#i have to say i did not love the first dune but this time i could not stop thinking abt it

[haniebnie]

// to be loved by all you despise. to be betrayed by love.

[promptedwordsmith]

Are you taking requests?

If you are, could you do a valentines day based one?

Love everything so far! 💕

I am! And what great timing, I actually just finished the Valentines day ones I was working on <3

Caleb

The door creaked open just as the evening sky deepened into velvet, and Caleb stepped inside, his tall frame silhouetted against the soft glow of the hallway light. In his arms, a massive bouquet—vivid reds, soft pinks, and delicate whites—stood out against the dark of his uniform. His purple eyes softened the moment they found you, lips curving into something fond, something just for you.

“You’re home,” you breathed, moving toward him. Before you could say anything else, he held the bouquet out, watching for your reaction with quiet satisfaction.

“Happy Valentine’s,” he said simply.

Your fingers brushed his as you took the flowers, their scent sweet and overwhelming, just like the warmth in your chest. “Caleb, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted, already shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “Go sit.”

You frowned, following him into the kitchen. “You’ve worked all day. Let me help.”

Caleb turned, his expression firm yet affectionate. “No.” His fingers grazed your cheek before guiding you gently toward the dining table. “You sit. I’ll take care of the rest.”

And he did. The smell of sizzling spices and roasted garlic filled the air as he moved effortlessly through the kitchen, preparing your favorite meal with practiced ease. Every so often, he’d glance at you, as if ensuring you were still there, still watching. Then, just when you thought he couldn’t possibly have done more, he placed a small plate in front of you—your favorite childhood sweets, ones you hadn’t had in years.

“I didn’t even know these still existed,” you whispered, staring at them in disbelief.

“I had to make a few calls,” Caleb admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I figured… Valentine’s should be about the things you love most.”

Dinner was slow, intimate, filled with stolen glances and the warmth of shared laughter. Later, curled up on the couch, Caleb let you rest against his chest, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders as the glow of the TV flickered across the room.

Just as your eyelids started to flutter shut, Caleb moved. In one smooth motion, he scooped you into his arms, his smirk playful.

“Caleb!” you gasped, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“You’re falling asleep on me,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “Can’t have that.”

With that, he carried you effortlessly to the bedroom, his hold steady, his presence unwavering—just like his love.

Rafayel:

You sighed, shaking your head as Thomas all but begged you to find Rafayel and bring him back. He had, once again, vanished from his own exhibition, leaving behind a room full of patrons and a very stressed-out manager. You weren’t even surprised—Rafayel had an unmatched talent for slipping away when he wanted to.

Still, a tiny part of you ached. Valentine’s Day was always swallowed up by his work, by exhibitions and shows, by the world demanding pieces of him. You understood—he was worth it, after all—but sometimes, just sometimes, you wished he’d put himself first.

Or, maybe, you.

It didn’t take long to find him. The moment you reached the beach near his home, you spotted the glow of soft lights flickering from the small hut nestled in the dunes. Your breath caught when you stepped inside.

Rafayel had transformed the space entirely. Flowing fabrics draped from the ceiling, soft pinks and reds catching in the sea breeze, the dim lanterns casting everything in a dreamy haze. Heart-shaped decorations swayed gently, and in the very center of it all sat a massive canvas.

Your eyes widened as you took it in. It was you. Painted with breathtaking precision, yet still carrying that unmistakable emotion Rafayel infused into all his work. You were bathed in golden light, the sun behind you forming a halo, illuminating your features with warmth. It was stunning—you were stunning, through his eyes.

The air shifted before you could react, and suddenly, warm arms wrapped around you from behind. With a startled laugh, you found yourself spun off the ground, Rafayel’s laughter ringing in your ears.

“You found me,” he mused, as if he hadn’t expected anything less.

“You made me,” you murmured in awe, still staring at the canvas.

He set you down gently, grinning. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

That was all he needed. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled a small box from his pocket and placed it in your hands. Your favorite chocolates—of course he remembered.

Your chest ached with warmth. You turned, rising onto your toes, and pressed a kiss to his lips. He stilled for only a moment before melting into it, his hands firm at your waist, his heart—completely and utterly—yours.

"Happy Valentine's Day," you whispered.

Rafayel only smiled, looking at you like you were his greatest masterpiece.

Sylus

The evening air is cool, but the warmth in your cheeks has little to do with the cold. Sylus walks beside you, exuding that effortless confidence, his hand resting possessively at your waist as he guides you through the dimly lit streets. Your steps are slower than usual, a telltale ache lingering in your muscles from the day spent in his bed. He notices, of course—he notices everything. And as expected, his smirk deepens, the glint in his red eyes flashing with unmistakable satisfaction.

“You’re walking a bit funny, sweetheart,” he muses, voice rich with amusement. “I wonder why that is.”

You shoot him a glare, mortified, but it only fuels his teasing.

“Shut up,” you mumble, trying to regain some dignity, though the way your legs tremble slightly with each step betrays you.

Sylus, being the insufferable man that he is, simply chuckles before, without warning, sweeping you into his arms as if you weigh nothing. Your breath catches, and you instinctively grip his shoulders, scandalized.

“Sylus—put me down! People are staring!”

“And?” He raises a brow, completely unbothered. “Let them.”

Your embarrassment is delicious to him, a game he enjoys playing far too much. But tonight is Valentine’s Day, and you promised yourself you wouldn’t pout, not when Sylus has spent the entire day reminding you just how much you mean to him. So, instead of protesting further, you sigh and let your head rest against his chest, conceding defeat.

He carries you effortlessly into the restaurant, a lavish space overlooking the breathtaking skyline, city lights twinkling like scattered stars. The staff doesn’t even blink at his display—they know better than to question him. He sets you down in your chair with infuriating ease, his hands lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

As the evening unfolds, you find yourself utterly captivated. The food, the atmosphere, the way Sylus watches you like you’re the only thing that matters—it’s intoxicating. And though he loves having you in the palm of his hand, you know the truth. He may own you in every way that counts, but he’s just as much yours.

When the night winds down, he takes your hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. His gaze flickers up, a suggestive glint in his eye.

"Enjoying your Valentine’s, darling?" His voice is low, promising, teasing. "Good. Because the night isn’t over yet."

Xavier

Valentine’s Day comes and goes like any other mission. You and Xavier move in perfect sync, dealing with your objectives with ease. He’s a little touchier than usual—his gloved hand brushes your lower back more than once, and when you regroup after clearing an area, his fingers skim over your wrist before letting go. But other than that? No declarations, no grand gestures.

Maybe he’s forgotten.

After work, you stretch, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Xavier tilts his head slightly, blue eyes unreadable. “Mhm. Don’t take too long.”

You smile, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite yourself. If he doesn’t remember, it’s fine. You’ll make the evening special.

Stopping by a few stores, you gather a small collection of things for him—a bouquet of white and pale blue flowers, his favorite chocolates, and a plushie of a little star with a blushing face. Something about it reminds you of him—endearing, a little sleepy, but full of light.

When you finally return home, you stop in your tracks.

Your apartment is transformed.

Soft, golden fairy lights are strung across the room, twinkling like distant stars. Small mementos from your past dates—ticket stubs, pressed flowers, a claw machine prize you won together—are arranged neatly on the coffee table. A faint trace of petrichor and clean linen lingers in the air, his quiet presence woven into every corner of the space.

