#best uncles ever 🥰 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr has 4 main sources of revenue.

#best uncles ever 🥰

lynzishell · 13 days

Text

Prev // Next

Transcript below the cut:

Iris: Spencer! Guess who’s here!

Iris: Thanks for helping with the kids today. Atlas: No problem. I couldn’t say no to Spencer when she called. Iris: You can thank Ash for that. Atlas: I had a feeling.

Spencer: Asses! Carry me!

Atlas. I’ve been meaning to talk to your dad. Is he home? Iris: He’s at the studio, but he should be back in a few hours. What’s up? Atlas: Just need his help with something for the wedding.

Spencer: ASSES!! UP!!

Asher: It’s okay, little bear. We’ll be here all day. You’ll get lots of Atlas time, I promise.

Spencer: Petit gâteau!!! Atlas: Bon travail!

58 notes · View notes

thegengarprincess · 1 month

Note

🦩&🦭 hanging out 💞💞

:00 the siblings ever having a lil playdate aaaaaaaaaaaaa!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 Edgar is his lil swimsuit 2 my heart 😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 their both growing up so FAST dear lord I feel like a proud auntie seeing how they’ve both grown up in only a few posts- 🥹🥹 tysmm 4 gracing my inbox with them,ily 4 it <33333.

#is everyone in the tag just bby Edgar N Frank the flamingo’s official aunts/uncles/relatives now??#the siblings ever with THE BEST DADS EVER 🥰🥰#Frank my beloved 🦩#Edgar my beloved 🦭#has Igor been on a playdate with either of them yet?? :3 #maybe Ollie N Juki could have a lil playdate 2 one day ☺️#✨the one n only hotcat37✨#✨the great Hotcat Tomodatchi Life saga✨#GENGAR gets hit up by kewl blogs N sees what happens✨✨#kaarija #frank the flamingo #Edgar the bby seal #love these lil guys sm it’s not even funny anymore 😭😭

2 notes · View notes

embrosegraves · 14 hours

Text

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕗𝕥 ℍ𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕤

Oscar Piastri x Horner!Reader Miami and Imola bring new challenges to the grid. Challenges such as finally initiating the romance part of your potential relationship- oh and being on the podium with your ex-teammate too.

Warnings: swearing ig? idk my usual warnings apply (ALSO REALLY BAD TEXT MESSAGE EDITING LMAOOO)

you're crazy if you can see dates on the tweets (/hj)

series masterlist | previous part | next part

Miami GP

instagram.com

liked by oscarpiastri, opeightyone and others

redbullracing #MiamiGP the RBR Admin is in love with you 😍

view all comments

gerihalliwellhorner I'm convinced that Miami loves you too, Darling 🥰🥰 -> redbullracing please don't embarrass me while i'm working, Mum!! -> gerihalliwellhorner Oh you do that well enough on your own

user4599 Thank you for feeding us with all the #OP81 content we could need 🫡🫡 -> redbullracing ofc! I have to use my power for something right??

maxverstappen1 This is Max Verstappen erasure 😒😒 -> redbullracing anyone ever tell you you're a massive baby?? -> maxverstappen1 not to my face, why? did you hear something? -> redbullracing only thing I can hear is you whining

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and others

redbullracing Here's Max ig 😒 (shoutout to victoriaverstappen for giving permission for me to post Luka. u a real one fr)

view all comments

victoriaverstappen Always happy to give you posting privilege 🫶 -> redbullracing Admin is in love with you 😳🫶

maxverstappen1 thanks 😑 -> redbullracing yw 🥰😊

oscarpiastri Luka is clearly the best Verstappen out there -> redbullracing right?! the only one that comes close is his mother fr -> victoriaverstappen what a coincidence haha, Luka says you're his favourite rb driver 🤭 -> maxverstappen1 I'm still his favourite uncle tho right?? -> victoriaverstappen welllllll....... -> victoriaverstappen "Who's your favourite uncle, Luka?" "UNCLE OSCAR!!" -> maxverstappen1 ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

imessage

twitter.com

imessage

3 days later

instagram.com

liked by oscarpiastri, christianhorner and others

yn.horner Everybody welcome the newest #PaddockPet ✨ Honey-Lemon 🍯🍋 (go follow her account misshoney.lemon 🤭)

view all comments

oscarpiastri was gonna say something clever, but Honey-Lemon is just too cute for me to think -> yn.horner she has that effect on cute boys -> oscarpiastri does said cute boy have an effect on Honey's cute mum? -> yn.horner maybe 🤭 -> user3216 chat is this real? -> user8569 1st of all: excuse me? 2nd of all: EXCUSE ME?! -> user 4568 ooooo i am SO HERE FOR THIS

user5421 OH MY GOD SHE'S ADORABLE

user2268 following Honey-Lemon's acc RIGHT NOW -> misshoney.lemon You're a 🍬🫀 (get it? sweet-heart??) -> user4568 we've only had Honey-Lemon for 10mins but if anything happened to her I would k-ll everyone and then myself

Imola GP

twitter.com

imessage

twitter.com

instagram.com

liked by danielricciardo, nicorosberg and others

redbullracing In honour of #Lestappen + Oscar on the podium (again), here are some pictures of Admin's favourite F1 drivers past and present :D tagged: maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, nicorosberg, kimimatiasraikkonen, sebastianvettel

view all comments

user6548 Admin must have a thing for cunty drivers ->redbullracing 👁️🫦👁️💅💅 -> user6548 you and me are the same

nicorosberg I'm flattered 🤭 -> redbullracing Love you King 🫶🫶

oscarpiastri Why couldn't you pick a cunty pic of me too? -> redbullracing listen man, sometimes the fans don't deserve the fan service y'know?? -> user5589 DOES THIS MEAN ADMIN HAS CUNTY OSCAR PICS???!!?!? -> redbullracing ADMIN HAS THEM AND IS HOLDING THEM HOSTAGE

sebastianvettel I'll reply for both Kimi and myself. -> sebastianvettel I'm honoured to be considered one of your favourites :) -> redbullracing ok that was you, what's kimi's reply?? -> sebastianvettel 👍👍 -> redbullracing idk why i expected any different

imessage

Here we go, as promised!

(not even joking, planning this and having people ask abt writing for others in f1 has given me so much motivation, this is great)

263 notes · View notes

masonreds · 29 days

Text

✨ Our Best Kept Secret ✨ Instagram Au

notes: it’s not my best but I thought a little something would help after hearing that mason’s injured again. and let’s be real I’m a sucker for dad mase 🥹

sorry I posted so late 😭

yourinstagram

liked by masonmount, maya_ and 33,765 others yourusername Our best kept secret. Malia Mount 🧸 10.03.2024 🌼

masonmount my best girls 💛

⤷ yourinstagram we love you so much ❤️

⤷ masonmount how did I get so lucky

⤷ yourinstagram the same question I ask myself every single day 😭

maya_ the cutest family 🥹 I’m coming over asap I miss my beautiful niece :/

⤷ yourusername you literally saw her an hour ago

⤷ maya_ your point??? 🙄

declanrice cannot wait to see the little princess! tell her, her fave uncle said hi 😌

sasha_rebecca soo happy for you my love 💞 can’t wait to get cuddles soon!!

anouskasantos what a beautiful family omg 🤩

view all comments

masonmount

liked by yourusername and 134,567 others

masonmount thanks to y/n for making me a dilf. I owe you one 😉

yourusername MASON!!! 🫣

⤷ masonmount what?? It’s true though

⤷ yourusername but thanks for making me a milf, always knew I would be a hot one 🥰

⤷ masonmount the hottest milf out there 😍🤩

masonfan1 mason is so unserious omg

masonfan2 the major difference between his and y/n’s caption 😭

masonfan3 mason is a DAD. let that sink in

masonfan4 he’s made for being a girl dad!!

masonandy/n such an cute family already omg 🥹

masonfan5 already know mason is gonna be the best dad ever!

view all comments

yourinstagram added to story

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount smut #mason mount fic #mason mount story #mason mount instagram au #mason mount fluff #mason mount x y/n #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x you #mason mount x oc #dad mason

247 notes · View notes

i-cant-sing · 7 months

Note

We wants more todoroki clan one shots

Hmmm okay but imagine reader being Fuyumi's daughter and you are obviously adored by everyone in the Todoroki fam but one person in particular just has that special bond with you-

Dabi.

It's that uncle-niece bond that he holds so close to his heart, absolutely spoils the hell out of you and is ALWAYS in competition with his brothers for "favourite uncle" ever. Like Fuyumi may have given birth to you but you were Dabi's baby 1000000%.

In his eyes, you can do no wrong. You had him wrapped around your little pinky the moment you opened your eyes and stared at him, your eyes wide and animated as they stared into his very soul (and then at Fuyumi, looking at her like "mom? Who is this man wrapped around my finger?").

Casually drops in by Fuyumi's House (she never gave him a key, and she's stopped changing locks over and over because Dabi just breaks in anyways) and steals you from the crib. If he's in a good mood, he might leave a note that he took you and not a kidnapper.

