#lmao what an angsty tag

[justcallmesakira]

"you can live on forever, and so will the words you left to me.."

[thighguys]

helloo! ask game so we can tag phan!! shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up + if you think they can be related to DnP or not. Copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals!!

ahh thanks for the ask!!

1. Sight of the Sun by fun. - YES THIS IS SO DNP 😭😭 so right now coded??? its just so them i could literally put every lyrics but the honorable mentions are

2. Mississippi Swells by Nana Grizol - AMAZING song not super dnp coded but this line

is lowkey 2009 lol

3. Just Fucking Let Me Love You by Lowen - i mean if you want angsty 2009 dnp fanfiction where dan is insecure then this is THEE song for you, so good

4. Manta Rays by chloe moriondo - lmao i know i keep saying that songs are 2009 coded but THEY ARE. and this is THEE 2009 PHAN SONG i swear its so fetus dan 😭😭😭

5. American Pastoral by Andrew Montana - not super dnp coded lmao buttttttt ler me just say. fetus dan 2009 coded...

[merryfortune]

you are alive, you are flesh and blood

Prompt: Any fandom: any ship - Confession

Title: you are alive, you are flesh and blood

Ship: Inspector/Shiro 

Fandom: Cat Fantasy 

Word Count: 2,275

Rating: T 

Warning: None 

Tags: Female Inspector, Love Confessions, Seemingly Unrequited Pining, Kissing, Interspecies Relationships, Mentioned Inspector/Mandy

   The Inspector sighed tiredly as she sat down at the bench as though it were a tavern’s bar. She sprawled over it, right where Shiro had just mopped up with a cloth and so earned a stare of unceasing neutrality from the AI cat-girl. She bore a hole into the Inspector’s head as the Inspector tried to have a catnap but no dice.

   “Is everything alright, Inspector?”

   Her voice chimed through the Inspector’s thoughts. They bubbled and clouded, clogging up her mind and wearing her down with all the weariness of the world. 

   “Sleepy…” the Inspector mumbled.

   “You are more than welcome to go upstairs to rest.” Shiro suggested. “It would be more hygienic than using our cafe as a bench.”

   “Oh, you.” the Inspector pouted.

   No rest for the wicked, or so she reasoned. She pulled herself up and by the bootstraps, too. She smacked her face and puckered her lips.

   “I still have paperwork to do and there’s still so much to clean in here, it’s been a wild shift-”

   The door to the restrooms to the right of the cafe’s front bench opened and Mandy came through. Surprised to see that all the tables had been cleared and the chairs upturned to be placed atop them.

   “Goodness, I didn’t realise how late it is!” Mandy exclaimed as she came closer.

   “I didn’t even realise you were still here, Mandy.” the Inspector returned her surprise in equal measure.

   Shiro, however, didn’t. “I knew you were here.” She spoke matter of factly like she always did. “But we are closed. Civilians are not allowed inside after hours, please return home safely.”

   “A privilege now that we can be out and about after dark, not that mine and my sister’s place is that far.” Mandy giggled. She bounced on her heels, made gaga eyes at the Inspector by batting her lashes and flashing her pearly white teeth. “All thanks to a certain someone.” She put emphasis on someone, staring down just who that person was: the Inspector.

   Her obvious infatuation always sent a chill down the Inspector’s spine. Still, the Inspector was not so unkind that she would give Mandy the cold shoulder even if she very much did not feel the same way. She got up and left the bar stool.

   “Your welcome, Mandy, my duty and honour,” the Inspector told her, “here, allow me to escort you to the door at the very least so I can see you get home safely. Just in case.”

   “Aw, thank you, Inspector.” Mandy purred.

   The Inspector nodded.

   She did exactly as she told Mandy that she would: she guided the teenage student a few steps to the door and allowed it to ring. Meow, meow, meowww. Mandy laughed at the jingle and relished how the Inspector watched her from the doorframe. The florist, though well and truly closed at this hour, was only a few steps down the road from the cafe and the Inspector sent her off with a warm, watchful gaze.

   And that was that.

   The Inspector closed the door behind her and the bell jingled again. She sighed. Mandy was so bubbly and high-energy, it gave the Inspector a pep when she was around but felt so drained with her gone. Her shoulders slumped forward and she took that as an excuse to stand around and do a quick stretch.

   “Why do you never reciprocate Mandy’s intentions? They are as obvious to me as I’m sure they are to you.” Shiro asked.

   The Inspector’s eyebrow twinged, “Why do you care about my love life so much?”

   “Ahem, no reason.” Shiro blatantly lied.

   It was kind of adorable so the Inspector would never hold it against her. She sauntered back to the counter, placed her elbow over the mahogany flat of it and sized Shiro up.

   “I simply do not feel the same way as her. It would be inappropriate, an officer of the law taking advantage of a sweet, underage Felian. The entire world would have a fit.” the Inspector informed Shiro.

   Shiro giggled mechanically, “Mandy is eighteen according to her records.” 

   Ah. Classic Shiro. Always knowing things that the Inspector didn’t. The Inspector blushed as she now found herself in the faux pas of having guessed Mandy’s age wrong by around two years at least. She supposed that wouldn’t be as bad… Still. Her point remained: she did not feel the same way.

   “Whatever.” the Inspector clicked her tongue and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Shiro. “Besides, there’s someone else I like.”

   “Truly?” Shiro inquired.

   The Inspector nodded. She could feel the atmosphere of the cafe change. The slow, languid air chilled by the night turned electric. They were all alone in here. The fact it was after hours added a new layer of intrigue beneath their artfully dim chandelier lights. 

   If the Inspector strained her ears, she could hear the whirr of Shiro’s motors increase ever so slightly. They were usually imperceptible so if there was reason to hear them… That was unusual and so, she took heart in that. She licked her lips and continued her thinking out loud.

   “Yes, there’s someone I like.” the Inspector confessed and she stole a glance at Shiro.

   Her eyes were wide. Her attention was rapt. Her tail quivered. 

   “That someone is smart and loyal, she is- she is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’m glad we met, that she was not just made but born. She’s serious but that seriousness guiles such sparkling wit and cleverness. I-I like her a lot.” the Inspector rambled, her heart raced.

   Shiro’s hands tightened, her fingers curled against her palms, “And is she human or is she Felian?” she asked, bravely asked because a tiny cue in her voice betrayed that she was afraid to know the answer and yet.

   She asked.

   The Inspector, in turn, found her own courage. She looked directly at Shiro and basked at her humble beauty. The sheer white of her hair, the shine to her silicon skin, the way she was always so cleanly presentable, never changing, never out of sorts whatsoever, a solid rock of programming and aesthetics. 

   “Neither.” the Inspector replied. Earnestly, honestly.

   Shiro winced, “How can she be neither?” 

   “You tell me, Shiro. How can you be neither?” the Inspector asked and she got to her feet. Her hands splayed over the bench. “How can you try and turn me away when I… when I…”

   When the Inspector woke up this morning, after exploring the depths of her dreams, the strangeness of her memories and the locations they created in surrealness and absurdity, she didn’t think this was how her day would go. Though, a few months into her position as Inspector really ought to clue her in by now that things never did go smoothly here at their Cafe.

   So, the Inspector let go of all preconceived notion of right and wrong, of up and down, of even species, when she had fallen in love with… Shiro.

   “When I love you.” the Inspector finally finished her impassioned speech with a small smile. Her heart was ready to break, though, as Shiro was a robot. It was clear that despite her cleverness and curiosity, surely she would never feel the same way as a human (or a Felia for that matter).

   A conclusion justified by how Shiro reacted.

   She froze. Not a complete blue screen, however, but her eyes widened as disbelief permeated her expression. Her parameters raced to find some understanding as they organised the Inspector’s speech, turned into binary and tried to decode it in rapid fire pace which would put a supercomputer to shame and yet. Shiro was silent. She was frozen.

   “I think I have since the moment I met you. The real you.” the Inspector added. She had another flashback of that dream of oblivion, of Shiro’s outstretched hand painted with blood as she tried to protect her.

   “Inspector…” Shiro gasped. Better late than never.

   “I-If you don’t feel the same way, it’s fine.” the Inspector awkwardly shrugged. “You’ve made it obvious with your attempts at matchmaking. Even if they were misguided.”

   “Don’t you want to be with someone alive?” Shiro asked. “Someone of flesh and blood?”

   Her voice broke as she asked these questions of existence.

   It broke the Inspector’s heart, too.

   “Oh, Shiro,” she murmured, “you are alive. You live, you laugh, you emote through the wide range of emotions that there are from joy to sadness to frustration and, clearly, envy. As far as I'm concerned, you are flesh and blood, Shiro.”

   “Inspector…” Shiro murmured.

   She still seemed stunned, disbelief glued to her but shakily, she brought out her hand from in front of her apron. The Inspector leaned in and, like a cat, nuzzled against Shiro’s palm. She smacked her lips contentedly and closed her eyes.

   “Aah, nice and warm.” the Inspector assured her and slowly opened her eyes. “I like you, Shiro. You are my first partner and the only one I want in a non-professional manner, shall we say.”

   Shiro squeezed the Inspector’s cheek. The Inspector cringed - hey, that hurt - but beared with it as Shiro’s hand trembled. Her lips quivered only to curl into the tiniest, most thankful smile.

   “I never thought you would feel the same, Inspector.” Shiro confessed. “I’ve seen many Inspectors, seen them rise and fall, I had seen them give up and become disillusioned. I wish to never see the same for you, I want you to go higher and higher, I want to never leave your side. You are, I think, the first partner I have truly resonated with. Your kindness is unparalleled, the way you strive, constantly, for the path less travelled as it is often the one which is the most mediated or peaceful… It means a lot. Catto City is in good hands with you and as am I.”

   “Thank you, Shiro.” the Inspector replied.

   Shiro lifted the Inspector’s head by her chin. Her delicate, robotic hands caged the Inspector’s chin. They both leaned over the cafe’s counter and the Inspector felt her blood warm inside of her, it droned and raged and she could only hope that Shiro could feel it via her sensors.

   Shiro initiated their kiss. 

   The Inspector could have swooned as Shiro engulfed all her senses. She smiled as she allowed all of herself to be surrendered to Shiro. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing and savoured the first kiss between herself and her most precious partner. 

   Shiro’s lips were soft and warm. Her eyes did not close, however, the Inspector could feel her trademarked, no-nonsense stare from behind her eyelids. Shiro’s technique was subtle. She didn’t know what she was doing but the calculations were clearly being run as there was micro-adjustment after micro-adjustment. She wanted it to be good. She wanted to be good at kissing. The insinuation was as powerful and obvious as the rubbery smell and taste that emanated off her but the Inspector wouldn’t have had it any other way as she kissed back. Intensely, passionately, humanly.

   With only the grace and splendour that Shiro was capable of, she requited all of the Inspector’s sentiments and more with this kiss. Slow and chaste, she overcame all her mid-confession jitters to wordlessly profess a love so profound it went beyond her programming and the Inspector received all of it until Shiro cut her off.

   She was running all the calculations, monitoring all the parameters after all. What was or wasn’t good for a human, leaving the Inspector “wanting more” or something like that as Shiro may have heard the idiom before.

   The Inspector opened her eyes and they were dewy with the emotions running high. Her lips tingled with the memory of Shiro’s own as they departed from one another.

   “I hope that was satisfactory, partner.” Shiro bade her.

   “Yes, yes it was, Shiro.” the Inspector assured her.

   They moved some more. Awkwardly, disjointedly. Shiro was akin to a ball-joint doll once more with an unknowable, unreadable expression. Now defiled by the entropy of humanity: a blush which was not in her cheeks before, now bloomed a rose on either side of her face. Her ears flicked contentedly and the Inspector took all these observations to her throbbing heart.

   “I hope we are partners for a long time, Shiro.” the Inspector told her, her voice a whisper.

   “I-I feel the same way.” Shiro shakily replied.

   The Inspector smiled and they both, mutually, receded from each other. Clunky and mechanical, a touch shy, even, like schoolchildren with their very first crush. The Inspector glanced, infatuated, at Shiro, bouncing in her boots, shifting her weight from one foot to the other only to yawn.

   “Get some rest, Inspector.” Shiro told her. “I will be here in the morning, I promise.”

   “Thank you, Shiro.” the Inspector replied.

   Of course, what tomorrow morning would look like was anyone’s guess. It was against protocol for Inspectors to fraternise with their Combatants, least of all the AI robot ones but in her short tenure, the Inspector of the Baker Squad could probably get some leeway. Falling in love with Shiro would probably be the least of all the infractions she had earned in her pursuit of truth and justice.

   Though the Inspector did hope, perhaps naively, for a bright, sunshiny morning after a night of being well-rested. She hoped for the birds to sing and for the trees that lined the street to sway pleasantly and for yet more kisses from her beloved partner and that together, they would go on to stop armageddon.

[miscelunaaa]

in the midst of the earth | knj

pairing: doctor!namjoon x eastern orthodox novice nun!reader

genre: angst.

summary: After your grandfather is hospitalized following a massive stroke, Namjoon watches you pick up the pieces and try to hold them together all by yourself.

rating: 18+/M for dense, mature themes

word count: 5.7k

warnings: Hospitals. Athiest!Namjoon. Strokes and associated adverse medical events. Probable medical inaccuracies. Religious themes. Difficult family dynamics. Grief. Emotional fixations. Inexplicable tension. Minor character death. Meltdowns. Author knows nothing of what it is like to be a doctor or how treatment works behind the scenes. Author is also not a nun in any religious tradition, so there’s likely inaccuracies in that regard as well. Meltdowns. A single moment of weakness; kissing. Lofty science metaphors. Ambiguous ending.

notes: Hi. Welcome to Nun Fic. This fic has haunted me for like six months, and it’s taken almost as long to draft it. The idea first came to me during fic name game I did ages ago; the title has since changed but the motif that stemmed from the title does make an appearance a few times. This story is rooted in enough of parts of myself (probably too many in the first place) that to run over them here would take too long, and likely weaken the integrity of what I want this story to do. There are very likely some inaccuracies around how the medical or clerical parts of this fic work together. This is all to say perhaps have some discretion when responding to this, if you choose to do so? It remains that something doesn’t have to be wholly correct in order to be true. Some notes that may help you along as you read, or confuse you even further:

St. Kassia (Wikipedia)

Salvation is Created (YouTube), the eucharistic hymn from which I yoinked the title. For background on the piece, here’s a link to its Wikipedia page.

Also like, this is technically inspired by an Elvis movie??? Which I do not make a habit of watching ever but I was raised by a late boomer-aged white man who lives for cheesy romance so um … yeah like idk do with this but here’s yet another Wikipedia link if you’re curious.

Anyway, I have no excuses other than idk what the hell this is, just that it’s so excruciatingly important to me that I hardly know what to do with it now that it’s done. It’s not for everyone, and that’s okay. If you do read it, I hope you find it valuable in some way :)

my masterlist | my disclaimers | read on ao3

There’s something about you that bothers him, Namjoon decides. It’s not the fact that you’re a nun, though the overt piety of your very existence does in fact bother him more than he’d care to admit.

It’s the fact that you’re the singular quiet person in your entire family.

He’s met some jovial ecclesiastics in his time, so it’s seems incredibly strange. The other sisters he’d met at some time or other were far more talkative than you, and this is to say nothing of the numbers of priests and pastors he’s witnessed giving service at bedside. You’re so shockingly quiet that the only way he knows you’re around is the faint scent of incense coming off your clothes.

More than once you’ve startled him, sneaking up behind him like some strange, half-real shadow. He’s read about why you wear all black, why even your hair is covered with a weird little cape that looks like a black Christmas tree skirt. You’re supposed to be dead to the world.

You’re quiet enough to be, but the dead don’t smell like incense.

&&&

There’s a lot about Namjoon’s job that he likes, and there’s a lot that he dislikes. The feeling of first walking into the room when he’s had a new patient assigned to him is one of the things he dislikes the most. Now that they have this new patient stabilized, they have to look at next steps as they find out more information; he’s the one who has to convey all of that to the family.

The wide eyes of the each member of your family turn to him all at once, even yours. The room falls silent, each face looking at him with varying levels of hope and exhaustion.

And then the hard part of his job comes. It’s never pretty.

There’s so many people here for one person; it almost makes Namjoon sick. He’s watched patients rot away alone, with no one but a friend or a disinterested child to watch over them. It’s not uncommon for a patient to have no one at all. And this guy gets ... What, like ten people? Twelve? There’s so many that they sent him to a waiting room to discuss what’s happened to your grandfather.

A murmur passes through the family as he tells them that their patriarch has had a massive stroke. It’s unclear, he says, what the prognosis is. Only time will tell what the damage is, and that will dictate what happens with treatment and rehabilitation.

And then the questions start coming. Everything is run of the mill, and everyone, it seems, has something to say or ask. Everyone, that is, except for you. When you’re not looking at him intently, making the hair raise on his neck, you’re glancing at the clock or at the face of whoever among your people is talking. Even as the questions die down, you say nothing.

You simply reset your jaw, and keep your head down, brushing your fingertips over a dark coil of rope wrapped about your hand.

&&&

It would seem you have no where else to be. You’re the one Namjoon sees most often at your grandfather’s bedside over the next few days. It’s so odd that even the nurses have commented on it. Some think it’s sweet that you sit at his bedside in constant prayer, others are concerned for your health. Not once does anyone see a member of your family ask if you want to leave and do something else, and the nurses have noticed.

And still, you ask him no questions. You just look at him calmly, never rising from your seat in the corner, never saying anything, hardly acknowledging him or others who come and go. A placid nod, nothing more.

He wonders, at that point, what it must be like to hide your emotions from the world like this. He wonders what you’re feeling, if anything at all. And yet the tight set of your jaw tells him that even still waters run deep.

Whatever you’re feeling, you’re bent on keeping it between you and your god.

