ocean's masterlist
this is an 18+ zone
pls remember everything i write is fiction
all fics are f!reader unless specified
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oozey mess

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ocean's masterlist
this is an 18+ zone
pls remember everything i write is fiction
all fics are f!reader unless specified
my ask box is open!
my links:
my ao3
follow for notifications: @tornadoowarning
writing tag
me yapping tag

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Ghost would never willingly see a therapist for his own mental health, but he would go to marriage counselling in order to subject a third party to him and his wife "arguing as foreplay" kink
it's hot that his wife wants to beat the shit out of him and it's hot that someone else has to watch her barely hold herself back from doing so.
sitting on the couch beside her in the marriage counsellor's office and genuinely getting a hard on because his wife keeps bitching about how he's never home because of work, doesn't respect her boundaries, probably has untreated ptsd, won't let her sell any of the junk in their garage because he's a hoarder, and keeps trying to knock her up even though she's still trying to build her career. and he's just like wow. i really did marry the love of my life, no one else gets me like this.
Ghost would never willingly see a therapist for his own mental health, but he would go to marriage counselling in order to subject a third party to him and his wife "arguing as foreplay" kink
it's hot that his wife wants to beat the shit out of him and it's hot that someone else has to watch her barely hold herself back from doing so.
sitting on the couch beside her in the marriage counsellor's office and genuinely getting a hard on because his wife keeps bitching about how he's never home because of work, doesn't respect her boundaries, probably has untreated ptsd, won't let her sell any of the junk in their garage because he's a hoarder, and keeps trying to knock her up even though she's still trying to build her career. and he's just like wow. i really did marry the love of my life, no one else gets me like this.
When price has to take his sweet, beloved baby to be vaccinated, he cries more than she does.
"It'll be okay, sweetpea, just be strong for dada, okay?" He rumbles, baby tucked to his chest in the exam room. She's so small and excited, wide eyes taking in the new room, no idea what's about to happen.
But price does, and it tears him up inside.
The nurse has the needle out, and price has to fight the urge to tuck his little girl against his chest and hide her away. Instead, he nods with his face already red in upset and forces out "okay. Do it."
The reaction is instant, baby's hands curling into fists and face twisting with a cry. Wet, innocent eyes turning to stare at her papa as if asking why he did that to her.
The rest of the day, price is inseparable with her.
Keeps her cuddled up in his arms or right in front of him, eye's glassy with remorse. Even when you point out how your daughter has clearly moved on, smashing her toy trains together, he just furrows his brows.
Maybe this was the first reminder.
That some thing's he can never protect from pain. Not even his daughter. Not even you.
When he comes home to an empty house, gutted and trashed with bullet holes in the plaster and no signs of you or his kid, he will think of that exam room.
How he had to hold his daughter in his arms and hurt her, seeing the needle long before she knew what it was.
pretty when you cryđđ [act two/three]
(andrew 'pope' cody x reader)
1971. Running from a past you're desperate to forget, you find yourself waitressing in the pits of LA's seedy underbelly. When you're offered a gig at Oceanside Videos, making 'adult' films, it feels almost too good to be true.
Maybe it is.
Pope is the first person you meet from that world - one of the biggest names in porn, and completely and utterly elusive. Except to you he seems like an open book. He's kind, thoughtful, and makes you feel alive in ways you thought were no longer possible.
But how can you possibly fall in love in an industry that runs on you both having sex with other people?
warnings: 18+, mdni! this is the most explicit fic i have ever written, minors absolutely do not interact. it also deals with some sensitive and upsetting themes related to the porn industry - if you'd like more specific warnings, please reach out! graphic sex (mostly with pope, but she makes videos with other men too), including unprotected pinv, cunnilingus, blowjobs, use of sex toys, issues with safe-words while filming (not by pope), rough and non-consensual scenes played out in the context of making a porno, domestic violence (not by pope), graphic violence described outwith the domestic violence context, drug use by multiple characters, discussions of overdose, suicidal ideation, age gap (early 20s/mid thirties), time-accurate biases towards sexuality+women, smurf is creepier than canon and micromanages her sons doing porn, pic below is just for vibes and reader is not described w/c: 7.1k
one // two // three
main masterlist // pope masterlist
The revelation that Smurf is Andrewâs mother hits you like a ton of bricks. It comes about a few days after you shoot your first video, when youâre floating in the pool while he tends to the flowerbeds that decorate his backyard. Youâre still crashing at his place, even though the five-hundred dollars in your pocket could get you into a studio downtown.