I think Dad Dabi and Uncle Dabi are pretty much the same except Uncle Dabi is a lot more lenient with tge rules than Dad Dabi, like unless you're doing something that would actively result in your death or harm, Uncle Dabi would allow you to do whatever you want. Like Dad Dabi wouldn't ever allow you to date, but Uncle Dabi....

Are you allowed to date? NEVER. Will he kill your s/o if you do find one? Not unless he hurts you or upsets you even slightly, then it's game over for him.

I also think that Uncle Dabi would act more like a sassy mother at times, especially if its like the principal told you to bring your parents and you called Dabi instead of Fuyumi, and Dabi is immediately slamming the door in as he struts in and starts lying on his ancestors that you are the most innocent child ever who's never done anything wrong in her life, might as well call you little miss Virgin Mary because that's just how pure and naive and kind you are and that he'll be suing the principal- NOT THE SCHOOL, but the principal personally and the principal just pulls up a tape of you punching a kid in the throat and Dabi just looks at back you like-

"Should've went with an uppercut like I taught you last week-"

"Mr Dabi!"

Dabi just sighs. "Right. I'll talk to her, but can I get a copy of that?"

And then there's just Fuyumi who is scolding both of you, directed mostly towards Dabi than you because Dabi likes to take blame for a lot of things on your behalf and also because Fuyumi knows that Dabi's been teaching you to do stupid shit.

If you think about it, Uncle Dabi acts a lot like fun wine aunts, like he's drunk before any formal family dinner and he's always bringing the best gifts and jokes and makes the whole situation lighter with dark comedy while the rest of his family sit in uncomfortable, painful silence. But you? Oh you couldn't tell the difference for YEARS because Uncle Dabi was just that good at distracting you from his dysfunctional family to give you the happy childhood he never had🥰

#yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere dabi #yandere todoroki clan

445 notes · View notes

arsenalfanf1 · 1 month

Text

Single mum/ Lando Norris

Reader is Lewis Hamilton sister

Summary Lando falls in love with a single mum.

Part 2

Masterlist

———

Y/n Hamilton

liked by lewishamilton, landonorris and 17,183 others

Y/n Hamilton Can’t believe my baby has turned 1 today, time flies by, It’s a very emotional day for me I miss little baby but he’s now up walking and loves adventures with his mumma. It’s also been a hard year being a single mum is so difficult but I’m so thankful for my family especially uncle Lewis.

View all comments

lewishamilton Can’t believe it my favourite face ever, uncle Lewis loves you

user Crying uncle Lewis 😭😭

user Single mums rises up 🔝

lewishamilton

liked by Y/n Hamilton, carlossainz55 and 2,288,277 others

lewishamilton My favourite boy turned one today. Can’t believe how quickly he’s growing.

view all comments

carlossainz55 Happy birthday Noah!

user So cute 🥰

Y/n Hamilton Thank you uncle Lewis!

Formula one gossip

liked by user17, user19 and 12,579 others

Formula one gossip McLaren driver Lando Norris was spotted getting cosy with a women today, he was spotted at the beach. The women is unknown as of right now. He was spotted kissing her.

View all comments

User OMG

User heartbroken

landonorris story

Y/n Hamilton story

Formula one gossip

liked by lewishamilton, user and 14,278 others

Formula one gossip Recently both Lando Norris and Y/n Hamilton have posted photos pictures of a soft launch, this comes after Lando was spotted getting cosy with a mystery women. A source who wants to stay anonymous confirms that the two have been seeing each other for some time now, they both met after a face, y/n wanted to keep a safe distance after her recent split with her ex, her number one priority was always her son. We wish the couple all the best.

View all comments

User Omg Lewis liking the post?????

User I’m so happy for her she deserves it

User Lando dilf? Yes pls

——

Part 2 coming soon

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #f1 x you #formula one #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #instagram au #instagram #insta #insta au #single mum

184 notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 8 months

Note

Please please please would you ever think of writing more to wait, what? I love it.

Maybe the group are upset they weren’t their for the wedding so they ask the reader and Bucky to have another one, renewing vows so they call all be there.

Plus the uncle and aunts playing with the baby. Babies first show of super grip.

More babies. How happy Bucky is when she is pregnant again. Maybe twins and they name them after the group; like have a girl so call her Samantha for Sam and a boy who is Nathaniel/Niklaus for nat.

Would love to see Tony as baby 2s godfather. Could totally see him “competing” against Steve. Look I got my Godkid this and that more than steve gave his. Not that it matters as tony fits for best uncle title so he gives everything to baby Stevie anyway :). Etc. Love your writing can’t wait to read your next fic. Anyway How are you? Hope you are well. How do you come up with stories?

YES YES One of my FAVOURITE AUs which I love to keep adding too. I've broken up this ask into parts here:

Wait, what? - 💔🥰 The secret you’ve been keeping from the team can only be hidden for so long (pregnant reader)

Wait, what? 2 - 🔥💔🥰 A little more back story + baby Barnes! (pregnant reader)

I do (again) Wait, what? 3 - 🥰 Everyone missed the first wedding, obviously you have to have another one

Wait, what? More Babies? - 🔥🥰 The family grows with a little new addition

Here is a little drabble with the aunts and uncles being complete menaces because they compete with each other. You shook your head looking at the growing pile of gadgets and toys collecting everywhere. There wasn't a single place where there wasn't a new present from either and aunt or an uncle, your kids spoilt beyond reason.

"Mama look!" Stevie ran into your room with a new shield in hand, proudly showing off the new technology it had been upgraded with from when he first got it. He whistled, grinning when the shield started to rumble before the plates shifted, expanding it to double the size. He had on a special type of watch fitted to his wrist and you couldn't even begin to comprehend what that would lead to.

"Baby, where do we keep all this?"

"In my room!" He scrambled off without looking back, only to have his presence replaced by the twins, each floating into the room with glowing red capes.

"What on earth are you to doing?" You knew better than to try and intervene with whatever it was they were doing, Samantha and Nathaniel giggling while sipping in circles from their latest gift from Aunty Wanda.

"Aunty Wanda charmed it for us!" They squealed, the tiny rocket booster running shoes they had been given from Tony boosting them to the ceiling.

"Get down from there!" You hissed, making your way to the living room to ask each God parent if they were trying to take years away from your life through stress.

"Did you see what I got for the tiny terminators" Tony grinned at Steve, hearing sound of laugher down the hall followed by your exasperated voice. He chuckled when he saw you disheveled form with each twin under your arm, clutching onto them like footballs to keep them from flying off.

"Best. God Father. EVER" Nathaniel grinned while Samantha nodded, trying to squirm from your hold.

"Steve jr got an upgrade too" Steve stated proudly, seeing his god son using his shield to surf down the staircase, causing you to drop one twin and catch your elder son before he face planted onto the floor.

"For F-" You caught yourself before finishing your sentence, both men snickering while you huffed, "I swear, wait till daddy is home" You placed your kids in a pile between their God fathers before going up to take a well deserved bath.

Bucky snorted at the sound of chaos that he heard as he made his way from the gym to your shared bedroom. He didn't want to set food into the living room when his demon spawn and Satan's love child god fathers were together, making his way straight to you instead.

"How are you mama" Bucky whispered softly, seeing the bathroom door left lightly ajar, the scent of lavender filling the room.

"Your children are spoiled Barnes" You peeked one eye open before closing it again, humming when you felt Bucky step into the tub, settling himself behind you.

"And who is spoiling mama?" He smirked, letting a sneaky hand trail down between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin on your neck, "Hm?"

A snap of his fingers was all that was needed to lock the doors and sound proof the walls. He'd already shot a text to Steve before coming to your room.

"You're both babysitting. Code XXX" (and Steve 1000% blushed like mad though Tony cackled and decided to set up a bet on if tonight would make another baby Barnes)

It was going to be a loooong night.

569 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 14 days

Text

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

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

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

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

269 notes · View notes

rhey-007 · 2 months

Text

The Mystery of Love

Fernando Alonso family fluff

|| P7 of Fernando Alonso x goth mommy!reader

• | social media au

Summary: You and Fernando finally make your relationship public.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, family fluff, female reader

A/N: Enjoy another part of The Mystery of Love. I know I was supposed to post it two weeks ago but I felt like shit and didn't manage to finish it... 😔 And I have to stop promising things, ik no one read them but still.

If you'd like to be added to the tag list let me know! ☺

Masterlist

‧͙⁺˚*･༓🌟༓･*˚⁺‧͙

‧͙⁺˚*･༓🥀 INSTAGRAM 🥀༓･*˚⁺‧͙

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, maxverstappen1, landonorris and 15,824 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

•y/n._.l/n: finally managed to convince •fernandoalo_oficial for some dress up! 🤭🥰

•user1: Nando as a goth is something we all needed 😍

•user2: you guys slayed, as always!

•user3: real life Morticia and Gomes! 💞

•landonorris: DAMN! grandpa looking good!

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: language!