&&&

It’s been a week since he took on this new patient, and you’ve been around just a little less. Namjoon’s glad for it, mostly because he feels like he’s no longer being haunted by your constant presence whenever he comes to talk about new findings. It’s still not looking great; the patient is going to be in the in the ICU longer than Namjoon would prefer.

On day nine, the doctor realizes that, contrary to his initial opinions, he’d rather deal with you than any of the other people on rotation at the patient’s bedside. It’s almost embarrassing that he’s not sure whose offspring you are, but with such a limited look at your appearance, he’s accepted it. After speaking with your grandmother and a handful of people in the generation before you, he realizes that he’d prefer your stoic silence to the barrage of strangers who seem to think they know his job better than he does.

It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. When it comes down to it, there’s nothing he can do for the families of his patients aside from remaining honest and forthcoming. What this patient needs the most right now is someone to wait for him to wake up. You seem to know that too, and Namjoon hates that he only now sees that you know more than he would have expected at first glance.

&&&

It bothers him, the way your family treats you. He’s heard their snide remarks, seen their wayward glances, felt the ceaseless expectation that your mild manners will benefit them. He didn’t notice it at first, too quick to draw conclusions he knows now to have been unfair. And now he can’t unsee what he’s noticed.

“Oh, Y/N will do it, you’ll stay here won’t you, Y/N?”

And his ears prickle at the careful tone you reply with. He doesn’t look up from his computer screen, but he imagines your jaw is tight as it so often is. “I can stay here, yes. It’s no trouble. But please, use my rightful name.”

The original speaker huffs a little, and another speaks up, trying to be kind but sounding patronizing instead. “Of course dear, what’s your adopted name again?”

“Kassia.”

Namjoon’s mind wanders as the conversation veers away to other things. It’s no wonder that your were present at your grandfather’s bedside more than anyone else. He finds the way they treat you shocking, to be honest; your complacence with the way they treat you shocks him even more.

&&&

He’d been surprised to walk by you in the hall minutes later, but then, the look of reined in anguish wasn’t much of a surprise, given what he’d witnessed mere moments ago. You probably feel stifled, he thinks, and who wouldn’t? He feels stifled by the family and he’s not even related.

He glances back to see that you’ve stopped in front of the map of the hospital near the elevators. You’re biting your lip, eyes glassy, your fingers twisted together with the black coil of rope you always have at hand. With an inward sigh, he turns back down the hall.

“Sister, is there something I can help you find?”

His sudden appearance startles you, but only just. Beneath your black clothes, he can see that you’ve tensed up.

“Doctor Kim.”

“Yes,” he says carefully. “Do you need help finding where you want to go?”

He shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have gotten involved in what ever business you have wherever, but he’s always been bad at ignoring upset folks. You’re just another person on the list, or at least that’s what he’s telling himself.

Your voice is quiet, but steady. “I’m trying to find the hospital’s chapel on the map but it’s a bit convoluted …”

“I’m on my lunch right now, I can just show you where it is, if you’d like.”

Namjoon could kick himself for meddling in your affairs like this, but when you assent, he shoves the regret down in favor of being cordial.

&&&

The walk had been quiet. He found it strangely pleasing that you kept up with his long strides. Namjoon supposes he expected you to walk timidly, and instead he found that you walked with purpose, but without the intent to draw attention. You faded away, just like you did at the patient’s bedside; it’s not a monastic’s job to be noticed.

And yet he’d noticed you, in spite of your spectral presence. Namjoon’s noticed so much about you that he wants to notice no longer. He can’t help it at this point; there’s just something about you that draws him in. He feels like he sees too much when he sees you, and yet it’s still not enough.

He doesn’t like it. It makes him feel obsessive.

Now, as he stands at the back of the little chapel and watches you approach the altar, he can’t help but think that maybe it’s just wonder. How is it that you are so young, but so dead to the world? Invisible to everyone but him?

Namjoon watches as you approach the altar, crossing yourself as you bow. The chapel is simple, it has none of the trimmings that the one would find in the churches you’re used to. Somehow, it seems this is enough; you take a seat in the front row and he watches as your shoulders slump a little. Underneath the humming quiet of the space, he hears a your sigh shake from your lungs.

It strikes him suddenly.

He feels like he’s intruding on a moment between you and your god.

He sighs and checks the time. He’s needed elsewhere, and he knows it. But the longer he stays in the little chapel, with its dim lighting and thick silence, the more alone he is with you. It’s suffocating.

It requires more effort than he’d ever care to admit, but he finally tears his eyes away from your hunched figure. He doesn’t feel your gaze follow him out as he leaves the chapel.

&&&

Since showing you where the hospital chapel is, Namjoon’s noticed his mind trailing to thoughts of you as he goes about his days. He makes his rounds, visits patients in intensive care, look over files that all seem the same; each moment is accompanied by the memory of your eyes meeting his own.

When he finally visits your grandfather’s room, he expects that seeing you again will leave him unaffected. After all, he’s been constantly haunted by the press of your gaze. If only wishing made it so. He walks into the room, and sees you sitting at the patient’s bedside, alone as always. When you look up from your prayer rope, it’s the same as it’s always been. It’s as if you see right through him. Like you see all of him all at once.

You nod silently, your features hard, your jaw tense.

Namjoon chews on the inside of his mouth. Is there even a reason he needs to be here? There’s been no change in the patient’s condition, and he’s not yet well enough to move to a different unit. He’s just toeing lines of unprofessionalism at this point by lingering without saying anything.

“Dr. Kim, may I ask you a question?”

It’s been days since he last heard your voice. He feels disordered. He feels like a man lost in a desert finally stumbling upon an oasis at which to rest. He feels like a prisoner seeing light for the first time in years.

“Sure,” he says. He thrusts his hands in his pockets so that they have something to do besides twist and fret with nerves. Why is it that you’ve begun to affect him in this way?

“I want you to be honest with me,” you say quietly, your eyes falling to your grandfather’s frail figure. “I know you’re not sugar coating it with the rest but—” You raise your eyes to Namjoon, and he finds himself holding his breath. “—I feel as though you’ve not been allowed to be forthright with them somehow.”

You’re not wrong. Your family is so large and loud that he’s hardly been able to get his points across about your grandfather’s condition. Shit, he’s surprised you’ve been able to hear anything he’s said over their raucous, emotional reactions to each bit of news.

He crosses his arms and meets your eyes, and he tells the truth. It’s not looking good. He should have been able to wake up by now, he should have been able to get moved to a different unit, he should already be on the road to recovery. And yet, none of that has happened. Your grandfather’s looking at only ever being half there for the rest of his life, however long it may last. And it may not last long. There’s only so much they can do.

To your credit, you hold up an excellent front. Your features are finely schooled, your gaze still and cold as you regard him steadily. But when you glance at your grandfather, Namjoon notices your fingers twitch in your lap. The rope in your hands is the only thing that betrays how disquieted you are.

&&&

When one works in medicine, sometimes one just hopes to be wrong. Namjoon wants to be wrong every time he has to give a patient’s family bad news, and yours is no exception. Relaying the outcomes to patients, while depressing and difficult, is always hard, but it gets a little easier each time.

Personally giving you the news himself made him want to believe in miracles.

When he sees you the next morning, you’ve already heard from whomever he’d talked to over the phone hours ago. Overnight, your grandfather experienced another stroke.

It was a rare moment, in some ways. No family had been with him, but Namjoon had been the doctor on call for the unit over night. He’s gotten little rest, he’s had little time to collect himself and stay grounded. He’s not been able to prepare himself to face you or anyone else. Chance is funny like that; you still ask him yourself and do it with that soft voice (the one that’s started to haunt him at ungodly hours) to tell you what happened and what the options are.

It’s not pretty. The patient has already started to experience massive organ failures and he’s comatose anyway, so it’s not like his systems are operating in a way that can keep him alive. For some reason he’s not letting go. Darkly, Namjoon wonders if he and his patient have something in common.

Before his thoughts can inspect that thought further, Namjoon forces himself to watch your reaction to the news. The steady, cold gaze with which you regard the world is cracking at the edges. He can see it. It’s there in the shadows under your eyes, the set of your jaw, even in the way your hands fidget in your lap as you sit at the patient’s bedside.

It’s only a matter of time before the cracks give and whatever you keep behind them comes crashing out.

&&&

After having to explain to the patient’s family—your family, all gathered in that stifling waiting room—yet again what the prognosis for this latest stroke event is, Namjoon’s feeling strung out and exhausted. It’s been a late night, he’s gotten very little sleep, and if he has to sit through another emotional moment with the family of any of his patients, he’s going to fucking loose it.

He finds himself walking briskly through the halls of the hospital over his lunch just to keep himself alert. He’d tried to resist the urge, but he even decides to walk in areas that he normally doesn’t frequent, including the wing the chapel’s on. It’s fortuitous, then, that the there’s a light shining through the frosted glass panes set into the heavy wooden doors.

Namjoon walks by once. And then he rounds back and walks by a second time after a few minutes. His curiosity gets the better of him when he sees the light still shining through the windows, and he finds himself carefully pulling the door open and ducking in.

You’re sitting in the front row, just like the last time he saw you in this room. It’s quiet—almost hauntingly so. The thick carpet and heavy doors deaden the bustle of the building. It feels like he’s stepped into another world; he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sensation.

You don’t turn, not even when the door swings closed behind him with a thick thud. Not even as he deliberately shuffles to the front of the chapel and sits precisely where he sat days ago, the last time you and he were alone like this.

Namjoon regards you for a moment. Your eyes are cast low to the floor, your lips pressed tight, your jaw tense, the set of your shoulders beneath your habit somehow defiant. And still, your hands are tangled with that damned prayer rope, as if all you need to do is ask and your grandfather will magically be well.

When you don’t look up to meet his gaze, he settles back into his seat and looks at the altar. It’s plain; just a cross wrought out of wood and finished with a walnut stain on a wood-paneled wall. Two staves, not the four your church so often venerates. No icons, none of the brilliant gilding, no vats of sand for candles, no incense, none of the trappings you must be used to. And yet, you’re still here, alone in the silence.

“What do you need?”

His words surprise even himself. He never does this. He never reaches out to members of a patient’s family like this. Never one on one, never so isolated from the rest.

Namjoon watches as you shift in your seat. Air rushes from your lungs as a shaky sigh. When you meet his eyes with yours, all he can feel is your gaze and the feeling of his blood rushing through his ears and the itch to pull you closer to him. He speaks again.

“What can I do to help you?”

There’s something ablaze in your expression, something hot and heady buried deep within you, making your facade crack still more before him.

“I don’t need anything,” you say. The facade holds, it seems, but only just. Your eyes flicker from his and trace his face. He thinks they might linger for a moment on his mouth, but perhaps he’s just tired, or thinking wishfully.

It irritates him that you insist you need nothing. “Kassia, please. I—” The name tumbles from his mouth like it’s nothing. He has to fight reaching forward to touch you. “The hospital has grief counselors, they have social workers that can help you. You’re getting pushed into so much of your grandfather’s care and it’s wearing you out to do it all alone. It’s not good to internalize all this.”

Your face remains anguished, your posture rigid. You seem so fragile now, as if a light breeze might make whatever wall you keep between yourself and the world—and, by extension, Namjoon—will make it fall to pieces.

And then quietly, your voice hoarse with emotions you refuse to show, you say, “This is none of your business, Doctor Kim. How I choose to be there for my family is none of your business.”

Namjoon sighs, falling back into his seat. He can’t look at you now. He can’t make himself watch as more pieces of your front fall away.

“Can I reach out to the chaplain for you? Do you want me to see if he can arrange for you to see a priest?” He hardly recognizes his own voice; the low murmur feels at odds with the authoritative tone he always uses for this job.

“No, thank you. I can manage fine by myself.”

&&&

It’s hard. Awful, really. The trickle of guests in and out of your grandfather’s room over the next few days is so typical of what Namjoon has seen during the final acts of similar cases. This case is so utterly normal in his line of work, and yet it’s nothing like anything he’s ever had to handle before.

You’re still a shadow, sitting in your corners, standing behind your family members; somehow always there but never seen, never acknowledged. Namjoon himself tries to forget you’re there, but that faint smell clinging to your clothes pierces through the static scent of the hospital. Sometimes he thinks he feels your eyes on him while his back is turned, or perhaps on his face when he’s not looking. He also thinks it’s in his head, a bias looking to be confirmed because he can’t escape you, even once he’s gone home and scrubbed the hospital from his skin in the shower.

Does he linger in your mind as you do in his? Do you see him in your dreams as he sees you? He’s never seen an inch of your skin and yet he’s seen it all, just not here, not in this reality. He can’t be rid of your presence. You cling to him somehow, like the scent of smoke clings to clothes.

Like the incense clings to your habit, even now.

&&&

It finally happens, just as his night on call is ending. The sunlight is trickling over the tops of buildings and trees, through a sterile window. The chime of equipment gently signals to nurses and himself that something has gone wrong and then, as suddenly as it all began, it all stops. The patient is gone, and the paperwork that Namjoon was given after the last stroke event means that he can let the old man leave in peace. He can’t bring himself to look at you as you stand to the side, pressed back against a wall, shaking silently as you process what watching a person drift away looks like.

&&&

It’s been a little while. Namjoon was supposed to go home hours ago, but he’s stuck around to help inform the patient’s family about what the next steps are. Assorted aunts and uncles and cousins are milling around in that same fucking waiting room. It’s strangely quiet, for once; there are few questions or comments as he explains what happened. Nothing breaks the silence but sniffles and small, piteous wails that make him feel numb and dead inside. This sort of thing only gets so much easier with time; dealing with it effectively comes down to fortitude and lots of counseling for the compassion fatigue.

You’re there in the corner until the very end, when Namjoon suddenly realizes you’re not. Like a ghost, you’d managed to sneak off, and he’d not even noticed. Neither, for that matter, had your family. As he leaves the room, he hears someone ask another where you’ve gone. They use your birth name, and not your given name, and it takes all he has to not return and correct them as he walks away.

His feet carry him to the chapel without his agency. It’s automatic at this point; he finds himself wandering by this part of the hospital on his breaks all the time anymore. Instead of walking by, he stops in front of the doors.

He’s sure you’re inside. And he’s sure you’re in anguish. He’s not sure, however, if it’s him you want to check in on you. He’s not sure how much he cares.

With the press of a palm, he opens the door and slips inside the chapel.

The door settles shut behind him. That eerie, velvet silence settles around his shoulders like a cloak. It’s still so thorough and surprising for him that he almost misses the quiet sobs creating texture in the space. The wall between you and the rest of the world appears to have finally crumbled, leaving you alone in the wreckage, without a care for the damage its dissolution has done.

As he nears the front of the chapel, you tense and cast a glance over your shoulder.

“For Christ’s sake, Doctor Kim,” you laugh wetly. “Don’t you have a patient or something you should be attending to?” If you’re supposed to sound sardonic or bothered or even put out, it doesn’t work. You only sound hollowed out and broken.

“My shift’s finished actually,” he murmurs. “You weren’t with the rest of your family.”

“So you came here,” you sniff. “To what end, Doctor Kim? You can’t honestly be here to pray.” You’re on your feet now, rounding on him like some wounded animal fighting for the chance to be left alone. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, you hardly know what to do with someone like me.”

Namjoon takes the tirade in stride. You’re finally allowing yourself to feel something, and he’s not about to stop it. And you’re not wrong, not entirely.

“The nun has fucking feelings, a shock to everyone I’m sure,” you cry, words falling from you bitterly, like you can’t stop it. “I’ll be fucking damned if any of them give a shit about how I feel in all this. They got to go to work and live their lives and I was stuck here, watching him suffer.”

Namjoon watches as you start to crumble right before his eyes. He might have missed your walls coming down, but some part of him is glad he’s here for you to fall apart. Someone needs to pick up the pieces. It may as well be him.

“I’m the one who told him it was okay to go. I—” Tears are filling your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. “I held his hand j-just hours ago. I told him it was okay t-to let go. That it was t-time to just f-face whatever the fuck is out there when you die.”

He watches as you bring hand to your face to brush tears away, but instead the sobs wrack your body and you bare your teeth as you cry anew. He doesn’t know what to say. What could he possibly say to make any of this better for you?

Instead, Namjoon steps closer and holds his arms open. You fall into his chest unbidden, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his body as close as he can. The way your warmth feels against his own is strange, because it feels far better, far more natural, than it has any right to be. You’re supposed to be dead to the world, and right now you’re anything but that for him in this moment.

You clench fistfuls of his shirt in your palms. This ache, this hurt … this isn’t something he can fix, and yet it seems he’s the only one who’s ever cared to even fucking try. It breaks his heart more than loosing any of his doomed patients ever could. He finds himself trailing his fingers over your back in what he hopes are soothing circles.

He’s not even sure you’re really with him to hear him say, “Shhh, it’s alright, you’re okay, I’m right here for you,” until you suddenly raise your head to look him straight on. Tearstained cheeks, shining eyes that are starting to look a little swollen, just like the lower lip you’ve probably chewing on nonstop. And yet, Namjoon can’t help but feel drawn in by your gaze, still magnetic and haunting as ever.

Your fists tighten around the fabric inside them as you glance between his eyes and his lips. Namjoon realizes, suddenly, coldly, that your faces have become close, that he can feel your shuddering breath creeping across his skin.

He’s not sure who moves first. He’ll never be sure. It’s so instantaneous that it feels almost inevitable, like this is what the movement of the universe has been leading to all this time. His entire life feels like it hinges on the moment your lips meet his own and fit together as if your mouths were never meant to be parted.

His hand is suddenly cupping your face, tilting it so that he can slip his tongue against yours. You don’t just open to him; you draw him in, nipping at his lips, sucking at his flesh, finally allowing yourself a moment to be greedy.