Heâd argued that you should save your money so that you can put a deposit down, rather than rent.
No point in giving those scumbag landlords all your cash, heâd said. âSides, I like the company up here.
You certainly had no problem staying in the nicest house youâve ever seen. Pope had even spoken to Smurf, and asked to get your first film bumped up, all so that the paycheck would hit your account sooner after he got you fired.
Spoiler reactions under the cut!
âLooks like youâre stuck with me tonight,â he comments, closing the door to the guest room behind him. You can still hear Deranâs snores through the oak door. You choose not to comment on the fact that there are multiple other bedrooms in the house, and simply slip your arm through Popeâs, and let him lead you to that godforsaken waterbed.
*****
The cool metal of the gun in his dresser hasnât touched Popeâs temple in over two months now.
Viv the way the smile dropped from my face, donât play with my emotions like this PLEASE! Also the ENDING??? I thought it was gonna be Smurf! My stomach literally dropped, like I feel so sick right now , this is gonna be me until part 3:

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i had another vision
Hi!
New fan, congrats on 1 year!
I'm too shy to send off anon,
but could I please get
Pope, on a roadtrip, fluff,with humor and possessiveness trope-you're so golden âïž style
I feel like I just ordered a sandwich off the menu
đ€Łđ
love your stuff!
Hi new reader! This was a great order! I had so much fun with this!!
if weâre talking body, you got a perfect one so put it on me (talking body by tove lo)
Pope hadnât even touched the beer heâd ordered, he was too busy watching you. Half enamoured, half territorial, Popeâs eyes never lost sight of you spinning around the dance floor. It wasnât really a dance floor, just some open space next to the ancient jukebox shoved in the corner of the roadside bar.
After a long day of travel, youâd begged Pope to stop at the roadside bar for some skeptical food and stiff drinks before settling in for the night at the motel down the road. Pope had relented almost instantly, he loved you too much to ever say no to you, and had pulled into the parking lot of the bar without a word of protest.
After two drinks you kicked the jukebox to life and spun around to the old rock classic that spilled from the speakers. You swung your hips and tipped your head back and let the music flow through you. Pope loved watching you like this, so free and unbothered by everyone around you. And you knew you could be so carefree thanks to the watchful eye of your boyfriend whoâd make sure you were safe at all times.
Like now, Pope was perched on his barstool, scanning the bar for men who might approach you. Surprisingly, he was interrupted by a woman who approached him, boldly touching his bicep as she batted her eyelashes.
âHi handsome, can I buy you a drink?â
âIâm not interested.â Pope said, shifting his arm away from the womanâs dancing fingertips.
âAre you sure? I-AH!â The woman yelped in pain as you grabbed a fistful of her hair in a vice and yanked her head back.
âAre you dumb? He said heâs not interested. That means no.â You snarled into the womanâs ear. The woman whimpered, her eyes darting around in a panic as you held her in the spot by her head. You let go and slid in front of her to become a physical barrier between her and Pope. The woman rubbed the back of her head as she used her other arm to hold onto the bar for stability. You leaned back possessively into Pope, his knees already spread to create a spot for you as your back rested against his broad chest.
âIf you even look his way again, Iâll break that pretty smile of yours.â You threatened, your tone even and clear. Popes arm snuck around your waist, pinning you to him, which to others might look like Pope was just showing off that you two were a couple but you knew it was his silent way of holding you back. It wasnât because he wanted to control you, heâd let you beat that woman up if thatâs what you wanted, but he was worried about an assault charge.
Thankfully the woman ran off and you smiled triumphantly at her retreat. You spun around in Popes hold, giddy at your successful defending of what was yours, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Popes hand settled low on your back, pulling you closer.
âYouâre going to get us in trouble.â Pope said, his eyes locked on your lips, betraying how much he enjoyed how you were just as territorial as him.
âThatâs why you like me.â You replied before pulling him in for a kiss that showed everyone at the bar who Pope belonged to..
Happy one year!! Could I get Pope Cody, camping, fluff, love at first sight and first kiss/time/ date? And can I specify that itâs a summer camp??