Xavier is standing near the couch, hands in his pockets, watching you with that familiar small, knowing smile. “You thought I forgot,” he murmurs, voice warm with amusement.

Your grip tightens on the gifts in your hands. “I—” You pause. Of course, he remembered.

He steps forward, gaze flicking to the plush star, then the flowers, then you. “You still got me something,” he muses, reaching out to take the bouquet from your hands with an almost reverent touch.

“Well, yeah,” you say softly. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to.”

Xavier huffs a quiet laugh, setting the flowers down before gathering you into his arms. His touch is firm, grounding, his warmth seeping into your very bones. “Silly,” he murmurs, brushing his lips gently against your forehead before tilting your chin up to meet his.

Then, he kisses you—soft, lingering, and full of quiet devotion.

Zayne

The soft hum of water surrounded you, the dim blue glow of the aquarium casting a dreamlike haze over everything. Schools of fish drifted lazily past, their scales shimmering under the artificial light, while rays glided effortlessly above, their slow, deliberate movements painting shadows on the tunnel walls. The two of you sat on a bench inside one of the long glass tunnels, where the world seemed to exist in a quiet, underwater serenity.

For once, Zayne wasn’t checking his phone. No hospital calls, no emergencies pulling him away. He had taken the entire day off—for you. And for once, the world respected that.

He sat beside you, relaxed in a way that was rare. His three-piece suit was replaced with something more casual, though his long coat still framed his figure, a constant reminder of his composed elegance. The soft glow of the water reflected in his hazel-green eyes, making them seem even softer as he watched the fish swim above you.

You held a small snack between your fingers—a cute little pastry shaped like a starfish, something you had excitedly pointed out at the café inside the aquarium. Zayne, ever the pragmatic one, had initially raised a brow at the idea of themed snacks but had said nothing when you eagerly bought one for each of you. Now, as you took a bite, he simply watched, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement.

"You really enjoy the little things, don’t you?" he mused, voice low but affectionate.

You nodded, offering him a bite of your snack, which he took with little hesitation. He chewed thoughtfully before speaking again. “It’s nice,” he admitted. “Spending today with you like this.”

Your heart warmed at his words. Though Zayne was always present, always careful and attentive, it wasn’t often that he openly voiced his emotions. But today felt different. Today, he was here—not just physically, but fully, entirely.

The two of you left the aquarium hand in hand, the crisp evening air a contrast to the soft warmth still lingering between you. As you walked, Zayne suddenly lifted your entwined hands and pressed a gentle kiss to your fingers, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet certainty, as if the words themselves were a promise.

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART IV)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Sexual content (but MDNI 18+ just to be safe), dry humping (-ish?), violence, alcohol consumption, toxic dynamics, swearing, themes of prejudice and misogynism, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said, (not proofread).

WC: 5.6k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

As the winds guided Ser Tyland's ship to the Free Cities, the excitement regarding the wedding of the future Princess of Dorne and the Crown Prince buzzed in the air. No ravens had to be sent, for the whispers began within the palace walls, spread through the bustling streets of Sunspear, and were carried by the desert winds across the dunes, reaching the furthest Dornish houses.

Princess Y/n sat before her mirror, watching her handmaiden, Melynda, fasten the back of her dress. A sweet girl of one-and-twenty, Melynda had been brought from Pentos on a cramped boat, a former slave traded by her master for coin. Ever since she had served the Princess with quiet devotion, her nimble fingers always making a masterpiece out of her.

Despite being draped in the finest fabrics of deep sapphire, adorned with intricate golden swirls and beads of amber, Y/n stared blankly at her reflection. The celebrations leading to the wedding were set to last a fortnight, a long stretch filled with feasts, ceremonies, and endless politicking. In mere hours, she would be facing the guests, forced to smile and charm as she and the Velaryon boy persuaded them to align with Rhaenyra's cause. She didn't even know where to begin looking for the strength and willpower she had to gather to convince those lords to join a war she herself didn't fully believe in.

“Is it too tight, Princess?” Melynda asked meekly, noting how Y/n had remained quiet the whole time she had been preparing her. "Princess?"

Suddenly, Y/n's bottom lip began to quiver as she felt a knot forming in her throat. 

“Gods be damned…” she muttered, feeling her tears pooling in her eyes. “How did it all come to this?” 

“If it's too tight, mayhaps I could—”

“Of course, it’s bloody tight! It’s damn near crushing my guts!” the Princess burst out, causing her handmaiden to stumble backward, her hands trembling. “I apologise, Melynda,” she sniffed, feeling the guilt pool in her chest. It wasn’t the first time she had taken her anger and frustration out on the younger girl. Of all the people in the palace, she was the least deserving of such crude treatment. “It’s just—”

“I understand, Princess,” Melynda smiled sadly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Y/n held her hand softly, holding back her cries. “To be betrothed to someone who you don't truly love must be a punishment for the soul.”

“I’ve been trying to avoid this all these years. Gods forbid a woman who wants to live a life free from all this nonsense," she muttered bitterly.

“You are to be the Princess of Dorne. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“But not with a Targaryen… someone who sees us as nothing more than goatfuckers.”

“Once you get to acquainted with one another, I’m certain he’ll see past the veil of prejudice that blinds the rest of Westeros.”

“Oh, we’re well past the point of acquaintances, and I’m certain we’ve both made it clear that we’d rather kill each other than push forward with this betrothal.”

“And yet, you've hardly spent a moment alone together, away from prying eyes. Forgive me if I'm wrong, my Princess, but this hostility you feel towards one another... it feels more like the weight of your houses than your own. He’s not truly wronged you, nor have you wronged him... well, apart from the few wounds you’ve exchanged.”

“I wish it were as simple as you say, but the hatred between our houses runs deeper than that trial. We’re talking about years of bloodshed, of lives torn apart by their desire to conquer what was never theirs. How can we ever forget that? If anything, those Targaryens are only reaping what they've sown.”

“I understand, Princess, but is it truly fair to place the sins of the forefathers upon their children? Yes, the Targaryens once sought to conquer Dorne, but they failed. And since then, they’ve left us to rule our lands. Why should Prince Jacaerys suffer for the wrongdoings of his ancestors when he himself hasn't harmed you?”

“You speak the truth, Melynda. But do you truly think the rest of the Dorne will see it that way?” She stared at her handmaiden's reflection. “The pain the Targaryens have caused... it’s not just written in our histories, it’s engraved into the souls of our people.”

“I’m not saying that your betrothal to Prince Jacaerys will reconcile your houses overnight, Princess. In fact, it may take generations to heal these wounds. However, if Queen Rhaenyra proves to be the rightful and just ruler she claims to be, and honours your demands... and you and Prince Jacaerys unite the Seven Kingdoms as promised, then mayhaps it could be the beginning of something.” 

Suddenly, both women were startled by a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Y/n cleared her throat.

“My Princess,” Ser Domeric said from the other side. “The guests have begun to arrive, and your presence is expected shortly.”

Princess Y/n quickly composed herself, ensuring that any trace of sorrow had vanished from her face, and replaced her semblance with a mask of indifference.