→ •landonorris: sorry 🤭😋

→ •user3: Nando definitely mad over grandpa not damn lol

•user4: now the only thing we need is a goth family photo shoot! 😍

•user5: you're too old for this, it's just childish

→ •user6: oh shut up you know nothin

→ •user7: they're adults they can dress however they want

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☃️ INSTAGRAM ☃️༓･*˚⁺‧͙

liked by mickkschumacher, y/n._.l/n and 958 others

tagged: fernandoalo_official, y/n._.l/n, lance_stroll

•kl.au_s: ⛷️🏂🏔

•mickkschumacher: beautiful! next time I'm going with ya!

→ •user7: MICK NO!

→ •user8: HAVE YOU NOT LEARNT ANYTHING???

→ •user9: Fernando hasn't either....

→ •user10: no driver had.....

•lance_stroll: and to thinks pops still has strength for skiing 🤔

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: what are you talking about, I have lots of energy not only for skiing 😉

→ •kl.au_s: 💀

‧͙⁺˚*･༓🌱 INSTAGRAM 🌱༓･*˚⁺‧͙

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 85,256 others

tagged: fernandoalo_official, y/n._.l/n, kl.au_s

•aussiegrit: a little trip with friends 😃🏕🚴

•kl.au_s: UNCLE MARK NOOO BSJDHJRNDLSF

→ •aussiegrit: did I do something wrong? 😔

→ •user11: uncle?

→ •user12: just wait and he'll call Nando dad

•user13: IS THAT FERNANDO AND Y/N KISSING IN THE BACKGROUND???

→ •user14: oh my god it is!

•user15: 🚨SPOILER ALERT🚨

→ •user16: Markie definitely should've put a spoiler alert 🫠

•user16: not Mark leaking what everyone already knew 😭

‧͙⁺˚*･༓🍷 INSTAGRAM 🍷༓･*˚⁺‧͙

liked by aussiegrit, jensonbutton and 10,985 others

tagged: fernandoalo_official, kl.au_s, aussiegrit, jensonbutton, landonorris, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, lance_stroll

•y/n._.l/n: I'm not a fan of big birthday parties but I couldn't be more grateful for Fernie and the boys throwing a HUUUGE dinner just for me and accept me and my sons into their racing family. I love all of you, but especially my boo Fernando 🥰💞 Thank you once again!

(ans please don't come for Mark, he tried his best :) )

•user17: FINALLY

•user18: couldn't you announce it earlier? It was so obvious from the very beginning

→ •user19: chill, maybe they just didn't feel like it

•user20: exactly, not everyone has to be ready for something like this right away

•jensonbutton: for what this announcement? 🤨didn't everyone already know?

→ •y/n._.l/n: 🤦‍♀️

•susiewolff: Congrats on finally getting the courage to tell the world! 💞

•aussiegrit: amazing party!

→ •landonorris: of course it was! after all I was the one who organized it 💅

→ •carlossainz55: oi! you didn't do it alone! > : (

→ •maxverstappen1: exactly!

→ •oscarpiastri: kids calm down 🙄

→ •y/n._.l/n: exactly.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓🍾 INSTAGRAM 🍾༓･*˚⁺‧͙

liked by y/n._.l/n, carlossainz55 and 105,627 others

tagged: y/n._.l/n, kl.au_s, aussiegrit, jensonbutton, carlossains55, oscarpiastri, landonorris, lance_stroll

•fernandoalo_oficial: sweet 40 🤭🥳🎉💝

•aussiegrit: best party ever!

•user21: that looks so fun 😭😩

•user22: Y/N looking exceptionally good! 💗

→ •user23: as she always does 😍👑

•y/n._.l/n: thank you baby! ☺😘

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: everything for you honey~ ❤

‧͙⁺˚*･༓💘 INSTAGRAM 💘༓･*˚⁺‧͙

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lilimhe and 17,256 others

tagged: fernandoalo_official

•y/n._.l/n: I'm so glad I've met you 💞

•lilimhe: yes mama!!! you two are so cuuuute!

→ •y/n._.l/n: you and Alex too!!! 😘

→ •alex_albon: of course we are! 😁 <3

•fernandoalo_oficial: I'm glad I met you too mi gusanito ❤🧡💛💚💙💜 (my little bug)

→ •y/n._.l/n: 🥰

→ •kl.au_s: 🤢🤮

→ •y/n._.l/n: KLAUS!

→ •kl.au_s: 🫣

→ •user23: not Klaus ruining this cute moment xD

‧͙⁺˚*･༓💋 INSTAGRAM 💋༓･*˚⁺‧͙

liked by y/n._.l/n, sebastianvettel and 156,256 others

tagged: y/n._.l/n

•fernandoalo_oficial: mi vida, mi alma, mi amor, mi hermosa, mi cariño 💘 (my life, my soulmate, my love, my beautiful, my sweety)

•kl.au_s: I swear to God you guys are GROSS 💀

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: could say the same bout you and Bluebell 🧍‍♀️

→ •kl.au_s: oh shut up, at least we ain't kissing everywhere we go >:(

•landonorris: I think I'm to young for such photos...

•maxverstappen1: jeez pops calm down! we know you love her!

•user24: that is a really nice photoshoot

→ •user25: those photos gonna be def used in fanfics XD

•sebasrianvettel: so happy for you two!

‧͙⁺˚*･༓🌟༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Tag list: @morgan-getty @lichterfee @ashy-kit @champomiel

155 notes · View notes

shirefantasies · 3 months

Text

Things You Do Together- LoTR Characters

A little buffer posting during recovery, sorry y’all 😅 I have some requests getting ready too though! Did a version for Thorin’s company a while back so here’s this version too 🥰

Aragorn wishes there to be no secrets, as few misunderstandings as could arise. Thus his goal is to help you reach fluency in Elvish; after all, many of his friends and familial figures are of Middle Earth’s eldest race. Their script is quite complex, so barring a great desire of yours to be writing it soon Aragorn focuses upon recognition of important words and phrases. Starting, of course, with my love.

Legolas teaches you archery, standing behind you as you fire his bow. Such a patient teacher and not one to burst out laughing if the arrow arcs spectacularly right back down into the grass. Surely he will smile and shake his head, but he understands. Everyone was there once, himself no exception. Pays such attention to detail you will catch him making the smallest of adjustments, even little things like changing the position of your fingers with his.

Desiring to prove both his and his people’s worth, Boromir attends with you at his side a joust hosted by Gondor’s men. You delight in choosing and cheering on a champion, shouting with joy at his successes and sympathizing with strikes against him. When, you think aloud to Boromir, was the last time you both laughed so? Pulling you close, he tells you he does not remember when, but if he has his way it will be soon again.

If you desire exploration, you know that Gimli will be right at your side to enjoy the world’s beauty. Caves, of course, are a domain of his people, expanses of stone glittering on walls and hanging down to your level. Forests, too, homes of fairer beings and much provision. Things Gimli has sworn to protect and love in this life that he wishes to experience with the greatest of them all… you. Never does he tire of telling you nature is beautiful, but more so are you.

Frodo encourages your writing. He himself has penned you many a poem, but there is nothing like your voice, physical or metaphorical, sharing a story with him. His dream is a book containing both of your stories, perhaps even an addition to his uncle’s story. If you feel called to share stories of others, even simple escapes from reality, Frodo is your greatest supporter. With all that he endures, ever a relief is it to hear you speak of a world so different from his own.

Botany, Samwise Gamgee thinks, is best learned amongst the flowers themselves. Rather than stuff you up into the pages of some book, he takes you walking down winding Shire-paths of flowers and bushes, showing you how he can tell what's related by things like leaf shape and giving you little tips and tricks to remember bloom names. “If you forget forget-me-nots, after all,” he teases with a wink, “you’re doing them quite the disservice!”

Merry teaches you his method of whittling, the way he crafts little trinkets of wood to keep occupied in idle times. When you feel more confident in your skills, Merry challenges you: he crafts a little figure of you and you of him. Complain as you do that his lovely hair is hard to capture, in the end you are proud of your first figure and Merry keeps it in the pocket closest to his heart. Those figures serve as the cake topper at your wedding a little ways down the line!

It can be a messy time, but Pippin adores spending time in the kitchen with you! Not only because he knows you’ll acquiesce him with little tastes, but because he’s fascinated at the process, the way you throw things together to make something beautiful and are so willing to have a feast made whenever guests call. Ever one for physical touch, Pippin enjoys sugary-sweet moments like sneaking up behind you for a kiss as you’re occupied kneading dough or standing against you to help stir your soup. And yes, sometimes he spills, but he always apologizes and cleans up after himself and don’t we all make mistakes?

Faramir reads with you, or, if you are stressed, to you. Sharing a love of your land’s myth, the studies of triumphs, follies, and magics past are like traveling far away to him, so to have a companion in that rings deep joy into his heart. He cannot help sometimes comparing the great love stories of Middle Earth to the way you found each other. Faramir is the type to know all your favorite tales and offer them to you at just the right time, sitting you in his lap or against his chest on a bed as he peels the pages open for you.

