, something else began to dawn on you. You weren't just surrounded by other girls; you were surrounded by other, like, carnivorous girls. Sharp eyes, pointed ears, and an aura that made the small hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

And they weren't your size. They were big—taller, broader, more imposing. Compared to them, you felt almost comically small; it was rare, only a few times did you spot someone smaller than you.

You glanced nervously at a nearby group chatting against the wall. One of them—a towering girl with long dark, glossy hair—laughed loudly, her sharp teeth catching the light. Another girl, smaller but just as intimidating, flicked a sleek, striped tail that looked distinctly feline.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting around as you tried not to look too out of place as you walked past.

You barely noticed when you stepped outside, the warm sunlight hitting your face and momentarily distracting you from the strangeness of it all.

The building behind you was large and imposing, with a plaque above the entrance that read: Female Carnivore Dorm.

You blinked up at it, the words sinking in slowly.

Female. Carnivore. Dorm.

As you scanned the area, your eyes landed on a familiar figure standing a little way down the dorm steps. The boy from earlier—the small fox boy, Vox, if you remembered right. He was by himself, his ears perking up as soon as he spotted you.

He beamed, his tail wagging excitedly as he ran over to you, crashing into you with another hug. "I missed you so much, cuz! Can't believe you're really here! This year is gonna be so awesome!!"

He hooked an arm around you, tugging you along before you could even react. "Come on, let's meet up with the guys! We gotta beat the lunch rush!"

You barely managed a grunt in response, your arms pinned awkwardly to your sides. Despite his short stature, he was still taller than you, his enthusiasm making him feel even larger.

As you followed him, or more accurately, were dragged by him, you started noticing the others lounging around.

It was a mixture of herbivorous and carnivorous features. "...and there's a ton of clubs you can join!" your cousin rambled, oblivious to your growing unease. "I can help you pick one out later, but for now, let's just get to lunch before all the good stuff's gone!"

His voice grounded you, if only a little. You focused on his words, nodding absently as your eyes darted around the courtyard. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, but you didn't have time to dwell on it.

Vox was still tugging you along like it was his life's mission to get you fed.

And his excitement was infectious, even if you were still reeling from everything. You couldn't help but think of your cousin Devon. The thought made your chest tighten, a flicker of warmth amid the chaos.

You hadn't seen Devon in ages—he'd always been the "fun cousin," the one who dragged you into trouble but somehow managed to charm everyone out of getting mad.

It was like the time Devon convinced you to climb a tree for the "best view ever," only to abandon you when the branch cracked. You'd sworn then to never trust his grin again, yet here you were, following another like it without question.

Vox seemingly had the same boundless energy, the same way of dragging you into things without a second thought. And as you trailed behind him, Vox's tail might have been wagging, but it was Devon's mischievous grin you saw every time Vox beamed at you.

Soon, he led you toward a small fountain surrounded by students.

The first to take notice of you two was the blond Labrador boy from earlier. He was standing at the center of a group of guys, and his floppy ears perked up as soon as he spotted you, his golden tail starting to wag in an eager rhythm that matched the bright grin on his face.

"Hey, you're okay!" he called out, stepping forward with an energy that was as disarming as it was sincere. His soft brown eyes met yours, and before you could even react, he reached out and gently patted your head, his hand light but reassuring. "I was worried after what happened earlier. You feeling alright?"

You blinked, struggling to find your words. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine," you mumbled, still processing the overly friendly gesture. His tail wagged faster for a second, his grin widening.

Before you could say more, your attention was pulled to someone else in the group.

A guy who immediately stole your breath. He was tall—easily the tallest person you'd seen all day—with broad shoulders and a relaxed, easy presence.

His dark brown skin contrasted sharply with his shaggy, platinum blonde locs that hung messily over his eyes, giving him an effortlessly cool vibe. His short, floppy ears rested close to his head, twitching slightly as he smiled at you beneath his thick eyebrows.

Everything about him radiated chill, from the slow sway of his tail to his unbothered posture.

He walked over with a casual stride, throwing an arm over the blond Labrador's shoulder. The height difference was almost comical—the Labrador barely reached his chest.

The taller guy chuckled, his voice deep but mellow. "Now what'd ya run off to, Jack?"

The Labrador boy—Jack—turned, laughing sheepishly before glancing back at you and Vox. The taller guy noticed you two as well, his gaze shifting. He smiled, one of his small canines poking out slightly, and leaned down at the waist to give Vox a high five.

"Wassup, Vox?"

Vox grinned, returning the high five with enthusiasm. "Nothin' much, Collot! Just showing my cuz around Cherryton."

He threw his arm around you again, pulling you in closer. Collot's eyes shifted to you, still bent at the waist, and he held his hand out for a handshake.

"Nice to meet ya. Name's Collot," he said, his voice warm.

You hesitated for a second before taking his hand. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, his palm warm against yours. "Uh, nice to meet you too. I'm ____," you replied, giving what you hoped was a confident smile.

Collot straightened up, still towering over you even from a distance. "Cool. Vox's been talking nonstop about ya since he found out you were coming," he said, his smile turning into a friendly grin.

You blinked, glancing at Vox, who just beamed up at you, oblivious to the embarrassment that was creeping up your neck. "Uh, yeah, well... it's my first day," you muttered, trying to laugh it off.

Jack gave you another reassuring smile, his tail wagging slowly behind him. "Don't worry. You'll fit right in." He gestured toward the group of guys behind him. "Come on, let's get you introduced."

Vox wasted no time, tugging you forward as Collot and Jack led the way.

Walking over to the group, a voice chimed up, drawing your attention to a smaller, wiry boy with reddish-brown hair that stuck out at wild angles. His sharp green eyes were quick, darting between you and Vox with a hint of amusement. He leaned slightly forward, his short, pointed ears twitching as if he were constantly on high alert.

"Who's the hottie?" he asked, his grin crooked, his eyes flicking toward Vox teasingly.

Vox's face scrunched in playful annoyance. "Aye, chill out, Durham! That's my cuz, alright?"

Durham snickered, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, just messing with ya."

Vox turned back to you, rolling his eyes. "That's Durham," he said, gesturing toward the coyote hybrid. Durham gave you a quick, crooked grin, his bushy tail flicking once as if punctuating his easygoing energy.

"Welcome to the chaos," Durham said with a playful lilt, his grin growing wider as he eyed Jack's wagging tail. "Speaking of chaos, you feeling okay after Jack's heroic rescue? His tail's still wagging—might take off soon."

"Hey!" Jack huffed, ears perking up indignantly. Durham's laugh only grew louder, his sharp teeth flashing.

Before you could even register Durham's teasing, another figure stepped into view. He was shorter than the others, with olive-toned skin and messy gray hair streaked with faint spots.

There was something almost wild about his energy. His round ears twitched frequently, and his curled tail swayed behind him like he was barely containing his own excitement. His sharp grin, revealing slightly larger-than-average teeth, was equal parts friendly and mischievous.

"Miguno," Vox said, introducing the spotted hyena hybrid. Miguno gave you a toothy grin, leaning casually against Collot as he waved.

"Good to see someone new around here. Don't mind the chaos—Durham's worse than me," he said, his sharp teeth flashing as his grin grew even wider. Something about his energy was electric, like he thrived on the group's chaos.

"Lies," Durham shot back, but his grin betrayed his amusement.

The rapid-fire introductions had your head spinning. Each name and face blurred together, their personalities hitting you one after another like a whirlwind you couldn't escape.

And then... you saw him.

Lanky and pale, with shaggy bluish-gray hair streaked with cream highlights, the wolf hybrid stood slightly apart from the others. His posture was hunched, his long limbs curling inward as if he were trying to take up less space.

His dark, almond-shaped eyes flickered to the group occasionally, but he mostly kept his gaze low, avoiding their chatter, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

His drooping ears twitched faintly, responding to the noise around him, and his long, scruffy tail swayed low, mirroring his awkward demeanor.

Your gaze lingered on him. Something about the way he carried himself felt off—not in a bad way, just... different.

The others were loud, energetic, owning their space. But this one? He was quiet, reserved, like he didn't want to be noticed.

Why does he seem so familiar? you thought, a strange sense of déjà vu bubbling up, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. It was like you'd seen him before, but only in a dream—or maybe in the back of your mind, in some long-buried memory.

"Legoshi," Jack said, nudging the wolf with a friendly grin. "Say hi."

The name hit you like a freight train. Your breath caught as your mind scrambled to make sense of what you were seeing.

Legoshi.

Your heart thudded in your chest as pieces began to click together faster than you could stop them. Carnivores. Cherryton. Jack. Vox. Legoshi.

This can't be real. This can't—

The group's chatter seemed to fade as your pulse roared in your ears.

Am I in fucking Beastars?

☆

☆

Time seemed to blur after that revelation. One moment, you were standing by the fountain, and the next, you found yourself sitting at a lunch table.

The chatter of the cafeteria buzzed around you, the noise overwhelming—students chatting, utensils clinking, chairs scraping against the floor—but it all felt distant, like you were watching a scene play out from behind soundproof glass.

You stared blankly at the plate in front of you, slowly picking at your food—a sad, slightly overcooked egg that seemed to mock you in its mediocrity.

Vox and his friends filled the space around you, their energy bouncing back and forth like a rubber ball in a crowded room. You could hear Collot laughing loudly at something Miguno said, Durham snickering along, while Jack chimed in with his soft-spoken voice. But none of it really registered.

Your mind was too busy running a mile a minute, trying to process the impossibility of your situation.

I'm not a furry, you thought, stabbing a piece of egg with your fork. I mean, sure, I dabbled in a fanfic or two, but this? This is insane.

You glanced around the cafeteria, taking in the sight of students with human bodies but animal features—ears, tails, fur, scales. The way they moved, the way they interacted—it was surreal. 

The low murmur of a nearby conversation caught your ear—too clear, too distinct. A girl with glossy feline ears leaned over her tray, whispering something to her friend. Her tail swayed lazily behind her, the fur shimmering in the sunlight.

It should've been normal—or at least as normal as anything else here—but you couldn't look away.

Before you realized it, her sharp gaze flicked to you, catching your eye for half a second. Her pupils narrowed slightly, and a wave of heat surged up your neck as you quickly averted your gaze, your heart thudding in your chest.

Smooth, you thought bitterly, stabbing at the egg again. Real subtle.

The pressure of trying to seem normal began to creep up your spine, making your ears flick involuntarily. It felt like the entire cafeteria could see you, like every twitch of your tail screamed, "I don't belong here." You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to blend in.

Beastars is supposed to be set in a world of anthropomorphic animals, you mused, peeking open your eyes to watch the girl turn back to her friend, her feline features utterly unbothered. So what the hell is this?

It was absurd, like something out of a fever dream. And yet, here you were, surrounded by them.

Is this really Beastars?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a gentle nudge. You looked up to see Jack smiling at you, his tail wagging slightly.

"Hey, ____," he said, his voice friendly. "How was your old school? Was it anything like Cherryton?"

You blinked, your fork pausing mid-air. Old school?

Panic clawed at the back of your throat. How were you supposed to answer that? You didn't even know what your supposed background was supposed to be. And Vox was sitting right next to you. If you lied, he could easily call you out.

Before you could stammer out a response, Vox chimed in, saving you from your predicament.

"Oh, she was homeschooled," he said casually, taking a bite of his sandwich. "So she might not be as used to all this social stuff yet, you know?"

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, grateful for Vox's quick thinking. Thank god, you thought. This is perfect. I can roll with that.

You offered a sheepish smile, nodding along, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Yeah, it's... a bit overwhelming," you admitted, your voice a bit shaky, trying to sell the homeschooled bit as much as you could.

No need to drag out fake stories about classmates, teachers, or what electives you took back in the "real" world. You could just sit back and let the homeschool excuse handle all the heavy lifting.

In your head, though, the real story was much messier. You weren't homeschooled—far from it. You knew nothing about homeschooling beyond what you read in books and saw on TV; public school had been your playground and battleground.

You'd seen it all: hallway fights over nothing, the chaos of pep rallies, and those awkward group projects where you did 90% of the work.

But here? In this place, wherever the hell this was? Yeah, let's call it a coma. The pool, the slip, the whole "falling into another world" thing? It had all the makings of a good old-fashioned knock to the head.

I'm in a hospital somewhere, you told yourself, hooked up to a machine while a nurse complains about understaffing. This? This is just the brain doing brain shit.

And hey, if this was a dream, then maybe all you had to do was play along until you woke up.

But whatever it was, you decided to roll with it. You didn't have many options.

Homeschool, huh? you thought. I've seen those documentaries—unsocialized weirdos trying to find their way in the world, eating lunch alone because they don't know what the word "lit" means. You snorted softly. I can fake that if I have to.

"Hey, ____." Jack pulled you back to the conversation once again; his golden tail was wagging hard now, almost as if it had a mind of its own.

"Huh?" you asked, blinking at him.

"I said, don't worry about not being good with talking to people. We'll help you out!" His voice was so genuinely optimistic it made your chest tighten.

You were about to reply when a snicker broke the moment.

It came from one of the boys—Durham. His shoulders were shaking as he laughed, pointing lazily in Jack's direction. "By we, he means himself," the coyote said, grinning. "You know how Jack gets. Tail's wagging harder than a windshield wiper in a thunderstorm. Bet he's already got a crush."

The group erupted into laughter, and Jack's face turned a deep shade of red.

"W-What?! No!" Jack stammered, his ears twitching erratically as his tail kept wagging despite his obvious embarrassment. "That's not— I didn't mean it like that!"

Miguno burst into laughter, leaning forward to nudge Jack's shoulder. "Aw, c'mon Jack, don't be shy! We all saw how you were wagging your tail earlier, like a little puppy."

Vox, ever the instigator, patted Jack on the shoulder with a wide, toothy grin. "Yeah, relax, buddy. She's just my cousin. You don't have to marry her."

You nearly choked on your own breath, the absurdity of the situation hitting you like a freight train. "Wait, what?" you managed to say, but your voice was drowned out by more laughter from the group.

Jack covered his face with both hands, muttering something under his breath that you couldn't catch. His tail, however, kept wagging wildly, betraying every bit of his flustered state.

"Alright, alright, chill," you said, holding up a hand to quiet the chaos. "Let the man breathe before he combusts."

Durham and Miguno both chimed in with their own apologies, their expressions a mix of sheepishness and amusement.

"Yeah, our bad," Durham said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "We were just messing around."

Miguno nodded, his tail flicking behind him. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, really. Just having a bit of fun."

Jack peeked out from behind his hands, his cheeks still pink, but he managed a sheepish smile. "Thanks," he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow at him, fighting back a grin, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your own cheeks. "No worries," you said, your voice a little softer.

This whole situation was ridiculous, but at least it was entertaining.

As the laughter died down, Vox leaned toward you, his smile as mischievous as ever. "See? Told you we'd help you fit in. You're already the life of the party."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile that crept onto your face.

The group continued chatting, the conversation drifting to topics like classes, clubs, and campus drama. You mostly kept to yourself, occasionally nodding along or giving short answers when prompted.

For a moment, the weirdness of everything—the ears, the tails, the everything—faded into the background.

It was surreal, like something out of a story—but it was real. As real as the egg on your plate.

And for now, you had no choice but to roll with it.

But in the back of your mind, the same thoughts kept circling.

How long am I gonna be here? And how the fuck am I going to survive it?

Whatever this was—dream, coma, or insanity—you'd have to figure it out. But for now, blending in would have to do.

One step at a time, you told yourself. Don't drown...again.

Lego

[leletha-jann]

Miscellaneous headcanon that nobody asked for: the Heterodyne family doesn't have a concept of "bastard".

Oh, they'll happily accept the description, if you're yelling at them, but they never really grasped the idea of "this child is born out of wedlock and therefore a lesser heir".

Why would they? There's no doubt about whether a kid is a Heterodyne or not - they have a DNA tester in the Castle. It's shaped like a giant evil lion, it climbs out of a bone pit, and it has its drama dial turned all the way up, but functionally it is a DNA tester.

If someone showed up at Mechanicsburg with a kid years after the Heterodyne's forces had stomped through that particular region, and said, "My kid is a Spark and it's your fault, this is YOUR kid and they're trying to turn my village into kumquats", either the Chapel of Bones lion said "yes" or it said "no".

There isn't an in-between state of "yeah OK that's my kid but unofficially". Either the kid is a Heterodyne or they're not.

(For the record, I suspect any "no" verdicts got everyone involved killed very quickly. The Castle doesn't like anyone it sees as a pretender. Including kids.)