The late afternoon breeze crept through the palace windows, stirring the heavy air in the Hall but doing little to lift the mood. Spirits were low and the lingering music was drowned out by the quiet murmurs of the guests. Lords and ladies from House Yronwood to House Qorgyle had traversed across the arid deserts to Sunspear, not out of enthusiasm, but out of duty, their gazes shifting warily as they gathered to pay tribute to the Princess. Even Y/n herself, appeared as though she wished to be anywhere else.

At the high table, the Martells sat alongside the Targaryens, not able to look one another eye to eye. They faced the great houses, whose semblance didn’t hide their disdain for the dragonriders. They showed no efforts for forced pleasantries, bracing themselves for the next chapter of conflict rather than celebrating a wedding that would unite the Seven Kingdoms.

Before anything, Prince Qoren stood up, ready to speak before his people.

“It is truly an honour to welcome you all this evening, and I thank each and every one of you for making the long journey to Sunspear. Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate the betrothal of my beloved daughter, Princess Y/n Martell, to the Crown Prince Jacaerys Velaryon... but also, the union between House Martell and House Targaryen,” he spoke, the enthusiasm fading in his voice. 

The crowd fell into an immediate hush, the lords and ladies exchanging uncertain glances, some full of resentment, and some full of disgust. Y/n felt each pressing gaze suffocating her and tried to hide her discomfort behind the rim of her cup, already expecting those pessimistic reactions. After all, who in their right mind would willingly wed a Targaryen?

“Out of all of the suitors that have lost their lives willing to serve you and our realm, you chose to spare the one whose ancestors sought to conquer our lands?” Lady Liara from House Briar’s voice trembled, barely able to hold back her anger. “Could you not have shown mercy to my sweet boy Eldritch instead?”

The Princess had always been taught to hold back in such moments, especially in front of such a large audience, but before she could stop herself, the words were already spilling out of her mouth.

“My Lady,” Y/n began, trying to push down the feeling of irritation rising up her chest. “Remind me… who sent your son, alone, to seek my hand? As far as I know, someone that young shouldn’t be burdened with ‘providing me a strong heir’ or ‘making Dorne more prosperous than it already is.’ Those aren’t words a boy of three-and-ten should be speaking.” 

Lady Liara sank back to her seat with a scowl. The Princess’ gaze swept across the Hall, their faces etched with grief and bitterness, never forgetting the lives lost in pursuit of her hand. 

Whilst the guests sat in silence, waiting for either Prince Qoren or Princess Y/n to justify such a decision, Rhaenyra seized the moment to capture the crowd’s attention. She cleared her throat and rose slowly, her lilac eyes lingering on each guest, meeting the same eyes that had carried pent-up hatred for generations.

“By coming here, we are not denying the sins of House Targaryen,” she paused, allowing her words to settle, her gaze never leaving the crowd.  “I understand that to many of you, we are still the enemy. I am aware of the blood that was spilled and the pain that has lingered for generations. But the true enemies now are the Greens, who have usurped the Throne and seek to bring all of Westeros to its knees. And I know Dorne will not bend without a fight. Join us, and we will stand together. We can prevent the war that the Greens will bring to your lands.”

Despite Rhaenyra's words, the guests still mumbled with one another and her plea fell on indifferent ears. She clasped her hands together, holding her composure.

“So, the Greens are the enemies now, eh?" A voice echoing across the hall finally broke through the whispers. “To them, you are the usurper. And as far as we are concerned, they have yet to come to our lands to pester us with this petty war of yours.”

“Do not mistake their silence for mercy, my Lord. When they come, they will not ask. They will take. And by then, it may be too late to decide where your loyalties lie,” Daemon retorted.

“They have left us with no other choice,” Lord Lysander Dayne scowled. “Is this why you brought these beasts? So they can burn us if we refuse to join?”

Upon the mere mention of the dragons, the fear of the crowd became palpable. Prince Qoren’s face was flushed with anger, seeing that the celebration had somehow turned into a council meeting.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Prince Qoren bellowed, rising to his feet and jabbing his fist to the table. "We are here to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my daughter, not to squabble over this bloody war! If I hear more of it tonight, I’ll throw you in a pit of scorpions myself," his voice cut through the crowd, making the lords shrink back into their seats as he glared at Rhaenyra.

The music, which had momentarily ceased, began to play again. Princess Y/n exhaled deeply, gripping her cup as she swirled the crimson liquid. If she was going to endure the remainder of this night and persuade those thick-skulled lords to support Rhaenyra, she would need wine. A lot of it. She downed the first cup, the sweet taste lingering on her palate as her gaze shifted across the room, spotting the lords she had to sway.

Lord Lysander of House Dayne sat with his lady wife, his stern face etched with displeasure. He had made it clear where he stood, opposing any involvement in the war. Yet, he was infamously known for his ambition; he was the sort of man who would bend the knee for the right price, advancing his own house in exchange for his formidable army. Then there was Lord Thaddeus of House Yronwood, head of the second-most powerful house in Dorne, capable of providing enough supplies to sustain the armies at sea; a practical man, loyal to tradition, but always open to negotiation. On the other side of the Hall, she spotted Lord Ander of House Jordayne, who owned the largest fleet in Dorne.

Ser Domeric, being part of House Uller and their loyal informant, would provide whatever support was asked. And lastly, House Santagar, though not enthusiastic, had always been fiercely loyal to the Martells and would stand by their house regardless.

Despite the collective disappointment lingering in the air, as the feast came to an end, the guests stood up to salvage what remained of the evening. Jacaerys’ eyes followed Y/n as she rose from her seat, weaving through the multitude and making her way to Lord Lysander. The man bowed his head and extended his hand, offering the Princess a dance which she accepted with a smile that seemed far too charming than she would normally allow herself to be. Jacaerys couldn’t tear his gaze from Y/n, watching how she leaned towards Lord Lysander, her lips closely brushing his ear, as he nodded eagerly so as not to disappoint her.

“A celebration of our upcoming betrothal?” Jacaerys scoffed, already feeling his blood boil at the sight of the Princess with another man. Had they been at the Red Keep, the whispers would have already circled around, rumours of the Princess enjoying the company of other men, even while bound by a betrothal to him, that would call into question not only her honour but the legitimacy of their future children. He could already hear the council’s scandalous whispers behind closed doors–whispers that had been haunting him all his life.

“She’s quite gifted, isn’t she, my dear sister?” Elyas remarked, turning to Jacaerys. “She has a way of making men dance in the palm of her hand.”

“Only if one is foolish enough to fall for whatever games she is playing,” Jacaerys muttered.

Jacaerys and Elyas watched how Lord Lysander placed a kiss on top of her hand. With one final whisper, she slipped away from his arms and disappeared into the crowd, only to be seen again; that time with Lord Ander, who offered the Princess his hand without hesitation. 

“There are a couple of things you should know about her,” Elyas said with a sneer, glancing at the Princess. “One of them is… you’ll never be her only one.”

“You need not tell me what I can already see. It seems your sister is not familiar with the notion of faithfulness.”