Namjoon can’t get enough of your hot skin against his palm. His nails brush against your habit and god, he just wants it gone. He wants it out of the way. Something primal has taken hold of him, he knows it, even as he finds himself pressing forward against you. The small whine that escapes your throat makes him long to pin you against the chapel wall and let you take from him as he wants to take from you. With the way you’re pulling at his shirt, at his hair, his heart, you feel it too. Whatever this is is so massive that neither of you will ever be able to escape the tug of its gravity.

As quickly as it all started, it’s over.

His front is suddenly empty and cold, but for the blood stirring in his heart with bitter bile in his abdomen. He’s not sure who steps away first, just that it’s perhaps the most unnatural thing he’s ever experienced. Your eyes are wide, aflame with more emotion than any person should ever have to hold within themselves. Over the silent hum of air circulators working, he hears the sound of you breathing in time with himself, panting as you both come down from the high of indiscretion

Before Namjoon can say anything, an apology or an explanation or just fucking anything to keep you from hating him, you walk away. It’s as if he’s sprouted roots as he watches you walk away and out of the chapel. The stoic curtain has been drawn around you again and he’ll never get the chance to pull it away. Just as it felt inevitable to kiss you and be kissed by you, this feels just just the same. It’s inexorable. There’s nothing he can do to stop you.

He just watches you leave before sinking into a seat in the front row of the chapel and putting his head in his hands.

&&&

It’s been a long week. For months it’s felt like Namjoon’s had nothing but long weeks, but this one seems so particularly bad in a way he can’t describe. Patients making strides and then loosing all the ground they gained. The families of patients becoming aggressive and distraught when they learn the news that their beloved kinsperson will not be making whatever recovery they envisioned for them. Nurses and medical assistants being berated and then taking it out on each other, or sometimes him. Other doctors shirking their duties. And of course, he’s nothing if not a self-loathing workaholic, so he shoulders every ounce of slack until it’s close to breaking him.

It takes a more senior doctor asking to speak to him in the hallway for him to realize how fucking bad he’s been internalizing his stress. He almost snaps like a twig in front of five people, just because the man asked him for a moment of his time.

“Take a walk, Doctor Kim. I don’t want to see you for an hour.”

Namjoon doesn’t realize he’s wandered to the chapel until he’s looking at the heavy wooden doors. They stand before him like an immovable barrier. He hasn’t been here since you left. It wasn’t so long ago, he knows it’s only been a month or three, but it feels like it’s been an age. Long enough that he’s lost track of the time, but not so long ago that he’s forgotten the way your flesh fit against his.

The memory stirs in his throat as he gently reaches to pull the door open and step inside.

The chapel’s preternatural silence settles over him like a blanket. In the past, it’s been an uneasy sensation, but now it’s welcome. He could use some quiet, some space to just feel and decompress. He sits a few rows back from the front and listens to silence ring in his ears, letting time slip by without registering how much of it goes.

Abruptly, Namjoon hears the doors behind him close with a thud. He turns to see a priest, smiling sheepishly as he gives him a little wave. He’s got a bulky briefcase in his hands and a sweater over his black shirt. At his throat is a priest’s collar.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, doctor,” the priest says with a warm smile. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here this early before the service.”

Namjoon finds himself rising before he can even think about it. “No, please, don’t be sorry. I just needed somewhere quiet to be for a moment.”

“Well, this is the perfect place for that,” the priest says, glancing down the chapel’s center aisle at the altar. “I don’t believe I’ve met you before! I’m Father Herman.”

The doctor grasps the priest’s outstretched hand to shake it as he give his own name. “I’m not usually around this part of the hospital but it’s—well, it’s been a week,” he laughs nervously.

Father Herman nods, as if he understands Namjoon’s struggle completely. “The church is a place of healing, first and foremost. Whenever a soul ails, we always pray that they finds their way here.”

Namjoon thinks about you sitting in the front of the chapel, with your prayer rope and silent suffering. He thinks about the unending way his life has stretched before him since you left. He says nothing, however, as he watches Father Herman walk to the front of the chapel and set his bag in one of the chairs.

He must sense the doctor staring at him, but he seems unperturbed. Maybe he’s used to getting stares. “Was there something else you needed, Doctor Kim?”

The words are kind, but they rattle around Namjoon’s brain for a moment before he can really let them sink in. He hasn’t thought about any of his needs for what feels like weeks. No one’s asked about his needs for much longer.

“Um, yeah, maybe. I think I might have some questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Absolutely, son. Fire away.”

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

posted: 11.2.2022

[tethered-heartstrings]

thank you @holyheart for tagging me

First line tag game!

Rules: post the first line of your 10 most recently published fics and see if you can draw a conclusion.

lol all of these are from my smoking series but:

“It’s beautiful.”

The room was moderately lit, only a lamp with an extravagant shade in the corner and the quietening sunset peering through their open window.

The first gentle breeze of spring danced across the newly blooming grasses and flowers.

Hannibal stared out the cabin window, a steaming mug clutched in his hands.

It started as more of an experiment in curiosity, a test on whether he could succeed, then slowly a wordless love poem.

Will warned the man who followed him, creeping amongst the shadows all night, not to be so rude, that his boorishness would be his undoing.

Will was gone longer than Hannibal expected, but not quite long enough to have him concerned and go out looking for him.

Hannibal had long since perfected drawing whatever scenes and images graced his sight and mind palace, even perfectly depicting things he had only imagined or humbly wished to see.

Moans and heavy pants echoed as the smell of sweat and faint musk lingered.

Hannibal ran a bath, holding his hand under the water to ensure it was just hot enough to barely sting, yet soothe aching muscles and tight joints.

conclusions: I really like to set/describe the environment/scene first, and basically never do dialogue as an opening line (the first one is a dream sequence/remembering the past). I also like starting with an action/something maybe a bit dramatic, which at times are intentionally a bit vague.

tagging: @spiritofwhitefire and @armandology and anyone else who wants to!

[amongsnot]

👀 hi

[katebishopofearth]

Find Five Lines Tag

thanks for tagging me @queeenpersephone! Your lines made me want to chew my own hand off as always, you write so lyrically.

Rules: find any lines in your WIP or fics that fit each parameter given by the person who tagged you. Then change one of the parameters and tag five or more people.

My lines: a line about desire, a line expressing grief, a line expressing pain, a line that makes you incredibly happy, a line expressing anger

Your lines: a line that's tender, a line that's angsty, a line you didn't like initially but grew on you over time, a line that you think is clever, and a line about regret

A line about desire from iron masks and spider kisses, a fem!tony ironwidow fic (is it an incredibly ace mood that i don't ever write about desire in the conventional sense?)

Gentle – and how could a hand that had spilled so much blood be so gentle? – Natasha laid a hand on the arc reactor. Palm on the glowing surface, fingers spread out. Feeling its slight buzz against her skin and against Toni’s. She traced a finger along the criss-crossing scars, learning the bumps and paths of each.

A line expressing grief from let the river carry my grief (all the way to the sea), a post-Endgame Wanda-centric fic about the five stages of grief

Wanda goes from room to room, drifting like a ghost. She expects to see him around the corner, expects to see him in the kitchen asking her to taste-test something for him, expects him to phase through the wall that separates the room that was his from the one that is (was) hers and curl around her body and hold her until she falls asleep.

But he never does, and she never sleeps, because when she closes her eyes, the only thing she sees is the image of him dying, seared into her brain. 

A line expressing pain from take your leave of me my love (though i beg of you to let me stay), an ironwidow post-Endgame one-shot

“What are you saying?” Her voice trembled. Her shaky grasp on casualness slipped away, and the tears came uncharacteristically easy. She didn’t have the strength to stop them or to put on a brave face. Not anymore.

A line that makes you incredibly happy from Home, a blackbonnet innkeepers era one-shot

“You don’t find our lives…” Ed searched for the right word for a moment before he settled on, “monotonous?”

“Monotonous?” Stede repeated, incredulous. “You’re my greatest adventure, Ed Teach.”

A line expressing anger from hunger, an ironwidow vampire au

But it appeared that Tony was conscious because he hissed, “stay back.” Despite the weakness in his voice there was something feral in it, and Natasha faltered, staying a small distance away. Not nearly far enough to be safe.

He lifted his head and Natasha saw his face for the first time. The circles under his eyes were so dark that they were all but shrouded in shadow, and his eyes were two black coals. He had not fed in a long, long time. 

“What did they do to you?” Natasha’s voice shook – not with fear but with rage. 

[allaboardthevespa]

Unconditionally

I got bored, and I suddenly felt the urge to write some really sappy (with some angst) Milo Murphy’s Law fluff. I know who Melissa should end up with is a matter of debate, but I’m a proud Team Zalissa member so this fanfic will be about that. Milossa or Bradlissa fans, sorry, but hope you can enjoy this nonetheless. I wasn’t sure what to call this at first, but I listened to the Katy Perry song “Unconditionally” and my brain was like YES so here.

I’m not proud of how this ends, but eh, my brain sucks at ending things. Just hope y’all enjoy this bit of adorable sickfic fluff ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

WARNING: contains relatively graphic scenes of vomit…and becomes extremely tooth-rotting fluff

-- 

It was an ordinary day in Danville – or as ordinary as it could be with the Murphy family’s usual chaos. Milo and Zack’s walk to school had been a heck of a ride, as usual. Runaway concrete pipes, surfing on busted plumbing, falling off cliffs, the whole nine yards. But, as is the norm for Milo Murphy and his friends, everything worked out and they got to school in the nick of time.

 But of course, it didn’t take long for them to realize someone was missing.

 As the students sat in class waiting for Ms. Murawski, Milo looked between him and Zack and noticed a conspicuously empty seat. “Hey, wait a minute,” asked the jinx, “Where’s Melissa?” “I have no idea,” replied Zack, scratching the back of his head in confusion. The other students surrounding them began chattering among themselves, wondering what could’ve happened to the rough-and-tumble redhead. “Maybe she blocked one of her chakras?” Mort suggested with a shrug. Bradley facepalmed, “Mort, she’s not a hippie like you are. She doesn’t do chakras.” “MAYBE DRAKO GOT HER!” panicked Chad, shivering like a leaf and covering his head with his hands. “Don’t panic, everyone,” Amanda cut in, “Knowing what happens in this town, she’s probably caught up in time-travel shenanigans to save a cart of pistachios or something.”

 “Pipe down, class!” came an adult voice. The kids turned to see Ms. Murawski entering the room, just hanging up a phone. “I know you’ve all noticed that Melissa Chase is missing today. Well, it’s simple. She’s just come down with a stomach ache and can’t come in today. No matter, she’ll be able to catch up some other day.” She took out a pencil, “Now, turn your textbooks to page 421.”

 As the other students got to reading, Milo turned to look at Melissa’s empty chair. “That’s too bad,” he sighed, “I don’t even remember the last time she got sick.” He turned to look out the window. “Poor Melissa. She must be feeling pretty down right now.” “Yeah…” Zack agreed, looking crestfallen. “I wish I could help out.” “Well, if you want to, you could,” Amanda suddenly spoke up, “It’s just a little science work, you don’t need to worry about missing it. I think Melissa would be happy to have a little company today.” “Yeah,” Milo agreed with Amanda, “Besides…I’m sure you would love to have a little…” He cleared his throat sarcastically, before giving a smug grin, “Quality time with her.” “Oh, of course,” laughed Amanda, as snickers and ‘oooooh’s went up around the rest of the classroom. Zack flushed a beet-red, flustered by Milo’s joke. “Yes, yes, I’m aware of the, ahem, ‘chemistry’,” he chuckled bashfully, “Alrighty. If you think I should go hang out with her, I’ll go. She could use the company.” “You go, Zack!” cheered Milo, as Zack went to Murawski’s beloved front desk.

 “Excuse me, Ms…may I be excused? I need to use the restroom,” Zack innocently asked, hiding his lie expertly well. “Fine, very well,” Murawski huffed, “Just don’t get lost.” “Thanks, Ms,” he chirped, waving goodbye to the students as he left the room. The moment he slipped out, he scanned the halls for the arrow sign that was labeled “Way Out”, and the minute he saw it, he scampered in that direction. He heard hall monitors yelling at him to not run in the halls, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. Detention could wait. He had a friend to help.

 --

 After a lot of running and following directions on his phone, Zack had arrived in the street where Melissa and her single father lived. Seeing Mr. Chase standing outside his house watering a bush, Zack got on his way to talk to him when he suddenly noticed a butterfly flitting in front of him. Zack watched it fly upwards and noticed it settle on a tree branch covered in wisteria flowers – and an idea registered in Zack’s mind. He reached up and grabbed a small branch covered in a healthy amount of the flowers, wrapped the wood in some tissue paper he brought with him, and wrapped a bow around the flowers to keep them straight. Holding tightly onto the bouquet, he soon made it to the house he was looking for.

 As Mr. Chase was minding his own business, watering that bush, he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, Mr. Chase!” He turned off the hose and whipped around to see Zack, politely standing at his gate with a bouquet of wisteria flowers in hand. “Oh, hello, Zack,” greeted the firefighter, “I imagine you heard about my daughter?” “Yeah, tough break,” Zack replied in a sympathetic tone. “When I heard, I thought I could come down and cheer her up.” “Oh, how nice,” Mr. Chase smiled, “Melissa doesn’t get sick often, but she’s always miserable when she does. I think she’ll be happy to have a friend with her.” “I thought so too,” Zack nodded, following his crush’s father to the door. “Thanks for letting me come around,” he thanked with a grateful wave. “No problem,” the older man replied, “Any friend of my daughter’s is a friend of mine. Hope you two have fun.” “Bye, Mr. Chase,” Zack waved at him as he walked up the stairs to his friend’s room.

 --

 It had not been a fun morning for Melissa. When she awoke, the stomach pain had hit her in full force, and it didn’t take long for her father to realize how out of sorts she was. Neither of them liked when she got sick, but Melissa had a special hatred for the concept of illness. She was a real go-getter, and the thought of having to stay in bed for hours on end and not enjoy her usual hobbies made her feel even sicker than she was already.

 But the worst part of being sick in bed is that, without her mind being preoccupied by daily events caused by school and Murphy’s Law, it tended to wander to some uncomfortable places…and asked some tough questions she didn’t know if she had the answers to.

 Was Milo always gonna be able to keep himself prepared for every situation? 

Will his bad luck come to bite him in a way he can’t protect himself from?

Should she even be asking these questions?

Would Milo WANT her asking these questions?

 The internal crisis she was having made the stress she had grow all the more, and her stomach’s pain intensified with it.

 Melissa was holding her head in distress and shutting her eyes tightly, in a vain attempt to block out those awful questions, when she heard her door creak open. Reluctantly, she slowly opened one of her eyes…and suddenly her heart skipped a beat at who she saw waiting for her in the doorway. She gently pulled herself up from her hunched state as her eyes met his, and gently mumbled “Z-Zack? Is that…really you?” Zack let out a quiet laugh, “Of course it’s me, buddy. I heard you were sick, and I knew I had to be there for you. You are my best friend, after all.” Melissa didn’t notice it, but her cheeks were heating up with a bright red blush as the compliment warmed her heart and soul. “You…really mean that?” she asked, giving a genuine smile. Zack couldn’t help blushing himself at the sight of Melissa giving him a sweet, happy smile with her cheeks tinged red. It was completely adorable.

 To respond to her question, Zack revealed the bouquet of wisteria flowers he’d picked on his way. “If I didn’t mean it, would I get you these?” He approached her in her bed and gently knelt down to her level, “Milo’s told me you love flowers, so when I saw these in your neighborhood, I figured I’d get you a little something.” Melissa gave an adorably surprised gasp, then, as quickly as she could, reached over to grab the bouquet with a cute little giggle. “Wow, I…” she stammered, caressing some of the petals, “That’s really sweet of you.” “It’s the least I could do for you being such a great friend,” Zack responded, watching happily as his best friend held the wisteria bouquet to her chest and face and inhaled deeply. “I’m glad you like them.” “Thanks, Zack,” Melissa gave him the cutest smile ever, “I’m glad you’re here for me.” “Well,” responded the former boyband member, “What are best friends for?”

 --

 From then on, in the following hours, the two best friends made the most of their time together. The two played all sorts of games, shared all sorts of stories, and just being two kids happy in one another’s company. Zack enjoyed every moment, yet throughout it all he couldn’t stop himself taking his eyes off his best friend. Her smile warmed his heart, her giggles were absolutely adorable, and every so often she’d briefly stop what she was doing, turn around and smell the flowers he’d brought her, now sat comfortably in a vase on her bedside table. That was another thing he found to be adorable. It wasn’t often that he saw the redhead able to just loosen up and be a goofball when they weren’t busy trying to stop Murphy’s Law from causing mayhem, but when they got the chance to just be kids, it was something both of them made the most of.

 It was during a quiet break from their fun that things began to take an unexpected turn.

 Zack was watching his best friend cuddled up in her bed, stroking her hair gently, when an uncomfortable-sounding groan emitted from her stomach, and she abruptly shot up and looked at him with a deer-in-the-headlights look. “What’s the matter?” asked Zack, gently grasping her hands. “I…I dunno,” Melissa panted, before she clutched her stomach out of instinct. “I…I’ve never felt l-like this…” She took a shaky breath, “But I feel like I…ugh!” She cringed, and without thinking raised a hand to her mouth. Zack connected the dots right away. He didn’t think they’d be able to make it to the bathroom fast enough at this point. Luckily, his eyes floated to a spare empty flower vase not yet filled with wysterias or whatever other flowers she liked. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d do. He scrambled over and grabbed it, before giving it to Melissa, and sat next to her once more.

 Melissa opened her mouth to say something, but abruptly, she hunched herself over and heaved unpleasantly. Zack couldn’t help cringing, but he knew he had to provide some semblance of comfort. It looked like this was a new experience for her. He gently rubbed her back as each painful retch came, making sure she knew he was there for her even in a time like this. Melissa’s mind didn’t register much else in that moment other than the horrible feeling of her throat and stomach expunging the nasty liquid from her body, and, in sharp contrast, the warm, soft, gentle touch of her best friend.