If the kid is a Heterodyne - even if their father didn't want another one - I suspect the Castle would go: "Great! Kid is Family. Family is mine to protect. Kid is mine now." And there would be another Heterodyne in the family, no different from any of the rest.

As noted elsewhere, the Heterodyne family is extraordinarily cohesive for a thousand-year dynasty of evil unassailable mad scientists. Even the rival Red and Black Heterodynes seem to have been feuding with each other for the fun of it (probably with a side of ugh, sibling). The family never really split, diffused, or fractured - as evidenced by the fact that by the time our story comes along, there are no half-forgotten cousins or distant relatives with Heterodyne blood.

This tells me that in all probability, the Heterodyne family never shuffled its bastard children off to some less visible place - and you cannot tell me that a thousand years of raider warlords who sacked Europa on the regular never accidentally ended up with a baby they didn't plan on making.

And the whole concept of an illegitimate child is founded on the acceptance of the idea that some higher power told you that you could only have kids with this one person.

...yeah, I'm not seeing any candidates for telling the Heterodynes anything. Not ones that survived the attempt, anyway.

So there's probably a solid Heterodyne family precedent for "all these kids are half-siblings", and absolutely no Heterodyne family precedent for "but this specific one is lesser for it".

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ A Golden Council ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x targtower fem!reader [part five of a golden cage series.] words: 12.2k. synopsis: "The innocent have already begun to drop like flies, Jacaerys. War is here," you whisper, "and it looms with an ancient breath." notes: things are progressing... ugh they're so cute! i hope nothing bad happens to them! warnings: emotional complexities. unreliable narrator. premonition. fluff. canon-typical violence/blood/injury. allusions to torture. survivor’s guilt. character death. angst. religious trauma. bad coping mechanisms. semi-public smut [fingering, f!receiving]. light hair pulling. mentions of hunger/not eating. also eating. foreshadowing. requests closed. previous. series masterlist. masterlist.

YOUR DRESS SKIRTS KISS ALONG THE WET STONE, AN ECHO OF FOOTFALLS INTO THE GRAND CHAMBER. 

Outside, the morning’s cries have bloomed into a thunderstorm – thrust from the bosom of the gods, heavy sheets of rain pelt upon windowpanes, seeping through the crumbling cracks on the outer bailey’s walls. 

Your chambers were cold. 

No hearth lit, scrubbed clean, stripped bare and brandishing a horrid stain swept over by a new tapestry rug, it is a new room now; and just minutes ago, as you’d tugged on the dress selected with your own delicately trembling fingers, cracks of thunder had beat upon the earth and tremored your spine. Jacaerys had posted with your guard just outside the doors. The Sept’s chill had brought you a bout of shivers, and even your betrothed’s cloak fastened tight round your neck did little to quell it. After dressing yourself, you’d stepped wordlessly from the empty room, fraught with ghostly whispers and phantom chokes, tugging your tresses from your neck and facing away from the Prince; and he, tightening your dress for you with dutiful fingers – muscles remembering the fastenings of your dress as though that first night was merely a breath past. 

Your hair falls freely – you could not bring yourself to meet the mirror hanging so hauntingly near your bedpost – and so you remain unobserved by your own wary eyes, focused instead on the visages which twinkle like stars in the abyssal sky of night as you and Jacaerys enter the Grand Hall. 

Your betrothed’s eyes trace your figure – a practice well known now, though you know this morning it is in regard less to your figure as it is concern for the absent look in your eyes; and you grasp the fine black satin of your dress as you bring yourself towards the table glowing and waiting before you.

It is the very dress you’d worn just days earlier to sup with your family – the very dress that’d been the subject of Jacaerys’ childish jabs, of your rage, of the depths of depravity that you’d fallen into with Jacaerys. 

It is that, but it is also the very dress that’d been hand-stitched by Elina. 

And though the torches burn bright against the midmorning overcast, a dismal cool serves to quench any warmth from the room – the hearth licks hungrily at the air as figures surround the painted table, your eyes heavy upon the Queen at the head. 

It is a pall that has been cast over the council; and you have to assume, surely, they have been readily informed of the ructions from last night – the ashes of some distant pyre lit in the haze of a stormy morning.

 And the Queen, carved from stone, stands with a grasp so tight upon the back of her chair, you wonder numbly if the wood might splinter below her touch. The fire licks up her stoned visage in a backlit haunt as your and Jacaerys’ feet fall to rest before your seats at the table. 

The Queen pardons you all to sit, and as you do your eyes meet Baela’s; a fire of concern that burns into the guilt raging within. You tear your stare away from your cousin to meet the burning curve of Gulltown carved along the table’s coast just before you, your nail tracing its indents idly. 

Perhaps it is the table’s burning kiss – a light that illuminates the hollows beneath Rhaenyra’s gaze, the tight set of jaw, the tempest which swarms the shore of her stare as she stares out into the storm that rages beyond the casements. 

It is a look, absent and ruminating, you know too well – and whilst she broods, Daemon, from beside her and with words as sharp as the blade on his hip, relays the night’s events to those who were not in attendance for the spectacle. 

His words, to you, fall on deaf ears – for there lies before you a cup, and your reflection swims in its contents; a ripple when someone shifts, a shutter when thunder rocks the table. Jacaerys, in the faint morning light, looks a picture too young from memory; a watery thing, washed away by the shores of a childhood lost to fate. And Lucerys, when the cup is jolted again – his young visage turned up with a snicker, mimicking his brother’s brow in a line of jest from years past. Your throat tightens inexplicably. 

And, in that way your mind often does, you are reminded of that haunting thought – that shadow cloaked around you, wherever you go. 

Why indeed was it not you in his stead, at Shipbreaker Bay? An unuttered thought, though just as vivid; as if it were ripped from the lips of your own betrothed, or the Queen herself. And as Daemon’s lips form the tale of teas and servants and one-eyed snakes, your own thought rises, smoke unable to die. 

It is thick, living in the tremor of breath, in the curl of lips, in the inching close of your posture; why were you forgiven mercy to cross paths with the Stranger, and not Lucerys? Not Elina? It is an event which taints your very thoughts – a seeping grief, one so blistering that it sinks into the marrow of the air and grasps your throat. 

What fate is worse than theirs that the gods have planned for you? 

You do not spare a glance at any attendant of the council until Daemon has finished the recount of last night’s events; you surface, then, in the middle of some sentence: 

“–And they sent the girl?” Baela’s voice – a shard through the fog of your mind. 

“She named her masters,” Daemon affirms – there lies a bitter satisfaction curling in his tone; your gaze meets his, and nails press crescents into your palms. 

Soon there is a parchment unraveled by Maester Gerardys upon the table, spread across the table’s thick stretch of the Riverlands; and upon inspection it belies a horrifying shake of penmanship, imbued with the distinct kiss of drying blood. You must bite back a bout of nausea at the sight of the scrawled little markings, stomach churning with what must have happened. It could not be less fresh than this very morning. 

Like the rest, Baela leans forward; a silent intake of the jagged script, the remains of blood upon the confession, though you do not dare. 

In a moment of understanding, it sinks your heart below your stomach; your breath lodges in your chest. A note of your own, written so neatly and yet with haste just this very morning – a promise of duty, of matters with Daemon. You glance at Jacaerys, but his gaze is upon his uncle across the way, jaw tight and eyes resolute. 

You sway, sick and light; Had he watched? Had Jace stood by as the girl screamed, as that weakened courage had unraveled, thread by thread, beneath the pressure of shared fury? Did he even flinch?

Your cheek is torn by the sharp bite of molars – and someone speaks, though you remain trapped in the narrowing confines of your own mind, swirling with realization, with possibilities: Jace’s hands, stained with that very same guilt that Daemon wears so brazenly. 

Daemon’s words cut through your thick haze of shock. “She was a servant from the Red Keep. She came at the bidding of the Prince himself; a loyal friend, sent with poison to deliver his message—” 

Your swallow is thick and it is as pulsing as your own heartbeat when the words come: 

“Aemond One-Eye.” 

And though no one speaks, the words chill the air, tighten throats, cast sidelong glances; your dress is pressed tight to your thigh, a clammy palm soothing in some self-regulatory attempt to cast aside the attention so unwillingly brought to you. 

And for your part, you cannot speak; the girl’s confessional inked by an unsteady hand bleeds together in your vision – and the enormity of it is numbing. 

Aemond has killed kin before – and it is no revelation, no bolt of sudden shock, to realize that his hatred for you has festered beyond the pale confines of mere words. 

No, it has always lived there, sharp as a sapphire eye in the cold light of flame, hungry as a hound starved in the dead of winter, patient as a wolf in wait. 

It has always been known, as the pains of your mother and the shame of your own name, that the seeds of his loathing would one day seek a darker bloom than mere words. 

Perhaps, as sure as you were the branch of olives extended weakly across a chasm in youth, as sure as you are now the tie that will bind the smallfolk to the Black Queen – perhaps as you are these things, so too you are to them — to everyone — simply a vessel. Carrying a name, carrying blood, carrying an excuse, carrying defiance, carrying sins – carrying a future that cracks, that seeps smoke, ash, blood, and ruin. 

And perhaps now more than ever it occurs to you: Gone are the days of innocence, of war written with ink and quill. 

Lucerys’ slaying marked the smothering of whatever last flicker there may have remained of childhood affection. Of shared lineage, of recognition of the fiery blood which pulses the same through all of you. Gone are the days that, in some childish dream, you might see your brother’s laugh again, see the shine of hair glinting in the swordyard, hear that humming song of beetles through a chamber door. It is a certainty, now:

You are a thread to be cut, a piece to be moved from the board. 

To Aemond, to them — your life, that fickle thing that became inconsequential the moment you took your dragon to the sky and left for Dragonstone – your life matters far less than this war, than this pain, than the endless, aching thirst for power and retribution. 

Aemond One-Eye.

It seems that once more, the conversation has continued on without you – and you rejoin in a hazy blink of numbness to Daemon’s sharp lilt.

 “This is no work of Otto Hightower,” He claims to a suggestion of falsities, “The Hand plays a game. Precise, careful. He would never risk the pretense of honor to kill his granddaughter – though, Aemond���” 

Your eyes meet Daemon’s –  within them lies a troubling appetency. 

“That one is unburdened by such concerns.” 

A lull, graced by a crack of thunder – and then a burst of bright light upon the sullen frames of shoulders – and the quiet cracks too, a splintered thing that brings a swarm of foreboding through you in the silent chamber. It has always been known, you are reminded. 

Queen Rhaenyra’s head lifts – emboldened by the beastly chill that laces her visage; her voice is quiet, sharp. “She came for the future Queen.” 

Your stomach pools in a horror, some numb thought of a future burdened and murky. The future Queen — to be referred to as such might have once put a proud curve to your lips, but now just brings you closer to that precipice you must not name. 

Daemon’s reply is sharp and litigious as ever – a far cry from the slithering smirks and teasing mirth from just the day before. Gone is any such semblance of taunt; all that remains is wrath. 

“And she failed,” He reminds the Queen. 

At this, Rhaenyra snaps up straight, whipping her voice across the chasmed chamber as her chair scrapes against stone. 

“My son is dead!” 

A reverberation through the chamber – an echo that could send forth a murder of black winged creatures through the sky, that could stir the deepest of untamed beasts from their homes in the underbelly of the Mont. 

You are not the only one to tense in the chamber. And beside you, Jacaerys’ eyes shine – with vindication, with torment. Outside, the wind howls and wails; tears lament the casement behind you, and across the island, the empty Sept weeps quietly. 

“My son,” she repeats in a harrowing, splintered voice, “was slain by that monster – and now he dares take her too?” 

And there lies that spectre – the one which waits in the shadows of each council and curls fists, draws hands to swords, presses quills to parchment. 

She shakes her head – the glint of a golden crown aches in the kiss of firelight. Thunder clouds moan ominously outside the castle walls. “I will not suffer it. I will not lose another.” 

Your throat, held in a choked pain, that empty lingering of sorrow. Grief knocks upon the door of the chambers, it pelts upon the windows, it slides down the stone walls. It kisses the guilt which lives in your chest, which blossoms something darker and less known; and your eyes avert towards the table once more, ignoring the twitch of your betrothed’s fingers underneath the table, flexing upon his thigh. It is an effort to not reach across the empty space between you and cradle his palm in your own. 

A voice finds traction in the aftermath of the Queen’s words – though you’ve hardly enough capacity to recognize the owner as foreboding hatred swirls in your heart. “What is to be done?” 

A short exhale, and then – and as clear as the Sept’s bell chimes over hills, the Queen nods. “The girl will pay for her crime.” 

A whisper of death, that horrible thing – it curls through the hall, blowing a chill down your spine – and the room is as still as death itself, as though the Stranger looms just outside the doors, biding his time. 

But the Queen has not finished; her eyes burn; soon venom drips from the blades strapped to each man at the table –  the scent of smoke is thick, it clouds your mind in a hazy fog, twisting the rainfall into the beat of wings in the air, to the whoosh of arrows, the roar of turbulent waters – of the rush of earth far below, wind through hair, the last scream of battle. 

Her voice is sharp and heavy – wind off icy slopes, fire burning villages peppered with snow; villagers fleeing like frantic ants in a sugar bowl. Crushed beneath the heel of hatred and fury and wrath. 

“I want Aemond Targaryen.” 

THE SKY STILL WEEPS WHEN THE GIRL IS BROUGHT FORTH.

The servant girl is bound by wrist and dragged before you before the sun reaches its crest in the sky; sheltered by thick clouds, cloaking the island in a dark haze. 

She does not yet weep – though her lip trembles, her eyes darting around the chamber, it is not until her sight befalls Daemon that true terror lights the color of her stare. It is all the confirmation you need. 

Knees fall shaken before the dais where Queen Rhaenyra sits. Imposing as ever in the dismal dark cloud of weak day, she is flanked by Daemon and Corlys; and you, lingering idly and emotionless behind the Queen, feel heavier than the rolling clouds high above. 

Baela’s warmth, just a breath away, provides only a scarce bit less comfort than Jacaerys, who stands in wrath beside you; though you do not waver at the blossoming stains of wounds streaking the girl’s skin before you, still your stomach clenches. 

She weeps soon enough. Pleas fall from her split lips, breaths trembled into the cold air – it is in less than a moment that the girl is left upon her knees that Queen Rhaenyra rises; a dark river of blood-red silk and a crown glinting in the low light of storm. 

It is a deceptively calm voice that reaches through the silence of the chamber. 

“You sought to poison my kin.” 

The girl’s babbling ceases, though tears thick and fat slide over her sullen cheeks. 

“To take the life of a royal Princess – who is as much my daughter as she is my father’s daughter.” 

In the pit of your stomach comes a festering, long-hibernated thing; a violent spill of gratification, of a starved and upended desire to be loved, to be cherished. A flickering memory – that first time, weeks ago, when you’d stumbled weary and bloody onto the Island; Perhaps, you have always bore this burden. 

“You will pay for your treachery, and for the innocent life taken.” 

And despite the girl’s tears, large and lamenting as the rain that slows outside, it is in a deep tone that Daemon reads aloud the girl’s confession – guilt laid for all to hear; and you with a growing numbness in each turn of coerced sentence, each stuttered breath the girl takes as her eyes watch the glint of Ser Erryk’s blade. 

But as they read through the confession, a glint sends a tremor through you – the haunting green of eyes; the lick of silver in a scar across her wrist, glinting in the low stormlight. There is a twitch to her lips – she pleads with you now, you realize with a dropping horror. Mercy.

A sickening pit in your stomach opens; you swallow down the lilting voice from the eve before. Elina, with her fingers threaded in your hair: 

But the smallfolk love you.

A bitter thing, that is. Your own life, attempted by the brother who’d taunted and whispered, snapped in the crowded street – they do not love you, he’d promised; They are dogs at the foot of a table, grateful for scraps discarded from hands that feast. 

And she was, you know deep down. She was kneeled before his greedy, cunning hands — simply waiting her turn for a bite. In a way, you cannot blame her. Though you do not look away, and you do not lament for her impending death. 

The sentence is pronounced; flames lick up the dark slated stone walls, and Jacaerys’ shoulder brushes against your own. It is an old habit – that starving, crawling reflex which spurs your mind: 

May the gods judge her with mercy where we cannot; may her soul find peace where we could not offer it; may the fire take her sins – as it will someday take us all.

The words whisper in your mind as Ser Erryk draws his sword, and they are a fragile shield against the weight in your chest. A plea for absolution; for her, for yourself, for all the blood that has yet to be spilled. 

And with the rustle of armor, your heart lurches. 

The blade rises. 