Smithing is something Eomer is confident you can learn, especially if he knows you wish to be involved in battles and wants to keep you safe! Being a supplier is just as important, otherwise there would be no blades to hoist for Rohan. Always encouraging you to hit harder and chuckling at your initial fear of the red-hot steel, Eomer loves standing behind you and guiding your motions. Perhaps even using this as an opportunity to sneak a kiss!

Haldir shows you how he cares for trees, even the smallest pieces of creation. Small potted trees akin to bonsais decorate shelves and tables in Lothlorien, and trimming and shaping them is an art form in and of itself. Nurturing a tiny, delicate life, after all, requires more intricacies than the greater fortitude. Microcosms of Haldir’s home forest sit before you as you take in his reverent, peaceful smile, hear his guiding words about the nutrients they need. You never tire of the focus spread across his face, the gentle opening of tiny blossoms.

Eowyn adores sparring with you no matter your skill level, moving slower or picking up her pace depending on it. She never wishes to go too hard on you, but does want to push you to try new things and experience different angles so you can keep yourself safe in a fight, Valar forbid you are so threatened. Sometimes your sparring is more playful, more just the two of you chasing each other around with wooden swords and one knocking the other over at the end of it, laughing as you tumble to the ground.

Enjoying the occasional swim, Arwen invites you into one of her home's gorgeous pools with her, stripping you both down to thinner layers as you step into perfectly, perhaps magically, warmed water. Polished stones roll beneath your feet as you wade over to each other, hands joining as you float in peaceful, loving silence. A smile spreads across Arwen's face before she gives you a light, teasing splash, silence quickly devolving into giggles as your troubles lighten.

Elrond is known for making some of the best tea in Middle Earth, and you experience his skills and then some. Not only does the lord of Imladris brew you a cup of your favorite herbal blend, he will also ensure that his bakers have pastries warm and ready and the loveliest toppings. Your relaxation time is like a little ceremony, Elrond pouring your drink and serving you all you wish on your little platter. You will not so much as lift a finger until it is to take a sip of the warm comfort as you and Elrond watch the surrounding waterfalls.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @joonies-word | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr imagines #lotr x reader #the fellowship of the ring #aragorn #legolas #boromir #gimli #frodo #sam #merry #pippin #faramir #eomer #haldir #eowyn #arwen #elrond

157 notes · View notes

its-time-to-write · 6 months

Text

just a short little Thanksgiving blurb for all my American girlies 🥰🦃

ours

You force yourself back to the present, where your twelve year-old cousin is updating you on the latest middle school drama.

“…and that’s why boys named Max are a red flag, but dogs named Max are not,” she concludes.

You giggle and nod appropriately, taking a sip from your drink. The house is filled with the entire family this Thanksgiving and while it’s pleasantly crowded, it still feels like a part of you is missing.

Your phone is securely in your bag, a tactic to try to keep yourself from replaying highlights from the England match from the previous weekend. Every other WAG got to go support their man, but you were stuck in America with pre-Thanksgiving work. Thanksgiving has only been going on for twenty minutes, and you’re ready to call it and go home.

International dating is hard.

Your mom can tell, so she’s been giving you tasks to do all day. She must’ve told your grandma or maybe she’s just incredibly observant, because she’s picked up the mantle as well and neither of them give you enough time to be alone with your thoughts.

It’s nice of them, except now the family’s here and everyone’s asking about your boyfriend. They don’t care that he’s a footballer (in the best way) and they’re all excited for you, but you wish he were here.

Maybe you can sneak upstairs and call him.

You do some quick math and realize he should be asleep so you sigh and ask your cousin if she wants to come with you to steal macaroni and cheese.

She smiles and says, “Yes, duh.”

“It’s going to be tricky,” you warn. “My mom and your mom are going to be on the lookout.”

“I bet Grandpa will sneak us some,” she reminds you. Oh yes, Grandpa would do anything for his granddaughters.

You grab her hand and weave through aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins and a few other relatives. You’re pretty sure this is the biggest Thanksgiving you’ve ever had.

You and your cousin successfully get your hands on two bowls of mac and cheese, and slip away to an unoccupied corner to eat it.

You’re smiling and not thinking about Jamie at all. This is your favorite cousin, the one who’s eleven years younger than you, but you two have been doing dumb shit together since she could talk.

You’re almost done when someone slides into your space, pressing their arm against yours. Your cousin’s eyes widen as she looks at you and you turn, expecting to see an aunt or god-forbid one of your snitch brothers.

Instead, you’re met with blue eyes and a familiar smile.

You choke on your last bite of food as you launch yourself into Jamie’s arms.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, refusing to let go of him. “You have a match this weekend.”

He shrugs, still smiling. “Ah, you know, gotta be culturally sensitive with my American girlfriend, babe. Milestones and all that.”

You raise an eyebrow. There’s no way Roy let him go with that excuse.

“Or I might have injured meself at the match last week and am out of training for two weeks,” Jamie says.

“You’re hurt?” you exclaim. “Why didn’t you call me? Should you have been on a plane? What happened?”

You’ve inadvertently tightened your grip around Jamie’s neck, so he reaches up to remove your hands, still keeping them in his. He lifts them up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“I’m fine. Just my ankle. But I figured, who not come surprise ya?”

“Does my mom know you’re here?”

Jamie’s grin turns cocky. “Called your mum and dad three days ago. I’m staying in their guest room, ain’t I? Got in this morning before you lot showed up.”

Your cousin has been watching this scene a little open-mouthed the whole time. “I wish my boyfriend would do that for me,” she murmurs.

Your head snaps over to her. “Your what,” you say to her and she holds her hands up defensively.

“Oh look it’s your English boyfriend who flew all the way to America for Thanksgiving, why don’t you kiss him some more?” she deflects, and Jamie shoots her a wink and tilts your face up for a kiss so your cousin can get away.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you tell him. “Oh my gosh, we’re going to have the BEST time. Get ready to have your mind blown, little British boy.”

“Anything for you, Miss America,” he teases. “Just don’t make me try those mushroom things I saw, looked fucking awful, that.”

You pull a shocked face. “Oh but it’s tradition. Everyone has to suffer through my uncle Darren’s gross stuffed mushrooms at least once. And since you’re new here…” you trail off.

Jamie grimaces while you giggle and run a hand through his hair. God, you can’t believe he’s here and while you aren’t thrilled he’s injured, maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

“C’mon,” you say, tugging him to the kitchen. “I want to go yell at mom and dad for not telling me you were coming.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

275 notes · View notes

so-many-sainz · 1 year

Note

sis it's not that I want a part 2 of "we broke up btw" it's the fact that I NEED IT TO STAY ALIVE IT'S JUST TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE

I NEED IT TOO LOVE!! ♥♥♥

this is the part II of we broke up btw.

part II where she ends up with Lando HERE.

we back — pierre gasly

social media au

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

November, winter.

Liked by pierregasly and 95.726 others

yninstagram MONKEY, happy birthday. Love you, stinker. 🐒🤎

View all the comments

savnorris1 there's no pic where lando is actually ready to pose

yninstagram pics where lando looks good? no, i don´t like those

↪️landonorris i always look good

pierregasly looking great guys!

yninstagram thanks p!!

landonorris thanks muppet! you are the best, love u!

yninstagram, pierregasly added to their stories

january, winter.

Liked by charles_leclerc and 1.583.491 others

pierregasly receiving the godfather title, thanks paul and charlotte for this cutie.

View all the comments

chadeveaux uncle timeeeee

paulgasly 💙💙💙

charles_leclerc the cutest

Liked by pierregsaly and 104.825 others

yninstagram we only meet for baptisms and children's birthdays 💗

Congratulations @paulgasly and @chadeveaux on your gorgeous princess.

View all the comments

chadeveaux you better be the godmother of the next one

gaslyteam10 omg PIERRE AND YN REUNION 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

yukierreupdates charles is always third-wheeling 😂😂

pierregasly something is missing on this dump

yninstagram not really

charles_leclerc oooooh we are the best uncle and auntie ever

gaslyloverera mmmmm crumbs

april, spring.