 In reality, it only took 30 seconds for the retching to stop. To Melissa, it felt like an eternity. Nonetheless, when she was sure she was done, she pulled her head back from the vase and wiped her brow as she set the now puke-filled vase aside. She breathed heavily in an attempt to clear her mind, as what just happened played itself over and over again in her head. She’d never experienced something like that before, and she never wanted to again. Luckily, though, she had her best friend right nearby. Getting a little closer to the sickly go-getter, Zack gently asked her “How do you feel?” Coughing a little, Melissa turned to Zack with a look of pure pain in her eyes. “I…I…” she wiped her brow again, “What…was that? T-that was horrible…” “Relax, Melissa,” Zack did his best to comfort her, “You just vomited. No big deal, it happens to you sometimes if you’re stomach-sick.” “B-But I…” the redhead whimpered, “Th-that hasn’t happened to me before…My dad told me about it when I was super young, and cuz I don’t get sick that often…I never THOUGHT it would happen…” She sighed, “Man, I feel like a dummy now.” Feeling his heart hurt for Melissa’s sorry state, Zack pulled her into a hug, “Hey…you’re no dummy. If this is your first time ever vomiting, no wonder your mind’s in a daze like this. You’ll be alright. You’re always alright, aren’t you?” He put a hand on one of her shoulders and comfortingly looked into her beautiful blue eyes.

 Until she said two words that threw him for a loop…

 “Not really.”

 Zack’s mind took a moment to register what Melissa had just said. Those two, little, mumbled words. “Not really.” What was she implying? Was it what Zack was thinking? No, there’s no way, Melissa was the toughest girl he’d ever known. But, why else would she say that? Gently, he got closer to her, and gently gazed into her eyes, ignoring the blush on his face, and asked “What do you mean by…’not really’?” Melissa flinched a little, not knowing where to begin. The questions in her mind were roaring to get out, and she had to let someone know. She was tired of suffering in silence.

 At that moment, Melissa gently grabbed Zack’s shoulders and began to speak, knowing he’d be there to listen.

 And all the words came flying out.

 “…Zack, I’m scared. I’ve always BEEN scared. Ever since I became Milo’s best friend, I’ve always been worrying myself like crazy about him, worrying that someday he’s gonna get caught in some insane Murphy’s Law accident that he’s not ready for and he’ll get hurt…or worse. And I know it’s really fucking stupid cause it’s goddamn Milo and he’s ALWAYS prepared, but I can’t help myself. And I just feel like a big jerk because Milo wouldn’t WANT me to be worried about him all the time. He’s…fine with the way things are and doesn’t want them to change…but…” She took a shaky breath, and sighed lowly, “I do.” Zack now reached up and rubbed her shoulders as she continued talking, “I don’t want Milo to be stuck with Murphy’s Law. I want him to live and be happy, without always having to look over his shoulder in case of stampeding bison or angry crossing guards or other shit like that. But Milo…he just doesn’t want that…and I feel like a selfish idiot who tries to act like she knows what’s best for everyone…but…” She glanced up, and Zack’s heart leapt at what he saw…

 The toughest, smartest kid he’d known in his life…strong, brave, a born leader with a near-permanent smile…

 She was crying.

 “I just…” she whimpered, not even bothering to wipe away the hot tears streaking down her face, “I feel like such a selfish jackass who doesn’t know what Milo or even you want in your lives…I just don’t want to lose him, or you, or anyone…” She shut her eyes tightly and let a fresh wave of tears out, “And I’ve been lying to you about how I’ve been feeling this whole time…because I just don’t want you guys to see what a fucking mess I really am!” “You’re not a mess-” Zack tried to interrupt, only for Melissa to cut him off. “No, don’t…don’t keep the lie going any longer than it has to…” she sobbed, “I act like I’m tough, but…I’m just a terrified wreck of a person who can’t stand the thought of losing the people she cares about…that’s me. That’s selfish, paranoid, obnoxious Melissa Lily Chase…”

 With that, the broken redhead turned away and started sobbing all-out into her hands, her limbs shaking with every loud sob echoing from her body. She could feel the burn of hot tears rushing down her face, dripping from the tip of her nose onto her bed. Between every choked sob, she tried to take some breaths as if to calm herself, but all attempts failed as the tears kept on coming.

 With every sob Melissa let out, Zack could feel his heart sink a little more. There was a part of him who still couldn’t believe this. How long had Melissa been keeping these feelings at bay? Did she really think that badly of herself just for being worried about Milo? His mind raced with questions, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a damn about getting the answers. All that mattered to him was giving support to someone who very badly needed it.

 Without hesitation, Zack gently put his arms around Melissa’s back, gently rubbing her side with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. It took a moment for Melissa to register what Zack was doing, but the moment she did, she felt her muscles gently ease up at the feeling of his warm embrace. She could still feel her cheeks and nose wet from all the crying she’d been doing, and flushed a little in embarrassment. “I, uh…” she tried to break the silence, “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” “You don’t need to apologize,” Zack told her gently, “I just wonder why you hadn’t spoken up about your feelings before. Milo’s an understanding guy, he’d be happy to listen to your worries.” “I just…” she sniffled, “I just don’t want Milo to start worrying about what goes on in my head all the time…and I don’t wanna seem like a controlling bitch.” Without warning, Zack put a hand over her mouth the moment she said the word “bitch”. He turned Melissa around to look at him and looked intently into her eyes, and spoke his mind.

 “Listen to me, Melissa. You are not a ‘bitch’. You have never been a bitch. You’re worrying yourself that you’re a terrible person because you actually want what’s best for Milo! There’s nothing wrong with that. I know Milo is fine with the way things are but if you’re not, that’s completely okay. We may not be able to change Murphy’s Law, but we’ll always be able to help Milo throughout everything, and I know that cuz you’ve been doing that for seven years now, and I know you can keep doing that.” He gave her the warmest smile he could manage, despite the fact he now had tears of his own welling up in his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared, Melissa – as long as you don’t let it change who you are.”

 In that moment, both 13-year-olds found themselves gazing into one another’s tearful eyes. Then, without another word, Melissa got closer to Zack and collapsed into his arms, wrapping her arms around his back. It didn’t take long for Zack to return the embrace, rubbing her back gently to soothe her emotions. They stayed there, in silence, for what felt like hours. Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to, not right now at least. All they needed right now was right in front of them.

 After so long of being locked in that embrace, Melissa pulled back a little, wiping one more tear from her face, before gently cupping her hands around Zack’s own face and tilted his head up so their eyes could lock once more. Both of them smiled tenderly as the tension that was in their minds evaporated.

Of course, there was just one more thing Melissa felt the need to say…

 “Hey,” she whispered, getting Zack’s full attention. She now moved her hands down to gently clasp his own, and gave him a soft smile, grateful for all of what he’d done for her, not just today but in all the time they’d spent together in the past. She took one more deep breath as if to mentally prepare herself, and spoke the three magic words.

 “I love you.”

 There was a brief moment where Zack felt surprised, but that quickly gave way to an indescribable feeling of happiness, and it didn’t take long for him to respond.

 “I love you too.”

 Without hesitating for a moment, the tomboyish nerd and the dorky jock soon embraced one another in a long, soft kiss, tears of joy now streaming down their faces. Zack brought a hand up to gently caress Melissa’s cheek while Melissa put her arms around his back, deepening the kiss further.

 Once they needed to break for oxygen, the two gently separated their lips, still having their noses touching. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door, and both of them flushed a bit before scrambling off each other – but they were still smiling widely after their passionate love display. The door opened and revealed Mr. Chase with a large cup of tea in hand. “Here you go, sweetie,” he spoke, bringing it over to his daughter, “I made you some tea. See if it helps your stomach.” “Thanks, Dad,” Melissa giggled a little in response. Zack couldn’t help blushing a little at how adorable he found that little laugh of hers. Mr. Chase now thought back to earlier and cringed a little, “I heard what sounded like vomiting earlier. Isn’t that your first time? I hope everything’s okay.” Melissa gave an awkward shrug, “It was scary at first, but…it wasn’t so bad. Especially since Zack was with me.” A sincere smile crossed her face, as she looked over at her best friend-turned-boyfriend, then at her loving father. “I know it sounds weird, but…this has been one of the happiest days I’ve had in a long time. Thank you both, so much. I’m so glad I have you both and Milo and everyone else in my life.” Zack and Mr. Chase now both brought Melissa into a group hug, and the former Lumberzack gently thanked her himself, “And thank you for being in ours.”

The End

[asexualannoyance]

i very desperately want some good pete angst

[fly-rye]

oh hey, i wrote something

the first of my leon/james one-shots based on the half-doomed and semi-sweet series that katie (@wanderingmoonmen) and I have been doing! (also the first thing i've ever posted to ao3, damn)

[stardust-falling]

hello friend. would you like genshin fansongs. idk if youve seen them since i have genshin tag blocked (no hard feelings it was just Everywhere on my dash before i even followed you) but the songs are very good and pair together.

Yes I would! I've definitely seen a few (and there are some i've really liked) but tbh I'm not... very inundated in the fandom by any means asdjkfghjskd so I've probably missed Many.

[urfriendlywriter]

How to write angst ?

@urfriendlywriter | req by @everynowandthenihaveacrisis @aidyaiden :)

know your character. from their deepest fears to what they cherish the most. know your deepest fear, ask yourself how you will react and feel at that moment. "oh shit, if this happened to me I'll lose my mind" what's that type of scenario for you? write it. :)

decide on the type of angst you are going for!

major, minor, physical, emotional, paranormal, spiritual, verbal, abusive, quarrel, misunderstanding, etc.

and then, decide on--what reaction you can take out of your character by doing what to them.

are they gonna be, held at a gunpoint to give something up? or have their soul wrecked by whom they thought were close to them? or is it going be horror, or etctec, decide on it.

moving on to actually writing it-

Tip 1 - Use sensory details.

her eyes brimmed with tears

his chest heaved

pain clawed at his heart, as his face twisted with hurt

his scream pierced my heart

her lips quivered

she dug her nails into her palms (to distract herself, to stop it from shaking, etc)

show what is happening to ur MC, instead of telling it.

Tip 2 - how to actually write it.

If they're panicking, make them notice too many things at once, show every detail that they're seeing, feeling, from touch, to that burning sensation on their eyes, the blood on the ground, that dryness of their throat, the buzzing in their head and their parted lips unable to trust their own sight, and--and, boom! have them register that they're really really in trouble. and that they've to act fast.

use short, very minimal type of writing for this. make it long, but not long enough that it feels like it's being dragged.

the readers should hold themselves back from skimming the page out of curiousity, they should be in their toes to find out what happens next.

what does your MC do in times of panic? do they chant calm down to themselves, do they get angry, or start crying.. or?? what makes your character genuinely feel an emotion so hard that they'll burst?

there's always something, someone that'll always give them love and easily can be that something or someone to take it away. yk.

Tip 3 - crying.

what is close to your character that u can deprive them of? will it make them cry? beg for it?

what will make ur character cry so hard, that their scream fills everyone's ear, stays in their minds like ghosts and always haunts them?

make a character who never cries, burst out with tears.

while writing crying, focus on the 5 senses, one after the other.

focus it on their breath, make them run out of breath, gasp for air, feel like they're being choked, cry so scrutinizingly. it shud punch the reader's gut.

have them replay what had just happened over and over again in their head

best books and writing styles (for angst) to analyse and learn from (in my opinion);

3rd book in the AGGTM series (yk it hit hard like a truck. it got me depressed in bed the entire time lmao)

Five Survive by Holly Jackson. The moments of red outside of the truck, and moments leading to it.

there's this book called " Warm by @untalentedwriter127 " in wattpad. the author served angst for breakfast, lunch anddd dinner.

and if there's more angsty ones, drop em in the comments! :)

Hope this helps, tag me when yall write a masterpiece! ;)

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt. 2

a/n: re-uploaded cause tumblr wouldn't show it in the tags for some reason Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con, Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atriedes, Horny Violence, and some angsty family relations (lmao)

Summary: The courting becomes more and more complicated, as both you and the Na-Baron discover something about each other.

Part.1, Part 3. Part 4.(finale)

- He's a beast.

Lady Jessica stops in her tracks, her hands sliding gently across the fabric of your nightgown. It's your Mother, that puts it out on the table next to your bed. But the person, who turns back towards you with an unreadable expression, is most definitely not her. You're talking to a Bene Gesserit sister now. A freezing chill runs up your spine, and you start picking at the skin around your fingernails, a nervous habit you've picked up a long time ago.

- Have you forgotten all that I have taught you? - she asks, turning to face you fully, in the dimly lit space of your bedroom

Subconsciously you retreat into yourself, body leaning further away from her, as if that distance might save you from whatever unpleasant revelation will most likely fall upon you. Lady Jessica takes a deep breath, her lips pulling back into an easy, soothing smile. In the past, you would look for expressions such as this, fish them out for comfort. Now, as you look upon your Mother's face, it all seems to be a trap made specifically for you.

- Men like him, beastly men, are the weakest ones - she explains, taking slow steps towards your hunched form - They need the power and the blood to feel worthy of existing, which makes them easy to manipulate. Keep them pliant under your hands like fresh dough. 

She sits beside you, your mattress dipping under her weight, and your eyes are immediately drawn to your Mother's elegant hands, folded neatly in her lap. You wish you could put your head there. Have her pull your running thoughts out with gentle caresses. A hairbrush lays abandoned on the vanity in front of you, and silently you contemplate, whether you'll ever have the opportunity to have your hair brushed by her. 

- You must find his weakness, what drives him to do what he does. And then control it.

- I don't want to control my husband - the words spill out of your lips, before you have the chance to stop them - I want to love him, to support him. To give him children he'll love, children I'll love. 

Tears fall in heavy waterfalls down your cheeks. You haven't had the luxury of a good cry since your betrothed had arrived, and it feels divine. Letting your body shake and shiver, wrecked by uninhibited sobs, as your Mother looks down upon you, torn between the two roles she must fulfill. 

The more you've thought about your situation, the more hopeless you felt. The Harkonnens will never let you see your family again, you're sure of it. You'll have to deal with all the horrors of Giedi Prime entirely on your own, with no support from your husband, no friends, no family. And your children, as they are sure to come, will be taken away from you. Thrown into the black and white, until there's no love left in them. 

The Emperror is a cruel man, you think. An execution would've been a kinder end. 

- Why did you have to make me a Daughter? - the way your voice breaks in desperation fills you with shame - Why couldn't you give Father another Son?

You know you've overstepped, as soon as the accusatory tone registers in your brain. It is far too late by then, and the hands, which just moments before you've fantasized about running through your hair, grip you tightly. Your Mother's face, a constant image of beauty, twists into something darker, something you don't recognize, and you gasp, as her dull fingernails dig into the skin of your wrist.

- Your Father has Paul - her voice is barely above a whisper, blue eyes stabbing you with the intensity of her gaze - I gave him a son, because he asked for a son. Because I loved him enough to give him one. And he can have him. He can fill him with lessons of male leadership, of short-sighted plans. You. You are my Daughter. You are mine, and I've trained you well enough to conquer this task.

A hopeless pit settles itself in the void of your stomach.

You've always known your destiny would be to marry well, to further House Atreides' legacy. And yet, somehow, there was a sliver of hope, treacherously worming itself into your brain. Your Father had Paul, the perfect heir. Surely, he could send him off for the greater good and leave you to your own devices. Let you find someone to care for you, someone you'd do anything for. The thought sits in the pit of your stomach, turning your insides in shame. Still, you can't shake the sinking feeling, that if the universe was kind, you would've been born a Son. 

Your Mother, or more likely, the Bene Gesserit, stands up, a cold chill filling the space where her body used to sit. She regards you once, a stern, unwavering gaze.

- Wear black tomorrow.

Perhaps, you'll die in your sleep tonight. Perhaps the universe will bring you this small mercy.

*** Perhaps you did die. 

Through the haze of dreams, you can see him. Bare, as the day he was born, body gleaming white in the darkness of your room.

You can't move, can't see his face, and when he approaches, every single one of your muscles tense. You shift under the covers, cold tendrills of fear engulfing you entirely. He comes closer, moves like a wild cat, stands at the foot of your bed. 

The need to run is overwhelming, but your body refuses to listen, as slowly, torturously slowly, he climbs on top of you, defined muscles moving under his skin in a way that reminds you of some cursed demon, rather than a man. His scent fills your nostrils, a mixture of something heady and metalic, and, like a little child scared of the dark, you try to hide your face under the covers. 

This demon version of your betrothed sits down, sculpted thighs squeezing around your sides, and with rising panic you realize, he's slowly choking the life out of you. A fitting end, a welcomed one. Perhaps it would be better to die right now, before you discover what atrocities he plans to commit on your body and mind, after you're wedded. 

Then, his hand reaches behind his back, full lips pull upwards, exposing blackened out teeth. You barely register the glint of his sword, not until he holds it high up, above his hand. You're not allowed a moment to wallow in your confusion, as your future husband brings the weapon down, sinking it with brutal force into your beating heart.

You awake screaming.

***

In the morning, you pull a black tunic over your head, remnants of your dream clinging to you like an unwanted shadow. 

Every move of the silky fabric against your skin feels like a small defeat, and with your head hung low, you make your way towards the dining hall. Truly, you're not hungry, stomach turning and twisting, a steady presence of nerves keeping your body on edge. Your attendance is required however, such are customs, and it is entirely too eaarly for another lecture about your behaviour. 

As you enter the room, your mask of tired indifference slips just for a second, a mixture of fear and anger flickering in, and out of existence.

 There, opposite of your Father you can see him. Your future husband, the love of your miserable, ending life. Slow horror washes over you, as you suddenly realize that this demonic, otherwordly version of him, which visited you in your nightmares is just how he looks. He greets you with a polite inclination of his smooth head, and you consider not showing any outward sign of repulsion, a small victory on your part. Your Mother doesn't think so, but you dodge her sharp eyes in favor of greeting your brother.