“Faithfulness? As far as I’m aware, neither of you are bound by vows just yet,”  Elyas grinned, noting how Jacaerys clearly wasn’t enjoying the conversation. "But listen, this celebration isn’t meant for you to sulk in a corner, watching my sister dance with every lord in Dorne. It's for indulging. There’s a place not too far from the palace, where we know how to truly celebrate. Who knows? You might not even survive this war you’re throwing yourself into. You may as well enjoy the finest pleasures our land has to offer before it’s too late," Jacaerys’s knuckles whitened around his cup, his repulsion palpable, but Elyas only leaned in closer. 

As much as Jacaerys despised watching Princess Y/n flit from lord to lord, he wasn’t about to lower himself to her games. What was she trying to prove? Was she testing him, daring him to show any signs of jealousy or anger? Or mayhaps she was simply making it clear, once again, how much she misliked him?

Jacaerys refused to give Elyas the satisfaction of a response and merely shook his head. Elyas smirked, amused by Jacaerys' restraint, and stood up, ensuring he ruined the evening even more before leaving.

“Oh, and just so you know… whatever illusions you have about loyalty and honour, you'd best cast them aside. If you think my sister will suddenly change her ways after this betrothal of yours, then you’re completely wrong. I’m telling you now, she won’t. She’s as Dornish as they come… untamable and always chasing trouble. The more you tighten the leash, the more she’ll struggle to break free. And she’ll keep playing her games, whether you like them or not... so you better learn how to play them if you don't wish to end up as another one of her playthings,” Elyas said, slapping Jacaerys’ shoulder playfully before walking away.

Jacaerys hadn’t even realised how tightly he was clenching his jaw until the sound of Elyas and his sworn protector’s fading footsteps pulled him back to reality. He let out a breath, trying to shake off the bitterness away, and downed a gulp of wine.

But what he hadn’t noticed was a pair of dark wide eyes watching him from the other end of the table. It was Farien, whose gaze had been flickering between him and Elyas the whole time. When Jacaerys caught the boy's gaze, his expression softened. He set down his cup, watching how the little boy stood up and made his way over to him.

“If you marry my sister, does that mean you’ll become my brother?” Farien asked. 

“I suppose,” he forced a smile, though he wasn’t sure if the little boy was particularly glad about that.

Farien climbed on to the empty seat beside Jacaerys, glancing around the nearly deserted table and making sure none of his family members were nearby. All of the Martells were tending their own business, leaving the Targaryens seated in silence. The boy leaned in close, cupping his small hands around Jacaerys’s ear, scared that someone might hear what he had to say.

“So, does that mean I get to ride your dragon?” He whispered. 

Jacaerys looked at him, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“If your father allows you, then I suppose you could… but are you not afraid?” He asked.

“I’m really, really scared. But I wonder what it must feel like to see the world from up above. The closest I’ve ever gotten to flying is in my dreams, you know? It feels like I’m one of Father’s falcons, soaring high in the skies. Father says I have the gift to turn into one of them at night and watch over the desert,” he glanced up, his eyes gleaming in wonder.

Jacaerys looked at the boy and allowed himself to smile, as Farien somehow reminded him of his younger brother, Joffrey, whom he hadn't seen in a long time.

“Anyway,” Farien continued, “I think we could be brothers, you and I. We even look alike, see?” He pointed at Jacaerys’ curls. “It would be nice to have another brother... because, well, Elyas... he’s nice, sometimes. But not always.”

Jacaerys held back a scoff, figuring as much. 

“And what about your sister?” 

“We like sneaking sweets from the kitchens and feeding them to the horses,” Farien’s eyes suddenly lit up. “And she loves fighting, too. But not the angry, shouting kind, no. She says that sometimes, fighting feels like dancing, and that’s why she enjoys it. She’s really good at it. And I think you are too. But my sister is better.”

Just as he was about to ask Farien what other things his sister enjoyed, one of the little boy’s servants approached them. 

“My Prince, your father has sent me to take you back to your chambers to rest,” she smiled at the little boy, who had no choice but to accept dejectedly.

As the servant took him in her arms, Farien waved at Jacaerys with a small smile. He nodded at the little boy, unable to stop himself from smiling back.

“At least the little one is not as irritating as the rest of his family,” Rhaenyra said as her gaze softened, noticing how the little boy never tore his eyes from them as he got further and further.

“Give him a couple of years. He will turn out exactly like his older brother,” Daemon muttered. 

Then, Jacaerys' gaze trailed back to the Princess once again, who was still locked in a dance with Lord Ander. The exchange of whispers seemed to grow more intense, as his lips lingered on the shell of her ear, making her nod as her smile never left her lips.

“Jacaerys,” Daemon’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts. “Do you not have a duty to fulfil?”

“I have been fulfilling them since the moment we arrived,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. As Jacaerys had been doing everything he could to uphold his duties, Daemon merely sat back, watching the spectacle he had set in motion unravel before him. 

“You have, but sitting and watching the Princess be courted by every lord in Dorne is not one of them. Listen to me, these men are doing everything in their power to pull her away from our alliance since they can see she does not favour you,” he paused leaning in closer. “You are no stranger to this. If you two are to rule the Seven Kingdoms, she needs to be seen by your side.”

Jacaerys rose from his seat as he exhaled, growing frustrated by the second. It was all in the name of duty, after all. He headed towards the Princess with steady steps, disappearing into the crowd and dodging every drunken lord and lady that stood in his way. Lord Ander, who seemed to have more intentions than just dancing with the Princess, held her close, too close, his hands lingering on her waist. 

“My Lord,” Jacaerys cleared his throat, barely containing himself. Lord Ander snapped his head towards his direction. “I would hate to interrupt your conversation, but the hour is quite late, and Princess Y/n needs to rest.”

“Is that so?” He pulled Y/n even closer to him, making Jacaerys’ blood boil. “How come the Princess seems to be enjoying herself?”

Jacaerys’ eyes flicked to the cup in her hand, the liquid threatening to spill from the rim. He wasn’t a stranger to that dazed look and that loose smirk playing on her lips. 

“The Princess seems to have indulged in one too many cups. You may continue whatever… conversation you were having on the morrow, my Lord,” Jacaerys forced his words through his teeth. 

“Is that an order from the Crown Prince? Or from a boy who is still learning how to hold a woman’s interest?” Lord Ander raised a brow, sliding his hand even lower on her waist. 

The Princess’ gaze flicked between the two men, unaware of the escalating tension. She took another sip from her cup, her eyes landing on Jacaerys, finally acknowledging how dashing he looked in a Dornish ensemble of deep blues and golds.

“Gods, spare me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You two sound like you’re ready to start another war.”

“If it means winning your favour, Princess,” Lord Ander said with a grin.

“Mayhaps that's a battle for another day. Besides, the Prince is right, the hour is quite late,” she said softly, growing tired at the show of bravado between the two men. She moved away from Lord Ander and took a step towards Jacaerys.

Jacaerys, whose heart was pounding with both anger and relief, offered her his arm. Y/n would’ve hesitated at first, but under the effects of wine, any qualms were long gone. She noted how he tensed his arm uncomfortably, unaware that she was putting pressure on the wound she had given him not too long ago. 

Casymir leaned against one of the pillars with a hint of amusement on his face, watching the whole scene unfold before his eyes. Once Jacaerys and Y/n were away from the crowd, he finally pushed himself off the pillar, approaching Jacaerys, who was struggling to keep her in place.