Love your work!!
anon idk if you wanted me to write young pope at a summer camp but i went in a slightly different direction, hope that's okay!
You'd been enamored with Andrew Cody the moment you met him.
He'd driven several hours to bring his niece Lena to this summer camp and when the young girl got cold feet about being so far from home and you'd mentioned that there was an opening for a parent chaperone, Andrew had immediately offered to stay so Lena could have someone familiar nearby. Andrew knew it was important for Lena to branch out and make new friends and have fun memories at this summer camp so offering to stay had been a no brainer if it meant Lena felt better about staying. It also meant that if she really hated it, Andrew could pack her up quickly and get her home asap.
Thankfully, Lena loved camp. As the week stretched on, she spent less and less time by her uncles side and more time with the other kids. As Lenas cabin counsellor you'd gotten the opportunity to watch her interact with her uncle and you saw just how much this stoic man cared for this little girl. Every interaction you saw or experienced had your heart beating a little harder for him and stirred up butterflies in your stomach.
You also got to see how good he was with the other kids. Every morning he helped Lena brush and braid her hair and he quickly amassed a line of kids who waited for their turn to have their hair done by him. When the kids went swimming they flocked to him to have him toss them into the air and into the lake. During the canoe trip one of the canoes capsized and he easily plucked a panicking boy from the water and lifted him into his boat. You'd been sharing the canoe with Andrew and had watched him reassure the boy that he was safe and okay before you even had a chance to check in.
At the nightly bonfires, Andrew always helped the kids with roasting their marshmallows and was quick to help you shut down the ghost stories the older kids tried telling which were freaking out the younger campers. You and Andrew had been a solid unit through the whole month, running programs and looking after the kids. As Lena drifted further from her uncle, you found yourself floating closer into his orbit. He got you coffee in the mornings and did any hard labour chores so you didn't have to and always sat with you at meals. The two of you also talked at night under the stars while the kids slept.
On the last night of camp you found Andrew standing at the end of the dock. He was staring up at the stars, his eyes tracing over the constellations you'd taught him. He turned to you when you approached and he looked so beautiful in the soft moonlight you could have cried. The two of you talked like you had every night about nothing and everything but the weight of parting ways tomorrow hung heavy between you.
As the night got late you both knew you'd have to go to bed to have enough energy to handle the craziness of tomorrow so you walked down the dock towards the cabins. As the dock ended you felt the sudden urgency to make your feelings known before it was too late. You caught Andrews hand and pulled him to face you and surged up onto your toes to kiss him before you lost your nerve. You'd caught him by surprise but to your ecstatic relief he leaned in after a moment, kissing you back as his hands rose to slide over your back and pull you closer. Your arms twisted around his neck as you turned your head and kissed him again.
Quiet little giggles had the two of you pulling apart and squinting into the darkness at the large oak tree near the dock. Andrew called out Lenas name in the sternest tone he could manage and suddenly a whole cabins worth of little girls shuffled sheepishly out from behind the tree, their faces bright with barely contained smiles. Your mouth dropped open at the audacity of the girls to sneak out of the cabin and spy on you and Andrew but before you could scold anyone Lena ran up and hugged your legs while smiling up at her uncle.
"Can she come home with us?"
pope cody x reader, no spoilers
sometimes, pope worries he'll forget how he met you.
he knows he blacks out sometimes. can't handle a wave of emotion and wakes up in a hospital bed, his nephew somewhere sweet talking the doctors into letting him leave early. but that's changed, with you, with the coconut smell of your shampoo in his nose and your snorting laugh into his shoulder and the way you see the world so vividly, he wonders if you're looking at two different planets.
but he won't forget, he swears. how could he, when he went to his usual skateboard park, the one where the locals know not to bother him, at 6am and found you, of all people. scribbling away in a notebook, legs dangling off the half pipe, nodding along to some song muttered under your breath.
he needs his routine. he likes his routine. and his routine does not include viewers to his skateboarding, that back-and-forth motion soothing his mind every time.
but for some reason, he skated anyways. he answered your cheery 'good morning' with a grunt, instead of a warning that this was his space. he nodded when you told him you like to come here before work to journal. he shook his head when you offered to move. he let you buy him a coffee in apology for taking over his space, and he watched you grin when he said you weren't a bother.