It glints in the chamber, and you lament that this procession was not under the weeping sky, where the sins of your line and the rivers of her blood might be washed away in streams. 

A warmth finds your own hand, then – slow, a hesitant drag of knuckle over the top of your hand – and in a rush of comfort, your palm turns over to accept him. Jacaerys’ fingers link between your own, locking your palm in warmth, a squeeze tight as the blade glints above the Queensguard armor. You do not look at each other.

In a breath of pain, you squeeze back – his pull brings you to his side closer, and the satin of your black gown grazes his own dark cloak, still damp from this morning. 

The blade falls. 

A horrifying sound, a gasp muffled by the turn of your gaze towards Jace’s shoulder – and with a sickening silence, the rain has ceased. 

The chamber is silent, but for the trickling pulminations aching onto the stone before the body. Your stomach churns. For your sake, a life has once again ended. 

In the aftermath, Daemon simply turns to leave – and at the question of his daughter, he reveals only a clipped sentence: He goes “to visit the prisoner.” 

Numb, you do not think anything of it; and the doors echo through the room. Dresses, cloaks, tresses and trousers ruffle as the council is dismissed; Ser Erryk wipes dark streaks from his blade. 

A foreboding swirls in the ripples of forgotten goblets by the doors; in the blood on the stone floor, which glistens sickeningly in the torchlight; a horrifying thing, one that echoes the price of treachery – and in the faces of most around you is no relief, no victory. 

Your gaze is frozen in a glance, then another, towards the corner of the hall; blinking away a vision of a cloaked, hooded figure you swore was just stooping near the dark. 

A haunting shadow, one that disappears as you blink: A spectre of what is to come. 

Smoke to be fanned.  

Blood to be spilled. 

IN THE WAKE OF THE RAINSTORM, WELL AFTER THE SUN FELL FROM THE SKY, CAME THE FOG. 

It crawled from the shadows across the sea; lumbering like the distant stirring of giants, it slid across the glassy water and choppy tide, lurking upon the Dragon Bridge and slithering into Aegon’s Garden. 

Night fell early today – though you spent most of the day perched at your casement, worrying your lips raw with thoughts that could not leave. It was not until the sky was blanketed by the relief of night, and stars littered its visage, that the anger came; and when it did, it was vicious, irrational. 

Dripping from the ends of your hair, leaking from billowed breaths as you clasped your cloak tighter to the shoulder of your doublet, your hatred steeped long and resenting within your heart. 

Now, the yard is still as it has been in the moon and a half since you arrived; it is quiet, the night biting at your nose, kissing your cheeks with a chilly hiss as the blade in your hand glints under torchlight. 

It is a poor hack which you unload at the straw-stuffed dummy before you – clumsy and misaligned, your stance falters and wavers. The steel in your palm is heavy, and your arms tremble with the unfamiliar burden; screaming muscles, aching throat – though sweat beads along your brow, you ignore the throb of fear and anger which twist in your chest. 

Each swing brings about another flash – whispers, a bloody parchment; a lifeless body, the thud of a final gasp. A face, hollowed and absent. The pelting onslaught of rain, blood bubbling from a gasping mouth – the grasp of a girl trying to remain in the realm of the living. 

And you, helpless, guilty. 

A cruel joke, your mind plays: Because in an effort to cast away the horrid dredges of your memory come forth the more pleasurable ones. 

Unbidden and brash are the memories of kneeled Princes, of lips plush and pursing around quiet prayer; of fingers straining against a nightgown, of a sigh pressed into your own mouth. Visions of a grin set apart by a longer memory of sinned tongues, wandering fingers, and hands grasping starched sheets. 

The Sept, heavy with desire and transgression, with death and life and whatever odd thing lies in between.  

You slip only slightly on the mudded ground, breath pluming as fog swirls below – a strain to recall just days before the words of instruction from Jacaerys, hands adjusting your grip on the hilt, fingers brushing your own. 

Any effort to cast out thoughts of your horrid desires, the burning warmth that blossoms and festers at the thought of his hands on your skin, is futile. An exhale falls sharp from your lips, eyes tired as you swing again; nothing but an intact dummy and a ringing in your forearm, you curse quietly under your breath. Failure pricks at your pride, whispering inadequacy and impending danger. And so you push forward. After all, the blood of a Hightower is thick in ambition.

“Your footwork is abysmal,” comes a voice from the shadows – rich and familiar, though in your state, still you startle. 

Your turn is sharp to meet Jace, crossing the darkened edge of the yard under the faint light of torches. And perhaps, had you felt any less bristled, you would have admired the expression leaking from his visage – bemused, exasperated, but wholly and effortlessly handsome. 

Your affection translates rather seamlessly to irritation. “Shouldn’t you be abed?” You retort – a stubborn one you’ve always been, hoping to steady your breathing as memory of the last shared solitude between you resurfaces once more. Your huff is quiet, “It is quite late.” 

Boots drag against muddy gravel, and he hums a low thing, sending a warmth down your spine. 

“Perhaps. But here you are,” he counters, always one for a verbal spar – and his eyes rove rather slowly over your figure before flicking to the target of your anger in all its straw glory. “...Waging war against straw and sticks.” 

You pay little mind to the curling amusement in his countenance nor the uptick in your own lips that you school easily. A raise of your blade, hoping to recall any such stance that might belie half the skill you wish to possess. “I need the practice.” 

He is quick, dry. “For what, exactly?” A glossy curl falls into his eye as he tilts his head, lips twitching, “Cutting your own hand off?” 

And it is odd, for him to mask his worry with humour – you bristle in defiance, knowing if you succumb to his plot to distract you, you’ll be nothing more than a green-girl breaking in a blushing fit – and the emotion that pricks at your eyes is quelled by a tight swallow.

“Spar with me,” you demand instead. 

He seems to find this amusing – in a raised brow, he shakes his head. “You’ve held a blade for all of three days, Princess.” 

Your jaw sets. “Then this should be easy for you, Prince,” you shoot back with a half step towards where he lurks at the edge of the foggy courtyard, beside the bannister overlooking the restless sea. 

For a moment, he regards you – you, in a muddied dress, hair messed and cheeks rosy from the cold; and in that dark gaze, you feel warm and still chilled to the very bone. 

He exhales quite slowly, a light shake of his head. “I won’t.”

You resist a sharp sigh, ticking your jaw. The blade falls as you drop your arm, the tip dragging in the mud as you take another step towards him. 

“I’m not made of glass, Jace.” 

And at your tone, he takes on his own patience. “You are not,” he agrees, “But I’m no fool, either,” he purses lips, wettened with his tongue. “Grief and anger are poor sparring partners.”

You falter at his words, sage as they are hypocritical. 

Some burning anger still festers, some resentment for the world that has chewed you up in a shipwreck of loss and spat you back onto untread shores; some disdain that nests clear in your heart and threads a tale for future loss and future sorrow – that warns of dreams past, of dreams soon to come – it burns. 

The blade is lifted before you can even think twice. 

And he, staring at you for a brief moment as you levy the steel, and then down to the very blade that lies level just upon his nose. 

Your hand is not steady; for it is a stark memory, a mirror reversed in some sick trick of the eye, moon past and breaths far since fallen. 

His gaze locks onto your own, dark and searching again – and there is a flickering there. He remembers. 

A memory shared in twin agony; two sides of the same mad coin. 

He remembers, and you can see it in the way his lips part, the way his brow knits upwards; that moment, now long ago and yet so burned into you both — a blade held between you, a desperate attempt to wield control in the face of everything so very uncontrollable – and a shaking palm, a whispered defiance.

The faint scar across your palm that still lives. 

Jacaerys doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch – and with a signet ring glinting in the torchlight, he reaches up slowly. 

You cannot blink before he is taking the blade into his palm and gripping. 

There is no sound to the contact – your breath hitches, and the sight of his palm closing over the sharp steel stings; salt in a wound. Dots of dark blood well from where the blade bites into flesh, crimson and soon weeping gently down his wrist. 

You’re struck with some horror. “J-Jace,” you falter, words falling from your lips in a frosted whisper – and your grip falters, though he does not let go. 

A shiver falls down your spine as you swallow down the rush of anger arisen. 

At the thought of Jacaerys, at the thought of your father, long since burned and gone from the realm of men; at the thought of the man you once called brother – the one who sent that knife so willingly towards your throat. At the whispering voice of your mother, which still curls around the corners of your mind and spits sin into the shadows. 

It is Jacaerys, you remind yourself. And perhaps, you have both always bore this burden. 

And when his voice comes, it is firm.

“Skoros iksis aōhon iksis ñuhon.”

The sword is heavy; his words are heavier. What is yours is mine. 

Blood drips slow down his pale palm, steady as what you’ve done, what you did – what you will do. 

And then your grip slackens entirely; his fingers tighten around the blade, refusing to release it as emotion stings in your eyes, breathing heavy as you shake your head. 

The blood is slow but it is real, and it comes from your betrothed. 

A fear – one that scratches its talons down your spine and claws at your throat; the burden of sharing, of becoming one. 

You nearly whimper as the sword lowers, slipping from your hands as your arms fall limply to the side. “Kesā botagon syt ziry,” your words hang in the yard: You will suffer for it. 

And for a moment, he does not move; the blade is now in his own fingers, wrapped and bloody as you tremble, a leaf in the dawn of winter. 

The hilt hits the mud – and perhaps in his gaze you find the emotion you cannot name, that ache in your chest that pounds with each breath you struggle to find. 

When the blade finally falls, his blood-slicked fingers leave smears of crimson upon steel; and his hand falls to his side, eyes still locked and unrelenting upon you. 

It is this reverent stare – a whisper, one from when the day was still lit with lighter stormclouds – this morning, when it cleansed itself with torrential pours and you and your betrothed ducked your heads under the gaze of seven strange gods. 

It is this stare you find again, calling to you, whispering. For the future… That I might be worthy of it. 

Of the realm, and of those who are beside me.

And just as the echo of his words reverberate in your mind, the days catch up to you; in a dizzying spell of empty chested-gasping, your knees buckle rather ungracefully. 

Jacaerys catches your back swiftly, uncertain; as though he knows not where to purchase them without overstepping. And he murmurs your name low – the bloodied hand comes to rest at the small of your back, warm and firm despite the sting you know it must carry. 

Your own grasp his shoulders, pulling him into you, unable to bear the stare of his gaze.

Your apologies are swallowed by the threat of tears – vicious things that prick at your eyeline and tremble your lip, though you swallow hard and blink away the haze clouding your vision. His embrace is hesitant as it is welcoming, hands light but steady all the same. 

Your own shaky grasp curls into the affection you so desperately dreamt for in youth – from upturned chins of your kin, from the avoiding gaze of your father, from the unreachable hands of your half-sister, from the cold pity of your mother. 

But Jacaerys is here now; he is here because fate has brought him to you, as you have been brought to him. And tresspasses must be gone, forgotten, swallowed by the irascible pit of youth – and in its wake must bud something else entirely. 

Your hands hold him, and they feel cleansed. 

It is a long moment suspended in the embrace of each other – the moon dances shyly behind thin clouds, and the shadow of a beast tattered and wild flickers high upon the Mont in the East. 

“Come,” Jace says at last – a light brush of his palm to your sleeve – and he guides you towards the banister overlooking the steep walls of the castle. 

Down below the sprawled stone walls, the fog crawls back in retreat; a dance with the tides, a waltz whose steps you know quite well by now. Soon, the slow march of fog will retreat in the longer slumber of eve; and it will return hungry and crawling in the wake of morrow to claim the fishing boats which depart from the docks. 

Jacaerys is a warm pillar beside you, blocking the brunt of seabreeze and bringing back the warmth to your cheeks. 

Down the coast is a cluster – the fishing docks and a gaggle of homesteads, lit by specks of torches. The waves rock in a slow dance against rafts, and the lanterns bob gently in the lick of tide. The thought pangs at your stomach as grass blows down the mountain in ripples lit by the moon – Elina’s lover, the boy with the bubbling laugh and a heart of the sea –  does he look out upon the same glassy moonlit waters as you do now, and hear her name in the waves? 

When will he learn she is one of the first of many spoils of war? 

Your head turns to dip, hands braced against the cold stone bannister; Jacaerys does not speak. He waits for you to come to him, as if he knows in some way, you always do. And when you break the silence, your voice barely carries over a whisper to the wind. 

“What good am I,” you wonder, “if I cannot even wield a blade properly?”

His breath curls in the air just above your eyes and you watch it dissipate against the starry sky. “You cannot learn to fight in days,” He insists, your name lilting from his lips in a bitter release of truth. 

The words are honest, yet they chafe at you; and in defiance, your eyes flicker skyward and roll with exasperation.

“And that is precisely the problem,” you sigh; along the coast, a flock of small birds circle and dip beneath the glassy shore. “Why did I not, too, grow up with callouses on my palms and steel in my hand?” 

He has no words to soothe the bitterness upon your tongue. 

The fog ebbs; spare tresses loose from your tied hair flick across your vision – you tame them briskly with a hooked finger. 

Along the line of small village shacks far below the castle, there is one torch still lit, casting a tall shadow down the rocky path – and wavering just as its flame, your voice is not as strong as you hope. 

“The innocent have already begun to drop like flies, Jacaerys.” 

Wind whistles gently. “War is here,” you whisper; A vision of a stirring beast, high above, scorching the papery wings that float just above a raucous sea. War is here, and it looms with ancient breath. 

Your words seep into the night, a melted thing that burrows itself into your marrow and twists your heart into a frigid stone. 

“You are not the only one who… feels what’s to come,” his voice lacks heat – instead he delivers his position with a rigid sureness that merely gnaws at the guilt in your stomach. 

A hand remains curled against the stone, a crimson fist as he leans opposite you on the balcony, “But you’re not helpless, even if you believe so.”

The sea is tamed at this hour; it is quiet and shy, kissing the fog which rolls over it with a tender affection. “Helpless is precisely what I feel,” Your tone leaks a bitterness, “The gods demand so much, yet they do not arm us with the means to meet such expectations.” 

And your words are a shadow of that tall tower beaming green and watchful; backlit out on the moonkissed training yard, you stand to Jacaerys and watch with a hopeful dread that he might see past the leaking emerald in your veins. 

Jacaerys exhales – his breath curls into the air, his boots scuff softly against the stone. His gaze burns through your visage, and you dare not turn to face him. “Wars are not only fought with swords,” He reminds. “Your strength lies elsewhere.”

You glance at him, your brow furrowing; frustration pricks at you. Your strength. Eyes roll to the heavens once more, lips puffing a plume of breath as you scoff. “–And where is that, exactly? In words? Politics? In being a thorn in your side?” 

And though he does not bristle at your childish jab, he also finds no such answer to provide you in the wake of your small outburst besides a sigh. His breath plumes before you, a rosy blush upon his nose and nipping across his cheeks. The cold has seeped through and begun to weary your bones. Your nail carves along the bannister’s rough stone in an unknown pattern. 

You are bitter and you are sore – but he stands beside you still, watching you with that amber gaze, patient enough to drive you mad. Your lips purse and puff out a plume of breath. “Or, perhaps it is to stand idly by while others fight and die?” 

And you know this stirs him – he, too, itches for the wind on dragonback; for the blade, for blood. It is written into the gold cracking through amber irises – when he cannot provide words in solace, you shake your head. 

You glance at him, silvered and bright against a dark yard. Jacaerys stands in some weary beauty, a tragic gift of the gods in a crumbling world – and yet you find that look he’s so often levied and only of recent times attempted to conceal: exasperation. 

It bristles you once more, though a small part of you knows well that he is correct. 

Your eyes impose upon him a look of similar indignation, crossing your arms across your chest. A scoff comes from your lips. “You’re the heir, Jace. It’s not the same.”

Fingers flex along the stone before you and his signet ring glints in torchlight – Jacaerys does not hesitate when he levies his response to you this time, quiet and intent in the gentle wind. 

“And you’re meant to stand beside me,” his eyes meet your own and they permeate that film of worry, that fleeting heartbeat which skips under his slow stare. With a shake of his head, the line of his jaw cuts through the dark of his cloak. “Not as someone waiting idly for orders. The gods know just as well as I that you would not dare surrender to such a thing. Nor would I wish you to,” His voice is that stern cadence you know only superficially; but it permeates you, it strikes you with an understanding that he is the future King, and you are the future Queen. 

“We must win not just battles, but the war itself – and it is not with steel alone.”

Though he has not finished, and the words that follow strike you with quiet thought. “Do you think Baela any less strong merely because she can’t wield a sword? Rhaena?” He wonders, lips plump and bitten, “My mother?” 