Liked by pierregasly and 99.526 others

yninstagram yesssss cold weather is over 🤩☀️🌈🧡🍧🍨🍦

View all the comments

pedrogaseoso girl pierre hasn't missed a post since the breakup, get back together already

ynbestfriend stunning baby

pyry.salmela capri ice cream >>>>>>> any other ice cream

yninstagram yessirrr

charlottesiine baby 💗

1.853 likes

gaslyteam10 Pierre is spending the weeknd in Capri🧐👀

The devil works hard but Pierre works harder 😂😂

View all the comments

lovelypedro could they be more obvious? 😂😂😂

fan832 so it's confirmed

Liked by yukitsunoda0511 and 1.726.946 others

pierregasly capri dump 😋💙

View all the comments

charles_leclerc you did itttttt mate, love you 😂❤️

teamgasly10 BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR SO LONG

yninstagram 🐚🌊💙

yukitsunoda0511 have fun kid

Liked by pierregasly and 250.367 others

yninstagram life lately 🥰💙

View all the comments

pierregasly would you follow me back please?

yninstagram mmmmmm idk

charlottesiine 😍😍😍😍😍

yukierrex our parents are back charlie boy @charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc i know!!!! not a child of divorce anymore

#instagram edit #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fluff

1K notes · View notes

bucknastysbabe · 5 months

Note

Ser Criston is OC Princess (Rhaenyra’s younger sister) sworn protector & is in love with her but he knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help being obsessed and Rhaenyra hates it because it’s her little sister & so one night she asks Ser Criston to sneak out for a walk and they kiss & get caught by Rhaenyra idk

Hi yes I totally got carried away bc Criston has me in a chokehold rn. I hope you enjoy, I love the obsessed aspects. I also got to explore the other indications in F&B that insinuated Cole rejected Rhaenyra. Thanks for the ask🥰🥰 I don’t usually do OC’s but since it’s a Targ I mean I can only leave so much up to interpretation! But it was fun and diff

Rating: Mature

Tags: Forbidden love, unreliable narrator, Criston’s POV, oc-ish Princess reader, Sorry I made Rhae a bitch ugh, Criston’s snappy ass, Alicent is his bestie, masturbation, fantasies, dark Criston, virgin reader, clit orgasm, open ending, angst and pining galore, Religious Guilt, Harwin doing his best okay?, character study-ish, obsessive/possessive Criston

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

Lucerra Targaryen, called Cerra, was oft said to be the spitting image of the late Queen Aemma. She retained more of her father’s demeanor, none of the resolute strength of Aemma and the fiery nature of young Rhaenyra. The fire that had entranced Criston once. He was told all of Cerra’s quirks when they made him her sworn shield.

He so much did not glance Rhaenyra’s way now, the burly Ser Harwin towering over the heir. They shared a kiss once, Criston ran, their close bond was severed. He knew down deep she coveted her uncle. It burned him, but he did his duty. The duty hanging around his shoulders like a lead weight— just cloaked in white wool. Criston found himself bewitched again.

The sweet Cerra, her gentle innocence and piousness. Something unmarred, not yet tainted by the world. The knight wondered if she was the maiden reborn, sent to test him. He prayed and prayed and confessed repeatedly to get rid of the wicked sin in his heart. Usually after touching himself.

Criston had always been weak when it came to the fairer sex. He’d fall madly in love like a boy and his first fuck. Just no fucking, more of the merest scrap of appreciation and touch had him by the vulnerable throat.

He coveted the young princess badly. Sometimes she would grab his palm when frightened, or on a walk to the Sept. Criston felt disgusting wondering how that soft hand would feel around his cock, the pale flesh clashing against ruddy. Cerra didn’t know, couldn’t know how weak he was.

Rhaenyra obviously knew of the metaphorical chink in the armor. She was becoming increasingly nosy of her sister’s doings as of late. He sourly thought to himself, ‘spoiled cunt couldn’t have me, of course she’ll make sure I part from her sweet sister.’ He frowned in annoyance at the elder’s recent interruption.

He’d merely helped her up to reach a flower in a tall bush. Certainly didn’t expect chaste Cerra to be so…close. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, startling him as she sighed, “You’re too kind Ser Criston, my white knight. What would I do without you?” She didn’t mean anything licentious, the Princess never did. Once a lordling flirted and she blushed to her ears and called for Criston to escort her away.

He preened about that for days. He’d heard the idiot boy scoff, “Stupid Dornish mutt.” Criston grinned and leaned toward the shorter lad, keeping his voice low. The princess shouldn’t hear such filth. He hissed, “This mutt would be glad to cave your fucking skull in with a Morningstar. Don’t come near the Princess ever again.” That was that. Back to his original thought.

At the moment Criston couldn’t help but sink into her soft gesture, pale white waves and lavender eyes gazing up as she laid her head on his chest. The brunette laid a chaste hand on her waist, but the moony look on his face was likely brighter than the Hightower’s beacon.

“My lady is kinder, no need to praise your sworn shield, merely doing my duty Princess.”

His cock was full to bursting at her sweet scent and wide eyes, framed by pretty lashes. Cerra closed those lavender orbs and inhaled gently, relaxing in the center of the Godswood. Criston’s hand thumbed little circles into her waist, feeling the princess relax more, leaning into his stronger frame, lips subtly parting.

“Cole! This is an unseemly position to be seen in with my sister if Larys’ spies are about,” Rhaenyra called with a smile and cocked head. Lucerra stepped back with a gasp, flush flooding her cheeks. She stammered, “R-Rhaenyra, no no, I w-was simply.”

“Simply what?”

Criston cooled his expression to state, “The princess was expressing her gratitude for me. Nothing more.”

Lucerra nodded, gesturing to the knight, cheeks still flaming and eyes downcast. She certainly wasn’t acting as if this was innocent. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to grab her sister’s hand. Casting a glare toward him she hissed, “I need her for the afternoon, you can wait outside the door.”

He stiffly nodded, anger flaring up in his chest so violently Criston feared he would yell at the heir. Instead he murmured, “Yes princess.” From a distance he trailed the two blondes, aggravated as all Seven Hells. Rhaenyra never paid attention to Cerra, especially since having her first babe. Damned bitch. Where was her loyal whore Harwin?

Waiting outside Rhaenyra’s chambers, Criston thought over her precious sister’s actions. He wondered what it would be like to touch her more. Graze over her sensitive neck, breasts, lower belly. She’d probably squeal if he suckled on a pretty tit. He inhaled sharply, catching himself on a low moan. Repentance would be in order soon.

Maybe he was being punished now— waiting outside like a mangy dog.

For hours.

Cerra came back out with a strange look, apologizing, “Sorry Ser Criston, that went longer than expected, I didn’t think my sister would want that much of the day. Shall we head to supper?”

He nodded, extending an arm forward. The princess was quiet, eyes flicking toward him a couple of times. Criston asked, “Yes princess?” Lucerra stopped on a dime and faced him, face close to tears. She warbled, “You’re not mad are you? I- I can’t deny family. Rhaenyra actually uh- helped. I was acting imprudent in the Godswood, I apologize for being wanton and brazen Ser.”

Oh. Criston blinked a couple of times. She was expressing more than mere affection? He wiped away her tear with a gloved hand, sighing, “No princess, I could never be mad at you, what’s in the past is in the past. You are anything but wanton, the picture of the maiden to me. Don’t let her scare you.”

She smiled, tipping forward on her feet some, eyes entrapping Cole easily. Then he was engulfed into a hug again. What had brought in this madness? He couldn’t complain, yet.

She breathed, “Oh, oh I was so worried you’d be mad. We should go to the sept tomorrow, yes?” The knight’s lips quirked up as he replied, “That sounds splendid my Princess, we shall go in the morn. Now let’s get you to dinner?”

She grabbed his hand again, practically skipping, chattering now about her time with ‘big sister’. Criston listened, he always did, but he needed to go jack his cock before going mad. Then wallow in guilt about it all night at the edge of Cerra’s room. She preferred him taking watch from inside her quarters. Such a frightened little lamb.

Wallow in guilt did he. While the princess slept in her grand bed, Criston couldn’t help but replay the shame in his head. As soon as he’d escorted her to dinner, he went to his quarters and stripped down heavy armor and pants. The man shuddered at the sensation of cool air hitting his achingly flushed cock.

He pictured the pristine Targaryen underneath his tanned body, writhing with pleasure. Criston spat on his hand and worked his prick, panting softly. Cerra’s doe eyes would be teary, overwhelmed with the pleasures of the flesh. She’d whine while he’d pump into her virgin cunt, “Oh, Criston, oh gods! Don’t stop!” The knight gasped and shuddered at the thought, groaning as he spilled all over his hand.

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can’t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

“Oh, good,” she pulled the covers off the bed and stretched, white nightgown pulling in the right wrong places, “I had a horrid dream. I can’t possibly go back to sleep yet.”

Criston frowned at her admission— it pained his heart to have her upset. He questioned, “A bad dream? What was it about?” She stepped onto the cold marble floor, shivering, shrugging on a thicker robe hung nearby. His eyes followed her smaller form come closer, curling up in a plush chair adjacent to his position. She wiped a hand across her face, still groggy.

“I can hardly remember now. I was alone, so alone, not even my dragon was around. I k-kept calling out for someone, probably you,” she pulled the robe tighter, “I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

Cerra’s lips were drawn tight, brows pulled together. Criston wanted to pull the pretty girl onto his lap, she was still shivery. He thought of a decent response, something comforting. The knight settled on, “It was obviously a dream, I’d never desert you my Princess. That big white beast wouldn’t either.”

Her lips curled up to let out a tinkling laugh— making Criston’s sick heart skip a beat. Cerra replied, “Cloudwing is not a beast! She’s a good girl.” The brunette chuckled along with the Targaryen, smiling helplessly, such a lovesick dumb dog was he.

A beat of silence grew over them, heavy with something. The earlier revelation of Lucerra behaving with romantic intentions still lay undiscussed. Criston suggested gently, “You will catch a cold if you do not get back under the covers, princess. You won’t be alone, I swore an oath.”