and now, he watches you sleep when he can't. watches your lashes fan against your skin, your chest contract in and out in the moonlight. knows the scent of the skin at the crease of your thigh, knows the sound of your sniffle at the end of a nature documentary when a lionness reunites with her cubs, knows you hate your job but love your manager, knows you don't like to hear the details of his own jobs. knows you're more precious than any jewelry to be fenced, any plans that lead to uncrackable safes.
knows there are some things, some people, you just can't forget.
the way john would be sooo obsessed with his pregnant wife. thinking about all the hovering, the manhandling, the spoiling. thinking about the way he wonât stop touching you, needing to always feel the soft pudge of your body under his roughened palms.
john needs to hold, to touch, to remind himself that this is real. that you are real. heâs always dreamt of this; doesnât matter if heâs way past his prime, heâs always dreamt of settling down and building a family. so when you came into his lifeâa putrid mistake; youâd begged him to choose someone elseâall he could think of is how youâd look so good cradled in the belly of his home and fat with his baby. the thought was an addictive fever so he made it real, forged it from bloodied hands, and look at you two now, huh? this is as real as it gets; as good as it goes.
thinking about the hunger; the way he cinches at his desires and smothers them so that he wonât bother you with them. thinking about you begging him to, anyway. thinking about the concessionâjohn strips at his cock with fast strokes, his eyes heavy as they stare into your fluttering ones. âyer fat with my baby, peanut. christ above, look at yââdid yâreally think that i could hold back?â
thinking about the way he makes you lick him clean, his body breaking out in goosebumps with every of your kittenish licks. thinking about the kiss, soon after, and how itâs so messy and needy and delicious.
thinking about the way john begs you to use himââgo on, baby. take what yâ need from me.â

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pope cody x reader, spoilers for s3
pope cody who is actually kinda fucking weird.
pope who you find sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you sleep. pope who comes to you in the middle of the night, torso naked and flushed, skin smelling like freshly cut grass and gunpowder, a man you somehow know hasn't even thought of cheating. pope who lays stiff as stone while you climb all over him, nuzzling into the nape of his neck that has never been touched kindly.
pope who stopped going to the beach after lena was taken. pope who lets you take him by the hand to hear the waves at midnight, something you would have been too afraid to do before the guard dog at your side.
andrew who has never been taught kindness or love or anything sweet without poison. andrew who treats you with the same carefulness he uses to clean his gun, aware that he plays too rough and can break things without realizing.
andrew who finally gets sleep for the first time in days, cuddled up in your arms. andrew, who stops hearing ghosts.
Some ghoap AUs for flatwasher and pineapplemona! Thank you đ„đŹ
a beginner's guide to nesting
Lately, youâve been thinking about having a baby. Or: the fertility clinic au Part 1 masterlist
It must be the mother of all quarter-life crises for you to be as torn up about this as you are.Â
(âMother of allââwhat an apt phrase for a time like this.)
Two of your friends have babies and suddenly itâs all you can think about. Chubby cheeks and wrinkly fingers; diaper bags stuffed to the brim and shrill baby screams piercing through the house.
You try to help them out as best you can in those first few months, coming over with dinner wrapped in foil and snacks in Tupperware for the exhausted parents, offering to help run errands or tidy up the place while they try to catch up on sleep. The picture perfect friend.
shit why donât they give noms to the bike and that sweet sweet baby too. since weâre just passing em out
Some kofi requests⊠Horangi for wolf, and ghoap-licking for whatliesdreaming đŻđ

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Maekar Targaryenâs Very Reasonable Safety Measures
Maekar Targaryen x wife!reader
Word cont: 2.4k
Summary:
The floors are dangerous. The terrace is dangerous. The wind is dangerous. The servants are incompetent. The children are too loud.
According to Maekar Targaryen, the only safe place for his pregnant wife is buried under a mountain of pillows.
English is not my first language!
â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â .ă.:*
The council chamber of Summerhall was cool, but the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a sword. Maekar Targaryen stood at the table, both hands braced against the surface, fixing his steward with a stare sharp enough to make it seem as though the man had just confessed to treason. His stern face, framed by pale Targaryen hair, revealed no emotion beyond a deep, nearly permanent irritation.
âRepeat that,â Maekar demanded, his voice like two stones grinding together.