Certainty lies within his words, and you’re struck once more with the weight of the crown not yet placed upon his brow – by the draw of his stare, by the stern curve of lip. 

He’s correct, and perhaps this is the most frustrating of all. 

A good thing, then, that you’ve a match just as stubborn and ardent as your own spirit; how boring it would be to marry one who shares no similar tenacity for resolve. 

And though neither of you dare speak it, the space between you has become a thing of the past – he inches closer still when you turn to face him, ruefully shaking your head and watching his gaze trace the curve of your cheek. You feel his breath and it feels right. 

“Winning wars with words,” your voice is a dry attempt to deflect from the growing tension, from the hitch in your breath. But still, your lips twitch. “You make it sound so very romantic.”

And in your small pride, his lips twitch too – a ghost of a smirk, some spectre of the boy he has no such time to be. But he simply leans his forearms against the chilled stone, tilting his head to regard you from this angle and sighs gently, curls straying and caught in the kiss of breeze. 

You do not tame them for him, though you watch enviously as his hands manage the task on their own. 

“And you make it sound quite tedious,” he counters in a soft timbre, one that vibrates in the wind and settles low within your breast. Your gaze has found the round swell of his bottom lip, and it strikes you that perhaps the conversation has transcended the subject of war and gone to more petrifying territories. 

And perhaps in fear of that very fragile thread which holds you together, your faint smile melts, leaning to rest your arms beside his own upon the bannister. “Perhaps because it is,” You murmur, a quiet and lingering whisper. 

And he knows this; he, of all, knows it well. A muscle tightens in his jaw – a betrayal of the restlessness that has sewn itself poorly constructed sutures into the still festering wound of Storm’s End; it is in the shift of his shoulders, the flex of hands stained in crimson – haunted, perhaps, by the weight of a sword he is desperate to wield. 

It is when the moon shines from behind a measly string of clouds that you jolt in guilt; a puff of breath that leaves almost as a sigh, and Jacaerys’ gaze follows your frame as you turn and stalk away, bending low to retrieve the flagon of water you’d disposed of in your endeavor to wield your iron. 

When you are beside Jacaerys again, it is a soft coaxing that guides his wounded palm from the stone and into your own hand, gently unfurling it in your grasp. You pour the water in a heavy silence, intent on ignoring the heat of his stare upon your face – you choose instead to study how the blood cleanses from his hand in a river of pink, falling quietly to the muddied earth. 

Thankfully the cuts are shallow, superficial; he ensures you he will visit Maester Gerardys this evening; you insist on attending if only to make sure he keeps true to his word. And though he gives you his eyes rolled to the heavens, you still can see the flush growing upon his visage in the wake of your insistence. 

The torches lining the upper bailey walls are burnt low. It approaches an hour unseemly to remain out, if not now; and in the dancing light that fades in the flicker of Jace’s gaze, there lies that same boy who grew too quickly into a man – a burden dragged down by a crown, by a war that neither of you wished for. 

And perhaps you would have done something rather reckless in this moment – for his hair is glossy and curled in the nightfall, and his eyes watch yours with such wide reverence; his cheeks are that same rosy red you’ve come to meet in each memory of your shared trysts, his eyes are wanting and warm – his lips pursed and curved with a wishing breath. 

Perhaps you would have done something reckless – but when your mouth opens, your gaze hitches upon something rather inconsequential in the foreground and you pause. 

A faint flicker of movement along the path leading down to the fishing docks; your visage must reflect the interest you harvest, as Jacaerys too turns to follow your gaze with a blink of interest. 

A hooded figure; faint, carrying a freshly lit torch. 

A cool breeze brings unease to your stomach as your eyes fight the dark to make out any such shape. 

“Who do you suppose walks at such an hour?” 

And perhaps it is merely paranoia – the castle walls are not safe as you once thought, and Jacaerys knows this just as well – though his eyes hook onto the figure and their deliberate steps, jaw ticking as he hums shortly. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice slow and pondering. 

It is quiet for a moment; paranoia is a lingering thing these days, curled in the corners in the shadows, in wait like a starved hound; And though you worry your lip with your teeth, Jacaerys sets his hand to brush your own upon the bannister, and you do not pull away. 

Not interlocked, though brushing, you remain – and the hooded figure is swallowed by the foggy outskirts of vision.

Neither of you speak again, your gazes set to the horizon and breaths set in a slow march towards the unknown. 

THE NEXT MORNING, THE SKY SWALLOWS ITS SORROW IN SHY BURSTS OF BLUE.

Clotted clouds roll over hills, pregnant with the quiet promise of rain and thunder; though sunshine peeks through gaps and dapples the waves of green around you. The body of wildgrass shifts in its current, swaying around your untamed tresses, arms of yellow and green grasping your ribs, tickling your knees and kissing your cheeks. 

Across the cliffside meadow, your curling beast rests in a pocket of sun, her scales glinting, ancient breaths echoing through your lungs. There is an eruption, sudden but silent in the distance, of blackened wings of ravens down the valley near Aegon’s Garden – and soon come the shivering ripple of grass along the cliff, trembling to the rhythmic beating of wings. 

Winds shift; smoke and salt come, then, over the cliffside. You’re eclipsed overhead by a great shadow, though you need not look; soon, Vermax’s claws thunder into the ground of the meadow beside his sister. 

You squint against the sunshine, watching great chests expand and deflate in unison; a rhythm written into their molten blood – a tether just as strong as the one that binds you to his rider. 

The shadow of his frame slips from great wings, and you press your palms to your lids to ease the ache of sun glare. 

You should rise – should greet him as propriety dictates, nod your head or at least look up as the Prince crosses to you – but your legs are heavy with the weight of the shy sun, and you instead remain rooted and evergreen in your spot overlooking the great valley of Dragonstone. 

The wind whispers into your ears as he approaches, and you stretch your weary limbs softly, a breath puffing through your lips. 

The cliffs are steep, and drop off into slates of charcoaled black; gleaming splinters of glass glinting in the splotched sunlight. 

It is quiet as Jacaerys lowers himself beside you, cloak pooling against the fabric of your dress. 

His lashes are long, lit by the sun that peeks so shyly from the clots of clouds above. He gazes out to the sea, where the waves swell and crash against jagged stone; a flock of gulls take the sky above you, their gray feathers glinting against the morning light. 

Vermax has begun to chirp to his sister – it is an easy thing, their companionship – and you breathe into the wildgrass that tickles your arms, shivering slightly in the high breeze, tugging your cloak tighter. 

Jacaerys says nothing. 

And, still unspoken, there is something between you; lingering in the gaps between words, in the careful way you glance at each other’s countenances when you believe the other is not aware; there is something in the memory of sharp tongues and sharper tempers. 

In all honesty, it should be gone, that thing; after all that has happened, the blood and death and memories of years spent in mutual condescension – and yet, it remains. 

A hunger, unfulfilled. A flame refusing to die.

You’re unsure as to what drives you to end such silence. 

Your voice slips from the mountaintop, soft and as whispering as the wind that curls around your skirts, driving waves of the wildgrass to ebb and flow. 

“Elina had a lover.”

At your words he turns to you at last. His stare is warm and wary upon your mourning countenance, though he waits for you to continue. 

High above, wisps of clouds stir and circle in a rainbow of mist.  

“A fisherman. He promised to marry her when the war was won.” 

Jacaerys exhales slowly, a thing heavy and knowing. He needs not say anything; for he knows, as well as you, how this tale ends. You wonder if he feels the foreboding in his gut just as you do on your own. 

Salt and earth are carried through the wind between you – and a small grace of the incense sticks he favours to burn in his chambers. Jacaerys’ fingers curl into the grass, grasping, dirt smudging over the bandage over his palm. 

He does this, sometimes. Allows you the grace of quiet, even when his head is filled with too many thoughts. Your hand drifts towards him on its own – a small hope for comfort under the chasm of the open sky – and with a ghosted touch, you feel the bandage beneath your fingertips. 

He does not pull away; instead his gaze anchors once more on your visage, searching as you lift his hand into your own. “So many things left waiting,” you murmur, tracing along the fabric that nurtures the split flesh of his palm – where your sword was grasped just the last eve. 

His voice is just as quiet as your own as his fingers flex beneath yours. It seems he knows where your mind is; Perhaps his has been there all along. “War has always taken more than lives.” 

Your throat tightens. He does not need to say more. 

His shoulder brushes your own, and, without a thought, your hand rises to curl around the fabric of his sleeve, wrapping around his bicep. 

And he does not pull away as you rest your head upon his shoulder, curling into the side of him. A slight hitch in breath, perhaps shared by you both; but he breathes slow and long, his head eventually falling to rest against the crown of your own. 

So you and your betrothed rest in the morning breeze, choppy sea glinting and winking from far below. 

And it happens so very gently — his own hand falls to rest upon the flat of your thigh, precarious but grounding; a heat spreads from it, though there is something so right about his body against yours, about his heart beating just beside your cheek, that you have no mind to pay attention to the guilt of your mother’s voice curling in your breast.

Your dragon takes flight off the cliff – soon, the reflective chartreuse of Vermax leaps in chase, catching the wind and diving in their playful spiral downwards. A gust of smoke and ash, and you watch the water far below ripple as the beating of wings dive in descent. 

Your stomach rumbles in a distant reminder of hunger – your lips purse, hand unintentionally tightening around Jace’s arm as you sigh into his doublet. The drag of his jaw against your unruly hair; and lips that press somewhere upon the crown of your head, a faint skip in your heart. 

“I dreamt of my father last night,” his whisper leaks into your heart, tugging painfully. “Laenor.” 

And it is a thing, you realize – that he clarifies. It is unspoken, that thing that lingers in bad blood and memories of whispers, taunting and cruel from childhood. 

Your eyes shut, swallowing back a thick strike of angst. “He was a good man,” You murmur, breath lost to the wind. Jacaerys hums and you feel it against the warm skin of his neck. It is only a moment before his voice comes again, softer than usual. 

“I wonder if that is enough, in the end.” 

His words bring a quiet; weighted by the shaky breath Jace levies, by the pull you feel, that urge to press against him and never be separated. 

You can only provide him that same gift he’s given you – a listening ear. And he accepts it. “Harwin Strong,” he murmurs then – and your heart lurches at the wavering in his voice. 

Your betrothed does not name his father; but he does not need to. You know who his father was. And you do not hold him any less tight because of it. 

“He was a good man as well,” Jace says weakly, a watery thing.

You pick your head from his shoulder, heart aching with the tremor of loss, of all that has been denied to your betrothed. Your voice comes, and you hope it is enough. “I think he would have liked to see you as you are now,” you whisper, a careful thing as your fingers trace over his tense muscled arm. 

Jacaerys’ fingers twitch; your own trail over the veins which trickle over his hand. His smile is bitter. “I think he would have liked to see me at all.”

And that unspoken thing, nestling in the crack of your hearts – your heart aches, mind tumbling down into a chasm of memory and youth. Your hair catches the sunlight when you turn to watch your dragons in the distance, fishing along the gleaming waters and skimming the surface with their claws. 

A distant memory – the dragons, not any older than a few years, nearly small enough to be lost at a distance, clamoring to bite at the shores of Blackwater Bay. How you’d loved to watch them, then. Youth, you think bitterly – what an odd thing to share. Your brothers, your sister – they are but echoes of you; reflections, bent and warped and twisted and reshaped, but still an echo of your own longing, your own scarcity in the life of abundance. And Jacaerys – he is the same. Blood, and name, and duty; these things, which mean so much and yet so little. 

And in the end, is that enough? 

You glance out to the skyline, where the sea warbles and glints against a line of thickened clouds. Out beyond the plane of rolling thunder, there lies a Keep of red, and a throne made of swords. 

Is that enough? 

Your ruminations are disturbed by a shift in your betrothed’s balance. Withdrawn from his belt comes a pouch – small, velvet; from the kitchens. Your stomach keens at the sight, though your brows furrow, a churning flicker of fear striking your heart. Poison, your mind whispers, tightening your throat and seizing the beats of your heart. 

You’ve scarcely entertained the thought in the days since Elina died; it’s a poor thing, you know; but you’ve been unable to bring yourself to do it, in fear of the curling grasp of your brother’s talons even across the bay. 

His sentence is punctuated by the opening of the bag; a fragrant smell, roasted and honeyed – almonds, just how you prefer them. Your cheeks are hot, heart thudding in your chest. 

“I know you’ve not eaten,” Jacaerys says, offering the candied almonds to you, eyes syrupy pools of amber and honey as they take in the slight lurch in your chest. 

“I’ve no appetite,” you counter, hoping he cannot hear the roar of your stomach. He levels you a stare which, in other times, might coax a stifled huff of amusement from you; though your defiance merely grows as you narrow your gaze to him. 

“I don’t.” You insist, resisting the urge to cross your arms across your chest. 

This bristles him. 

Your attitude, you know, is not a favorable one. Just as you were last night, you’re inclined to resist out of some last ditch for self preservation; Though admittedly, you grow weary. 

The frustration returns to Jace’s voice just slightly as he sighs, leveling you with a stare that belies his patience, despite the way his eyes roll to the heavens and back. It is not the first time such an action, a mirror of your own attitude, has sent your stomach in flutters – a handsome visage indeed, your heart chides. 

His tone is that of a chastising nursemaid as he says your name. “You cannot live on air alone.” 

You turn just so with a strike of defiance in your heart, leaning back on an arm as you glare half-heartedly at him. “It is not your concern, Jacaerys.” Your retort is as much a lie as it is childish, though you set your jaw in indignation. “I am not your concern.” 

The wind is gentle in the silence, and your cheeks heat under his stare. 

He, indeed, does not enjoy the falsities of your words either. It’s only a moment before he closes in – his gaze, darker in the shade of a rolling cloud overhead, and his breath almost kissing your own.

“You are.” 

And there is that fire in his stare, that flicker that should have been long lost or doused yet remains burning, hungry. Possessive. He tilts his head to level with your own, and your pulse quickens. 

His lips nearly brush against yours; and despite yourself, your breath catches. 

Jacaerys’ voice is slow when it meets your ears. “Whether we will it or not. You are.” 

The space between you is unbearably small, your cheeks quite hot – and Jacaerys, brow stern, gaze set upon you. His own cheeks are rosy, fingers twitching upon your thigh as if he just realized where they remain, heavy, purchased. The wind has died; the almonds rest still in their velvet pouch. 

Your jaw ticks in some half-exasperated, half-hungry way; and it is unmistakable when it happens. 

Though it is a quick flicker, you see it: Jacaerys’ gaze, frustrated, insistent – dropping to your lips and flickering with something. A quiet memory of the empty Sept yesterday morning, of the moments stolen in your chambers, of the painted table pressed into your back, his lips upon your own. 

And that flame, that thing that remains despite it all – it flickers in your stomach, sparking and igniting as your eyes lock onto his in the soft light of the late morning. 

You don’t look away. 

The silence is taut as you slowly reach out, still caught in the churning gaze of his stare, still breathing your breath into his own, still ignoring the flutter in your chest. 

You take the almonds from his palm, though your jaw is set and your stare is blazing into his own. 

The almonds are sweet – a welcomed taste to the bitter guilt that’s kept you petrified for a long time; and Jacaerys watches with heavy eyes, locked upon your own, sending a flip to your stomach. 

It takes little time before his contact is broken, his gaze dropping to your lips as you press a handful to them, lashes fluttering as he lets out a nearly imperceptible exhale. 

But you certainly hear the tremor, as his gaze hooks on the ease of your tongue across your lips. 

A tightened jaw, the flicker of eyes, and you burn. 

You break your own stare when the heat becomes too much; your pulse spikes, though perhaps Jacaerys has executed his trick – for the pouch is empty, and your stomach is satiated. Though in its wake grows a new kind of hunger, fresh and yet familiar, and burning much too bright. Perhaps that, too, was a trick – a welcomed one. 

A bite of a plush lip, and you no longer attempt to conceal the flames of desire which lick up your throat. 

Down below, within the ramparts, the old Sept’s bell begins to chime. 

The sun has hit its crest in the sky; you and Jacaerys watch as a flock of dark wings depart from the bell tower and take towards the wooded forest beyond the Dragon Bridge. 

The bell chimes once more, and your mind drifts with its toll, wondering if it will sound any different when the chimes are not to signify the apex of daylight, but instead the celebration of a union. 

Something stirs in the pit of your stomach, the shadow of dragons passing overhead. “It’s not fair,” you murmur – and as Jace shifts beside you gently, his hand still purchased light and warm upon your thigh. 