One he would break if she just asked. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted that truly or not. He’d gotten quite far being the son of a common born steward.

She bit her lower lip and shrugged, “I’d much rather sit with you Ser Criston. I’ll be okay as long as I keep my feet off the dreadful stone.”

“Lucerra, please, shall I pick you up then? You need sleep, the Sept remember?”

Her gaze locked onto the white knight’s intensely. Lucerra fidgeted with her robe, the damn air growing heavier. Criston found it hard to think when she was being so confusing. She finally spoke, a meek whisper, “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lifting the blonde was easy, her squeak and grasp onto his shoulders adorable. Criston had to bat away more thoughts about how simple she was to handle. He laid her down gently, taking the coat she shrugged off. Lucerra grabbed onto his hand with a fervent tightness as he turned back to his chair.

“Please, don’t leave me so alone, I don’t care what Rhaenyra says. Just keep me warm?”

Her pretty face was achingly raw, open, eyes tinged with fear. Criston swallowed heavily. He was weak. He couldn’t run away this time. Didn’t want to run away, bask in the sweet sin. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it was a test from the seven.

“Criston?”

“Yes, just, just- give me a second to get my armor off.”

Now he was shivery with want, warring with trepidation. Ridding his body of armor was horribly slow. The awkward clank of each piece coming off. Each heavy noise reminded him what he was potentially giving up. Soon Criston remained in simple breeches and a linen shirt. Lucerra pulled back the covers and smiled nervously.

He climbed onto the soft bed, pulling the blankets back over their frames. Unsure of what came next, Criston simply laid on his back and gazed at her. Lucerra murmured, “Must you be the pious one now?” He raised an amused brow at the bold comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

She frowned and nestled into his side, wrapping an arm around him and tucking soft hair into the crook of shoulder and jaw. Criston exhaled sharply, unused to such intimate touch after donning the white cloak. He reached over to grab her leg, pulling it snug across his lower belly, thankfully out of the way of his swelling prick.

Cerra gasped against his neck, giggling, “Good, now I don’t feel like a concubine.”

“Concubine? Pfft. You’re white as snow compared to my cloak,” he replied.

“It’ll be our secret, I’d fear I would perish without my white knight. I swear it upon my heart.”

He couldn’t respond, lest it be something out of control. Instead he rubbed her back and knee, squeezing once in agreement with Cerra’s statement. Soon she fell asleep, softly puffing against his neck. Criston joined soon after, utterly content and warm.

The simple action of cuddling up couldn’t slake the thirst that grew within him for the lovely princess. They had remained chaste and he arose early every morn to get dressed and step back outside the wooden door. Lucerra would seek out touches in secret, holding pinkies with him, laying her head on an armored shoulder in the Godswood.

She would share smiles with the knight across the throne room, Rhaenyra’s calculating look upon the utterly obvious pair. Criston knew one could see into his bleeding heart if they looked into his eyes. The way Princess Lucerra grew tighter and tighter into his side around the keep, lavender eyes sparkling aroused many curious onlookers.

Rumors began to swirl. Criston reluctantly stood outside her chambers a couple nights a week. One night he encountered a poorly prying Harwin Strong. The fellow knight had made one too many passes and he called out, “Get your big ass over here!” He didn’t mind Harwin, but did mind being spied on.

The hand’s son looked sullen as he walked up to Criston, flicking down a dark hood. He gave a sheepish smile, apologizing, “Uh, you know, the girls want what they want.” Criston crossed his arms and deadpanned, “Your girl wants me expelled from King’s Landing on account of rumors”

Harwin gave him a look, disgusting pity lacing his features. Criston reiterated, “The girl remains pure, she looks to me as a protector, you know how easily frightened the princess has always been.” Somehow he felt like a liar. Still her pretty lips and cunt remained untouched.

“Sure Cole. Just be careful, you know what the punishment is of breaking your oath.”

Criston’s temper flared to life, taunting Harwin with a fake smile, “You be careful too now, two Valyrians making some beautiful brown haired babes is a bit strange no?”

Harwin shoved him into the door with a snarl. Breakbones’ power at full force knocked the wind out of Criston, but he wheezed a laugh. He was no better than him— just another lovesick fool. Strong rumbled, “Keep your damn mouth shut and I’ll stay on my side, but I know you got the princess primed for your dirty lowborn cock.”

Criston didn’t want to get his face pummeled in. The raucous already probably woke his sweetling. He gave another smarmy look and hummed, “Noted, Strong.” That earned the knight another shove and the burly man stomped off to lick the bitch’s teats.

The door opened behind Criston, a bewildered Lucerra in her robe. She questioned, “W-what was that? Are you alright Ser Criston? Come in, please.”

His dark eyes scanned down the hallway once more before stepping inside, sighing as she enveloped him into a warm embrace. Criston spoke lowly, “Big sister had sent her own shield to spy on me. We should be more careful.”

Lucerra frowned, lips setting into a pout. She murmured, “We’ve done nothing horrid. Yes, unseemly, but I’m intact. Turn around, let me get off this dreaded armor.” Criston appreciated her desire to learn how to discard his Kingsguard armor— although he averted guilty eyes from the way the Targaryen would carefully hang his cloak, like it still meant something.

As they laid together, she complained into his neck, lithe fingers playing with his inky hair, “You’re right, we should be more courtly, take more precaution. Of all of my sister’s misgivings, why does she care?”

Criston played dumb, it’s what he was anyway. Lied again and said he had no clue why Rhaenyra took such a deep distaste to the pair’s relationship. He sighed, “It will work out, more careful, yes. C’mon, to sleep, sorry about the noise.”

Another night in her arms was a blessing to Criston. He would be reluctantly busy the next day. The king needed a whole retainer for his appearance in public at the Dragonpit. It was the anniversary of Aegon’s landing. Luckily the princess would be in his peripheral. Along with the conniving heir and her other eyes.

It was a banal affair, King Viserys smiling and waving to the crowds. Queen Alicent held her youngest child, Daeron. Rhaenyra and Laenor were surrounded by her bastard brood, holding her own babe Joffrey. Named after that flimsy knight who Laenor was fucking. Poor sap died in the city under strange circumstances, likely Daemon’s doings.

Criston met eyes with Harwin, vaguely disguising a sneer. He ignored the brute and turned his vision back to the crowds, the smallfolk staying relatively easy. Lucerra stood next to her elder sister, holding Lucerys, her namesake. Her smile was gorgeous, a couple of boys cheered for her, throwing a flower.

After the public spectacle, the princess gave a shy smile to Criston on his horse, cheeks rosy pink before the door was slammed shut by the cunt Daemon. He raised a brow and hopped onto the front of the wheelhouse, offhandedly commenting, “Cunt struck and you haven’t even defiled my niece, Ser Crispin.”

The Dornishman clenched his jaw so hard he feared it may crack a tooth. He rode ahead, staying silent, Daemon didn’t forget a slight and surely hadn’t forgot when Criston embarrassed the rogue prince in tournament. Pompous ass.

More annoying feast and merriment kept the knight from his pretty girl. Lords and ladies filled the grand dining hall, dancing to and fro. He stayed put against a column, watching her. Lucerra wasn’t much of a dancer, but she let the old Sea Snake guide her around some turns.

A body sidled next to him, a familiar face and scent. The Queen herself, Alicent smiled softly up at him. She stated, “You’re distracted Ser Criston.” He sighed in return, “I’m sure you’re quite aware of the rumors. Seven cursed my weak heart.”

“Lucerra’s harmless,” Alicent glared toward the non-green side of the table, “It’s her lying sister, you remained truthful. I’ve been trying to stifle the rumors. Have you stayed chaste? I hope you have on account of your neck, my dear Knight.”

Criston leaned down to murmur, “Agonizingly so. I fear I’ve been bewitched yet again. Harwin Strong was sniffing around the other night.”

Her lips turned to a foul grimace at the mention. Alicent hissed, “The realm’s delight is carting around her bastards like trueborns and she’s deadset on potentially ruining her sister’s reputation to get at you.”

“Always been selfish, hasn’t she,” Criston laughed.

Alicent smirked, placing both of her hands over the knight’s. The green queen spoke plainly, “Please be careful dear heart. You’re a valuable asset to our proud dynasty.” The long-suffering redhead disappeared into the throng of people, ever an ally for him.

Back to scanning the surroundings. Daemon was spinning with Rhaenyra, likely talking horseshit in High Valyrian. He scanned for Lucerra, finding her cornered by the tables with a noble clad in the colors of House Darklyn, known bootlickers.

His chest tightened with jealousy. Criston seethed to himself, chanting internally, ‘I will not make a scene, I will not make a scene.’ The Darklyn lad was too close for his liking. It suddenly felt too hot under his heavy armor. He was close to the brink, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

Lucerra seemed uncomfortable, face uneasy and body stiffening. The Darklyn fuck was leaning into her space, lips undoubtedly spewing disgusting things a lady shouldn’t hear. The princess gasped at something he said and turned away, getting yanked back towards the man.

That was enough.