It doesn't go unnoticed, the way Feyd Rautha's eyes drink in greedily the sight of you embracing Paul. His gaze lingers on your smile, and he raises his cup to his lips, scrunching his nose ever so slightly at the unfamiliar drink he's been offered. You want to ask, if they have coffee on Giedi Prime, but the question is forcefully swallowed down. You will not talk to this man. He will never know anything more than contempt from you. Curse your Mother's words, you'll fight this battle every day, on your own, if you have to. 

- My Daughter will show you around the training barracks after breakfast - Duke Leto announces, and you freeze with a cup of coffee half-way to your lips.

- Will I? - you ask, trying to control the edge in your voice. 

- Na-Baron has made inquires about a place to train - your Father explains, giving you a meaningful side eye - You'll accompany him. 

The coffee tastes like rot in your mouth, and you place your cup down with a note of finality. You won't look at him, you don't have to. That knowing smirk could be felt through the very particles flowing in the air, every single one laughing at your predicament. 

Despite your best efforts, the breakfast comes to an end, your family slowly rising to attend to their duties. Your Father, ever the cordial man, bids his farewells to the unwelcomed guest. Your Mother does the same, albeit sounding more honest. Paul lingers as long as Lady Jessica allows him, until he is forced to retreat by a slender hand tugging mercilessly on his elbow. A gesture both of you know intimately from your childhoods. 

Before you know it, you're left alone with the pale imitation of a man. He arises slowly from his seat, smoothly making his way towards you, each of his footsteps echoing in the dining room. 

- Shall we, my Lady? 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his offered hand, like a white spider living just outside of your vision. With a shudder, you slip out of your chair, trying very hard not to touch him, and failing immediately, when his broad chest nearly pushes you back into your seat. 

He smells nice, your brain betrays you, the scent bringing back images from your night terror, causing an involuntary shiver to run up your spine. With averted gaze, you turn to leave, ignoring his still extended hand. He follows you like a shadow, catching up to you in no time, as you slide through the corridors of the Palace. It's uncomfortable, to say the least, walking with him behind your back. His eyes bear into you, a prickly feeling at the base of your neck making you roll your shoulders.

It follows you, as he follows, right to the very destination. All in blessed silence, a small miracle to save this already dreadful morning.

The men, launging about at the training barracks freeze in their spots, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, when Duncan Idaho catches your eyes. His skin has a beautiful, warm tone, highlighted by the morning sun flowing into the room through the windows. You nod, he nods back, an unspoken understanding blooming between the two of you. There could be no suspicion of any closer bond, lest this engagement would be called off. A result, perhaps favorable to you personally, but your family would never live down the shame. And you would never jeopardize Paul's future, no matter how hollow yours looked.

- You have a warrior's body - your betrothed comments, as he inspects the blades laid out on a small table - Do you train here as well?

Small talk, you could do small talk. With a sigh, you tear your gaze away from Duncan, and turn to the Harkonnen, forcing something resembling a polite smile to bloom onto your features. 

- Yes, I do - you answer curtly, eyes falling onto elegant, white fingers, sliding over a shiny metal blade. 

- It is not a common practice here, is it? - he looks at you, eyes gliding over your stature - Women being trained to fight?

Suddenly very much aware of your body, you cross your arms on your chest, hugging yourself tightly. You don't miss the way his gaze seems to linger on the low neckline of your tunic, and with bitterness on your tongue you wonder, has this man ever felt ashamed. 

- Not common, but it does happen - your voice betrays your emotions, a sharp edge settling over your tone, causing the man to arch an eyebrow.

Finally, he settles onto a chosen blade, bringing it up to the light and with laser focus observing the way particles dance on the steel surface. Then, he looks back at you, catching you in the act of observing the prominent, lean muscles on his neck. You ignore the knowing smirk and will your blushing cheeks to suddenly become devoid of color.

They don't, of course, and you scurry to the side of the table, to fiddle with the rest of the weaponry. Your favorite training blade is there, and instinctually, your hand reaches for it. 

- Train with me.

The request catches you off guard, and you shoot him a questioning look, one he deflects with a nonchalant shrug. 

Your muscles flinch, as you drag your hand back from the blade. 

- It would hardly be appropriate - you counter, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tunic.

To that, he tilts his head, light eyes studying you for a longer moment, until you truly feel uncomfortable under such scrutiny. 

- And suddenly you're worried about what the court says? - he cuts you off, before you have the chance to ask, just what exactly does he mean by that - Perhaps you're too soft to fight me.

- I know what you're doing - you point an accusatory finger at his chest, and the man smiles, blackened teeth peaking between his full lips.

- And what am I doing? - it's hard to ignore the teasing timbre in his voice, and you swallow thickly.

- You're trying to get under my skin.

Shivering under the expected cruel glint in his eye, as another, most likely filthy innuendo purses his lips, you turn to him fully, a serious expression on your features.

- I've seen you fight, Na-Baron - his jaw tightens at the sound of your voice curling around his title - I know you're a force to be reckoned with, I'm not scared to admit that.

He straightens, regards you with furrowed brows for a longer second, until, yet again you start to fidget under his gaze.

- Perhaps then, you're scared you'll hurt me - the mere idea is so preposterous, your head snaps in his direction - If I had known, you liked me that much...

- That is entirely not true, and you know it - you deflect again, although annoyance begins to paint your voice.

Then, his hand shoots out, gripping your arm and pulling you closer. Air seems to thicken around you, as you look up at him, with surprise quickly morphing into outrage. His breath mingles with yours, and you can't seem to look away from his eyes, pupils nearly drowned in the overwhelming blue of his irises.

- Stop hiding, my viper. Fight me.

The command, spoken in a harsh whisper just shy of your lips, turns your insides into molasses. 

His taller form leans down to tower over yours, an intense expression settling over his sharp features. Close to excitement, much too close to desire, even closer to a murderous curiosity. Your throat feels entirely too dry, and before you can stop yourself, you swallow thickly, tongue darting out to lick your lips. His eyes snap almost immediately downwards, and your heart stops beating. You can't see anymore blue in his irises, only black. Darkness covers his eyes reflecting his thoughts, and you feel like you have to flee right now, before something terrible happens to you. 

So you do just that. Ripping yourself away from his closeness, you return to the table, hand finding your chosen blade without really looking. 

Another flash of black teeth, as the Na-Baron realizes what you're doing, and the both of you enable the shields surrounding your bodies. 

The gathered soldiers watch on, as you march towards the center of the room, determination filling every step to the brim. Duncan gives you a look, which you choose to ignore. You can't think about him now, not when you have your honor to defend against this Harkonnen monster of a man. 

Feyd Rautha rolls his shoulders, discards the thin fabric of his dress shirt, and once again you are stricken with his almost god-like physique. The blade looks like an extension of his hand, as he weighs it and slashes the air in front of him. Then, he fixes you with a challenging expression, as if he expects you to do the same, to try and best him at some shameless display.

You decide to keep your clothes on, blade held high, ready to strike. 

He jumps from one leg to another, and immediately an orchestra of alarm bells rings out in your brain. Should a man really be this excited at the prospect of fighting his future wife? Should you be this excited? Questions without answers, and before any of you make a move, another one absent-midedly floats to the surface. Just how much can you hurt each other, before the wedding is concluded? How much you'll inevitably hurt each other after?

The darkness he has brought on the ship with him must be contagious, because despite your better judgement, you smile. A sharp smirk, that makes your eyes look less like a human and more like a wild animal. And he drinks it all in, as he begins to circle you.

You'd never show him your back, never again. He's a tried and true predator, the only instinct he has, is a killer one. A fact you quickly get aquatinted with, as he unleashes a series of lightning fast strikes your way. 

Immediately you realize, that small show of cruelty he organized at your grandfather's theatre was nothing, compared to what he could truly do. And still, you suspect he's holding back, as you barely dodge a nasty stab, right under your ribs. Another one is blocked against your sheild, and before you have a chance to collect yourself, third one sends you back a couple of steps. 

He doesn't let you get away, with confident steps pushing you further and further out of the center of the training floor.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Duncan Idaho stand up from his place. Thinking back to your last training session, you shudder bitterly. "Never fight in anger" is easy to say, when you're not forced to marry, bed and sunsequently give children to the man you're fighting. 

Panting and sweating, you give Feyd Rautha your all, twirling in place, sliding on your feet. A different kind of choreography, which seems to work surprisingly well, with his almost animalistic force. Gurney taught you how to be powerful, how to land strikes which were as effective, as they were cunning. Duncan, on the other hand, taught you how to dance. So that's what you do.

Finally, you manage to grab at his free hand, locking your feet between his and bringing him closer to your blade. It stops just short of his artery, blocked by his dagger, the clash of metal reverberating through the halls. 

The smirk he gives you is beyond nasty, and forcefully, you push away from him, as if the very idea of skin to skin contact repulsed you. And it does, it truly does, especially now that adrenaline mixed with frustration boils in your head. 

- Again - you snarl his way, assuming your fighting stance.

- As my Lady commands - his voice has a natural growl to it, made even more prominent by the exertion of the fight, and he twists his body into a perversion of a curtsy.

This time you're the one to attack first, ignoring your menthor's words and relying on pure rage to guide your steps. A stab to his thigh, which he deflects with seemingly childish ease. Your tunic slips through his fingers, as you slide under his arm. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his blade, when he hides it into his belt. Confusion hits you suddenly. Was he giving up, why was he hiding his weapon? None of the questions get answered, as a foot curls itself around your ankle.

Your balance leaves you with a gasp of surprise, and soon, your back is on the floor, Feyd Rautha following closely behind. Your heated gaze meets his, as one hand wrenches the blade from your grasp and pins both your arms above your head. The other one supports his weight, as he hovers above you, light bleeding behind him in an unfitting image of a halo. 

Your chest heaves, sweat rolling down your collarbones, and the Harkonnen doesn't even try to hide the way his gaze follows a stray drop of salt, as it disappears between your breasts. 

- You fought well - he complements in a hushed tone, and you writhe desperately under his body.

The night terror rears its ugly head again, as you feel his tighs press onto your sides, almost as if he wants to shape your flesh into the imprint of his body.

- I think I prefer you like this - he whispers, face coming closer to the exposed column of your neck - You belong under me. 

That's what does it. Your face twists into an expression of equal parts disgust, and fury. You won't give him this victory, you'd rather die. Legs tangle themselves around his calves, and you use all your strength fueled by the burning need to fucking hurt him. 

The world spins, two bodies rolling on the floor, and suddenly you're on top of him, legs biting into his hip bones. While one hand supports your weight on his naked shoulder, the other finds the dagger hidden in his belt. The surprised gasp, which leaves his lips feels like music to your ears, and you don't even try to fight the awful smirk splitting your mouth.

The shield on his neck glows an angry red, as you press the tip of the blade down, right under his bobbing Adam's apple. He swallows, for just a second letting you see the mask of self confidence slip. He has quite long eyelashes, you notice, as his eyelids flutter, a low hum reverbating through his chest. Eyes that are neither blue nor completely black drink in the sight of you. The halo of your hair, the snarl on your lips, the curve of your waist, where one of his hands settle. 

Missing all of this, too enraptured by your own fury, you push the blade further down until it pricks his alabaster skin. He hisses through his blackened teeth and you want more, you want him to scream. A thin streak of red begins to flow down his neck, and God help you, it looks like art. 

His grip on your waist tightens, all five fingers digging into your flesh through the thin tunic. Feyd Rautha bares his teeth at you in a cruel smile, one that makes you question whether you're the one in control.

And then his hips roll upwards. 

A barely noticable movement, easily mistaken for a spasm of the muscles, but you know better. You can read it all from his expression, his pupils blown wide, the quickened breaths of air slipping past his lips. From the quickly hardening length pressing against your inner thigh. 

Your stomach flutters with a well known feeling, and that terrifies you more than any pain-motivated erection ever could. Because he sees it, he sees the beginning flames of desire taking root in your center, and the realization looks like ecstasy on his face. Humiliation washes through you, fills you completely. There is no awkward blush on your face, no. All you feel is white, freezing terror, as all your defences seem to crumble all at once.

Like a scared animal, you're off of him in a split-second, and he doesn't chase you, as you all but run from the training barracks. Doesn't have to, he already has everything he needs. 

[macheriee]

𝒜pocalypse ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

⌗ everyone knew the boy’s father was lord commander of the city watch, that much was apparent. to your mother he was another insult to the throne, to you he was just the bastard, until he wasn’t.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 tags enemies to lovers, hate-fucking kinda, aunt-nephew incest, targaryen-hightower!reader, TW: dub-con (oc struggles w/ accepting she got the hots for jace) call it horny guilt lmao but the first encounter is very much dubious but she gives in, lust at first sight, domesticity, fingering, pussy-eating, jace is low-key a simp/sub, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, impact play(?), breeding kinks cause it’s HOTD, rough sex, oc is mean asf at first, happy but angsty ending, light to medium angst, pregnancy mention, kinda canon it lowkey follows ssn 2 n some of 1 but not by a lottt (ex. mentioned scenes/flashbacks), oc n jace have been aged up (20), tweaked a few things to make sense so not completely canon, slow-burn ish but then it’s just fast burn lmao, curly-headed!jace 4ever, TW: oc has a panic attack

ᯓᡣ𐭩 word count 10.7k

your lips my lips, apocalypse..

“Bastards,”

You’ve heard the strange term tumble from your mother and grandsire’s lips the day king Viserys brought forth princess Rhaenyra’s children. They each stood mockingly with their dark unruly curls and equally colored eyes, an uncanny resemblance to the city watch commander.

The truth of it was they were no true Velaryon, nor Targaryen—but a Strong. You wondered if Rhaenyra felt shame the way they came out with their plain features, mayhaps not as your mother said the princess was as stubborn as her dragon mount.

From the start Jacaerys was an aggravating little thing to look at as children when you both clung to your mother’s skirts. His eyes were filled with curiosity as were yours before Alicent found herself shielding you from his sight like she was afraid he’d sully you.

It was clear she had zero desire for her children to associate with Rhaenyra’s much to the king’s dismay (but when has father ever cared?) Your mother hardly kept you out of her sight and if it wasn’t her you were accompanied by your siblings, a handmaid, or Cole.

You never lacked in needing “friends” and grew fine without their company as you had Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena. Occasionally you saw Jacaerys and his brother running about like little savages in the halls but you’re pulled away by a Septa just short of crossing paths.

Jacaerys was the one who intrigued you the most. It might have been age but you didn’t understand why it was so bad? What had Jacaerys done for your mother to forbid you from speaking with him? He was a bastard, yes, but what did it exactly have to do with you?

Jace—Jacaerys, wasn’t a threat. You had no throne nor a title of some sorts to claim; there was nothing to your name, so why?

As children during joint lessons there were timid but not so secret glances exchanged. Mostly curiosity but it was something both Cole and your brothers disapproved of, especially Aemond who had come to Helaena’s chambers angry after a lesson in the dragon pits with Aegon and Rhaenyra’s sons.

Eventually they left for Dragonstone, never to be seen again until a day before your tenth name day when you’re called to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral. Why you were called upon such a thing you don’t know, nor care really as you hadn’t known the lady much.

The entire event was a waste—your brother was maimed, the king being the king chose his eldest’s side and the family further divided. Alicent wept and mourned Aemond as Rhaenyra’s bastards would have your brother’s eye. You looked at Jacaerys in anger, resentment, and frustration.

Who was responsible, you don’t care, what angered you was the fact that they paraded their entitlement so freely and shamelessly. Rhaenyra could have outright said she wanted Aemond’s head and your father would still find a way to make excuses for her. (Maybe even give her what she wanted.)

That was the last you ever saw of him before leaving for Kings Landing to resume life without them. You found it much more enjoyable without your half-sister and her family around, in fact you’d rather it stay that way forever.

On occasion you found yourself thinking of your nephew. The memories clung to the walls leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, one in particular haunting:

You and the king stood together atop the balcony watching as Ser Cole trained with the princes—including Rhaenyra’s sons. It was clear Cole favored your brothers evident in the way he praised one side but barked orders (or completely ignored) at the other.

“They’ll make fearsome knights, don’t you think?” Your father turns to you with a gentle smile, his tone warm but distant.

“Possibly, if Aegon ever decides to leave his cups.” You fall into silence shortly after.

You never knew what to say to your father having been so distant and neglected it felt like you didn’t know him at all. You tolerated him at best and affection was out of the question leaving you with nothing, just mere acquaintances.

The king chuckles quietly and his mouth parts to speak with his Hand but Jacaerys interrupts with his angry cry as he charges forward at Aegon. Your lips part in surprise and out of the corner of your eye you see Ser Harwin circling, watching.

Aegon uses the straw dummy to avoid Jacaerys. He’s quick to corner the smaller, kicking Jacaerys down in the process.

“Don’t let him get up.” Cole barks which spurs the commander into action.

You watch in amusement as Cole is beaten to a bloody pulp by the bastard’s father. The king turns with concern, given this was no sight for a lady, “Why don’t you go and see if your mother needs something, perhaps your sister?”

You bow in courtesy, escorted away by your sworn shield but your mother’s apartments aren’t the place you’ll be going, no, you want to watch this mess play out a little longer.

“I wish to see my brothers.” You command softly, already walking towards the training grounds even if your knight was willing or not.

They’re pulling Harwin off when you step foot outside, Jacaerys and his brother huddle close while your older brother in particular looks both amused and bored of the entire ordeal already. No doubt still pissy about being grabbed and promptly scolded by the king (‘Aegon!’) .

“Sister,” Aemond greets once you’ve joined him and Aegon.

“How were your lessons?” You quietly fuss over his messy tunic whilst checking for any bruising or cuts on his face, thankfully none.