“Allow me, my Prince. The Princess is in good hands with me,” he said, extending his arm. 

Jacaerys glared at Casymir as he adjusted her weight in his arm, wondering what he was smiling for.

“You are the Princess’ sworn protector, are you not?” He raised his brow. 

“Yes, my Prince,” he smiled proudly.

“Yet all you did was stand and watch how the Princess wandered into the clutches of men with less than noble intentions,” Jacaerys tried to keep his composure, though his anger simmered beneath the surface.

“Do you question my service to the Princess, my Prince?” He chuckled, brushing the Prince’s concerns aside. “The Princess was in no immediate danger. And as far as I’m aware, a dance with a lord hardly constitutes a threat.”

“If you think a man whose ulterior motives are clearly written in his face not to be dangerous, then mayhaps we have very different understandings of the word danger,” Jacaerys said. 

“You greatly misunderstand the Princess. Lord Ander was eager, but he knew better than to cross the line. And besides, she would’ve ended his attempts long before you stepped in. As you might have already… experienced, the Princess knows how to handle herself and hardly needs to be coddled,” his blue eyes trailed at the way their arms were intertwined. “Though, it seems she doesn’t mind letting you try.”

“So, what are you here for, then? Just for decoration?”  

“Is picking fights with other men a favourite pastime of yours, my Prince?” The Princess laughed, poking fun at Jacaerys as she unconsciously tightened her grip around his injured arm. “You do seem to have a talent for making enemies wherever you go.”

Jacaerys hesitated, unsure if replying to the Princess was even worth the efforts given her current state, so he merely scoffed, shaking his head in defeat. However, one thing he couldn’t ignore was the feeling of having her so close as she mindlessly ran her hand up and down the length of his arm. He tried to calm his heart, but he couldn’t keep his composure with each stroke of her fingers that made him lean into her touch ever so slightly.   

Once they reached the Princess’ chambers, Casymir leaned on the door, his arms crossed with an infuriatingly calm expression on his face. 

“If you wish to be escorted back to your chambers, my Prince, I can call for a servant,” Casymir offered, implying that Jacaerys had overstayed his welcome.

“No. I wish to stay. The Princess and I have a few words to exchange,” he said.

“I’ll be fine, Cas,” the Princess slurred, assuring her sworn protector with a slow nod.

“As you wish, my Princess. I'll be just outside, should you require any assistance.”

Jacaerys stood by the door, unsure of what to do now that he was inside the Princess’ chambers. It wasn’t improper of him, as her soon-to-be husband, to be seen there, so he found himself leaning against the wall, trying to regain the composure that he had repeatedly lost throughout the night. His eyes trailed around the intricately carved golden statues that adorned the corners and the colourful tapestries that swayed slightly, catching the faint breeze that slipped through the windows and bringing with it the distant murmurs of the ongoing celebration. 

Only when he heard a soft clink and the steady stream of wine being poured into a cup, he snapped out of his thoughts. Before he could even think, he turned to Y/n, walking towards her and snatching the cup and jug from her hands, causing her mouth to hang open in disbelief and indignation. 

“You will not drink any more tonight,” he ordered, pouring the liquid out of the window and slamming the cup aside.  

“Well, isn’t this absolutely perfect?” She spat, throwing her arms in the air in defeat. “Not only will you take away my freedom, but now you wish to take away one of the few things that bring me joy?”

“You must live a very miserable life, Princess, if wine and men are the few things in life that bring you joy,” Jacaerys burst out, no longer able to contain the pent-up anger that had been brewing all night.

“Oh, believe me, I’ll have a miserable life once I marry you.”

“And what makes you think I want to marry you? That behaviour of yours… is unacceptable,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I do not wish to marry someone who is a slave to their desires.”

“A slave to my desires? Is that what you think of me?” Y/n shouted, unable to control the fury taking over her voice.

“What else am I supposed to think when you go from lord to lord like a marionette whose strings had been cut?” He paused, taking in her dishevelled appearance. “I was not aware how these Dornishmen could name someone so ruthless and so debauched as their Princess.” 

“And I didn’t know you Targaryens go around crowning bastards just to keep your house on the Throne,” she spat, making sure to rest her gaze on his dark eyes and on his brown locks long enough.

“You whore–!”

Before Jacaerys could finish his sentence, Y/n's palm collided with his cheek in a stinging slap, his head snapping to the side. His eyes widened, more in shock than pain, as his hand instinctively rose to the reddening mark on his face.

“A whore? A savage? A goatfucker?” Y/n's voice trembled with fury. “Is that all you see me as?” She shoved him hard, sending him stumbling backward until his back hit the wall. Her finger jabbed into his chest with every word. “You,” she spat, “should be thanking me for getting my hands dirty, persuading those lords to join your petty war!”

Jacaerys was stunned into silence momentarily, feeling every ounce of her rage bleeding through her words.

“And who told you to do that on your own?” Jacaerys shot back. “You could have asked me, we could have gone together and spoken to them like it is expected of us!”

“You overestimate yourself,” she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do you even know what those lords think of you? Of your family? If it weren’t for our betrothal, they would have driven a spear through your chests without a second thought. Because to them, you Targaryens are nothing but bloodthirsty murderers who’ve come to take our lands all over again.”

“Enough!” Jacaerys grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her, slamming her against the wall. “You think I do not know that? You think I do not feel it every time I step into a room? The way they look at me? At my family? You think I enjoy being the enemy?” He seethed, feeling his throat grow raw with each word. “Gods, you are infuriating,” he grunted, realising how close their faces were to one another. 

The Princess’ lips curled into a smirk, a flicker of satisfaction lingering in her eyes. She had struck a nerve, realising how Jacaerys was always quick to react to whatever blasphemous speech she had to say about his family, and once again, she had managed to unleash the dormant wrath that blinded his actions. 

As the Princess found herself cornered between his arms and the wall, she crouched low, slipping beneath his arms in a fluid motion and spinning around to pin Jacaerys against the wall, pressing her chest to his back. Jacaerys reacted instinctively, kicking off the wall to shove her back. The sudden force sent her stumbling as she crashed on the ground, and he followed, landing on top of her in a tangle of limbs.

Just as he was about to stand up, Y/n yanked him back down and rolled on top of him, keeping him in place by locking her thighs around his waist and pinning his arms on the floor with one swift movement. Truth be told, Jacaerys could have easily pushed her away as her usual strength was halved by the wine; yet he remained still, feeling the warmth of Y/n’s body pressed into his, and how their faces were inches apart yet again, her breath hot on his skin.

Once again, he found himself under her mercy.

She stared down at him with half-lidded eyes and lips slightly open as she breathed lightly, taking in the sight of Jacaerys’ flushed face and his gaze clouded by desire. Jacaerys looked up at her and gulped, feeling his erection stirring uncomfortably beneath his breeches.

His eyes locked onto her plump lips and trailed towards to the hollow of her neck, down to her chest. He stared hungrily as she leaned towards him, his fingertips itching to explore the skin hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. As she got closer and closer to his face, Jacaerys’ breath hitched, and without realising it, his lips parted slightly as his eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. His pulse quickened, waiting for the warmth of her lips pressing against his.

But instead of the kiss he craved, he felt the hot caress of her breath graze the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Her voice, low and smooth, held him captive with each honeyed word.