He hums in that way he often does, his bandaged palm tracing the subtle crease of fabric upon your leg; you feel the heat of him through the fabric and repress a shiver. 

A scoff-like sound, almost bitter in its descent, falls from your lips. You shake your head, tresses stray and blowing around your head. Waves crash into the slated walls of the cliffs down below. 

“I should have wanted the waiting,” you admit, cheeks hot, heart aching. 

He swallows, and you see it in the way his throat moves. The sun kisses his profile, that profile which was drawn in the vision of the gods, in the love of the realms, in the blood of the ancients; a profile which brings a sickening yearning to your heart. 

He smiles, and though it is bitter, it is still radiant. 

“And I should have had the time to.” 

That’s it, you realize quite suddenly; there is no time left. There is a horrible feeling in your gut when you glance from Jacaerys to the horizon, where boats dot the sea like flecks of mud upon boots; where invisible people pull invisible fish onto the docks and ship them to invisible soldiers who will soon march with the banners of your betrothed. 

Your lips press together, and you repeat the words you’ve had beat into your spine since the very night that your father departed the realm of the living. 

Your lips curl. “War does not wait.” 

Jacaerys laughs softly, and though it is humourless, it is soothing to your burning veins. It is a mirror of the passion, the anger in your heart. “No,” he agrees, “It does not.” 

His lips are pink. Freckles kiss the slope of his nose, peppering his jaw; The wind brushes his hair from his brow. His eyes seem to take in those delicate and distinct features which make up your own visage, and you are struck with an immense emotion for which you have no name. There is no time left – there never was. 

You are hesitant, though the words still fall from your lips as you glance at him, at the soft warm glow glaring right behind the haloed ring of light above his curls. War does not wait. 

“So why should we?” 

His breath catches with your words, the syrupy blink of long lashes, of searching, willing eyes. You watch back with a fire you see reflected in his own gaze.  

A swallow, the slide of his bandaged palm up your thigh, sending a shiver of want through you. 

You meet him as eagerly as ever before, your lips pressing to his own with the thirst of the tide. 

It is no long-awaited thing; it is no breathless, heart-stopping kiss, but it is you and Jacaerys, alone and together, desperate and hungry and vengefully direct. There is no time for waiting any longer – your body aches to be against his own, and his sings the same song of desire as he presses against you with a small noise. 

Against your lips he murmurs your name – barely a breath as he tilts back into you, not gentle nor hesitant. It is urgent, raw – it is written by the words unspoken, by the feelings that draw both of you to tremble in the darkest hours of night; sand, slipping through fingers. His lips are warm, and his tongue is insistent against your own. 

The press of his chest, the grasp of your fingers in his curls; a slow and languid slide of his mouth over your own. A thumb strokes at the hinge of your jaw and your stomach flutters as he coaxes your lips open further for him. 

His breath shakes with that same fire you saw yesterday – that vengeful look, which drove duty and wrath together and what builds an immense desire within you at his touch. 

You take what you want from each other, and you do it willingly. 

It does not take long. He shifts, pressing you back into the wildgrass; and the sky yawns wide above you as he comes to hover above you, freckles littering his cheeks and a flush creeping along the slope of a regal throat. 

Lips feather over your mouth, down to your jaw, dipping to the hollow of your throat; an overwhelming desire clutches you, your eyes falling to the distance as his teeth graze your pulse; the pale stones worn with wind and weather – the Sept. 

You’re struck with the vision of a slipping shadow, looming in the depths of the altar, watching with a hooded visage; watching again in the Great Hall as blood leaks red and warm from an expiring life. 

And yet, all you can think of is him – Jacaerys, his hands dragging along your curves, his lips pressing, his breath lingering warm and unsteady against your skin. 

Your own hands find him in a hunger unrivaled; tugging him, whispering his name, pressing into the hard line of his body. 

He drinks your sighs, inhaling your breaths as you tug him to your own waiting lips as if you are starved. 

And still, there is guilt: a familiar thing, that pressure festering below your ribs. The staining of your palms with blood, innocent and spilled. 

But there is also anger.

Anger that you will never have the chance to enjoy the pleasures of marriage, to revel in love, or whatever might bloom in its absence, without the looming shadow of war. Anger that your life is not your own; anger at the chains of duty and blood. And so you press into him, taking – because that is all war does, in the end. And you are done waiting. 

And he feels it too— you taste it upon his tongue, within his grasp; possessive, hungry, desperate. The meadow is warm in the cool morning, and you let Jacaerys press against you, you let your hand slide up his face, feeling the fresh shaved slope of his jaw, feel his tongue against your own and the soft sigh he lets against your own lips. 

You melt into Jacaerys as wings beat high above your heads, as the sea churns below you, as a Usurper sits across the bay on a throne of iron, as arms are gathered leagues away. 

The thought festers still, even as Jace’s palm glides up from your calf, catching on the fabric of your skirt and sliding it up with him. A fierce arousal licks up your core at his touch, and you keen – though still the thought lingers, and you have to say it; perhaps in the hopes that he will soothe such fears, that he will assure you that fate does not have such a grip on your bloodline as you dream. 

Dreams, dripping with terror and whispers of death, try to grasp at your mind with their spiny talons; but you are warm, now, and your mind as wrapped with Jacaerys. Still, your voice tremors against his lips. “This will change nothing.” 

And Jacaerys puffs a breath against your jaw – a grin, one rueful and yet knowing – and his words are whispered low into your ear. Soothing, vengeful, promising. 

“Then let it be nothing.” 

Gods. 

You shudder as his lips find your throat, his hands dragging up the fabric of your dress, skimming along your trembling, wanting skin. The sun is bright. Your fingers slide beneath his tunic, mapping muscle, dragging against warm skin, slowly tracing lines of tension and want.

Let it be nothing.

Let it be ruin. 

Let it be whatever it must be.

Fingers trail up your dress skirts, leaving raised goosebumps in their wake as he breathes into your neck. You tug him closer, sighing into his ear as he skims over the aching need that pools between your legs. “Please,” you beg of him, knowing he hears the unspoken words in your voice. 

And with a jolt of pleasure, his touch finds your heat. You arch into his fingers, thighs parting wider as he exhales in desire. 

The wildgrass billows in waves; Jacaerys cradles you, pressing his lips to your thundering pulse as you suck in a sharp breath, eyes fluttering. 

He shushes against your lips faintly, just as two fingers slide slowly into your warmth; you inhale sharply at the pleasure, his breath trembling against your skin.  

It is bliss. 

A hungry, raw thing – the desire to push him over and crawl onto his lap; to let him have you, to claim him as your own, to let him claim you as his – it strikes need hot within you, and you shiver when he presses his fingers fully into you. Deep, slow, euphoric. 

And after just one moment, he begins to move; a slow soothing rhythm to the aching throb of desire that grows when he shifts and nudges you, pressing you flat on the grass below.

He joins you when your palms grasp his shoulders, balanced on one arm with his fingers caressing your hair; and the other between your thighs, slow and intent, driving you closer to the bliss you so chase.  

Your hips move against his ministrations, a quiet shutter when he hums against your lips, murmuring your name and crooking his fingers. Your own grasp is tight in his hair, and at your insistence of tugging the curls through your fingers, his lips part in a low groan of his own. 

Pleasure is a simple thing, when it is with Jacaerys. 

The sun beats down upon his frame, pressed above you, curls kissing your warm cheeks as you shake through your pleasure, pulling him closer, whispering words of need, words of desire. 

Let it be nothing, his voice chides in your mind; and a moan of his name from your kiss-bruised lips, head tilting against the grass as his thumb finds you and presses gently. He swallows your sighs with his own, shushing you only once when you whimper into his throat. 

Let it be nothing. 

Your hips leave the grass below, and he is gentle in the way he pushes you back down, his stare reverent, lips parted, eyes taking in each small expression of pleasure upon your visage. He groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours, breath heavy, ragged. His fingers stroke, tease, and you arch against him, gasping at the slow, torturous pleasure. 

The sun climbs behind dappled clouds. His fingers work to unravel you, even as your eyes roll back once more. Even as the wind kicks and ruffles his curls; even as you tug him impossibly close. 

Even as the Sept bell begins to ring once more. 

Through the haze of desire, both you and Jacaerys falter only slightly – it is unusual to ring the bells after midday; though they strike a third time, and you know. 

War Council is called. 

Something in you deflates – though the chiming of the heavy bell far below does not seem to phase your betrothed, as he soon resumes his ministrations, bringing a sharp gasp to your lips as a hazy warmth of pleasure stirs once more. 

A huff of shock from you curbed by a dreamy sigh, his lips pressing to the soft spot below your ear. A wonderful distraction, he is – you feel yourself dangerously close upon the precipice of bliss as he quirks a small smirk, some flicker of aroused amusement at your quivering thighs. 

The bells continue, though so does Jacaerys. 

Your hips writhe as you near that very thing you chase; and he holds you tenderly with breaths falling into your ears, the wind gentle as you hold him against you. 

“C-c–” you try to spit out the words which wait on your tongue, and Jacaerys watches you with boyish amusement as his fingers do not cease within you, pressing as your eyes roll to the heavens, a short breath falling from your lips. 

“Fuck–” You mutter, and you do not miss how such a lewd word brings a shiver to Jace’s spine – you swallow thickly, fighting the rising pleasure as you stutter. Soon enough, though your chest trembles and heat coils so deliciously within you, you finally spit out your words. “Council,” You mutter breathlessly, “We need to go—“ you’re cut off with your own sigh of pleasure and Jacaerys grins. 

“—to council?” He finishes for you, tilting his head, gaze flickering over your form slowly. A coil of desire at his teasing lilt, though you sent him a sharp look. 

“Yes,” you bite out sharply, though your hands merely pull him closer, willing him to not move away from you. 

A flicker of amusement lit in his gaze as he hums, stroking you with his thumb and watching how your hips buck into his touch. “War can wait, princess,” He murmurs into the wind, eyes warm and defiant as they catch yours. 

And you grin, then too – in bliss, in wonder, in relief; because yes. War can wait. 

A breath leaves you as your fingers tread through the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging him to your lips. His fingers stroke within you and you whisper his name as he brings you to your peak, a tremoring sigh as you gaze hazily into his own stare, reverent, hungry – devoted. 

Let it be whatever it must be. 

And so you do. 

taglist & mutuals: @lovelyteenagebeard @lukehughes43 @kenna-the-cosmic @knight-of-flowerss @cregan-starks @dr9carys @aesteries @swordgrace @softspiderling @systraes @dipperscavern hiii ily @snow-blower @darylspersonalwhore @fluorescentadolescent1 @withlovenessie @annedub @feyres-fireheart @reyndaisy @glennussy @ladyofvelaryon @paasrin @kookjipao @miksde @falcvns @kitdjarin1 @bitchydragonparadisee @jottositto @uhnanix @lenadoerrer @saccharineseas @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @darylspersonalwhore @taestrwbrry @withjinkoo @realporcelainkat @burningwitchobject @meowmeowmauve @bigolidioot

[myladysapphire]

Two Halves of a whole

Aemond had always understood you in ways others could not, your bond so deep nothing could severe it. A bond so deep that they would do anything to save the other, even if it meant being trapped with the enemy.

based of this request

word count: 6,208

cw: MDI+, 18+, Smut, Angst, fluff, love conffessions, arranged marraige, cheating. (im so sorry Cregan i love you i swear), not proofread!

Aemond Targaryen x twinsister!reader (or Creaganswife!reader)

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: so sorry i haven’t updated in two weeks! ive been in such a writting slump but here is finally some work! <3

Aemond had always understood you in ways now one else had.

Born together, you had never seen the day apart. Your lessons spent together, your rooms shared until you where three and ten.

And even then that did not stop you form spending every moment together.

You were so similar, not only where you twins but it was almost as If you where the same person, two halves of a whole.

You were kind, where he was cruel.

Your were beautiful where he seemed himself ugly, no matter the words you spoke to call him otherwise.

Where he was bold, you where shy.

And where you thrived, he drowned.

But something shifted the day Aemond claimed Vaghar.

You had both been dragon less, teased for it and faced the constant bullying of your older brother and nephews.

you had spent days talking and studying dragons, and where Aemond started to loose hope, and yet you pushed him to believe he could claim a dragon.

And he did, the biggest and most fearsome dragon in the world.

And you were left behind in the process.

That night, no one told you of what had transpired until you were dragged from your bed and greeted with the bleeding face of your twin brother.

Your house divided, and your brother a changed man.

Form that day he became cruel and cunning, hellbent on being the best swordsman. the best dragon rider. Skilled and wise.

And though you where there for it all, helping him and watching. It was all from the sidelines. As if you only mattered when he was involved.

that’s what your family thought anyway.

Until you became of marital age, and your father decided a alliance with the north was necessary.

You had always thought you would marry Aemond, and yet here you where on your way to winterfell about to marry a stranger you had never met.

Your nephew Jace had talked of him often, recounting his days spent in Winterfell. And though he  sounded honourable and kind, you feared what it would be like to be apart fork Aemond, the man who was truly the other half of you.

even after years of drifting apart he was still everything to you.                                                                                                

“are you excited, aunt?” Jace asked, he and the rest of your family where all accompany your north, using the journey as a tour of Westeros.

“As one can be to be marrying a stranger I suppose” you mused, looking out of the window.

Whilst your siblings all rode their dragons around Westeros, you were forced to ride with your nephews and cousins, with dragons too small to withstand the long journeys.

“Cregan stark is a good man, I’m sure you with have a good marriage” Baela spoke, looking up from her book.

You scoffed, “so everyone has met him but me?” you mumbled to yourself, shifting uncomfortably.

“I always thought you would marry Aemond” Rhanea spoke up, she and you had strike a surprising friendship, despite her distaste for Aemond. Your common lack and want for a dragon bonding you both.

“As did I” you spoke longingly, looking up and seeing the shape of Vaghar in the distance.  

The rest of the journey was spent with minimal words spoken, and your eyes never leaving Vaghars form.

Ever since they announced your betrothal Aemond had been distant, still ever present as he was, but distant.

The day he had found out he had stormed out of his rooms and ignored you for the remainder of the day.

And though the day after he had carried out your old routine, it seemed different, strained.

Though Aemond was never a talker, he was never silent around you. If he didn’t respond with words, he responded with actions. Whether it be brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, caressing your hand, or bringing you flowers.

But since then, the casual touches or small gifts of flowers or your favourite snack or bringing you a book he thought you’d enjoy, stopped.

Conversation was strained, always ending on an awkward note, and when you had wished to confront him on it you had found he had gone to the silk of streets with Aegon.

You felt hurt, betrayed almost and yet it was you who was marrying another, leaving him behind, even if you had no choice in the fact.

And the tour had been even worse.

Your days spent in a carriage alongside people you hardly knew, with Jace and Luke the very boys who had once teased your mercilessly. The very people who had caused Aemond so much pain and even harsher words in the past years.

And yet you were forced to put on a pretty smile and put up with their chatter. Though had no quells with Rhaena, finding many conversation flows easy with her.

You felt all alone, stranded in a marriage yet to happen and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The journey around Westeros was as long as it weas boring, full of lords trying their hardest to appease you father, spoiling you all with gifts and pretty words.

You were grateful once you started to visit the northern houses, they were honest, less kind, less welcoming and less inclined to spoil you with meaningless gifts.

It took six months, six months of travelling of Aemond being distant and eventually ignoring you altogether before you reached Winterfell. And met Cregan stark.

And though you could tell he was a good man and that there was no way to deny he wasn’t handsome, he wasn’t Aemond.

You got along well, though every smile or laugh was met with Aemond’s glare. His disapproving stare. His harsh words and even harsher steps as he followed you both through the halls.

He hadn’t said a word to you, but made sure you new his anger.

Even as he watched you walk down the aisle in the godswood and take Cregan as your lord husband.

After that day you felt perpetually lost, as if you had lost the other part of you, that you were never whole.

Perhaps it was because Aemond had left without so much as a goodbye, or that now there was no chance of you and Aemond getting what you both wanted.

Two years passed, two years in the north as Cregan’s wife, a babe born and not a single word or letter from Aemond.

You felt stranded in the north, with no dragon nor any dragon rider offering you an escape. Any letters took weeks to arrive, any news arriving long after the fact.

You heard little from anyone frankly, that’s why it was such a surprise to see your nephew Jace once more.

“Jace?” you questioned, as you walked into the great hall. He sat beside Cregan, clearly having spent the night.

You were shocked, no one had told you of his arrival.

“Aunt” he greeted in turn, his voice kind as he greeted you.

“What are you doing here?” you said, as you approached where they sat.