Criston stormed forward, shoving through the nobility, snarling in anger. He yanked the uncouth prick by the collar and dragged him far away from his princess. Parts of the crowd stopped to stare, Rhaenyra perking up to look. The princess blushed and excused herself, quickly finding another dance partner in the more palatable form of Tyland Lannister.

“What are you doing? I have done nothing to the King!,” the black haired teen spat. Criston continued to haul the boy past the columns to a quieter place, anger clouding any sort of judgement. He shoved the noble bitch against an alcove, gauntlet pressed against twitching neck.

Darklyn gasped and writhed for air, eyes wide with fear. Criston hissed, “The Kingsguard protects the family and the king. You should know better than to touch the princess like that. I ought to gut you, throw you onto the spikes of Maegor’s Holdfast and watch you rot.”

The stinking reek of piss filled Criston’s nostrils. He looked down in disgust, muttering, “Weakling piss-ant. Don’t dare come near her-,” his threat was unfinished as he was whirled to face Lord Commander Westerling. His face was hard and eyes flinty— obviously disappointed.

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

The walk was quiet and unsettling, only the clank of their gear and footsteps sounding off as they reached the quieter area of Maegor’s Holdfast. Criston apologized immediately, “My temper Ser, I apologize, he was manhandling the Princess.”

Harrold Westerling shook his head with a resigned sigh. He rumbled, “You’ve already toed the line Ser Cole. I don’t want to have a capable fighter like you dismissed or facing the black, gelded at that.”

Criston’s roiling emotions died down into a despairing state— his chest fluttering with fear. He nodded and held his head down in obeisance. Westerling continued, “You must take a step back. You’re of the most elite of elite men, a big step from your beginnings. Princess Lucerra is an enchanting girl, I know this is hard, but as soon as you took the oath— this is your life. You must cease all feelings for the girl or request to be transferred to another.”

Criston fought back the warble in his voice. He wanted to rip his cloak off and shout his love, make someone understand. He swore, “I know Lord Commander, I know. I have never defiled the girl, I would never. This is my calling and I’m shirking it. I’ll think about requesting an exchange.”

Harrold clapped him on the shoulder and regarded him with kinder eyes, “Good. I was struck too once. I had many princesses to tend to with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s litter of dragons. Just, please, pray on it and keep it in line Ser Cole.”

“Yes sir.”

He sulked about, Harrold ordering him to his chambers until the was called to his usual watch over his Lucerra. Criston hoped she was alright. He guiltily turned dark eyes onto his shrine of the seven. The small flail and beaded necklace awaited. He had been ignoring the faith, so entrenched in sin Criston could hardly bare to look at the Mother’s cold face.

He prayed and prayed to the mother for relief of his twisted desire, depraved lust, uncontrollable need to consume a sparkling untainted virgin. Then to the warrior to ease his temper, make Criston a calm knight, not blinded by rage so he may protect accordingly. Down the list he went until the dead skull relief of the Stranger awaited.

“If I fail, take me into your arms and punish me accordingly,” he whispered, a couple tears leaking onto his armor, shining by the candles. He would confess another time and receive his penance. Bloodletting seemed fit. Flagellation made him think clear, the pain taking away sickness in mind and body.

A sharp knocking snapped Criston out of his religious wallowing. He called out, “I’m coming.” The door opened to the queen and Ser Rickard Thorne. They both were cloaked and Alicent’s doe eyes looked worried. The younger knight questioned, “What? What is it?”

Alicent shushed him and murmured, “Our dear Lucerra and…the heir,” she spat the word like it was bile on her tongue, “Had some intense words after the feast. Ser Thorne escorted Cerra to her chambers.”

Thorne’s gravelly voice was low, “It was quiet and I checked in as she was in quite the state. She’s not in her chambers and the servant’s passage was left slightly ajar.”

Alicent frowned, “I know she’s upset and frightened. I would rather you find her. No one knows of this. I doubt she would leave the keep but gods forbid. We checked underneath the keep and Thorne most of the passageways. I will keep this at utmost secrecy, dear Criston.”

He nodded, quickly gathering his gear and a dark cloak to cover the white of his garb. While fastening his belt he quickly thanked the pair, “I will find her now. Thank you my queen, Ser Thorne. You may rest now. She will be returned.”

He chastely kissed the queens ring, patting his fellow knight on the shoulder and strode forward, urgency at his tail. Criston was fearful, dreadfully so. What did Rhaenyra do? He bit his lip, worked his jaw, making his rounds around the shadows of the outer courtyard. The goldcloaks were obviously not doing their job, playing cards up in a tower.

He worried she finally broke the princess, told Lucerra of the past. She would be heartbroken. He sped his pace, deciding to check the Godswood. Somewhere she would still feel safe. He knew Cerra wouldn’t run anywhere outside the walls, she’d have a fainting spell.

Speeding up he decided to take a turn and clamber up the wall into the Godswood. He must not be seen. Especially after tonight’s mishap. Swinging a leg over the thick red stone, Criston shimmied down and landed with a dull thud. The clouds covered the moon— making it dreadfully dark. Lucerra must truly be upset. He swallowed down a tightening throat. He needed to be the protector, not a weeping craven.

He scanned around the dark trees and arches to the left. It seemed empty. He moved forward, keeping to the brush, listening. Closer towards the heart tree he heard the familiar little hitching of breath. His Cerra. The fear of what came next shivered his spine.

Criston called gently, “Princess, Princess, is that you?”

He slowly approached, holding out a hand like he was soothing a skittish foal. He could barely see her, just the white of hair and a shadow of a figure. He took another step, stopping when she wept, “No Ser Cole, go away, I wish to be alone.”

All of his fears had come true. She’d turned against him. He shook his head. No. This wouldn’t do. The knight would change her mind. Lucerra Targaryen needed him, not Ser Cole, not the loyal dog, just Criston Cole of Blackhaven’s marches.

“Ser, please, I cannot bear this,” Cerra warbled.

He came to her side, kneeling, swallowing another agonized noise when she turned from him. Criston begged, “Sweetling, what’s the matter, why are you distraught? It pains me.” She sobbed, hands wrenching into a now-dirtied dress.

The brunette engulfed her tinier frame into a tight grip, her back plastered to his. Much like they slept many a night. She fought and tried to wrench free, crying, “No! Let go! I’m just a replacement for her! I always come second! Ser Cole!”

He held tighter, exploding, “I love you!”

Her writhing stopped, eyes turning to him, confusion on fine features. Criston swore, “Bythe Seven and my oath, I love you more than anything Lucerra.” She shook her head, confused, “No, no you don’t, Rhaenyra told me why y-you became my shield.”

He hissed, “No, she lied, she lied lied lied! I kissed her yes, but I ran, I knew it was bad. I was an idiot— she merely wanted a fill in for Daemon. I swear it to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, “I never thought I would love so strongly and deeply as I do with you, it’s more than lust. I would worship you until my last breath, chaste forever.”

Lucerra bawled again, curling into him, soft thighs straddling his own as she wept. He held her and shushed and coddled, praising the perfect maiden’s presence. He dumbly reiterated, “Never, never has anyone taken my heart like you have.” Her bejeweled hands gripped into his cloak.

Her face was dangerously close to his, sweet scent filling the knight’s nose. She whispered in a rasp, “Do you mean it? You love me? I love you, it nearly broke me to hear Rhaenyra tell me.” Criston frowned, pressing his forehead to her own. He murmured, “I was dumb, I bolted after it was initiated. I didn’t tell you, b-because, I didn’t want to lose you princess.”

She placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart and said, “I believe you. I forgive you.”

Criston was so relieved he didn’t realize the tear leaking down his cheek, kissed away by impossibly soft lips. She whispered fervently, “Kiss me Criston. Kiss me like you love me, like you said.” He carefully caressed her jaw, peering into those adoring orbs.

He closed the gap, lips finally meeting, the Princess sighing into him. She clung to his chest still, passively letting Criston take the reins. He chastely shared tender pecks, letting Cerra get into a rhythm.

Her lips opened as the kisses got more desperate, boiling tension rising. She whimpered when Criston lapped into her mouth, moaning himself. She tasted like sweet wine and cinnamon, opening for him beautifully. Cerra wrapped her arms around his neck, thin fingers gripping his long locks. He moaned again, lashes fluttering. All guilt was out the window when in the embrace of this goddess.

He tilted her head to intertwine their tongues, Lucerra shivering helplessly, whining his name. She was shy, better for Criston to take her warm mouth. The princess plastered herself tight to his body, breasts pushed up from the movement.

He’d be good. He will not stain her maidenhead, as much as the dark part of him sought to claim every inch of her. The brunette slid his hands down her waist, squeezing soft hips. She mewled again, feverishly smacking her lips against him. Criston felt her overwhelmed trembling, eyes teary just like he fantasized.

She pulled away with a string of drool, panting, “I- Criston- it aches.” His cock jumped at what the implication of that was. He pressed little kisses down her jaw and neck, basking in her cute noises. He purred, “What aches Princess? I shan’t dare to hurt your heart again.”