“If you want to win this little war of yours, you better start by respecting me,” she whispered as she let go of one of his wrists and began tracing delicate patterns with her finger. “Just because I’ve chosen you as my betrothed doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind,” she bucked her hips against his hardened cock, causing Jacaerys to groan at the sudden spark of pleasure coursing in his veins. 

In that very moment, Y/n had uncovered yet another emotion—the primal desire that, despite her infuriating attitude, she had managed to set ablaze. If Jacaerys had to ask himself how it happened, he wouldn’t know where to begin answering. Had it all started when they first met, when she held little regard for him? Was it in the arena, when she brazenly humiliated him in front of everyone? Or was it the fact that they always seemed to find themselves pointing a blade at each other’s throats? Behind all that anger and hatred, and the prejudice that blinded him from seeing the Princess as she truly was, lay a spark of curiosity. Something he knew that once he began to explore, that spark would turn into wildfire.

With each passing second, he fought against the temptation to place his hands on the curve of her hips and make her grind herself against his cock.

“Remember, my Prince,” she purred in his ear, bucking her hips once again. “The wedding has not taken place yet, and anything could happen.” 

A/N: For some reason, i keep beating my wordcount record. istg my fanfic wc is way bigger than all of my uni papers combined, and bare in mind i was a humanities student lmfaooo.

anyway, i feel like this chapter was a mess. jace's patience continuously getting tested by everyone, and our reader making things even harder for him. i actually feel sorry for those two but the way they are handling things is not very demure, mindful or cutesy. we got the exact opposite.

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a (continued in comments)

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (7/28)

day 7 @bucktommyfluffebruary prompt was love notes/letters and my fill is here

also posting it here below the cut because ao3 is about to be down for most of the day.

Tommy finds the first note after Evan swings by Harbor, delivering a bag of lunch and kissing Tommy in front of his co-workers, earning them fonder looks than Tommy would have expected.

This is my version of the pickled beet sandwich from Dune near my place. Don't pull that face, you'll love it. Did you know that olive based spreads date back to ancient times, but tapenade was invented in France in 1880? I love you.

Tommy reads the note three times before he turns his attention to the sandwich. It's annoyingly good for something that includes beets and eggs and shoestring fries and tapenade and garlic sauce. He finishes all but the last couple bites before the next call comes through, and tucks the note into the pocket of his flight suit.

***

The next one comes a week later, on his bedside table when Evan has to leave early for a shift, on the back of a business card from the pop-up restaurant they went to last week, propped against a glass of water.

T - You're so beautiful. I hate walking away from you. Last night was beyond belief. I can't believe how in love with you I am.

Tommy gulps down his water, trying to cool the flush that comes over him as he rubs his thumb over the indentations Evan's pen have left on the card.

***

Tommy has a photo of him and Evan in the back of his phone case. Evan had dragged them into a photo booth at the pier and they'd wound up with four black and white photos. The one Tommy has shows himself only in profile as he presses a kiss to Evan's cheekbone while Evan beams at the camera. It's become a little ritual to look at it before he goes up.

This time, he sees a note as well. Much as he wants to, he can't read it yet, has to put it to the back of his mind until he's done flying the medevac.

T - I want to be with you. Right now, wherever you are, I want to be with you.

He clearly doesn't do enough to wipe the fond look off his face before Donato gets back, and she hounds him all the way back to the station.

***

After the fourth one (Muay Thai dates back to the 13th century, but I'm pretty sure no one's ever looked better in those shorts than you. I want you, and I love you. Every second.) he talks to Evan about it.

With the note held between two fingers he asks, "What's this all about?"

Evan glances at the note, at Tommy's face. Shrugs. Pulls him into a deep, slow kiss.

"I'm never not thinking about you," Evan says. "Thought you should know."

There's that swooping feeling in Tommy's heart that he's learning not to run away from. There's that aching, desperate love that he's learning to hold onto. There's that little golden core of faith he's trying to nurture.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Photograph: Kevork Djansezian/Getty Images

* * * *

“You must not ever stop being whimsical. And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.

[…]

“I don’t mean it’s easy or assured; there are the stubborn stumps of shame, grief that remains unsolvable after all the years, a bag of stones that goes with one wherever one goes and however the hour may call for dancing and for light feet. But there is, also, the summoning world, the admirable energies of the world, better than anger, better than bitterness and, because more interesting, more alleviating. And there is the thing that one does, the needle one plies, the work, and within that work a chance to take thoughts that are hot and formless and to place them slowly and with meticulous effort into some shapely heat-retaining form, even as the gods, or nature, or the soundless wheels of time have made forms all across the soft, curved universe — that is to say, having chosen to claim my life, I have made for myself, out of work and love, a handsome life.

[…]

“And now my old dog is dead, and another I had after him, and my parents are dead, and that first world, that old house, is sold and lost, and the books I gathered there lost, or sold — but more books bought, and in another place, board by board and stone by stone, like a house, a true life built, and all because I was steadfast about one or two things: loving foxes, and poems, the blank piece of paper, and my own energy — and mostly the shimmering shoulders of the world that shrug carelessly over the fate of any individual that they may, the better, keep the Niles and the Amazons flowing. And that I did not give to anyone the responsibility for my life. It is mine. I made it. And can do what I want to with it. Live it. Give it back, someday, without bitterness, to the wild and weedy dunes.”

—Mary Oliver, “Staying Alive”

h/t The Marginalian

[via Follies Of God]

[charrlote365]

SAND, SEOYEON AND S*X Reference Idol: fromis_9 LEE SEOYEON Word Count: 13.077 Tags: Romance, massage, Kpop idol, fromis_9, Lee Seoyeon

As the sun set below the horizon, painting the desert in hues of orange and pink, I couldn't help but dazed at how surreal our honeymoon felt. Here I was, in the middle of nowhere, with Lee Seoyeon, the love of my life and, incidentally, a member of fromis_9. The expansive desert stretched out before us, an endless canvas of dunes that seemed to go on forever.

Seoyeon's laughter echoed through the air, her unique husky voice making the sound even more enchanting as we hiked up yet another sandy hill. Her joy was infectious, "CAMPING, CAMPING, CAMPINGG!!~", she kept singing loudly while jumping around in the sand, and despite the sweat trickling down my back, I felt like the luckiest man alive. Fate indeed works in a mysterious way, who would have thought that our paths would cross like this, leading us to this moment?

"Hey, look at that cactus!" Seoyeon exclaimed, pointing excitedly at a tall, spiky plant standing high amidst the sand. She ran towards it, her oversized white shirts waving around. I jogged to catch up, grinning at her childlike enthusiasm.

"Be careful, babe," I warned playfully. "Those things can be pretty prickly."

She turned back to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Are you afraid of cactus? Just be afraid of me ~, because I can bite! Happp!! hehehe~"

Before I could respond, she stumbled, her foot catching on an unseen rock. Time seemed to slow down as she was falling forward, right onto the cactus. My heart skipped a beat.

"Seoyeon!" I shouted, rushing to her side. She sat up, a look of shock on her face, now adorned with tiny cactus thorns. Despite the situation, she started to giggle, her husky laugh vibrating through the air.