He looked over to Cregan, shocked you didn’t know he was here. “Your father…Viserys is dead”

“oh” you said, not feeling any emotion in particular. He had never been a father too you, always distant, treating you more like a cousin child, than his own. “did he- was it peaceful?”

“I don’t know” he said, as you finally took your seat beside him, “we had left Kings Landing before-“

“Is that why your here? My fathers death?”

Jace looked over to Cregan an awkwardly, “Aegon usurped my mother, I have been sent to remind the north of their oath.”

Aegon being king wasn’t a surprise, your mother and grandsire had been plotting for years to crown him since he was born. If anything, you were shocked that Jace seemed surprised by the betrayal, as if the court hadn’t been treating Aegon as heir for years.

“And as I told the prince, the north remembers” Cregan said looking over to you, his tone serious. “we pledge our loyalty to the queen”

“and if war comes with you plunge your sword into my brothers back, husband?”

“if it comes it it, aye”

You looked down and remained quite through the remainder of Jace’s stay, keeping to yourself, as you always did.

The harsh realisation that your husband would so easily kill your brothers hurt, even if they were traitors and usurpers.

You had never felt whole since Aemond left and you knew a part of you chipped away the longer he was gone, the longer he punished you with his silence.

And then news came, Luke was dead at the hands of Aemond. And you felt apart of you break.

The realisation that Aemond would not survive this war without erasing the entirety of Rhaenrya’s line.

You felt more stuck than ever.

Stuck with a husband plotting a war were the allegiance was split.

You had married Cregan in hope of uniting the north to the greens. But of course the loyal house stark would never wavier form their oath, even if it meant a wife forced to watch as her kin was murdered.

You hated this war, and it had yet to start.

You had been left in charge of Winterfell in your husbands absence, and you felt even more lonely without him. The one person who you had felt some stability from.

Your dreams was filled with blood and death, fear of what was to come. And yet another dream chased you. Flashes of blue flames, ice eyes and cold scales. A song sung through your mind, it had no words or melody, it was as if it were a secret language only your dreams could understand.

A storm raged on, leaving you locked inside and a feeling a dread filling your bones.

You couldn’t escape the nagging feeling, the feeling like something was very wrong.

You could scarcely see outside the window, let alone leave the keep. The snow thick and relentless, and yet you could make out a figure ever so slightly.

A dragon.

Large and far away, your mind hoped it was Aemond, though he would be a fool to travel north, especially in this storm.

And yet it seemed to pale, not nearly as monstrous or large.

It called to you, your eyes following if, unable to tear themselves away from the dragon.

Had it not been the call of your name from your maid, Lyra, you were sure you would have chased after it, its song luring you to were ever its layer sat.

“my lady” she started, her demeanour nervous

“what is it?” you questioned, finally pulling your eyes away from the creature.

“you have a visitor”

“who-“ your words were cut off as your twin strolled in, his yes firm, a hand gripping his sword “Aemond”  you breathed, your hand gripping at your chest.

“sister” he greeted.

You sent a look to lyra, sending her running, though she seemed relived at the dismal.

“my husband is not here”

“good”

“he pledged for Rhaenrya”

His gaze hardened, a smile gracing his lips “you betray your own kin”

You scoffed “me betray? You are the one who has not spoken a word to me since the day i was married, no letter no word! Even Aegon wrote me and yet you my own twin, the very man i have loved and been with since the day we were born, betrays me without a word all because I am shipped of in a marriage you very well knew I did not want! If anyone has betrayed the other it is you”

His gaze fell, his smirk falling, “you choose him-“

“by the gods! I had no say”

His eyes dropped their firm, “no…mother said you had chosen him and rejected my bid” “your bid? You bid for my hand?” you scoffed once more, “do you think that if I knew I had a choice I would have come crying, begging for your help?”

He seemed you look at you, look at you for the first time in years, his yes boring into you in a way you did not realise you missed.

Aemond had always been selifish and cruel, a man who only believed his opinion to be the truth and yet with you he was patient and kind, and though you saw a glimpse of the man others did see, you knew he was still the Aemond you had long knew.

Though the fact remained, as it stood you were on opposing sides of this war, and with no dragon and your son the heir to house stark, you were powerless to change sides.

But as he looked at you, and as you heard to coo of your son as he sat in his crib your mind went back to the day your life changed and Aemond drifted apart.

You knew the day was coming, word had been circling around court, suitors from throughout the realm had come to bid for your hand.

Though you in truth you only wanted one man, your twin Aemond.

It wasn’t wrong for you to assume that you and he would marry, it was within the custom of your house, you had always been close and he had practically been courting you for years.

With gifts an-d days spent walking the gardens, with soft words and caresses.

Though he never made his intentions clear, you were sure he was of the same mind of you.

And yet days spent whining about the men hellbent on following you, with cheesy words of love and gifts you already had too may off. It was all impersonable and endlessly repetitive. And Aemond never uttered a word. Simply nodding his head in what you hoped was silent contempt.

and yet your mother had summoned you to her chambers, a sombre expression on her face.

“daughter” she greeted, a soft smile as she reached for your hand.

The feeling of dread encompassed you, your face pale and stricken as she ushered you to sit.

“an offer has been made, one your father could not refuse” she started, her hand caressing yours, “one with house stark…lord Cregan Stark has made a bid and your father has accepted.”

You swallowed, your head dropping.

“I know your heart bid for another…but this is the way of the realm, and lord Cregan is a good man, your- Rhaenrya’s son knows him well.” She spoke the last part hesitantly.

“when?”

“we leave in a moons turn”

You nodded your head, standing quickly you nodded your head as your turn to leave, the tears already threatening to fall from your eyes.

You had ran to Aemond’s rooms, his chambers adjacent to yours.

Your eyes were filled with tears, your face red and your breaths short.

He breathed your name, coming up to hold your face in his hands.

“I am to be married” you breathed through shallow breaths.

Aemond held his breath.

“mother…mother has said I shall marry…Lord Cregan Stark” you stuttered out, and Aemond back away from you, his hand dropping as if your face was fire.

“what?” he muttered harshly, “out of all your…suitors, him?”

“I had little say…I alw-“  you cut yourself of as you saw the look on Aemond’s face.

With you Aemond had always had patience, been kind where he was usually curel, his face never harsh or firm but now…now he seemed to hold the anger of the sun as he looked at you, as if he had been betrayed, as if he was the one being made to marry a man thousands of leagues away, a man you had never met.

“please Aemond” you begged, trying to move towards him once more.

You were unsure of what you were begging for.

Whether it was to help you get out of this betrothal or to marry him instead, but Aemond scoffed and sent you a glare that would send anyone else running.

“what do you want? Hmm?” he began, stalking over to you, “to help you out of it? Or what claim a dragon so that you might escape?” he said, his tone mocking.

“what is with you!” you spoke through tears, “why are you being so cruel?”

“cruel?” he scoffed once more, “you are the one being cruel!”

“how?! I had no choice!”

“you had every choice” he seethed, “and yet you continuously turn a blind eye to the right choice!”

“what choice? you think I had any choice in this?” you scoffed, “gods! Heleana had no say, even Rhaenyra had little say in her first husband and yet you think I got to choose?” tears were falling from your eyes but for an entirely different reason, you felt betrayed, the one person you knew or had thought you could trust with all your heart had betrayed you. Had made you lose all trust, and made you feel alone.

A feeling that had followed you for moons, even the following years that were to come. As he grew more and more distant, no more gifts or walks, days spent in each other’s company and now they were spent listening to your nephew trying to sell your future husband. Your mother and planning your wedding.

You felt like you had lost Aemond In his entirety and yet here he stood before you, claiming you a traitor.

“why are you here?” you breathed, trying to forget the words he had said.

“for you” he spoke, straightening his stance as you walked towards your sons crib.

“for me? What of Rickon? Hmm?” you said, bouncing your six month of son in your arms. “he is the heir to Winterfell and his father fights for your enemies, you expect me to leave with you? To abandon my home?”

“your home?” he huffed, “last we spoke, you hated it here.”

“last we spoke was two years ago, opinions change especially in years apart”

“so what? You will stay in here in the cold, damp, baren land that is the north?”

“in favour of what?” you questioned genuinely, leaving the north would gain you nothing, instead you would lose the comforts of a husband and your son his birthright.

“you know…I always assumed we would wed” Aemond began, a small gasp left your throat, “and so you will wed me, your son will be Aegon’s heir until you and I have a son of our own”

“what…I am already married-“

“to a man I shall kill myself”

“Aemond! Gods you are mad! You speak of a life this war will never offer us!” you shook your head, “I- I cannot leave here, not for a life you cannot guarantee, especially after years of neglect over something I could not control”

“so you are a traitor”

“I pledge to no one, I care not for the throne especially if the fight is between Aegon and Rhaenyra” you spoke “I have no means to fight in this war for either side, and I do not desire to…if that is what you want…for me to leave my home for no reason other than an empty promise for a life we will never live then I must tell you to leave”

“leave?” he said bewildered, unbelieving you would send him away so quickly.

“you can stay the night or until the storm clears up, but I will here no more of this war or of your fantasy you have suddenly conjured up” A fantasy you had long desired yourself, had craved for him to desire it to. And now you were offered it, it seemed unreachable now. A war in its way, a war started by him and only one ending could grant you this fantasy, an ending to messy and deadly.

“I will go now” he spoke harshly, sending you a single glance before he took his leave.

That night the storm raged harsher, and sleep evaded you.

The storm did not stop raging once and for the first time since Driftmark you feared for your brothers life.

You stared out your window once more, trying to find the familiar shape of Vaghar, and yet you saw nothing.

Your eyes closed as you hoped, prayed that he had manged to get out of the storm.

But instead of a prayer you heard the song, the singing of that dragon once more.

Opening your eyes, you instantly found its shape, its wings flying through the sky as if the storm was nothing, its song enticing you to follow it, to find were it sat.

Grabbing your cloak and your boats you were quick to sneak from the castle, with no one questioning the steps of their lady, even less when you made a hopeful glance to where you were told Vaghar had landed. Hoping Aemond had chosen to wait out the storm.

But the typical stubborn man had left, mostly likely gotten himself stranded on some cliff.

As you left the walls of Winterfell, your sight blinded by snow, you were guided by the dragons song, a song that grew louder and louder as you went deeper into the wolfs woods.

You had been hunting here on a few occasions, never alone and always at Cregan’s side.

The trees dwarfed the sky the further you went, and yet there was a clearing amongst the trees, leaving a trail of discarded leaves and twigs, snow parted by what could only be a tail.

The trail lead to a cave, encased with snow and yet here the song stopped and the familiar smell of dragon began.

You had not know of caves in these woods, then again you had long strayed from the trail others took, and perhaps the word of a dragon had made this corner of the woods scarce.

With hesitance you entered the cave, with no sword nor light, simply will.

The cave was empty, bar what seemed to be a cliff, leading below.

Had there not been the unrelenting scent of dragon you would have turned back and yet, you climbed down, down rugged rocks only to turn and be meet with an ice cold bolt shotting from the dragons mouth.

A roar filled the room, alongside ice cold blue flame.

The dragon you had only seen from a distance lay facing you, its stare made to intimidate.

You left out a breath at the sight of her.

She was so different yet similar to the dragons you had grown up seeing.

She tilted her head, assessing you, before she nudged you.

Whether it was playfully or an attempt to get you to leave you did not now.

And yet you continued to step forward.

“lykirī” You spoke softly, walking towards the dragon hand raised, “lykirī” your hand reached forward, touching the dragon’s snout softly. She was warm and yet freezing under your palm, so different from the hot scales you were used to under the touch of your siblings dragons.

“nyke ryptan aōha vāedar” you started, softly stroking her, “īles gevie…iksā gevie”

I heard your song… it was beautiful… you are beautiful.

A soft grumbled left the dragons lips.

“iksin ziry syt nyke? aōha vāedar?” you swore she nodded her head.

Was it for me? Your song?

“gōntan ao brōzagon syt nyke?” you whispered, moving down her snout and towards her back, the place a saddle usual sat.

did you call for me?

“eman dreamt hen ao, ryptan aōha vāedar syt jēdri. se yet mirre bisa jēda īlē paktot gō ñuha pungos”

i have dreamt of you, heard your song for years...and yet all this time you were right under my nose.

The dragon shook her head softly, turning to face you as if to urge you up upon her back.

You swallowed roughly as you climbed upon her wing and then her back. she was larger than your brothers dragon Sunfyer, you would even wager larger than dreamfyer, and yet she was younger, her eyes softer and scales thinner. Her fire, or ice, however was strong, perhaps even stronger than Caraxes.

You settled upon her back, holding onto her scales, and before you could utter a word, she took flight.

“daor” you muttered, “dohaerās” you spoke, your hands gripping tightly as you urged her to serve. “Paez”

No…serve…slow

The storm still raged, you were blinded as the snow pelted your eyes, and yet your dragon seemed unfazed.

She circled the woods in what seemed to be glee.

Showing of tricks that left you praying to the gods as you gripped onto her horns for dear life.

And then you heard a roar.

An old and ancient roar.

“jikagon ūndegon” you urged.

Go see

She flew through the sky at a rapid place before the sight of Vaghar became clear, she lay stranded on the lonely hills, covered in snow and Aemond lay beside her.

“elēnās” you commanded, urging our dragon to bank.

Jumping of her back you rushed towards Aemond, his body cold and shivering.

“Aemond…gods” you whispered, “I told you to stay the night!” you near screamed, trying to urge him awake, and yet he seemed unresponsive to your words.

“Vaghar jikagon, jurnegon syt shelter” you screamed, as you made moves to drag Aemond towards your dragon.

Vaghar go, search for shelter

The old dragon seemed to rumble at your words her gaze following you as you near threw Aemond body on top of the dragon, a dragon you decided very well needed a name.

You were scared to take flight once more, with nothing but your arms to hold onto the dragon and Aemond.

“gods” you muttered, your eyes blinded once more by snow. “sagon qucik se gīda” you commanded, pulling Aemond to your chest and below the winter coat you wore, your hands gripping your dragon, as you commanded her onwards.

Be quick and calm

The flight to Winterfell seemed short, though worry racked through you as Aemond’s breaths grew shorter.

You landed rather ungracefully in the godswood, a landing that seemed to awake the whole castle as you were greeted with the entirety of your staff, your maid, Lyra rushing towards you a blanket in hand.

“my lady” she muttered rushing towards you, only to gasp at the sight of Aemond as you struggle to carry him.

“Gunther, Torren” you shouted for your guards, to help you carry Aemond, “send for the maester my brother is in need of aid.

“my lady is that your dragon?” Lyra asked, nervously as your dragon seemed to send menacing glares to your staff.

“yes” you nodded, catching your breath from your seemingly heavy brother.

“what is its name?” she asked stepping behind your form nervously.

“Stormfyer” you decided, and she herself seemed to like it as she eagerly nudged you, pushing you back ever so slightly.

That night the maester cared for Aemond, his body slowly recovering.

Though whispered moved swiftly of your brothers presence, and his lack of dragon.

A week passed before Aemond woke.

His voice scratchy and body weak, his head confused. Even more so when he saw your face.

You stood with broth and bread in your hand, a soft nervous smile on your face as you faced him.

His eyes were angry, but his face seemed to relax ever so slightly at your face.

“am I a prisoner?” he asked, as you placed the tray on his lap.

“if you talk a single word of war then yes” you joked, though the words soured soon after they were spoken.

“how did you find me?”

You smiled at his words, “there is a dragon in the north, she sang to me and I answered her call and in doing so I found you, your body beside Vaghars…. I rescued you, near a week ago”

“a dragon?” he spoke “you have dragon now?”

You nodded, “Stormfyer, I named her…she is near the size of dreamfyer I believe, though closer in age to Vermax” you spoke with a smile.

“I am…happy for you sister”

“I won’t reconsider… before you say anything”

“I know…I realised as such as I lay here dreaming”

“dreaming…of what?”

“of you” he spoke instantly, his hand gripping yours, “I meant what is said, all I have ever wanted was you by my side, as my wife and my queen” “I do not wish to be queen”

“then we shall be farmer and wife…in Essos or I shall shave my head and take the name snow and be your faithful sworn sword here in the north”

“Cregan will kill you second he sees you”

“then we leave”

“what if my son?” you argued, “he is the heir to Winterfell, it is his birthright”

“as is Aegon’s as king” Aemond snapped.

“and yet a war rages for Rhaenyra as queen, a queen the north supports and you lie as the enemy within.”

“then will you kill me sister?”