âMy prince⊠I only noted that purchasing another twenty soft featherbeds from Myr and summoning yet another maester from the Citadel might be⊠a slight excess,â the steward stammered, nervously adjusting his collar. âWith all due respect, the princess has already given birth six times. Your elder children are healthy. The princess knows perfectly well how to care for herself in this condition, and the household-
Maekar straightened slowly, and the knights present in the chamber suddenly became very interested in the tips of their boots. When the prince took on that posture, a wise man looked for the nearest shield. He was not his brother. He did not soften situations with a smile or a diplomatic word.
âThe household,â Maekar began, taking one step closer, each footfall striking the stone floor like a warning, âis made up of a band of careless idiots. My wife carries our seventh child beneath her heart. The fact that the previous six times did not end in tragedy is not due to chance, the whim of the Seven, or, gods forbid, your competence.â
The steward swallowed audibly, not daring to interrupt.
âIt is due to this,â Maekar continued, slamming his fist into the table hard enough to make the heavy brass inkwells jump, âthat I personally eliminate every potential danger. If I say the stone floors in the family wing are to be covered with three layers of thick carpeting by dusk, then they will be. If there is still so much traffic and noise in the corridors that my wife cannot have a moment of peace, I will personally see to it that you and your men seek new employment at the Wall. No one there will complain of too many luxuries. Have I made myself clear enough?â
A chorus of panicked nods was the only answer given in the chamber.
Maekar did not dignify them with another glance. He pushed back the heavy chair, adjusted the collar of his outer robes, and strode toward the door with quick, decisive steps.
Officially, the council was over.
Unofficially, the clock in his mind had already counted far too many minutes since he had last seen you sitting safely in your chair. The entire castle, with its drafts, sharp-edged furniture, and clumsy servants, seemed to him in that moment like one vast field of hidden traps.
When you finally managed to rise from bed, you found your chambers in the midst of a revolution-one Maekar would, without blinking, have called âthe implementation of safety measures.â Every rug runner, even the smallest, had vanished from the floors so you could not so much as think about slipping on one. The heavy carved chair you loved so much had been moved away from the window and buried beneath so many cushions it resembled the nest of some enormous bird.
The room was unbearably stuffy. The heavy, stagnant air of Summerhall made every breath feel like a challenge. You sighed, resting a hand atop your very advanced belly, and started toward the terrace doors to get even a mouthful of fresh air.
You did not even manage to touch the handle.
The door flew open with force, and Maekar himself appeared in the doorway. His severe face hardened instantly at the sight of you. In a few swift steps, he blocked your path like the walls of the Red Keep.
âWhere are you going?â he growled, his deep voice vibrating through the stifling room. âThe air outside is too damp. Sit.â
âMaekar, for the love of the gods, it feels like a forge in here,â you answered, setting your free hand on your hip and looking at him with a mixture of irritation and amusement. âI only want to step out onto the terrace. Get some air. Iâll be fine.â
âNo,â he cut in shortly, crossing his arms over his chest and not moving an inch. âThe wind from the hills is treacherous at this hour. You will not risk it.â
You took one step forward, lifting your chin high to meet those ever-stern violet eyes.
âMy dear husband,â you began softly, but with emphasis, patting your belly pointedly. âThis is our seventh child. Nothing went wrong the previous six times. You truly need to rest and let me breathe.â
Maekar did not even blink. His face remained deathly serious as he leaned slightly toward you, radiating that unshakable, stern certainty of his.
âMy love,â he said, his voice carrying absolute, almost immovable gravity, âthere is a direct correlation between my actions when you are with child and the fact that we have six healthy children. Do not question success.â
You froze for a moment.
Then a loud, helpless laugh burst from your lips.
âAre you serious?â you laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. âAre you truly trying to convince me that all of this paranoia is simply a well-considered plan?â
âIt is not paranoia. It is caution,â he muttered, but in that same moment his gaze softened by the smallest degree. Before you could protest, his strong hands settled on your shoulders, and with remarkable care for him, he began steering you back toward the safe nest of pillows. âNow sit.â
Once Maekar had made certain you were seated comfortably and had no immediate plans to storm the terrace doors, he stepped out into the corridor, closing the heavy door quietly behind him. He had not taken even three steps when he heard hurried, muffled little footsteps and a distinctive shuffling sound.