"Well, that didn't go as planned," she said, her laughter bubbling up. I couldn't help but join in, the absurdity of it all hitting us both at once.

"Let's get you back to the hotel," I said, helping her to her feet. "We'll have you de-thorned in no time."

We made our way back, the heat of the day giving way to a cooler evening breeze. Back in our room, the light was soft and warm, casting a comforting glow on Seoyeon's face. She sat on the edge of the bed, still giggling intermittently. I fetched the first aid kit, trying to suppress my own laughter.

"How many staycation stories start with a cactus attack?" I said, sitting beside her with tweezers in hand.

She grinned, her eyes twinkling. "Not many, I bet. But it makes for a great story, don't you think?"

"I do. And it's all part of the adventure," I replied. "Just our little secret."

She smiled, her eyes filled with warmth. "Our secret staycation in the desert. No media, no fans, just us."

I started to gently remove the thorns, one by one. She winced occasionally but kept her spirits high. "Does it hurt?" I asked, pausing to look into her puppy eyes.

"Um, a little," she admitted, her voice sulky. "But it's okay, it's worth it for the memories. Besides, it’s kind of funny. I mean, who else can say they hugged a cactus on their honeymoon?"

"Of course, the great and the only one, Lee, Seoyeon," I replied, chuckling. "You never cease to amaze me."

She giggled, her husky voice making my heart flutter. "You know, this reminds me of that one dream I dreamt few days ago, I tripped and fell into a bush during a festival performance. The fans thought it was part of the choreography."

I laughed, imagining the scene. "So, did you play it off like a pro?"

"Of course, even in my dream I'm still that great dancer of fromis_9" she said with a wink.

I continued to carefully pull out the thorns, the process surprisingly hard. Her laughter made it easier, turning what could have been a painful event into a bonding experience. Occasionally, she would make a funny face, and we would burst into laughter all over again. And for every laugh she does, the more I fell deeper for her.

"You know," she said softly, "I've always been in the spotlight, even in my childhood. My life is always about performing. But now that I'm with you, I can just be myself. Even with a face full of thorns."

I paused, looking at her with nothing but love. "And I wouldn't have it any other way," I said. "You're perfect, even with thorns and all."

She smiled, reaching out her hand to touch my right cheek. "Thank you for always being there, for making even the craziest moments special."

"That's what love is, right?" I replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Being there for each other, laughing through the chaos."

By the time I finished, her face was free of thorns, and she looked radiant despite the disaster. We sat there, in our little desert oasis, enjoying the warmth of our love and laughter.

"I need to take a shower," I said, standing up and stretching. "Make sure you don't get into any more cactus-related trouble while I'm gone."

She laughed, her husky voice following me into the bathroom. The warm water felt amazing after the long, adventurous day, and I took my time, savoring the moment of solitude.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I was greeted by a sight that made me burst into laughter. Seoyeon was laying on the bed, her face and upper chest covered in gummy bears made from honey.

"What on earth are you doing?" I asked, still chuckling.

She looked up at me with her silly face. "Honey is supposed to be good for healing scars, right? So I thought these gummy bears might help." She explained playfully.

I couldn't stop laughing. "You do know you look like a walking candy store right?? Come here, you."

I got on the top of her and slowly picking off the gummy bears one by one, popping each one into my mouth. She squealed in mock protest, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Yaaa..Stop eating my medicine!" she scolded jokingly, swatting at my hands.

"But they taste so good," I replied, grinning. "And besides, you're already healing. Laughter is the best medicine, remember?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "You're just the worst."

"And you love that about me right," I said while leaning myself down to kiss her. Despite of her small face, her lips are rather thick, they wrap my lips like a warm blanket, our saliva mixed all together and it tasted like honey thanks to the gummy bears I just ate. Our tongues were slipping against each other like they're going to melt to be one. I then stopped and walked away from her, she was wondering why I didn't continue. "Where are you going? Let's continue, I still need your love to heal, you know?" She lamented.

"Yes, mam! wait a minute, I have something you will like", I said as I reached into the first aid kit bag again, this time pulling out a small bottle of essential oil. "You know what this is right?," I asked, pouring a few drops onto my fingertips. Massaging her body with oil has been our routines. She loves it when her body is sticky with oil and when I rub her body, she always squeals and giggles.

She raised an eyebrow, Pretending not to know. "What's that? I know nothing about that, I'm innocent, officer", while trying to avoid eye contact with me.

Ignoring her respond, I started to take off her white shirts and bra. I could see her breasts which upper part filled with bruises and scars from the thorns, and also red line mark on her shoulders from her bra straps. I poured some oil onto her body and gently dabbed the oil gently on her shoulder where the thorns had left small marks. She shivered slightly at the touch, a giggle escaping her lips.

"That tickles," she said, her voice husky and playful.

"Sorry," I said, grinning. "I'll be gentle." I continued rubbing the oil to her neck and her face cheeks. Looking at her silly face up close which now filled with some scars and bruises from the fall, I couldn't stop myself to kiss her lips again, wanting her to know that I will take care of her from now on, no matter what. I closed my eyes slightly and used my lips to rub over the oil on her scars slowly, she felt ticklish yet aroused from all the kissing and started hugging me tight. Her breasts pressed against mine so tightly that I could feel her heart beat getting faster.

"This feels nice," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," I replied, my heart swelling with love for this incredible woman.

I continued rubbing her body with my lips. I kissed her nips which laced by oil, and rubbed the other nip with my finger. She let out a little moan. Her breath is getting uncontrollable and she started biting her finger. Her eyes were locked on me, they're filled with trust, love, excitement and lust. Just looking at her expression made me filled with pleasure.

I sneaked my right hand into her pants and started rubbing her pussy. I could feel sticky substance already soaked her underpants. I licked my finger that's laced by her love juice and put it back inside her. She shouted as 2 fingers in were too much for her.

"Ups! Sorry. We just started and you're already soaked, Seoyeon-ah." I teased her.

"Shii.. just be quiet and get it over with, I'm still in pain, you know..", she replied with pouty mouth on her face.

I stood up and removed my bathing robe, letting them drop to the floor. I went back on the bed and slowly took off her jeans. She couldn't say anything as her heart beat faster, knowing what's going to happen next.

I raised her legs up and opened them wide. I could see her pussy bare open and I couldn't hold myself to suck and bite her clits slightly hard. She was surprised by it that she screamed so loudly I was afraid people in the next room might hear us. Luckily, I realized no one's gonna hear us since we're in a hotel that's close to be nowhere on the map and she continued to moan loudly. I continued licking her pussy like I was a cat licking butter and put my middle finger into her pussy. Her pussy neck is so short that I could feel her womb gate with just my finger. I teased her womb by squeezing them inside and she started pulled my hair yelling how good it felt. I kept teasing her womb and I could feel her pussy wall suddenly got tight as she arched her back and sprayed her love juice all over my face and the bed.

As if it wasn't enough I put 2 fingers back into her and rubbing the upper part of her pussy, teasing her g-spot with every thrust. She felt her high coming again and within seconds she reached her climax for the second time and her body shuddered roughly. I licked and sucked her pussy to clean it from her love juice, including the thick, white liquid oozing from her that tasted like cheese, my favorite delicacy. lmao.