“never” you whispered, gripping his hand tightly, “you are the other half of me, I found you dying on the hills for a reason, I have felt your pain and joy for years…I will not betray you” “you staying here does…it hurts me, makes me ache for you”

You took a deep breath, moving the tray of Aemond’s lap, and yourself towards him.

You took his face in your heads, your forehead lent against his.

“I ache for you…everyday of my life I have ached for you” you breathed “I waited, I waited for you to feel he same for you to tell me you wished to have me as your wife and yet that day never came until a week past…after I am married and made a mother” your eyes swelled with tears, “if the gods wished us together they would have made it easier for us Aemond…they never would have put us on opposing side of a war…or me with a husband i-“ you were cut off with Aemond’s lips on yours.

His mouth merged with yours, moving in tandem with the others, years of love and desire melting into one as his mouth kissed yours, his hands gripping your sides as he pulled you onto his lap.

Your hands reaching for his hair, tugging him closer to you.

Soft moans left your moth as his tongue danced with yours.

Your dress loosened by his wandering hands.

Your hips moving slowly against this, his length hardening against your thigh as you cunt became sickened with your wet heat.

“Aemond” you moaned breaking away from him. “I am married”

“and I do not care” he smoke, removing his shirt and they your dress. Leaving you both bare.

Your eyes were roaming and quick.

As if nervous to see another man naked, and yet Aemond had long been the only man you ever desired.

You should be filled with guilt, with the thought of your husband and yet, no guilt chased you as you removed the covers and revealed Aemond’s cock.

You swallowed at he sight of him.

You moved forward placing a quick kiss to his lips, hovering over his cock, before lunging down.

The feeling of your walls wrapping around his cock made you both moan, your breaths heavy as you adjusted to the size of him.

Your head reasted on his shoulder, his hands gripping your waists as you began to lift your self of his cock, only to push them down once more.

You set a slow pace as you rode him, moving your hips in slow circular motions.

Aemond placed soft kisses to your neck, urging you to look at him.

He moaned your name, his hands caressing your sides, before settling once more on your hips.

Gripping your waist, he began to move you up and down on his cock, his pace fast and full of pleasure.

Your peak came fast, your moans covered by your hands as you rode his cock.

Your walls clenching around his cock, causing Aemond’s own peak to wash over him, his seed filling you as you lay breathless above him.

“Aemond” you breathed, kissing his chest lightly as he held you to him.

“I have wanted to do that forever” he whispered, kissing your head.

You wanted to say so may things and yet you couldn’t.

You felt joy at having Aemond finally, at your emotions being laid bare before him.

And yet a sadness watched over you as if this was a goodbye.

And seeing as shouts were heard, the sound of hooves and a rapid knock upon the door, you realised it was.

He gripped your hand, “stay” he urged.

“it is my husband” you whispered, gathering your clothes in a rush., “he can never know…you must leave!”

“leave? How when our husband and his men circle the courtyard”

“i- i- don’t..” you mumbled in a panic as your redressed, “this never happened Aemond, you must bend plea for something…I don’t know say you pledge for Rhaenyra”

“he will never believe it…and why would I come here if I did”

The knocking sounded once more…look asleep and sickly… I will come back” your promised rushing out the doors and to greet your husband.

“Husband” you greeted, a breathless smile on your face, “you are back?”

“only for a time, I’m afraid” he said, sad smile on his face as he gave you a kiss in greeting.

He turned serious as he faced you, his voice a whisper as he spoke, “your brother…Aemond” he began, “he is here?”

You swallowed, “yes…but please I beg don’t kill him” you said tears filling your eyes, “he can be our prisoner…I sent his dragon away he has no means of leaving” you begged.

He looked at you hesitantly, before urging you to talk inside.

“he is a kin slayer” he spoke outright, “he should be killed…executed”

“I know…but he is a valuable prisoner.” He looked at you the, with the same look he gave you the first few months of your marriage. When you felt alone and needed Aemond like you need air to breath.

“do you still love him?” he spoke after a moment, “and do not deny that you ever did…I know of the whispers and I know you saved his life days ago”

“you are my husband…the father of my son…I have cared for you and even started to love you-“

“but do you love him?”

You stared at him your eyes begging for what, you did not know “what does it matter” you sighed in mock defeat.

Cregan kissed his teeth, “queen Rhaenyra has taken Kingslanding, Aegon is missing, and Aemond now a hostage of the north and you...” he stopped himself unsure of what to make of you, “you are my wife and the lady of the north, a kingdom pledged to the queen”

“so what? Am I too a prisoner until you can test my loyalty?”

“do I need to test your loyalty?”

You had no reply as you stormed out of his solar, and to your own rooms.

You realised you had no choice in what was to come, Aemond would die and no prayers would save him from what his fate was set to be.

Sighing you faced the room you had made a home, now it seemed empty.

The crib lay empty, your son in the nursery.

Your bed made and fire well kept.

Your thing scattered, with clothes left tidy in their dresser, blanket slung over chairs, books left stacked.  

You sighed, your head falling in your hands as you began to pace your room.

Then the realisation hit, the need to flea and run

Grabbing a bag you packed everything you could, clothes and books, hairbrushes and toys for your son.

A cloak slung over your shoulder, the bag well hidden as you made way to the nursery.

Smiling as you greeted him, his smiles lighting the room as you took him into your arms and made way to where Aemond was kept.

He lay in his bed, the food you had brought now eaten, a book lay in his hand.

“Aemond” you breathed, closing the door behind you. “we must leave” you said as you chucked some of the clothes Cregan kept in your chamber towards him.

Fleeing proved easier than you had thought. With feasts and revelry at your husbands return it was easy to sneak through the keep and towards the godswood.

Vhagar had made her way there only days ago, and though Aemond was still weak from the cold, he seemed to lighten up at the sight of her.

“where are we going?” he breathed as you tossed Aemond the bag you had packed.

“to lys” you began, “we cannot stay in Westeros and with the triarchy as your ally I am sure we would be safer there than here.”

After that day no one knows what happened to the Targaryen twins, many assumed Aemond had kidnapped you in act of revenge for your supposed loyalty to Rhaenrya and your betrayal against him. When in truth the escape had been your plan, and whilst you had lived in lys, myr and Tyrosh, moving from place to place for the first five years in fear of assassins, you later found a home where you thrive away from the war Aemond had began.

taglist

@justbelljust @violet-potter @amanda08319 @marsmallow433 @Youknownothingjohnwatson @feyresqueen @seamaiden @Aaliyah @spacexdrago @12thatsanumber @alexxavicry

@apollonshootafar @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @zillahvathek @leavesmealobe e @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @littlebirdgot @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos @jennifer0305 @rosedurin @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @perla434 @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @random-human02 @f1wh0recom @arieltwvdtohamflash @valiendokk @delaynew @haydee5010 @clobobo @aegonswife @scorpiosmalfoy @sithapprentice @probablyreadingsmutlol @bitchystuffs @livelaughlovetigers @Pamela

to be added to taglist

[endless-ineffabilities]

sapphire-hearted (part six)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Aemond races to find you, but will he be too late?

themes/warnings: language, some angst and pining, Aemond's attempt at being a wedding crasher

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The days in King’s Landing have stretched thin and hollow since you departed. Aemond’s face is impassive, his mouth a tense line as he stalks through the stone corridors, but beneath his steely exterior, frustration gnaws away, relentless in its assault.

Your voice, your touch, the sweet nectar of your cunny—the memory of his last encounter with you festers like a wound. He sees it, feels it all whenever he shuts his eyes, the way his incomparable, beautiful Lady rode him without abandon. 

But you left a fortnight ago, bound for your familial seat, House Darry in the Riverlands, with barely a farewell. You mentioned something about duty, and tending to an ailing cousin, and you were gone before he could fully express his displeasure. He impatiently awaits for you to return to him, for it is in his arms where you truly belong. 

Alys is relentless. Her whispered words, her sidelong glances, all promises of power and alliance. She revels in his ambition. In his hunger for victory, which proves to be rather personal than for the good of the Crown. She knows what to offer him, and what to ask for in exchange—a babe, half dragonblood and half witchling—but his mind is distant, always circling back to you. Alys’ proposal has lost its taste in your absence. 

Even Alys senses it now, the dangerous edge in Aemond’s silence, a fury held too tightly under control. He burns with yearning for you, and the possibility of winning without you by his side has begun to feel hollow. 

If only you would understand what he must do. If only you could see the truth of Alys’ hand in keeping Aegon on the throne. But you fail to give credit to what Aemond has had to sacrifice.

The hour is late, but when he turns the corner, Aegon is lounging idly, surrounded by his lackeys by one of the grand columns, an amused smile on his lips.

“Brother, why you look like a storm in chains,” Aegon says, stretching with that lazy indifference only he could manage. “And yet, I believe I am aware of the source of your… troubles.”

Aemond’s eyes narrow. “If you have something to say, then speak it.”

Aegon chuckles, barely perturbed. “Ah, but it is known! In a few hours, your dearest beloved is to wed, or so I hear, I never pay much mind to things of no import… To Ramsay Beesbury of all men, that honeyed sod.” He pauses, savouring the shift in Aemond’s expression. “Surely word must have reached you?”

There is a flash in Aemond’s eyes, one that shifts quickly from shock to a lethal rage. “No one informed me,” he says, his voice taut as a blade. “Who arranged this?”

Aegon only shrugs, entirely too amused. “By the gods, brother, how the fuck should I know? They did make their impending union known at my feast… how long ago was it now, a moon’s time? Well, until you whisked the lady away and bed her, but who am I to pass judgment?”

“Are they not still in the middle of their courtship? It is uncustomary to be wed with such haste—”

“If you ask me, it is about time that the lady wed! She is not growing younger in her years, and she cannot live the rest of her days as your chamberwhore.”

Aemond sees red, and rushes forward in a flash, slamming the King against the wall with a hand constricting his windpipe. “Gods—” Aegon wheezes. His lackeys immediately tense, but none of them possesses the mettle to lay a finger on the one-eyed Prince.

It takes Aemond only a heartbeat to make up his mind. He releases Aegon with a sharp shove, turns on his heel, and strides from the hall without another word, deaf to the empty threats that are hurled at his retreating figure. His steps grow faster, surer as he nears the courtyard. Fury roars within him, a sensation like dragonfire climbing his spine. Sunrise would soon encroach upon the Seven Kingdoms, and its arrival will not herald your being bound to another man, not if he has any say.

Outside, the sky is a gathering of clouds, low and grey against the breaking dawn, as if even the heavens brace for a storm. Vhagar waits, her massive form shifting in the courtyard shadows, her eyes bright with predatory instinct. Aemond mounts her with barely a breath, his mind fixed solely on one destination: Honeyholt, the seat of House Beesbury, the only place the wedding could be held. As Vhagar rises into the evening sky, he feels the wind pull fiercely at him, and he pushes forward with a singular, roaring intensity.

There will be no union between yourself and Beesbury. 

A woman’s hands fasten your cloak, the pale blue silk colour of your House whispering as it settles against your form. Soon, it will be replaced by one of sable and yellow, to symbolise the House of your husband. 

You have not slept all night, thoughts of Aemond swirling in your mind like a curse. You have known this would be difficult, but this was something you need to do, and the day is finally here. Your hands tremble only slightly as they lift to adjust your gown, the scent of fresh lilies filling the room as servants bustle in preparation.

In your mind, you still see him. And in your heart… you still love him, and perhaps you always will. But you have no recourse but to surrender yourself to your marriage, lest you wish to have any chance at happiness. It will be nigh impossible to find any peace of mind whilst in possession of the knowledge that Aemond shares his bed with the witch, who will soon be granted the honour of carrying his babe.

You recall the way he held you as though you belonged to him, as though he could bend your very will. Your breath catches at the memory of how his voice trembled, the barely restrained desire that drove him to bind you closer, never allowing you to slip from his grasp. But you cannot let yourself drown in yearning. Not now. You steel yourself, forcing your thoughts back to the present.

“It is time, my Lady,” one of your handmaidens says gently, watching you with quiet sympathy. You feel the weight of your choice settle upon you, solid and unyielding. It is time to move forward, to leave that chapter of your life behind. Your hands rest against your wedding gown as you straighten, breathing in the finality of it all. 

And breathing his memory out.

Dawn has crept over the landscape, a pale light spilling over the stone walls and casting the ceremony in a shivering, spectral haze. The air is heavy with expectation, the kind that tenses every muscle, as if the entire world holds its breath. You feel it, deep within you—the stupid urge to run, to look over your shoulder, to see if he’s coming. 

It is a senseless thought, to wish for Aemond to come, when you purposefully made arrangements so that he would be unable to. So you force yourself to carry on, your resolve unbroken.

Ramsay Beesbury waits at the altar, the only other soul bound to this day, and you let yourself drift into the ceremony, the Septon’s words washing over you in a haze. You remind yourself to let go of the past; you cannot wait for a man who sees you as something to own, to control. 

Aemond might have sullied the love you once shared, a bond that grew and blossomed through the years—one you once believed unbreakable. 

But everything breaks. Men, kingdoms, dragons.

Even love.

The courtyard is swathed in the sun's early rays. Shadows give way to hazy beams, and as the morning stirs, so does the assembly gathered for the ceremony. The bride stands at the altar, hands clasped tightly as the Septon’s voice resonates through the stillness, weighted with tradition.

“…to honour and cherish, in this life and beyond,” the Septon intones, his voice a steady murmur, melding with the faint rustling of the wind and whispers from the onlookers. Your gaze drifts briefly over the scene, lingering on familiar faces, as you try to anchor yourself in the reality of the moment. Your heart thrums heavily, and your mind threatens to veer right back to Aemond—you can almost hear his voice, and envision how livid he would be when he finds out about your union.

He may burn the Seven Kingdoms to ash. That is, if he would not be occupied with his precious Alys.

High above the clouds, Aemond rides Vhagar, her wings slicing through the clouds with adept ease. The wind howls in his ears, the icy chill biting at his skin, but he urges Vhagar on. The pit of dread in his stomach grows with each passing second. He is running out of time. 

“Naejot!” he yells a command. Faster.

The expanse of Westeros stretches beneath him, a blur of green and grey, but all he sees is his destination—Honeyholt, the place that holds you. His hands grip the rein tightly, and he presses closer to Vhagar’s scales, his mind brimming with the only thought that matters: You are his, and his only.

The ceremony progresses, and you can barely register Ramsay’s vows, the words floating in and out of your consciousness like half-heard whispers. His voice is steady, measured. His hands clasp yours gently, as gentle as the smile that graces his lips. 

“Our marriage will be one of devotion and serenity. You will want for nothing nor will our children,” he had promised. A far cry from Aemond’s proposition that you can be with him so long as he fathers the bastard of a bastard.

To an outsider, it would have been the easiest choice.

“...to protect and honour, as the gods are my witness,” Ramsay declares, his words certain. His grip on your hands tightens as he speaks, binding them together. After a moment, you hear your own name called, and the vows spill from your lips without a thought. 

The sun is now just a speck on the horizon as Aemond approaches Honeyholt. The great stone walls stand tall, silent and stark against the grey morning, but no sounds of gathering reach his ears. He circles once overhead, Vhagar’s immense wings casting a shadow over the land below, and he focuses his gaze, searching, hunting. The courtyard is empty, not a soul to be seen.

A sliver of uncertainty gnaws at him, yet he descends. The ground trembles as Vhagar lands, her powerful body settling on the stones, but as Aemond dismounts, there is no sign of you, no sign of anyone at all save for a few servants tending to the grounds. 

“Where is she?” he spits, his voice a thick growl that pierces through the silence.

As the ceremony nears its end, the tension in your heart becomes lighter. Your gaze lifts, distracted by a shadow that drifted in the periphery. You stand frozen, until you realise that it was but a mere raven. 

The largest dragon in all of the land is not present in the Riverlands.

“I take this vow willingly…” you murmur the end of your vows, your voice quiet, and soon it is over. 

Back at Honeyholt, Aemond’s hands curl into fists as he prowls through the empty courtyard. He has grown frantic, but there is nothing here—no preparations, no guests, no fucking bride. A cold, bitter truth settles over him, tightening his throat, and he mutters in a dark, furious whisper, “No. This can’t be.”

It comes to him in a flash of painful clarity, the realisation that you’re not here, that he’s been chasing shadows. The Riverlands. You’re in your castle in the Riverlands.

It betrays Westerosi custom, to have the union in the territorial land of the Lady’s House and not the Lord’s, but it can be done. And the marriage can still be accepted. 

But how insolent… how precisely aimed to injure him… to shame him… 

You knew this would happen.