Daella appeared around the corner, holding the hand of one-year-old Rhae, who was still taking rather unsteady, wobbling steps. Just behind them walked five-year-old Aegon. At the sight of his father, little Aegon immediately slowed, though his large violet eyes still shone with curiosity. In his hand, he clutched a hastily gathered bouquet of slightly crushed marigolds from the garden.
Maekar stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at them with his traditional stern expression. The children, however, did not flinch. They knew that look too well. To them, their father was not a monster, but rather an exceedingly grumpy commander whose moods simply had to be endured.
âWhere are you going?â Maekar asked, his voice quiet but carrying like an order.
âTo Mother,â Daella replied matter-of-factly. âI brought her fresh figs from the kitchens so she wonât be hungry.â
âAnd flowers!â Aegon leaned forward, waving the crushed stems. âRhae wanted to come too!â
Maekar looked at the bouquet, then at the figs, and finally at little Rhae, who had just let go of her sisterâs hand and, with a soft, delighted squeal, toddled straight toward his legs, grabbing the hem of his robes. He frowned so deeply his brows nearly became one line, but he immediately crouched so the little girl would not lose her balance.
âYour shoes.â he observed grimly, though his large hand guarded the one-year-old with incredible gentleness. âThey click against the stone. And you, Rhae, stomp louder than all of them. I told the steward clearly that this corridor was to be quiet. Your mother must rest. If you wish to go in, you will walk on your toes. Like scouts. Not a single sound.â
Daella gave her father a faint, amused look, then obediently lifted her heels.
âYes, Father.â she whispered.
Maekar turned his stern gaze on his son.
âAnd you, young man.â he muttered to Aegon. âYou watch your sister. No running around the chamber. No jumping on the bed. You give her the flowers, sit on the stool, and behave as befits a prince. Understood?â
The boy nodded vigorously, almost saluting with his little hand.
Maekar lifted one-year-old Rhae onto one arm-making sure her small hands did not dirty his robes-and opened the door for the little troop with his other hand. He let them in, then entered right behind them, shutting the room away from the rest of the world.
As soon as the heavy door closed behind Maekar, the room immediately felt brighter. Daella, faithful to the promise she had made her father, walked on her toes, though her ear-to-ear grin entirely ruined her âscout-likeâ seriousness. Aegon hurried straight toward your chaise, holding the crushed marigolds as if they were the greatest treasure in the world, while little Rhae, still carried on Maekarâs arm, reached her chubby hands toward you.
âDid he terrorize you in the corridor again?â you asked with a smile, opening your arms as Maekar, with extraordinary care, set the one-year-old girl on the bed beside you.
âHe told us to walk like scouts,â Aegon whispered conspiratorially, climbing onto the stool and placing the flowers in your lap. âMommy, are you really going to burst because of the seventh baby? Because Father looks like heâs about to burst himself.â
Daella snorted with laughter, setting the bowl of fresh figs on the bedside table.
âAegon, stop talking nonsense.â his older sister scolded, then came closer and kissed your cheek gently. âFather is just in one of his moods again. The castle steward nearly fainted when he ordered the floors torn up so thicker carpets could be laid down.â
You laughed softly, tucking little Rhae against your side. She immediately became fascinated by the tassels on your coverlet, babbling happily under her breath. You adjusted the crumpled marigold stems Aegon had brought and glanced toward the wall, where Maekar stood near the window. He watched all of you in silence, arms crossed over his chest, but there was the slightest softening at the corners of his eyes.
âYour father simply⊠cares about us very muchâ you said gently, stroking Aegonâs white hair. âBut I promise, my darling, everything is all right. Nothing is going to happen to me.â
âThatâs good,â Aegon muttered, reaching for one of the figs, which Daella immediately swatted his fingers away from. âBecause when Father gets nervous, even the knights in the castle are afraid to breathe too loudly.â
You spent the next hour with them, listening to Daella talk about her lessons and Aegon complain that one-year-old Rhae had ruined his favorite toy. In that warm, safe nest of pillows, surrounded by your children, you could almost forget for a while about the fear that paralyzed your husband so completely.
When the sun finally began to set, Daella-as befitted an elder sister-gathered her siblings. She led sleepy Aegon away and lifted half-asleep Rhae into her arms, promising they would bring you more flowers in the morning. They slipped out quietly, leaving you and Maekar alone in the chamber.