Aemond responds in kind with Aegon loudly interrupting but you ignore him and his poor manners. You can’t help the way your eyes flit over him and his brother from across the yard, your gaze scrutinizing and judgemental like your queen mother often wore when she expressed her displeasure.

The little bastard actually rises to the challenge. “Jace!” You turn in time to see him advancing quickly, expression full of anger and accusation.

“Is there something you have to say?” Jacaerys glares.

You look over your shoulder with a cool expression, “I don’t have anything to say, what makes you think that?” It’s agitating having to explain yourself to him of all people.

“Because you look like you have something to say, so say it!” It’s comical the way his cheeks and entire face glow red from anger.

You slowly turned to Jacaerys with folded hands placed politely over your front (as the Septa and your mother taught you), “I was merely talking about how Strong the two of you were out here.”

This immediately draws the attention of Ser Harwin. His face easily betrays his emotions but you simply smile at the commander, “It’s a good thing they have the city watch commander to guide them, isn’t it?”

Challenging little cunt you were, Harwin forces a tight smile, “Indeed, princess.”

He doesn’t get to stay much longer as the guards begin pushing him in the direction of the castle, away from his two Strong boys. You were going to wipe the smug face off that bastard–

Aegon shoves Jacaerys first into the dirt, sending the poor boy flying back as Lucerys panics calling out for him. Lucerys charges with a wooden stick in hand, his face twisted in anger and fear as he swings for Aegon, “Let my brother go!”

You scoff and stick your foot out, tripping the boy as you swiftly place a foot over his back pressing down, “Dohaerās!”

You put more pressure with each passing second he squirmed and cried. “Get off of him!” Jacaerys shoves Aegon off and runs at you, pushing past Aemond knocking him down too in the process.

You turn in time to see a head full of dark curls charging, your father yelling for everyone to put an end to this nonsense. “Or what? You’re going to run to mommy and tell her what I said?”

He stops dead in his tracks when you stalk towards him with a predatory look in your eye, “What’s wrong? Not strong now are you?” You shove him harder, causing him to stumble over the wooden sword, “Better yet, why don’t you call for your father to come save you?”

Harwin stills by the doors and the entire yard grows silent. Jacaerys clenches his fists tightly, “Ser Laenor isn’t here.” He grits.

You lean closer, eyes meeting Ser Harwin’s over Jacaerys’ shoulder, “Is he?”

The ‘Velaryon’ stiffens and you can’t hide your grin, “I was merely joking, relax.” You finish softly pulling away.

Aemond is there holding his elbow out for you to take, the two of you (Aegon included) disappear into the castle passing by the commander. Aemond himself shoots Harwin a look before uttering loud and clear:

“Bastards.” No one corrects him.

You remember the outrage you and your brothers caused with Rhaenyra. She demanded justice—especially towards you after learning you pushed her Luke to the ground and commanded him like an animal. She pushed for a harsh punishment, hell-bent on it.

Alicent, who usually was spoken over by her husband and every other man in her life, for once refused. Your mother made sure of it that no one, not even the king, was to touch or harm you, fiercely defending you against your half-sister.

‘Over words? You wish to have my daughter flogged over an insult?’

Needless to say your mother had the last say after some unsavory words and threats were exchanged in the council room. As Rhaenyra passed you met her eyes briefly before Alicent covered you with her own body.

They left like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. You, Aegon, and Aemond stood over a balcony watching the ships sail and dragons pass overhead. It was as if they were never there to begin with.

It wasn’t always unpleasant you suppose but with age you slowly begin caring and thinking less and less about those Strong boys.

༺ ──────────── ༻

“There’s to be a petition in court.” Your mother solemnly mumbles from her place by the open windows, she’s in one of her moods again and you wish no part of it. Was it Aegon who went and managed to piss her off for the umpteenth time?

You barely look up from the embroidery you’re working on (it’s a beetle for Helaena who has been feeling blue these days), “A petition for what?”

Alicent turns to you with a melancholic look on her face, she’s smiling but it falls short and her somber mood once again returns. “Nothing of importance my sweetling.” She lifts her skirts to take a seat beside you on the floor, “What are you working on?”

“A beetle, for Helaena.” As you’re showing her the doors to your rooms open and a handmaiden stands by with a soft ‘Prince Aemond, your grace,’

“Mother, y/n.” Aemond greets as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, leg crossed over his other. “For Helaena?” He murmurs, leaning down to get a better look.

You speak amongst quiet whispers while Alicent watches, content to see her two children together. “Mother, the petition does it have anything to do with Rhaenyra and her sons?”

Aemond, who had taken the embroidery to try for himself, stops in his tracks. Alicent feared she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret, especially not with you two being so perceptive all the time. Her prolonged silence was enough answer anyway.

“Yes,” she finally relents, “Lord Corlys’ younger brother wishes to challenge Lucerys’ claim for Driftwood.”

Her tone is hesitant and careful, she looks at Aemond when she says his name. She’s treading carefully with her third born knowing he was particularly sensitive when he got angry.

“By extension the rest of her I presume?” You reach for a lemon cake mumbling to Aemond (‘Share one with me… I said to split it, not have it all.’—‘I did.’)

With the king bed-ridden nearing death and his first born off at Dragonstone, there was no need to hold your tongue. “Her claim will be questioned, as will her first born and second,” Aemond adds.

“I worry sometimes,” Alicent finally says, silence following, “for you, Helaena, Aegon—the children.” You know exactly what she means to tell.

“I do believe Helaena has been in need of some company. You may leave me, I have Aemond.” You reach for her hands and gently squeeze, “I will catch up with you two, yes?”

Alicent studies your face in worry before settling on brushing a few stray hairs out of your face, “Alright, I will see you.” She lays a gentle kiss over your head and rises to her feet.

Once the doors slam shut you finally release the sigh you’ve held in through the entire conversation with half a mind to ask for a bath to soothe your oncoming headache. “Seems our dear nephews will be arriving on the morrow.” He comments.

“Hm, seems so.” You’re not entirely sure how you feel, are you supposed to feel anything?

Things were different now you suppose, your hatred died down over the years without their insulting presence. You didn’t like them either, merely tolerated the idea of them.

Then there was the great Jacaerys Velaryon, future of the realm and heir to the throne, the same boy who plagued your dreams and memories all these years.

And he was to be here tomorrow, the first since Lady Laena’s funeral (which you had believed to be the last time you would ever have to see him).

“You’re free to speak plainly sister, we’re in private, we don't have to keep pretending.” Aemond mutters, head lolling in your direction as he stares at you.

You tilt your head, “And what would you have me say? That I’m looking forward to their little visit?”

“What excuse will it be this time? I don’t think she can easily sway the people with the evidence right there in plain sight,” he hums.

The more you think about her and her children coming here into your home tainting it all over again—you grow furious.

“Help me up will you? I think I’ll take a bath and meet you with mother.” You hope it will be enough to curb your anger for now.

Aemond holds you upright and levels you with a stare, “Something’s bothering you.”

“Well, yes–”

“Not them.” Aemond replies quietly and for a second you still.

You gently stroke the side of his face, watching as Aemond leans into your touch with a closed eye, “I’m fine,” you murmur, “now go.”

Luckily Aemond’s just as sweet on you and Helaena as he is stubborn and observant. He lets it go (thankfully) and you’re left alone to think about tomorrow. You could easily feign sickness or escape to the Sept (you were due for a prayer anyways) but mother would never let you as much as she would like to—your grandsire’s word evidently still strong over her.

You soak in the boiling hot tub, enjoying the steam delicate scents from the oils you regularly use. “That’s a problem for another day,” you find yourself murmuring to no one in particular as you sink further into the tub, eyes slipping shut.

༺ ──────────── ༻

You had done your best to carry on with your duties the following morning.

Nearly an hour had passed since you sat around staring at your reflection instead of allowing the handmaids to dress you. By this hour you’d be with your mother and Helaena in the gardens. Your absence however prompts the queen to come searching.

“What’s wrong?” Alicent whispers sitting beside you on the bed with worry etched on her brow as she gently moves your hair from your shoulder, “y/n?”

You place your hand over hers, “Braid my hair, like when I was child?” You hold the brush out for her to take.

She has you sit on the floor in front of her, gently combing the hair brush through your soft locks handling each strand of hair with care. The two of you fall into comfortable silence (save for her soft humming). All of your frustrations quickly lift off your shoulders the more you sink into her gentle caring touch.

“The dress is beautiful, when did you have this tailored?” Alicent comments softly, it was no secret to anyone that she saw herself in her youngest daughter—dutiful, composed, a good daughter.

The only difference was you had freedom she never did. While she had been made a child bride by her own father, you remained an unwed maiden at the age of twenty by choice. Alicent didn’t push for proposals and Otto knew better than to try and meddle with you like he had with Aegon and Helaena.

(‘Aemond had it made for me, Helaena has one in blue.’—‘The fabric, I don’t believe we have that around here do we?’) Your doors open and your drunken (maybe hungover) brother comes stumbling gracelessly.

“Well don’t you look darling.” He comments under his breath and saunters over to where you sit, falling flat on his back with his head in your lap.

“Aegon.” Alicent warns as she starts on another braid.

You look down and flick his forehead, “You smell of wine, and you're going to dirty my dress.” Despite the annoyance you still comb your fingers through his hair affectionately.

Aegon snorts unceremoniously, “Is it a crime to visit my sister now? My very beautiful sister—do say, when are you going to choose a husband? You’re past the age, and well nearly every lord in the realm’s been asking for your hand.” He smirks slyly knowing very well the topic of marriage angered the shit out of you.

“Aegon that’s enough, stop pestering your sister.” Alicent sighs heavily.

Your eyes flick over to the wine pitcher in your maid’s hands, the threat clear. A harmless grin forms on his face, one you can’t help but mirror teasingly as the two of you settle in silence as to not disturb your mother with children’s banter. You left that for your niece and nephew to do.

“There,” Alicent shows you through the mirror, “do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you.” You leaned back to lay in her lap.

Normally she would frown at receiving such affections but because it was you she held her tongue, never truly bothered by any of it. She allows it for a little longer before gently patting your shoulder.

“I must go and see to it that preparations for our guests are going well my sweetlings. I will see you in court later.” She departs hastily.

“Have you eaten?” You ask Aegon, who shakes his head as you rise to your feet together, “I haven’t either.”

Rhaenys and her granddaughter are the first to arrive on dragonback, and then your dear half-sister with her entourage of children and Daemon.

‘Ha, so they really did it,’ Lady Laena hadn’t been dead for a week and these two had already frolicked around (the night at Driftmark, you’re sure the two figures on the beach were them).

No one had been there to receive them—you certainly didn’t bother, you doubt any of your siblings would. You’re outside in the yard watching Criston Cole train with Aemond again, your brother much more swifter than the knight in comparison to when he was a child.

There’s a proud smile on your lips when Aemond emerges victorious, looking your way with a grin. “Come to watch me?” He tilts his head.

“What does it seem like?” You muse softly after seeing that Aemond has garnered attention from other knights and maids, making a spectacle of his sparring in a outstandish way.

“It seems you want to spar with me,” he smirks.

“Daor.”

Aemond snorts, “Fine,” he picks his sword back up and points it to Cole, “again, I wish to win this next round in my sister’s honor.”

A handmaid is quick to bring you a chair, the sound of swords colliding once again filling the yard. Aemond’s eager to prove he’s surpassed Ser Criston and judging by the small crowd forming he’s eating the attention right up. You hear distant murmurs and whispers but pay no mind, it must’ve been the women from court again who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

“Just look at their hair..” One of them says.

Everyone knows, father, just look at them..

“Princess? Are you alright, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath in shock and anticipation the entire time.

The swords have stopped and everything goes still, Aemond stands with the tip of his blade pointed in your direction—not at you, but behind you. He had that crazed look in his eye again. You share a look and rise from your seat slowly.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” Your brother’s tone is cold with bitter hate.

Jacaerys stands dumbfounded and unable to form a response, you watch his (soft, plump) lips part but not a single sound comes.

“Nephews.” You quietly say with the tiniest of nods, “It’s been long hasn’t it? I take it the trip over was comfortable, was it not?”

Neither Lucerys nor Jacaerys answer at first with the younger curly-headed boy awkwardly muttering his response, very unbefitting of the next Lord of the Tides.

You barely spare him a look as you turn to Jacaerys, “Would you like me to show you your rooms? I’m sure they’ve been prepared already.”

“..We would appreciate it,” he finally replies, his voice no longer squeaky and high—rather low and suave, “seeing as there was no one to properly welcome us earlier.” His snarky response makes your skin crawl and your temper flare, but for appearances you reel yourself in.

“Apologies, nephews—it’s been a rather exhausting day preparing for the guests.” You force a polite smile.

He fixes you with a dark stare, his gaze dropping from your lips and then back up, “Mm.”

“Follow me,” you hum disappearing into the castle with the two Velaryon boys following close.

Neither one of you made an attempt to speak. What was there to talk about, they were practically strangers and you doubted Lucerys would’ve enjoyed recounting the last time the three of you had the pleasure of sharing the same roof. Jacaerys on the other hand must’ve believed you to be a fool if he thought you hadn't noticed him looking.

Annoyance runs hot through your veins as you finally reach the wing where their rooms sat, “I hope everything is to your liking, don’t hesitate to ask if you need something.”

‘Thank you.’ You hear Lucerys mumble but Jacaerys offers nothing but his heavy stare. “I’ll see you later,” your voice is soft and silky but the lingering (wanton) look you give speaks in volumes.

“Later.” You hear him faintly reply once you’re out of earshot, you can’t help the tiny smirk on your lips.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Court was as you expected—boring and another waste.

You stood by sweet Helaena, who was equally bored, listening as the second son of Driftmark cried over being replaced by a child. A bastard no less, you could only imagine the embarrassment he must have went through—or rather going through because it didn’t seem like he’d be getting a rest from it anytime soon.

During his speech you made eye contact a few times with Jacaerys. You don’t know why it felt natural, like gravity pulled your gaze to him over and over. When you would look he was already watching with the same hunger from before.

The whole fiasco ended in total failure because Vaemond’s killed leaving no challenger. You’re not surprised things worked out in Rhaenyra’s favor after your father wobbled his way to the throne and then had to be carried out because he overexerted himself.

Aemond shields both you and Helaena from the dead body lying on the floor, “That’s enough for today, you’re all dismissed. Someone dispose of the body.” Otto barks through the mess caused by Daemon.

You manage to sneak a last look before being ushered out by your mother and brothers. The walk back quiet and awkward, what was there to say?

“That was..something.” Aegon finally breaks the tense silence.

Your mother doesn’t reply and Aemond snorts, “It was another mess that’s what it was.” You murmur loud enough for them to hear, “Like always, they make a spectacle of themselves and father comes to save the day.”

“Should’ve known father would do that.” Aemond adds in, and it’s true.

You already knew the petition against Rhaenyra’s children of all people would be useless. It was as if the king had a sixth sense when it came to Rhaenyra. Funnily, he was sick enough to be bedridden these past years but well enough to come defend his first born one final time.

“Helaena, why don’t we take the children to the gardens? I’m sure we could both use some fresh air.” You find yourself asking, desperate to forget.

You end up spending the afternoon with Helaena in the gardens talking about everything and nothing. It was always a relaxing affair when it came to your sister and her children. You liked lounging around and watching the twins with a lazy eye. It felt nice having this small escape, kept you from ripping your own hair out over the family drama.

You’re in the middle of playing with Jaehaerys when your mother’s sworn shield interrupts, “Forgive me princesses but your mother has sent me to escort you to tonight's dinner with the king, he has requested all his children be present.”

Helaena’s smile fades and your mood is spoiled for the day, of course the king would pull a stunt like this.

“Hel.” You put a tentative hand on her shoulder, relieved she merely relaxes under your touch. The two of you hesitantly part from the children after promising sweets and more playtime.

Everyone’s barely arriving with your seat being between Aemond’s and grandsire. Aemond looks disinterested (as does everyone else) but you try to put up a farce for the dying old man being carried in. It was possibly his last dinner, might as well make it a memorable one you suppose.

No one wants to speak, Aegon’s got his hands cupped in front of him in exasperation like he’s itching to reach for his wine goblet. Helaena is mumbling to herself mostly and Rhaenyra’s other children stare at their plates.

“Father,” all eyes are on you, “forgive me as I know it was your wish for us to dine together but I’m feeling unwell and would like to rest if I may..” You trail off softly placing your hands on the table, ready to flee.

Jacaerys is still looking down at his plate with a deathly tight grip on his fork. The old croak waves his hand dismissively, smiling painfully, “Yes, go on that’s fine.” He offers a gentle nod at most, you don’t think he even remembers your name.

“Thank you, if you’ll excuse me.” You bow politely,

quickly moving for the exit without a spare glance.

You hear another voice but you can’t make out what they said other than the sound of a chair being pushed out. Something was telling you it was your Strong boy and the thought brings a mischievous smirk to your face as you look over at your sworn shield.

“Leave me, I’ll retire to my rooms alone; you’re dismissed.” You calmly begin walking away.

“But Princess—”

“Go Ser, I will be fine.” You leave no room for argument and hear him reluctantly let out a sigh before heading in the opposite direction.

With the guard handled you find your way through the halls humming in high valyrian until you reach your destination: the king’s council room. It’s dimly lit inside by candles, the windows are open with sounds of small folk singing and dancing heard below.

The slightest creak has you looking to the side without turning your head, “Unwell you said, you must like lying a lot..” He trails off in amusement as he plays with an ornament nearby.

“And what have I lied about nephew? Enlighten me.” You reply softly.

There’s no denying the thrill you’re getting out of this, Jacaerys was bold for following you like this, in a room all alone with no guards around. The secrecy excited you because if anyone were to find you two together—oh they’d think the worst.

An unwed maiden and the prince bastard of Dragonstone.

“You’re acting dense on purpose, putting up a farce—tell me does it make you feel better? Your words, actions—they’re insulting. I don’t think for a moment you’ve had a change of heart.” He scowls, stopping short of the king’s chair.