She blushed so heavily he could see it even in the pitch of the night. Criston smiled gently, breathing hotly against her ear, “You can tell me, sweet love.” The princess shivered again, hips bucking fruitlessly against his garb.

“Y-you know. M-my,” she looked away, “My flower.”

The dog in Criston grinned at that, the innocent little thing. He hummed, “Have you soaked your linens Lucerra? I don’t have to breach your maidenhead to pleasure my sweet girl. Would you like that?”

She practically sobbed, “Please, my knight, Criston. Our little secret.”

“Always,” he said, taking off his gloves and Cerra’s trembling hands undoing the heavy gauntlets. He slid warm palms up her plush thighs, so soft yet strong from dragon riding. She desperately sought his lips to cover an indecent sound.

One greedy hand spread open a thigh, the other swiping thick fingers through her slick cunt, dragging upward to graze her swollen bud. The princess shrieked into his swollen lips, Criston doing his best to cover the noise.

He offered his free hand up, half-groaning, “Suckle on my fingers sweet girl, can’t have you waking half the keep up.” Lucerra shyly opened her swollen lips to let Criston’s calloused fingers in. He pressed slightly on her tongue, earning a cute little garbled whine.

“Now be good my love, I’ll make you feel better, always will,” he promised. Gathering more wetness seeping from her cunt, Criston circled his fingers around that bud, teasingly thumbing too, dragging the roughened digit against her tender untouched flesh.

She seized and cried around his fingers, drooling and sniffling. Criston cooed, “Mm, feels good Cerra? Made for me, swear it, keep singing for me.” He picked up the speed of his fingers, circling and pinching to make her squeal and writhe on his lap.

Soon the princess was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, unable to stop crying and shaking, thighs trembling. Criston suddenly realized his cock was throbbing and twitching, ready to fill his garments like a green boy.

He desperately rambled, “C’mon my love, let it go, let the pleasure take you, I’m so close, together yes? Kiss me, yes, yes!” They gnashed teeth and noses against each other, no finesse in these last moments, the little death.

She gushed over his fingers first, Criston swallowing her suprisingly quiet keen. His belly tightened, balls drawing up, whining out of his nose at the ecstasy. Cumming absolutely untouched, so intense and powerful. They continued to sloppily kiss, stop to pant, kiss some more until the climax passed.

Criston withdrew his hands from her cunt, wiping them on his cloak. The princess was sapped of energy, head tucked under his scruffy jaw. She murmured, “I think I saw the stars.” He smiled, the giddiness of cumming warping his senses, “Mhm, me too sweetheart. But we need to get you back to your quarters.”

He carried her, sharing more intimate pecks and nuzzling in the darkness, all the way back to her quarters. Ser Thorne seemed to sigh in relief before taking in their debauched state and quickly leaving the scene. Criston placed her down and looked around once more before pressing her into the door, taking her bee-stung lips.

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you more, my princess,” Criston praised.

“Do you listen sister? What will they think when they find your maidenhead shredded?,” Rhaenyra stepped out of the gloom. The bitch took a servant’s route. Lucerra’s face reddened in anger, “Like yours was? Good thing Laenor prefers the company of his pretty squires.”

Criston balked at the brazen comment, lips curling up. The elder sister’s hands balled up, pale skin blotching up in anger. She hissed, “Enjoy your night Lucerra,” pointing at Criston she added, “I’ll see you gelded and sent to the wall.”

The future queen whipped around and left with a furious curse. Lucerra looked to Criston for comfort, getting picked up and led into her bedroom. He grumbled, “The Queen won’t allow for that. Rhaenyra has her own secrets to deal with. Relax, relax, let me get you ready for bed.” His lovely girl did so, quiet but still affectionate. Criston ignored the feeling that this would be the close to the last night.

His gut was right. Within a fortnight he stood next to the Queen, tears in his dark orbs. Rhaenyra was absconding to Dragonstone, as she was the heir. Viserys obliged her request to take her sister, indicating she would begin the processes to marry her off. Lucerra gave her goodbyes, hugging the queen, her father, and then him.

“My heart lies with you always, I love you my white knight,” she whispered gently before stepping away to climb upon her white dragon. He remained stony, utter hate in his heart for Rhaenyra Targaryen. He would make sure she never saw happiness, just as she took his.

Alicent grabbed his hand and promised, “Criston, you will have her again. I may not be her, but I will be good to you as my sworn shield.”

He would tear through bone and marrow to get that chance. For now, he would wait, wait as long as needed. Criston Cole always got what he wanted, just had to work for it. There was a war brewing and she would be on the right side. His side.

#hotd fanfic #ser criston cole x reader #criston x reader #criston cole x reader #hotd fic #hotd smut #my shnookums incel knight #incel knight

238 notes · View notes

babydollmarauders · 6 months

Text

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (23-24 SZN PART 16)

au masterlist

notes: i’ve been extremely busy and had no time to take screenshots, so all photos (except one) are from the actual photographers!

y/ndevils00

liked by john.marino97, dawson1417, and 329,615 others

y/ndevils00 we are not beating the loser allegations

we lost 3-6 tonight against the airplanes and their brick wall!

i assume everyone was reacting the same way as babygirl, slut, and i… cussing at the tv

BUT BET YOU CAN GUESS WHO SCORED TONIGHT BASED OFF THESE PHOTOS!

THAT’S RIGHT! BOTH OF MY PRETTY BEST FRIENDS SCORED GOALS TONIGHT!!

MARASCHINO CHERRY WITH HIS FIRST OF THE SEASON AND DAWG-SON WITH HIS THIRD!! I’M SO PROUD OF MY BESTIES!!!

LOOK AT THAT PHOTO OF MY MARINARA SAUCE AND MY LUKEY POOKIE, HUGGING AND SHIT!! SO CUTE!!! (they miss me so bad) ((they were comforting each other))

anyways, good luck in pittsburgh on thursday! try not to lose this time!

p.s. that third photo is the outcome of my secret agent photo taker yelling “y/n says hi!” ! doesn’t Johnny look so happy to hear he can never escape me?!

p.p.s. nothing to do with this game, but congratulations to Sid the Kid on his 13th career hat trick! … i thought he had more tbh

tagged tmeier96, john.marino97, lhughes_06, dawson1417

Load more comments

user25 did you just… go out of your way to subtly dig at Sidney Crosby? 😭

john.marino97 i thought i left you in Jersey and then i hear your name and look up to see you on facetime with a random person!

y/ndevils00 you love that you can never get rid of me 🥰 you’re stuck with me forever!

john.marino97 four years and counting… do i ever get a break?

y/ndevils00 nope!

user73 four years? but, John only joined the Devils last season?

tmeier96 i scored a goal too, you know?

y/ndevils00 yeah… you’re pictured aren’t you?

tmeier96 barely! and no congrats for me!

y/ndevils00 fine, attention whore! congratulations on your goal in a game in which we still did not win

tmeier96 i’m ignoring your sass and saying thank you anyways

y/ndevils00 asshole

tmeier96 bitch

jackhughes hey, that’s my girlfriend, Meier!

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes it’s okay baby, i can fight my own battles

y/ndevils00 HEY! I’M JACK’S GIRLFRIEND, MEIER!

jackhughes ah yes, you did so well, lovely Dove. so proud of you

user02 goddamn John looks FINE AS HELL

user81 fr! y/n has a hot ass boyfriend and some hot ass friends!

dawson1417 THANK YOU BESTIE NUMBER 3!!! I MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!

y/ndevils00 I’LL SEE YOU SO SOON, BFFL

lhughes_06 yes, we’re absolutely mentally falling apart without you. idk how we’re still alive

y/ndevils00 i was wondering the same thing tbh. who else is gonna tell you not to eat an expired protein bar?

lhughes_06 i would’ve been fine

y/ndevils00 you would’ve gotten your stomach pumped and missed the game

lhughes_06 i don’t believe you

y/ndevils00 how did you survive this long without me?

_quinnhughes our mom

lhughes_06 @/_quinnhughes shut up, huggy

nicohischier i think you cursed more than we did

y/ndevils00 can you blame me?! these fuckers suck!

nicohischier i- you can’t say that

y/ndevils00 sure, i can! i just did!

ehaula WE suck?! YOU suck!

y/ndevils00 @/ehaula yeah, and Jack loves it!

ehaula UNCLES DON’T NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS

nicohischier NOBODY NEEDS TO KNOW THESE THINGS

y/ndevils00 @/ehaula prudes

jackhughes Dove, what have we talked about?!

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes that i have to stop talking about our sex life on my instagram 🙁

jackhughes mhm and what did you just do?

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes talked about our sex life on my instagram 😔

jackhughes so what do you have to say to Haulzy and Cap?

y/ndevils00 @/ehaula i’m sorry for making you privy to Jack and i’s bedroom shenanigans 🫤

#media management au!#media management series <3 #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s insta edits <3 #faithlynn’s writings <3

201 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

ohsoaesthetics

Aesthetics

bil-leasing-blog

Billeasing

ex-myungsau

Kim Myungsoo

roemler-blog

Untitled

ronniemity

R0NN13SCHM0NN13