“You planned this,” he breathes, his voice laced with anger and something dangerously close to despair. He feels both empty and full of rage, and the pain of your loss nearly brings him to his knees. His jaw is set, his gaze set with a darkness that would terrify anyone who saw it.

In Castle Darry in the Riverlands, the ceremony culminates in the final exchanges whispered between the bride and her groom, and in your cloak being replaced with one of House Beesbury. You take one last breath, a silent farewell to the life you are leaving behind, as your new life, your new future, binds you to Ramsay, your Lord husband.

It is strange, but you feel a peace settle over you. Aemond’s hold over you is no more. And for the first time, you realise that perhaps you are free. 

taglist (let me know in the comments if you wish to be added): @immyowndefender @aemondswifeisme @fuck-the-reaper @shessthunderstorms @aemondsbabygirl @melsunshine @snh96 @noxytopy @ellooo0ooo @brianochka @not-a-glad-gladiator @mac95650 @midnightmystic @saminalloxo @oh-no-tia @magnificentsapphiresoul @clara-geekhime @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @ananas26t @iloveallmyboys @carriellie @summerposie @verycollectivecreator @toodlesxcuddles @brie-annwyl @dc-marvel-girl96 @bellstwd @bibli0thecary @happinessinthebeing @magnificentsapphiresoul @rorawinters @targaryen-madness @hanula18 @rhaenattargaryen @an0ther-us3r @sugurubabe @theshatteredideal @let-love-bleeds-red @s-we-e-t-t-ea @mydemimonde @the-intjs-dark-academic @heavenly1927 @anehkael @minttea07 @barnes70stark @cheneyq @cloudroomblog @neptuneiris @zaldritzosrose @oh-theseus

Some notes in the margins..

Well, our Lady is finally a Ladywife. And not Aemond's at that! But there is more to come as we near the end. Will Aemond abandon Alys? Will he steal his love away? Parts seven and eight will have the answers 💙

[writinginatree]

Together 2

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran/Reader, Bodhi Durran & Xaden Riorson

Summary: Bodhi and you cross the parapet, and you finally get to meet his cousin.

Part 1

In the end, you do tell your parents about your intention to join the Riders Quadrant. You just can't leave without saying goodbye, no matter how tempting it is.

Their reaction is about as bad as you expected, angry shouts still ringing in your ears as you slip out of the house. You refuse to let it get you down. Rage as they might, they can't stop you. Your pack is already stored safe under Bodhi's bed; you'll sleep there with him like you've done so many times, and in the morning, you'll turn your backs on this town for good.

It will be a year before you'll be allowed to write or receive letters, and by then, your parents will hopefully have calmed down. If they're still mad after that long — well, fuck 'em. As long as you have Bodhi, you don't need anyone else.

The staircase with it's lack of railing is too narrow to stand next to each other, so Bodhi goes first. You hold hands the whole way up, dreading the moment you'll have to let go. If crossing the Parapet holding hands were possible, you would, but alas, you'll have to content yourselves with crossing one after the other.

"Nervous?" Bodhi whispers, turning around to face you as you wait in line.

"A little."

"Your balance is great," he reassures you. "Just do it like we practiced and you'll be fine."

"Oh, I meant about meeting your family once we're inside," you joke. "I'm not worried about the balance beam of death. Like, at all."

"Right." Bodhi cracks a smile, but it's a bit strained. He's nervous too, even if he doesn't show it. "Well, you don't need to worry about that, either. I told you, they'll adore you."

The line moves up, and Bodhi takes the next stair backwards so he can keep looking at you.

Standing still again, he pulls you into a hug. One stair above you, he's tall enough to rest his chin on top of your head, a fact he takes full advantage of.

You rest your head against his chest, basking in this moment of peace before you step into the unknown. His heartbeat is fast against your ear, almost in sync with your own, a steady drum filling you with strength.

"You're not getting second thoughts, are you?" Bodhi mumbles after a few seconds.

"Never. I'll go anywhere with you, no matter how dangerous or scary."

"Good. Because if you turned back now, I'd probably follow you, and then we would have a problem."

After giving his name to the rider on top the turret, Bodhi turns to kiss you. You ignore the snickers and stares from riders and other candidates alike, used to the fact that he can never separate from you — even for just a couple minutes — without a kiss. You wouldn't have it any differently.

"See you on the other side."

Before you can do more than nod, he already turns and steps out onto the parapet.

Irrational fear makes it hard to breathe as you watch him. It comes as a relief when, once he's made it a third of the way, it's your turn to follow. Spreading your arms for balance, you walk out over the ravine with small, measured steps, keeping your eyes on Bodhi's distant form to avoid looking down.

Glancing back over his shoulder to see you behind him, he slows down so you can catch up to him, and you reach the other side with only a few steps separating you. The second your feet hit the courtyard, Bodhi's hand is back in yours.

You grin at each other.

"That wasn't so bad."

You huff a laugh. "No, but I'm still glad we only have to do it once."

Stepping away from the opening in the wall, Bodhi's eyes scan the crowd of older cadets. Searching for familiar faces, no doubt.

You feel him trembling with nerves, every second that passes without catching sight of his cousin or friends making him more anxious. Your own heart races in sympathy, hand squeezing his as your gaze darts around too, hoping to catch sight of someone with a rebellion relic.

Just when you start to fear the tension will tear Bodhi apart, a fierce looking man with a relic that reaches all the way up his neck emerges from the crowd, striding toward to two of you with purpose. Though you've never seen him before, it's not hard to guess who he is: Bodhi's cousin — Xaden Riorson. He's a little taller than Bodhi, the angles of his face sharper and his hair straighter, but the small differences between them only emphasize how similar they look overall. If you didn't know better, you might have thought them brothers.

Bodhi lets out a heavy breath of relief, tugging you forward to meet the older boy halfway.

The cousin's stoic expression cracks for a second when he puts a hand on Bodhi's shoulder in greeting, fondness flashing on his face before he quickly masks it again. There's no room for softness in this hostile environment for the marked ones, it seems.

Bodhi must know it, too. He looks a little disappointed at not getting a hug, but silently accepts the unspoken boundary.

He'd briefly dropped your hand to greet Xaden, but now he takes it again, tugging you close to his side as he introduces you to his cousin.

Xaden's gaze turns calculating when it falls on you, studying you with such intensity your scalp tingles. It feels like he's trying to look through you. You half expect a What are your intentions with my little cousin-speech, but it doesn't come.

"Nice to meet you," you venture to say when he doesn't say anything.

"You too," he stiffly replies after a moment of hesitation, looking like he doesn't think it's nice at all.

You don't take it personally. After all, Bodhi had warned you in advance that his cousin isn't much of a people person. And if you were in his shoes, you probably would distrust anyone you don't know, either. You appreciate that at least he's not being outright hostile.

After a moment of awkward silence, Xaden addresses Bodhi again. "I already made sure you'll be put in my squad—"

"Both of us," Bodhi interrupts. "Put both of us in your squad. Please."

His cousin looks like he wants to argue, but Bodhi puts on that pout you can never say no to, and clearly, Xaden isn't immune to it either.

"Fine," he sighs. "I'll see what I can do. But I hope you two realize that there's no time for romance if you want to survive in this place. We're preparing for war, not going on a picnic trip."

Bodhi barely keeps from rolling his eyes. "Yes, Xaden. We know. We've prepared for this."

You nod, even as you can't help but wonder if you really are prepared well enough to make it here. You don't know what it's actually like living in this place, but Xaden is making it sound like it'll be harder than whatever you've imagined.

Bodhi has been preparing for this for years, so he'll be fine, but while you did sometimes join him for sparring and agility exercises, that had only been for fun. You hadn't taken it seriously until mere weeks ago, when you'd started thinking about coming with him. Now you worry if you'll be able to keep up with the other cadets, most of whom have probably been training to join the quadrant since they were kids. That class you've heard about where cadets have to fight each other will certainly be... interesting.

"Good. I'd hate for you to get yourself killed because you're distracted," Xaden says with a pointed glance at you.

Bodhi lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist instead, pulling you even closer, as if you weren't standing shoulder against shoulder already.

His cousin's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say anything else, clearly getting the message — no criticizing your relationship, at least not in front of you. That's more kindness than your parents have shown Bodhi, always nagging about their distaste for him as if he couldn't hear whenever you brought him over.

Before Xaden can turn away to see to the squad arrangement, Bodhi asks, "Hey, is Garrick—"

"He's fine. On watch duty right now, but I'm sure he'll come say hi later."

Pressed against Bodhi as you are, you feel the breath of relief he lets out. "Good. I'm really fucking glad you guys are okay, Xaden."

Xaden allows himself a brief smile and claps Bodhi on the shoulder, muttering something in Tyrrish that you don't understand. Switching back to the common language, he adds, "I'll catch you up on the last year later. In the meantime, keep your head down and don't die."

"Alright. I can do that."

Xaden nods and walks off, toward some other older cadets.

When you're sure he's out of earshot, you turn to Bodhi and say, only half-joking, "You didn't mention how intimidating he is when you told me about him."

"He can be nice when he wants to," Bodhi assures you with a wistful smile. "But he's certainly hardened in the last year."

For a few minutes you stand in silence, watching as more new cadets step off the parapet. Your unease grows with every person you see. They all look stronger, better prepared than you. You don't regret coming here — you meant it when you told Bodhi you'll happily follow him wherever — but you're starting to think you underestimated how much of a challenge survival in the Riders Quadrant will be.

Bodhi nudges you. "What's on your mind?"

"Just... realizing this might be harder than I thought. I was so focused on not wanting to be separated from you I never considered having me here could be a hindrance."

Bodhi frowns, and you automatically lean in to kiss away the crease between his brows.

"Nonsense," he says when you pull back, still frowning. "This is about what Xaden said, isn't it?"

"Partly. I guess I'm just worried I won't be able to keep up 'cause I haven't been training for this nearly as long as you and everyone else."

The frown deepens. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"I know," you say, taking his hand. "But that's the thing. You shouldn't have to look out for me on top of handling yourself. If I can't hold my own I'll distract you, just like Xaden said."

"Oh, fuck that. He was just being an ass. We're a team, baby. If you need help with something, I'll help you, and if I need help, you'll help me. Don't give me that look — when it comes to academics there's definitely some classes where you'll do better than me, and you know it. Besides, you're not as bad a fighter as you think you are. A little extra practice and you'll keep up just fine."

"Are you sure? I just—" You sigh. "I don't want to drag you down."

You don't notice you've been chewing your lip until Bodhi lifts the hand not holding yours to your mouth and smoothes his thumb over it to make you stop.

"You won't," he says. "We can do this. Together, just like we planned."

You nod, breathing more easily. He's right. That was the whole point of this — to face the dangers of the Riders Quadrant together. You could have chosen an easier path, joined another quadrant and contented yourself with only seeing him occasionally, but you didn't. All or nothing, you'd said, and you stand by that. It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it. Bodhi is worth it.

"Okay. Thanks, Bodhi. For never getting annoyed at my stupid anxiety."

He smiles and pecks your lips. "No need to thank me. I get it. And I'll always reassure you however much you need."

[strawberry-bubblef]

Can I request the first-years (Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek, Ortho) with a reader who grew up with a big family and misses them?

I have eleven other siblings, a lot of cousins, and relatives, so I grew up with noise and chaos—but imagine being transported to another world where it's a haunting silence at the ramshackle dorm?

—obviously platonic for Ortho, but others can be romantic/platonic

First-Years with a Reader Who Grew Up in a Big Family

Ace Trappola

Ace pretends like it’s no big deal when you mention your massive family. “Eleven siblings? Geez, how are you even still sane?” But it doesn't take long for him to notice how quiet you get when the dorm halls are empty or how you linger a bit longer around groups of students just to feel a little less alone.

He starts picking up on your cues. If you’re ever quiet too long, Ace might start being loud on purpose,laughing obnoxiously, teasing you more than usual, or dragging you into card games with Grim. “C’mon, I can’t stand the silence, and you look like you’re gonna melt into it.”

He’d probably invite you to hang out with him and the rest of the guys, keeping you distracted. He’s a lot more perceptive than people give him credit for and can tell when you’re feeling out of place. Ace would make sure to check in on you when things get quiet, even if it’s just to have a snack or mess around to fill the silence. You might not get the chaotic comfort of your family, but Ace’s presence would be a constant reminder that you weren’t alone.

Underneath all the snark, Ace cares. He may not always know what to say, but he hates seeing you down. And if it means being a bit more annoying just to bring some familiar chaos back into your life, he’ll do it in a heartbeat.

Deuce Spade

Deuce was far more observant than he let on, and he noticed how the silence in the dorm seemed to be wearing on you. He didn’t know much about growing up in a large family, but he did understand what it was like to feel a bit out of place, especially after a tough childhood.

One day, he spotted you sitting alone in the courtyard, looking wistfully at the distant horizon, as if wishing for a little more noise to fill the space. It wasn’t like you to seem down, and Deuce wasn’t going to let you stay that way.

“Hey,” he started quietly, taking a seat next to you, “I noticed you’ve been a little quiet. The dorm can get pretty lonely, huh?”

Deuce wasn't one for grand gestures, but his empathy shone through in small ways. He’d offer to study with you, just to pass the time, or talk about the small things,the latest exam, what you thought of a certain class, or something as simple as the weird things Grim had done that day. Sometimes, Deuce would share stories of his own upbringing, about the challenges he faced before coming to Night Raven College, and how he found a family here with his friends. It wasn’t much, but it helped bridge the gap.

"I may not have grown up with a lot of noise," he’d say with a sheepish smile, "but if you need someone to fill the silence, I’m here, okay?"

Jack Howl

Jack isn’t used to big families, and honestly, the idea kind of overwhelms him. But he respects the bond you have with yours. When you told him how quiet Ramshackle felt compared to the bustling home you came from, he didn’t say much,just nodded, ears twitching thoughtfully.

Instead of words, Jack showed his support through actions. He started taking you on morning jogs. “Back home, I always trained with my brothers. Running with someone else helps fill the silence.” He hoped it might do the same for you.

He wasn’t good with comforting words, but he’d listen to every story you shared,about siblings stealing your snacks, cousins dogpiling you during family game night, or how your mom used to yell across the house and somehow everyone still understood her. Jack would chuckle softly and shake his head. “That sounds… intense. But kinda nice.”

He started to notice the little things,how your eyes would light up when you talked about your siblings, how you’d hum familiar tunes under your breath when it got too quiet. And so, Jack would sometimes start conversations with, “Tell me more about your family. What were your brothers like?”

Epel Felmier

Epel totally gets it. “Finally! Someone who understands what it’s like to wake up to screaming!” You two bond immediately over shared stories of family chaos,Epel with his rowdy cousins and country life, and you with your giant extended family.

He misses the noise too, even if he pretends not to. So when you say Ramshackle feels too quiet, he doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s make it loud, then!” Suddenly you’re in mock wrestling matches with Grim, throwing pillow-fights in the common room, or blasting music while baking snacks together.

Epel’s chaos is cathartic. He gives you permission to be loud again, to be yourself. And whenever he catches you looking homesick, he’ll nudge your shoulder and go, “Bet your family’s thinking about you too. You ain’t alone, alright?”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek, with his strict and traditional mindset, doesn’t entirely understand why you’re so disturbed by the quiet. To him, silence is an opportunity to grow stronger, focus, and prepare for the future. But he notices your discomfort and decides to offer his version of comfort, though it’s not as gentle as the others.

"Silence is nothing to fear," Sebek says sternly, standing tall beside you one evening. "If you are used to noise and chaos, then perhaps it is time to embrace the stillness. You will grow stronger by facing the silence head-on, and when you do, you will not need the noise to feel alive."

You raise an eyebrow, unsure how to respond, but his words carry a certain weight. "I suppose... maybe I’ll get used to it."

Sebek nods, his face still serious but with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "You will. And when you do, you will be stronger than before. You have our support."

It’s not the kind of reassurance you were expecting, but it gives you something to think about: strength in solitude, and the potential to find peace in the quiet.

Ortho Shroud

Ortho, being the considerate and thoughtful person he is, would be very aware of the emotional toll the quiet could take on you. While his relationship with his own family might be different, he understands what it means to miss loved ones.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling lonely,” he’d say with a gentle smile, his robotic voice soft and soothing. “If you ever need to talk or just hang out, I’m always here. We can even play a game or go on an adventure if that helps!”

Ortho would try to provide as much comfort as possible, filling the silence with his upbeat attitude and offering activities to keep you engaged. Though he couldn’t replace your large family, he’d try his best to be a dependable friend who could be there for you when you needed him most.

English is not my first language !