You spin around to face him with your hands behind your back, “Whatever do you mean?” You can’t help but bat your doe eyes.

Jacaerys hesitates for a second, “You know what I mean, do you take me for a fool.” He says low and threatening, ever so guarded with you.

“Hmm, I’m afraid I don’t know and if you’re just going to keep repeating yourself the door is right there.” You enjoy the look of anger on his face and part your lips to speak once more when he stops you with a hand on your forearm.

The touch is hot, scorching even as you feel the rush of arousal and excitement hit you all at once. No one has ever grabbed you this roughly, or been in the same proximity long enough to keep their head (you had your own way of dealing with unwanted advances).

Yet, Jacaerys still has his hand.

The audacity. “Let go you—” You move to slap him but he grabs your wrist just short of connecting to his face.

“You what? Go on, say it,” he eerily whispers as his hot breath fans over your lips.

Your calm demeanor slips and eyes narrow in anger, “You fucking bastard—unhand me right now!” Your yells are muffled when he seals his lips over yours.

You violently flinch backwards, the kiss bruising as you try pushing him off. In response he merely tightens his hold reminding you he was much stronger than the brat he used to be. Where you move he moves and if you take a step back he takes one forward. Jacaerys slips his hand through your hair and tightly grips, yanking you forward to keep you in place whenever you squirm too much for his liking.

You somehow manage to sneak a hand below your skirts for a dagger you kept and without hesitating bring it up intending to puncture his side. He sees and quickly seizes your wrist, squeezing tight as the blade slips and lands with a clank on the ground.

“I can see the way you look at me,” he whispers all breathless and breathy, “and it kills you to know you want a bastard like me doesn’t it—I wonder if you picture the same things I do,” he briefly pauses as his eyes trail over your swollen lips.

He crowds you into the table with a hand dropping to your hip, “It’s only you and I,” his lips connect with your ear trailing downwards, “you don’t have to pretend; all you have to do is let go.”

Your spine involuntarily arches from his electrifying touch with goosebumps erupting all over. You can’t help the soft gasp when he tugs you towards him by the hip. The very large bulge in his slacks presses stubbornly into your pelvis, hot and throbbing.

“Jacaerys we can’t,” you begin quietly.

“We can’t or you won’t?” He questions dismissively like he doesn’t believe you.

Your lips part and a shaky sigh escapes when he begins leaving open mouthed kisses over your collarbone and shoulders. You pray he doesn’t leave any marks to the naked eye as you’d hate to have to explain the marks on top of your request for moon tea.

“I can’t.” You hope he’d reconsider but to your utter horror Jacaerys sucks harshly over the soft skin of your chest where your tits sit perfectly cupped and pushed together in your dress.

You cry out from the surprise and sensitivity as your hands came up to grip his shoulders tightly. He gives your other tit the same treatment before dropping to his knees with the same lustful look in his eye from earlier.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he pleads as if he desperately needed to hear it from your lips.

“I..” Do you really want him as much as he believes you do? The very thought of him defiling and tainting your purity caused a dark swirl of emotions within you—you want all of him.

Jacaerys licks his lips hungrily and pushes up your skirts until he’s settled in front of your soft thighs. His hot breath fans over them as he inches closer until he’s eye level with your moistened, throbbing cunt.

“..Yes,” you find yourself whispering after a few moments.

A pleased rumble leaves him and he closes the distance between him and your aching cunt. The first stroke of his hot tongue over your sticky folds has you keening in pleasure and your eyes rolling shut, head thrown back. You can’t help your lewd moan—all high and breathy.

Jacaerys works his tongue over your throbbing clit in firm strokes, hands greedily feeling every inch of your smooth skin. You choke when he throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, the angle shattering as he gains more access to your soft virginal pussy; ripe for the taking.

His lips part over it and he takes your aching bud into his mouth, vigorously sucking and lapping. “Jacaerys–” You choke out as his fingers tread over your folds dipping in to press against your soppy hole, the digits gliding rather easily aided by your dripping wetness.

His middle finger slips through—poking and prodding—until he breaches and pushes past the resisting barrier. There’s a sharp whine as your cunt flutters, greedily swallowing up his fingers, “Mmn..”

You notice how he gets when he hears you make those filthy little noises, the flick of his tongue sharp and his grip growing just a bit tighter. You can’t help eagerly rolling your hips on his face, shuddering as your bare cunt slides over his hot mouth and the tip of his nose dips between your folds brushing over your clit.

“Oh gods,” you gasp breathlessly, hips baring down faster and your grip on the table getting tighter.

There’s a filthy moan below your skirts, the vibrations against your pussy have you mewling needily. With little strength you manage to smother your cunt over his face again until he decides to stop teasing and seals his mouth over your throbbing clit once again.

You whimper out a garbled version of his name as the pleasure simmers hot in your lower belly. Your release hurdles towards you fast, almost knocking the breath out of you from how intense.

“Fuck Jacaerys..!” You gasp as the coil finally snaps; leaving you with legs spread wide and hips angled down with your clit in his mouth and his fingers curled up inside you.

You’re blinded by the hot white pleasure and the slick dribbling down your thighs (to which he greedily licks it up with loud unabashed slurps and moans). You shakily push his head away from your sore spent pussy, whining when he lands one last lick over your throbbing clit before letting up.

Jacaerys stands before you in a disheveled state with his swollen, glossed over lips. His tunic’s slightly rumpled and hair clearly out of place from being buried under your skirts for so long.

“Jacaerys,” you quietly start but he quickly silences you with another kiss, this one sweeter than the last.

You can’t help your sigh leaning into his touch, he treats you much more delicately than his harsh bruising kisses from before. He handles you like you’re meant to be—gentle, pampering, soft. The sentiment leaves you eager but disappointingly he pulls away and just..leaves? If you hadn’t been so out of breath you’d call out to him.

You lay your hand over your chest shuddering at the cool sensation of drying slick between your thighs. A rational side of you argues it’s for the best things ended before escalating but another wants to seek him out.

“Princess?” You hear one of your ladies in waiting from the other side of the door.

You shove your skirts down and fix your hair in an attempt to look modest. “Princess,” her face relaxes and she approaches you with open arms, “your mother sent me, are you still feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine, I’d like to have a bath now,” you take her arm biting your inner cheek to fight the fierce heat blossoming over them from embarrassment, “you shall speak nothing of this to my mother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.”

No one comments on your troubled look while they bathed and dressed you. They knew better than to poke at the dragon; especially one that was upset.

You’re dressed in a white dainty dress you’d gotten as a gift from Aegon (though you suspected he had other intentions when he gifted it to you). You’re left sitting prettily over soft comforters and cushions, skin still smelling like rich oils and softer than a fox's fur.

“That will be all, thank you.” You bid your ladies good night and see them out just as your sworn shield takes his place in front of your chambers.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Sleep does not come as quickly as you had hoped. You’ve lost count of the hour, too entranced by the crackling firewood and waves hitting the cliffs. The candles have long died out and the moonlight took its place as your source of lighting.

You were tempted to escape to Helaena’s room using the secret tunnels but your sister could either be with Aegon or asleep. Your mother was out of question as she would chastise you about how unbecoming it is of a lady to be sneaking around during the hour of the owl.

(You’d never hear the end of it you’re afraid.)

As you roll over onto your stomach your breath hitches when the soft material glides against your swollen cunt. You quietly hiss and rub your thighs to ease the tension but it only worsens. Your clit pulses wildly, simmering heat boiling in your belly.

“Fuck.” You mutter rolling onto your back with your knees knocked apart, Jacaerys had really done a number on you.

You swallowed harshly thinking about his thick fingers and how your pussy was stretched to the brim. Your cunt flutters as you gasp softly, gods how you wanted to finish what he started earlier in the council room.

Would he lay you down tenderly and fuck you sweet or would he have you like one of those women from the streets of silk? Like a whore bent over and mounted like a bitch where he’d fuck years of hate and anger into you. Anger for what you had done and said about him and his brothers.

The thought does not bother you in the slightest, rather you’re aroused. You don’t have to pretend; all you have to do is let go..

You set your pride aside and slip into slippers sneaking into the secret tunnels. You walk with haste recalling where every room was after Aegon first showed you and Aemond the tunnels. You stand before his door waiting anxiously after giving three hard knocks.

The tunnel floods with light and Jacaerys stands over you, his own body casting a shadow. You stare up at him with parted lips and a dreamy glaze in your eyes. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you closer until your cheek is pressed against his chest.

“Jace,” your voice is nothing more than a whisper yet the grip you have on his robes says otherwise.

He hauls you into his arms leaving you no time to gasp before he’s pinning you onto the silken sheets. He stares down at you intensely, his grip around your wrists tight and secure. Both arms encase you on either side of your head leaving you to marvel up at the Strong Velaryon boy.

Jacaerys says nothing when he tugs his own tunic and robes off with one hand. Each article of clothing falls one by one onto the ground, the bed creaking in protest under his weight as he comes to kneel over you once again.

Throughout this whole ordeal you’ve held intense eye-contact with him, a challenge you most certainly welcomed as he still possessed those flames of desire and anger from before. With a clenched jaw he brings both your wrists to one hand and reaches below with his free to grasp his hard cock.

You can’t help but look, having to bite down on your tongue to hold in the whine that threatened to escape. The weeping head dripped pearly white seed over your soft mound from where he stroked himself. The pulsing heat between your thighs quickly becoming unbearable.

He lowers his hips until his pelvis is smushed into yours, his hard dripping cock trapped between the two of you pressed into your inner thigh. The contact is scalding with the way it throbs, how you yearn for him to take it and fuck you silly with it.

“Jacaerys,” you quietly choke, voice raspy and thick with want & need.

“This will hurt.” He carefully gauges your reaction for any discomfort or hesitance.

“Show me then, my lord Strong. Claim me as you would if I were yours, your ‘plain’ appearance is not of importance to me sweet nephew,” you purr sweetly, “we share blood of the dragon, you and I..”

You decide he needs one last push.

“Imagine a babe just like us…he wouldn’t look like a bastard, no,” his nose flares and grip tightens, “but everyone will know when they see his strong curls—”

A cry spills from your lips as Jacaerys slams his cock into you, buried to the hilt where his soft balls meet your pert cheeks. The pain burns but it’s laced with pleasure in a bittersweet way, still you can’t help the soft hisses that slip through clenched teeth each time he shifts around.

You struggle to house all of him inside, what he lacks in length he makes up for in girth; fat and thick with swollen pussy lips stretched around him wrapped tight and snug. To your utter surprise however, he’s not upset at your small jab—he looks as if he were actually picturing a child with you.

“And yet you still lie beneath me, speared on a bastard’s cock,” he grunts.

Jacaerys rolls his hips, not giving you any time to adjust, “You’ll bear my children fearing they won’t come out like their father—brown hair,” thrust, “brown eyes,” thrust, “every bit of me.” He whispers low and menacing in your ear, his speed relentless and punishing.

The stinging pleasure worsens and your eyes water, it’s a sort of bone deep pleasure balanced out by the pain that was beginning to dull. You were powerless under the Velaryon Prince as you could only helplessly toss your head back from the sweet pain.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? To have my bastards?” He licks his lips and switches his pace to a more smoother one, still jabbing nonetheless but albeit more calmer.

You grit your teeth in refusal to answer, but he didn’t need your answer as he descended upon your lips hungrily and fucked into you faster. Your moans get swallowed up by both him and the slick accompanying his wet thrusts causing you to burn with embarrassment over your filthy coupling.

Your traitorous gaze drops downwards again, the sight leaving you in breathless awe. He has specks of blood smeared against his skin, his cock faring no better as it’s covered in creamy pink. You experimentally squeeze around him just to watch his mouth drop open in a small ‘o’ shuddering through the pleasure.

“Again,” he groans softly, “fuck, more.” He gasps while desperately grinding into you.

You wrap your shaking thighs around his waist and tug him closer until he’s trapped against you unable to pull out. He huffs and kisses your sweaty skin, his hips tilting to bump and grind into that sensitive spot from before.

“Oh Jacaerys,” your back arches and toes curl.

Throaty little moans spill from his lips over each rhythmic squeeze around his swollen cock. He fucks into that soft sticky heat just listening to the filthy wet sounds your cunt makes. He enjoys the soft thwacks of his balls slapping against your taint, splattering creamy slick over the sheets.

“Oh,” you shudder, peak hitting harder than ever

You feel the warmth and utter bliss/satisfaction when you come down from your high. Dollops of wet slick spill from the sides of your stuffed pussy, a phantom pulsing sensation most likely from the aftermath of your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m gonna–” He bites back his needy moan, pressing deeply to ensure every drop gets buried in your cunt. It seemed like you were going to pay a visit to the maestar soon for moon tea.

However you were far more concerned about your ability to walk, you could barely even feel the space between your legs much less your cunt and knees.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Peace never really lasts long in the Red Keep, not with the never ending feud between both your families.

From what you heard, shortly after Jacaerys left you the first time he joined dinner again only to find himself punching Aemond while Aegon slammed Lucerys into his plate. Aemond had done it again with his taunts over your nephew’s legitimacy.

Rhaenyra was leaving again after those years gone, which meant Jacaerys would be gone too. You hadn’t voiced your displeasure nor let it show when the boys were seen off to their dragons at the pit. You hid by a column, peeking out watching them saddle up for their journey home.

Jacaerys doesn’t notice you at first but when he does he stops and his gaze softens with pity. “Aunt.” He greets striding over with his arms behind his back.

“Jacaerys.” You greet quietly, refusing to meet his eyes in a stubborn act of defiance.

He tilts your chin up gently and forces you to look, “This doesn’t have to be the end you know,” he brushes a stray hair from your face, “unless you want to stop?”

“I don’t,” you find yourself snapping quicker than he can finish which makes him smile, “you know I don’t. I just don’t see how it’s possible to continue..this, if you’re so far away on Dragonstone.” You mumble and cup his cheek.

Jacaerys leans into your touch with a hum, “I’m a dragon ride away my love,” your cheeks burn at the endearment, “I’ll send ravens if I have to—you don’t need to worry about a single thing.”

You gently peck his lips and sigh, “..If you don't write to me, I will..” You trail in high valyrian whilst squeezing his hand until it pops threateningly. He laughs low and brings your hand up to kiss, instantly quelling your temper.

“I swear it,” he replies, kissing your knuckles once more despite Luke calling out to him in the background, his dragon calling out for him.

You allow a soft smile as you whisper ‘go’, no doubt your mother would be looking for you as well. You watch him leave your side once again only this time you knew he’d be returning sometime soon as the king neared the hour of death.

No one knew of your little letters you exchanged with Jacaerys over the course of weeks. He would send you flowers and other things he’d find around Dragonstone while you sent perfumed handkerchiefs or oil scented letters.

You knew he particularly loved when the paper smelled like you. (You’d be rewarded with vulgar responses.)

‘My beloved, everything reminds me of you and how you might enjoy this if you were here. I’d give anything to have you here by my side dressed in Targaryen colors. I personally think red suits you best my love, don’t you think? I’ll have a dress tailored to fit in all the right places, perhaps we can arrange a slit for easy access? You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you?’

If your mother noticed your odd behavior, she didn’t comment. Alicent knew very well what a lovestruck girl looked like as she had been one herself not too long ago. No one comments on the frequent visits to the dragon pit where you’d disappear for hours on end returning once the moon had risen.

The illusion shatters however when Viserys dies.

Right away your mother and grandsire crown Aegon as king. You should feel indifferent about the throne but you can’t help the ugly feeling you get upon seeing Aegon the conqueror's crown over your brother’s head. He was no king. He was not made to be king.

War was coming. With Aegon usurping Rhaenyra, as if that wasn’t enough, Aemond goes and fucking kills your nephew in some petty child’s game.

You heard the boy sunk into the waters after Vhagar mauled his tinier dragon. When you were flying over you heard Vermax’s loud cries of anguish, no doubt feeling his riders emotions as Jacaerys mourned Lucerys.

Your own dragon cried out in return as you swiftly landed and hopped off, stumbling through the sand as Jacaerys quickened his pace. You meet each other halfway with him falling into your arms, brokenly sobbing.

His loud cries are drowned out by the harsh waves hitting shore and seagulls flying around. At that very moment it’s only you and him standing on that beach wrapped up in each other’s arms. You press a series of kisses against his temple, tightening your hold when you feel him tremble.

“Shh.. sh, my love. I’m here.” You murmur soothingly.

Jacaerys swallows harshly, “He…he killed him,” he croaks out, “he’s gone.” It physically hurts seeing him unable to speak, just choking up over his words like a little boy crying for his mother.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You hold him until he grows tired of sobbing, resorting to softer sniffles as he cowers in your hold. Jacaerys has a death grip around your waist where his fingers dig into you unknowingly. “I can’t lose you.” He mutters.

You will never forget the haunting look in his eye. Jacaerys had already lost his brother, he would not be losing you either..

༺ ──────────── ༻

..A son for a son they said after the ratcatchers beheaded Jaehaerys in his sleep.

You were up for days unable to process the grief and horror, moreso you felt for Helaena (beautiful Helaena who hadn’t deserved any of this). The way your mother had allowed the death of a child—her own blood—to be handled was despicable.

You saw Otto Hightower for what he was: a power hungry cunt. Your own brothers were strangers to you, Aemond having killed his own nephew in cold blood and Aegon a bloodthirsty idiot who didn’t know what he was doing.

You understand why Viserys favored Rhaenyra now.

“He’s a fool, mother was right to tell him he would be more useful doing nothing,” you sharply reply.

You’re in Jacaerys’ room after a sneaky endeavor in his bed all afternoon, complaining about your stupid brothers. Your lover lays on his side with a hand supporting his head listening attentively with a loving gaze.

“What was it you said that he told Aemond—I can have to make a war?” Jacaerys snorts in amusement brushing his fingers through your hair.