The silence that followed slowly thickened with the approaching night, and your stern guardian finally pushed away from the wall and came closer to the bed.
Late night brought Summerhall the relief it had been waiting for. The heat had finally eased, giving way to a cooler breeze that gently stirred the heavy curtains in the bedchamber. The candles burned low, casting long, trembling shadows across the walls.
You sat on the bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, listening to Maekarâs steady breathing as he moved around the room. He had already removed his heavy outer garments, setting aside his belt and family signet. He wore only a simple, loose linen tunic now. Without all the layers of expensive fabric and harsh tailoring, he seemed strangely⊠human. Though still powerful and broad-shouldered, in the half-dark he looked simply like a man who was deathly tired.
He approached the bed with astonishing quiet. Despite his size, he could move soundlessly when he wished to. He sat on the edge of the mattress, which dipped beneath his weight.
For a long while, he said nothing.
He simply looked at you, the faint glow of the last candle reflected in his violet eyes. At last, he reached out one great, scarred hand and, with hesitation-almost reverence-laid it on your belly. Beneath his warmth, you felt the seventh child move faintly, as though answering its fatherâs touch.
Maekar flinched slightly, and that rare, almost painful grimace of tenderness appeared on his stern face-the one he never showed anyone else.
âYouâre still awake.â he murmured, and his voice carried none of the rough command he had used in the corridor. It was low, raspy, and filled with exhaustion.
âI was waiting for you.â you answered softly, placing your hand over his fingers. âYou spent the entire day running through the castle and terrorizing the servants. I thought you might at least stop at night.â
Maekar exhaled loudly through his nose, which was probably his version of a sigh. He moved his hand higher, stroking the taut skin of your belly with his thumb. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder as if he had finally allowed himself to set down the weight he had been carrying all day.
âI cannot.â he whispered against the fabric of your nightgown. âWhen I lead men into battle, every movement has purpose. I know the strength of my arms. I know how long a shield wall will hold and when the enemy will break. Everything depends on my command. But here?â
He lifted his head to look into your eyes, and in his gaze was such deep, grim fear that it stole the breath from your chest.
âHere, my anger is useless. I could take the head of anyone who looked at you wrongly, but I cannot stop a fever or ill fate. Even if I placed guards at every step and covered all of Westeros in carpets, in the end my orders mean nothing against nature.â
His hand left your belly and moved to your cheek, his rough fingers impossibly gentle.
âYou have survived six births, and every time, I feel as though I stand alone before an entire army without a sword in my hand. You are the one thing holding me together, (Y/N). If anything went wrong this seventh time⊠if you were gone⊠there would be nothing left to gather. Only ashes. So yes, I will be a tyrant to the servants. I will growl at every lord in this castle. But you and this child will live.â
You smiled faintly, drawing his head closer and threading your fingers through his pale hair. Maekar muttered something unintelligible, but in the end, he lay down beside you, one hand still resting on your belly like a guard unwilling to leave his post before dawn.
â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â .ă.:*
Thank you so much for reading đ€
I had so much fun writing Maekarâs version of âbeing calm.â
Apparently, for him, that means threatening to send people to the Wall, treating terraces like enemy territory, and making sure his pregnant wife is surrounded by enough pillows to survive a siege.
But beneath all of that, I really wanted this story to be about fear â the kind Maekar cannot command away, fight away, or frighten into obedience. He is a man who knows what to do on a battlefield, but when it comes to the woman he loves, all that strength suddenly has nowhere to go.
So he becomes impossible. Overbearing. Terrifying. Ridiculous.
And completely, hopelessly devoted.
Thank you for reading this little piece of Maekar domestic chaos đ€
i want food truck simon slinging some hot, shit food that tastes crazy good when you're hammered. smokes cigarettes and wears his big ass boots. sweating and grunting; terrible customer service.
fucks the cute health inspector when she rolls up with a disgusted face and bad attitude. makes fun of her cute clothes after he's rolled down the service window, got her propped up against a wedge of a wall, his nasty mouth up against her neck and his hard prick fat in her fancy cunt.
he fails the inspection, but gets her number. fucks her stupid and cooks in her kitchen instead. still smokes.