“He’s an idiot. It’s a wonder anyone can actually stand being in the same room as him, if he’s not crying about Aemond making plans behind his back then he’s crying that no one respects him.” You shake your head.

“Hm, my mother still thinks we can avoid war,” he sighs deeply, “if only it were easy, right?” He slides your hand in his, holding it tightly while stroking over your knuckles with his thumb.

You can’t help but squeeze back, “Patience my love, everyone already sees how incompetent Aegon is. He’s already the usurper in their eyes and nobody really listens to him so to speak.”

“Suppose you're right about a few things.” Jacaerys’ gaze drops to your plush lips, still swollen and bitten-raw from his punishing little nips and aggressive kissing.

Your stomach swoops with excitement as a playful grin forms over your lips, “Only a few things?” You lean down to whisper, lips inches away from his.

He smiles lazily and cups your cheeks, “Of course not you know I trust your judgment, my love.” He mumbles soothingly while brushing over your loose curls.

He looks beautiful like this—the sheets hung low around his bare hips and the love bites littered across his shoulders and neck. You’d like to stay forever like this with him, all tangled up and the only sounds being your soft voices and the waves hitting the cliffs by his open window.

“Do you? Or is my prince only saying that because he desires a kiss?”

It’s comical the way Jacaerys lights up like a child faced with a fresh batch of lemon cakes. He eagerly slots his lips over yours and draws your naked body closer to him until his stirring cock is pressed flush against your hip—still coated in wet slick and oils from earlier.

You reach with one hand to tangle it through his soft curls, yanking his head back, “That isn’t an answer my love; does my prince want a kiss or not?” You ask firmer this time.

His eyes hollow darkly as he licks his lips, “May I? Your prince desires it.” He whispers low and breathy. When he says it like that you simply can’t deny as you eagerly press into him.

Jacaerys wraps his arms around your back and hauls you under him pinning you down against the soft sheets. You moan into his mouth reaching below to grasp his heavy cock in your soft palm and squeezing the head.

“Seems he desires more than a kiss,” you husk, tugging at his cock and enjoying the way he chases your touch.

“I want to claim every inch of you until you’re filled with my cum, maybe this time you will catch,” He finishes with a growl in high valyrian.

His cock slides between your sticky folds bumping and slipping against your clit. You angle the tip downward until it catches against your rim with a hitch, “Jace,” you sigh.

You feel every inch until he’s fed your cunt his cock. The stretch is mouthwateringly good, you don’t think you’ll ever find anyone else who could come this close to pleasuring as Jacaerys did. He wastes no time in rocking into you with long forceful thrusts.

“Oh fuck,” you thread your fingers through his hair turning your head away.

Jacaerys messily mouths along your neck and shoulder with muffled groans while desperately covering every inch of your skin with his mouth. You catch him off guard when you wrap your limbs around him and roll the two of you over.

“Lie back my love,” you seductively whisper.

He watches, entranced as you set your hands over his bare chest and push. The delicious weight combined with the heavenly warmth around his cock has his head rearing back and a long moan escaping.

You bite down on your lip taking in his every reaction. From this angle he strikes deep leaving you with a pleasant ache you’d be feeling the coming days. “Oh fuck.” You gasp, hips stuttering in their movements.

Jacaerys gets his hands over your hips and tugs you back down over his lap causing a groan to bubble out of your throat. He uses his newfound grip to bounce you in his lap until a low fopping sound from his thighs smacking into your cheeks fills the room.

Your gasps come out in short stuttered breaths with the occasional ‘mm’ thrown in there. Mid-roll you manage to firmly plant yourself in his lap trapping his fat cock in your wet cunt. You feel it twitching inside, desperate for another release.

Soft ‘ah, ah, ah’s fill the room alongside the sounds of sheets shuffling and seagulls in the distance. You’re lost in the moment basking in sunny rays and hot bubbling pleasure. His grip not once loosening nor slipping.

“Seven hells, you’re going to be the death of me.” He breathlessly groans.

His cock pulses faintly and then you’re being filled with thick spurts of white. He lazily squeezes your soft cheeks, watching with a blissed out expression. While you had yet to reach your own peak, you also didn’t mind just this.

Your hips came to a stop and you found yourself laying over his chest staring out at the orange-pink sky as you mumble, “I love you.”

༺ ──────────── ༻

Helaena hasn’t spoken much about your nephew since the funeral. She says she’s fine but you doubt that’s any true, you supposed she grieved differently. Helaena has always been a special case (in a positive light).

“Aegon left to battle,” you find yourself saying after an hour of silence, “Aemond too.”

Helaena can offer no insight as she kneels before her caged insects, speaking in soft whispers like she usually did, only this time her tone accompanied by her soft hums.

“How is Jaehaera?”

“..Fine.” More humming.

“And what have you embroidered as of lately–”

“You can go,” she softly interrupts, “everything is fine.” You’re stunned, maybe you overstepped and she wasn’t in need of visitors. That was fine, Helaena’s doing fine—

Your sister reaches over to grasp your hands tightly, staring into your eyes, “Everything will be fine. You must leave or else it will be too late,” a pained smile forms over her lips, “you will be one soon, and then two.”

“..what about you?” Your eyes watered, you dread the thought of leaving her here to suffer alone at the hands of Aegon.

Helaena lays a sweet kiss over your head, “There’s a storm coming, it makes flying harder.”

You wipe your tears and shakily nod, embracing her one last time before rushing through the hidden tunnels to your room. In a satchel you threw a few items of importance along with jewelry you doubt you’d need but something in your gut told you otherwise.

It’s easy to slip unnoticed through the tunnels and keep, the city proves much harder. You manage to pass through the small folk using alleys and hidden paths until you’re outside of the dragon pit. None of the dragon keepers question you and simply bring out Melaxes.

She senses your anxiety and begins to whine, “Shh, lykirī.” You’re quick to soothe her by leaning your forehead against her side.

When she calms down you guide her out of the pit, “Soves,” you murmur and Melaxes roars into the sky disappearing into the thick clouds.

You will be one soon, and then two.

Realization dawns: you haven’t bled for two moons now. Your hand immediately comes up to cover the swell of your stomach. Of course, what were you expecting?

You didn’t drink fucking moon tea and Jacaerys never cared to pull off. Your throat tightens up and tears spring to your eyes, “No,” you claw at your collar heaving.

Rook’s Rest. Rook’s Rest. Rook’s Rest. Your eyes widened—Larys Strong had heard talks of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Jacaerys going to battle together..

“Naejot!” You plunge forward until Melaxes zips above the sea, you pray to whatever god listening that Jacaerys is there safe and sound waiting for you.

You leave her not too far from the castle as you run up the hill towards the one place you knew he’d have to be. It’s a miracle no one notices Alicent Hightower’s youngest daughter storming through the halls until you reach Rhaenyra’s council room.

No one’s there.

“Oh fuck..” You whisper with a hand over your stomach, “No, no, no, no.” (There’s a loud ringing in your ear and it won’t stop.)

The tears come before you can even stop them as your vision quickly blurs. There’s something in your throat but it won’t come out no matter how much you heave and gag on your saliva.

“Mmn,” you whimper in discomfort and pain while curling away, refusing to believe Jacaerys was gone. You want your mother.

Your arm shakily shoots out to grab onto the stone for balance, “..please,” it comes out as a wheeze.

“y/n?” Was this a cruel dream? Jacaerys frowns and immediately starts walking to your side, “What’s wrong?”

He’s met with your lips and a tight crushing grip when you bury your fingers through his hair. You fiercely smother him in a desperate kiss which draws out a hiss from him when you bite his bottom lip.

“..We have to leave,” you mumble.

“Leave?” He frowns, “What do you mean?”

“Jacaerys, please trust me—we need to go,” you desperately plead.

Jacaerys shakes his head, “y/n you’re not making sense right now, leave where? And what of my mother? What of Baela, Rhaena, Joffrey? What of my duty as heir to the throne? You say it as if it’s so simple.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Why won’t you just tell me?!” He slams his hand over the table.

“I’m expecting a child,” you choke up, “and I don’t want my baby to die, Jacaerys. I want our baby to live.” You cry softly.

Jacaerys goes eerily still, silently watching you weep all you’ve held in until now. His eyes cast downward over the Targaryen pin on his tunic, glistening under the light shining proudly as a reminder of where he came from.

He says nothing and reaches up to unpin the dragon sigil resting over his shoulder. He reaches over to silently do the same with your own before neatly placing both over the table, releasing his sharp breath.

There’s no other way around this regardless if you stayed or not your child was in danger simply by living and breathing. The Greens would come after you, maybe Aemond would be the one to kill you or perhaps even Daemon. Your child would be dead either way as the king made it obvious how he felt about bastard children.

Jacaerys turns to you with a gentle but pained smile, and in that moment you knew what he chose. Your lip curls sadly and with an outstretched hand you accept him. He squeezes tightly like he’s afraid you’ll vanish into thin air.

“I love you.” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand manages to sneak between the two of you to press into your stomach where your child would soon grow.

Neither one of you says anything while Jacaerys packs what he plans to take. He writes to Rhaenyra and leaves the letter in plain sight over his desk. It’s quiet but comforting as he leads you to Melaxes and Vermax.

When she finds the letter Rhaenyra weeps. She can’t find it in her to be upset with him and while yes you had been another insolent brat as a child; you were still her half-sister who was now carrying her grandchild.

“If we fly out now we might catch up to them.” Daemon seethes as he paces back and forth before the queen, “This is just absurd, has the boy officially gone mad? A Hightower cunt no less.” He scoffs.

“Leave them, they’ve made their choice and we will make ours.” Rhaenyra shoots a pointed look at anyone who dares protest. She knows she’s vulnerable now that she’s lost two heirs.

..and if she hears the small folk speaking of two dragon riders traveling across the narrow sea, months later after reclaiming Kings Landing; she turns a blind eye and prays.

+ translations:

dohaerās (serve)

daor (no)

lykirī (be calm)

soves (fly)

naejot (forward)

[sabertoothwalrus]

I probably missed it, but what IS your favourite Dungeon Meshi ship?

WELL SINCE YOU ASKED, I have a chart already hdhshdh

1) Farcille is my number one!!! I wish I’ve drawn more of them, but most of my ideas for them are longggg and angsty and take a lot more mental bandwith. I’ve said before, I approach comics like I’m pitching an idea, and I mostly* agree with people’s depictions of them, so I have less to say.

*I say mostly because I cannot stand when people depict Falin as possessive, or disregard her characterization to give her generic dommy alpha monster traits hdhshdjs NOT THAT IT’S BAD it just doesn’t feel true to her character. I find myself bored by it.

I’m also put off by some of the folks I’ve seen in the farcille tags. They’re like,,, cliquey?? There was a point where people were dunking on mlm ships that came off borderline terfy, as if most of the dungeon meshi mlm shippers aren’t transmascs and lesbians?? I wasn’t a fan of the hostility like lmao it’s cartoons man

2) labru……… I love them….. mostly just post-canon. I really love Kabru (I think he’s my favorite character overall) and I loveeee the poetry of their individual character arcs and how well they play together. Guy who struggles to be honest, even with his own feelings vs Guy who doesn’t even consider being anything except honest. Kabru needing to carefully, painstakingly craft a mask tailored to each individual he interacts with, vs Laios, who is the only one to make all of Kabru’s masks fall apart. Also I think they’re kinda aro about it. They’re really good t4t flavored too.

The main appeal is post-canon. The King and his advisor. His right hand man. But it’s also the way like,,, Laios is DEFINITELY not the one in charge in their relationship dhshshsh (and this is what peeves me about how @myszkaa’s labru comic got memed to hell and back…. they don’t understand the later of comedy is from the KING asking for PRAISE from his SUBORDINATE!!!)

I will say!! This ship has a lot of folks with good takes on it, but it’s not immune to flanderization and boring yaoification. It’s popular enough that there’s enough of the good stuff.

3) chilshi!! I’ll admit this one has less canon validation hdhshsh but I think they have a lot of post-canon potential, and I think their difference in lifespans + the contrast in their lifestyle habits is really interesting and directly addresses a lot of the Dungeon Meshi’s core themes.

Part of the reason I like hanging out with chilshi shippers is cause most of em are chill, more nuanced in discussions, and are actually willing to draw fat & hairy people. And middle aged people.

special mention Kabumisu. I WISH I LIKED THIS ONE MORE!! I’ve tried,,,, I see the potential but I’m so picky about it and most of the content for it does absolutely nothing for me 🙈

Another thing is I HAVE to be able to like a pairing platonically to ship them romantically. Obviously shipping isn’t the only thing that matters to be about dungeon meshi.

I could say a lot more. Feel free to ask about my thoughts 👍

[cl6teen]

all i want is you ❀ cl16

in which charles thinks he can stay just friends with you after a breakup (spoiler alert: he cant)

read part two here.

contains: social media au, ex!charles leclerc x fem!reader, angsty charles and yn living her best life, mentions of charles’s new girlfriend, charles is a confusing man

note: something small just to feed the kids yk, pls don’t read into the twt dates i was too lazy to change them

📍south of france

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, lilymhe, and 100,675 others

yourusername this travel thing is kind of fun 🇫🇷

tagged kikagomes

view all 1237 comments

lilymhe my wifey is so pretty

alexalbon okay then just date atp

yourusername wdym? we already are

alexalbon why do i put up with this

lilymhe because you love us duh

pierregasly no photo credits or tag? i’m (deeply) hurt

yourusername oh please you complained the whole time and then made me and kika take photos of you

pierregasly that is not a crime

kikagomes my stylish icon 🤍

yourusername te amo te amo

carlossainz55 coming to spain next i hope?

yourusername who knows 🤭

landonorris actually she’s coming to the uk with me next

carlossainz55 😢😢 yn you betray me

yourusername you know you’re my favourite carlos

landonorris ouch

charles_leclerc very pretty

yourusername thank you charlie

luvleclrc it’s so sweet that he still comments on her photos

user i miss them real bad

4ouryn are we getting any more travel vlogs soon?

yourinstagram im working on it! it’ll be out around this friday :)

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, landonorris, and 1,235,166 others

charles_leclerc good times at home

view all 7,455 comments

user charles leclerc the man that you are 😭😭

user seeing him with a baby is just what i needed on my tl

yourusername two cuties at sea!

charles_leclerc so you think i’m cute 🤔

yourusername only because of the baby in your hands

charles_leclerc you hurt my feelings y/n

user omg charles still flirting with yn is so crazy

user idk if it’s flirting per se, they’re just friends now

user they were so cute i still don’t get why they broke up

user charles broke up with her bc he wanted to focus on racing

carlossainz55 somebody wants to be a daddy

charles_leclerc don’t put words in my mouth mate 😅

user is this a joke ? 👀

pierregasly i see what he’s doing

charles_leclerc ??

landonorris he’s cooking

alexandrasaintmleux so handsome

liked by charles_leclerc

twitter

📍 lake como, italy

liked by alexalbon, kikagomes, carlossainz55, and 97,333 others

yourusername loving italia 🇮🇹

carlossainz55 next stop madrid?

yourusername we’ll see, won’t we

landonorris i better be invited

carlossainz55 you know your way here mate

user omg the ferrari flag

yourusername deep down everyone is a ferrari fan :)

user should we read into that

yourusername no lmao

lilymhe travelling with you is the best

yourusername what would i do without you

alexalbon everyday i wake up

user no charles like or comment :( i guess he really is dating that girl

user justice for yn literally

user they still follow each other tho but i feel so bad for both girls

kikagomes i have no clue how anyone could break up with you, like seriously

yourusername me too, but life is too short to worry about things like that babe

user 👀 charles shade??

user i think we should stop tying y/n’s identity to charles in general

liked by yourusername

carlossainz55 updated their story 2 hours ago. landonorris updated their story 1 hour ago.

📍madrid, spain

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, lilymhe, and 433,125 others

yourusername troublemakers in madrid

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landonorris who are those studs in the first photo

yourusername so humble !

alexalbon potential summer soft launch?

yourusername who knows

user ugh why is she always with those two, i swear she wants them so bad

yourusername ew no those two are my sons 🤱

pierregasly who’s the daddy 🤔

landonorris don’t say it like that yn 😭😭

carlossainz55 i’m older than you though, no?

yourusername no carlos it’s like, in spirit

user WHO IS THAT MAN???? is that carlos?? lando??

yourusername no! but he’s certainly someone 🤭

user that’s charles right?

user he’s in monaco right now, it couldn’t be him plus he’s got a gf

lilymhe okay mysterious girl

yourusername i love to keep people on their toes

lilymhe but seriously text me and tell me who that is

kikagomes girl me too

user shout out to yn for reuniting carlando!!

liked by yourusername

yourusername updated their story 5 mins ago

carlos’s phone 📞

charles

are you with y/n right now

i know you are

carlos

then why ask m8

yes i’m with her, why?

charles

is she mad at me

carlos

that’s a stupid question, but i don’t know man, she hasn’t brought you up

and lando and i aren’t going to

what’s the phrase?

poke the bear

actually, i shouldn’t compare her to that

but i would be mad if i were her

charles

who’s that man she posted the other day??

you’ve been with her during her entire spain trip yes? what does he look like, do you know him?

carlos

he is a good friend of mine yes

i somewhat set them up, things have been going good, they’re both here at our dinner

charles

aiii carlos! why would you set them up??

how could you do this to me??

carlos

did you forget that you broke with her? to focus on racing?

which would be fine if you didn’t get another girl just a month after?

i don’t even know how she could stay friends with you, but she asked me to find a guy for her

i am a good friend, so i found someone

if you’re jealous, you shouldn’t have broken up in the first place

charles

i’m not jealous at all carlos

carlos

then why are you stalking her account and asking me about a man she is seeing?

if you’re so concerned, text her yourself

charles

argh you’re no help

your phone 📞

charlie

hey

i miss you

a lot