"Hmm, your pussy is so tasty", I teased her while she was still gasping for air from her second orgasm. Yet suddenly, right after she stopped, she raised up and gripped my hard rock penis. "Ouch!", I yelled as I didn't expect her move. "Now it's my payback", Seoyeon said while looking at me with sharp gaze after what I just did to her. She suddenly bit my penis tip hard making my knees weak and I shouted "Yahh! Seoyeon-ah!! Please be gentle!".

"Just be quiet and man up", she replied with a little giggle. She then sucked my dick like its a boba drink that she likes. Every suck feels like my soul getting suck into her mouth. My penis barely fit to her small mouth that it felt as tight as her pussy. Her mouth walls wrapped my dick with its warm, wet and intensely. Slowly but sure, I feel the tickling sensation turned into ecstasy, my head's got lighter and just like that I spurted my sperm inside her mouth. I grip her head and push it closer and deeper into my crotch as I went high up to heaven. My sperm flowed so much that it started to spill on the bed. She then opened her mouth to show how much sperm I just unloaded roughly into her tiny mouth.

"Wait, lemme get the tiss..", but before I could even finish my words she replied "I already drank it", with her giggle and husky voice, delightly. Aftermath was a mess with our bed was wet, stained with our body fluid. We quickly cleaned them up as we didn't want to be fined by the hotel and even used the hair dryer to dry it up quickly. It was so tiring, that still naked, we lay down on the bed, with no energy left in us.

As we laying side by side, facing each other closely, we leaned in for another kiss, I felt the warmth of her breath against my lips, mingling with the sweetness of the honey and the floral scent of the oil. The room was filled with the scent of the desert, a blend of flower oils and our fluids, lingering reminders of our wild day. Her eyes, shining with love and amusement, held mine as we shared this intimate moment.

Cuddling her close, I whispered, "I can't wait to see what other crazy adventures we'll have."

She smiled, her husky voice soft in my ear. "As long as we're together, I'm ready for anything."

And as we kissed, sealing our promise, I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, with laughter, love, and a spirit of adventure that would see us through anything. In that moment, our secret honeymoon in the desert felt like the most perfect beginning to the rest of our lives.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]

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

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

Word Count: 6.6k

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

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“So you smoked grass in college,” Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. You’re in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. “And swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. “I chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each other’s makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. “I’d recognize you.”

“I used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I don’t know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldn’t figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So he’d mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldn’t stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldn’t be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.”

Aegon is laughing. “You did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!”

“I did. I really did.” You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splits—dripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their table—and passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Otto’s cynical commentary, Aemond’s remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. “I was wild back then.”

“And you gave it all up to be Aemond’s first lady.”

You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. “My father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.”

Aegon’s eyebrows rise, like he thinks you’re teasing him. “Sea sponges…?”

“I’m serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. It’s dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.”

“What do people do with sea sponges?”

“Oh right, you would be unfamiliar. You’re supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re a very mean person. Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?”

“Painters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.”

“I suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.”

“So my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what I’ve seen from my friends’ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just these…deeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.”

Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You aren’t supposed to smoke, not even tobacco—it’s not ladylike, it’s masculine, it’s subversive—but you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: “What music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?”

“Yeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha Franklin…”

“Phil Ochs?”

“I love him. He’s got a song about Mississippi, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And I’m currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. She’s so angry!”

“She’s sanctimonious, that’s what she is. Always bitching about men.”

“Six kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.”

Aegon winces, and then you realize what you’ve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have a month ago.

“Aegon,” you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. “Why do you ignore your children? They’re interesting, they’re fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And Cosmo…he’s so clever. But it’s like he doesn’t know who you are. He might actually think Fosco’s his dad.”

Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now he’s fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t have much to offer them.”

“I think you do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” you insist. “You can be kind of nice sometimes.”

He frowns, staring out the window. You know he can’t see anything but darkness and streetlights. “I should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didn’t deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now he’s in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think she’d sleep easier.”

I’m glad you’re still here, you think. Instead you say: “Your children need you.”

“No they don’t. Between me and Mimi, they’re better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe they’ll have a fighting chance.”

The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.

“Me?!” Fosco says. “You are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!”

“For once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.”

“You are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?”

Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. “Here’s to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.”

“Aegon, no,” you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where he’s going.

He’s beaming as he continues: “If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.”

Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, haven’t noticed yet.

“Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.”

“Aegon, don’t,” you plead quietly. “He’ll murder you.”

“The calendar is lyin’ when it reads the present time.”

“Hey,” calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. “You got a problem, boy?”

Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: “Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!”

In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegon’s nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isn’t flinching away, he isn’t afraid. He’s yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant who’s ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The man’s sons are hooting joyously. “Git him, Paw!” one of them shouts.

“Criston?!” you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the man’s massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.

“Stop!” Criston roars. “You don’t want to hurt him! He’s a Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen, huh?” the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. “All the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.”

Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.

“Are you gonna call someone or not?!” Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. There’s a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.

“We should go,” you tell Criston softly.

“Yes, we will leave now,” Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: “Thank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.”

“I can’t wait ‘til November,” the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. “When Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We don’t want you here. America ain’t for people like you.”

“It literally is,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “It’s on the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!” Aegon yells at the man. “Are you a Seminole, pal? I didn’t think so—!” Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.

Outside—under stars and streetlights and a full moon—Aegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didn’t think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. He’ll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you say. “You could have been killed.”

Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. “The world would keep spinning, little Io.” Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemond’s retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.

“This McCarthy is not a real man,” Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. “He reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?”

Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. “I love you.”

Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. “I want another Gucci bag.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.”

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but he’s taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegon’s face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimi’s bare foot twitches but she doesn’t wake up.

“There was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,” you say. “Aegon felt inspired to defend you.”

Aemond chuckles. “Did you win?” he asks Aegon.

“I would have if the guy wasn’t two of me.”

On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his party’s nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.

“He’s a buffoon,” Otto sneers. “So awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.”

“Americans love a rags to riches story,” you say. And then, somewhat randomly: “He loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. He’s never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.”

Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. “Really?”

You nod. “That’s the sort of thing the women talk about.”

There’s a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.

“It’s okay,” you say. “He’s not dead. Whatever happened, Daeron’s not dead.”

Otto crinkles his brow at you. “How do you know?”

“Because if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.” They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.

“Ma’am,” the soldier—a major you see now, spotting the golden oak leaves—says to Alicent as he removes his cap. “I regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and we’ve just received confirmation that he’s being held as a prisoner of war in Hỏa Lò Prison.”

“He’s in the Hanoi Hilton?!” Otto exclaims. “Oh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?”

“But he’s alive?” Aemond says. “He’s unharmed?”

“Yes sir,” the captain replies. “It is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCain’s son John. He’ll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.”

“So we can get Daeron back,” Aegon says. “I mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemond’s running for president, he’ll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?”

The captain continues: “Tomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. I’m afraid I’m only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.” He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.

“I have to pray,” Alicent says suddenly. “Helaena, will you pray with me? There’s a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think it’s called.”

Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. “Wait. I want to pray too,” she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.

As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. “What? What happened?”

“Go with Alicent,” Otto tells her. “She’s headed downstairs.”

“What? Why…?”

“Just go!” he barks.

Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundress—patterned with forget-me-nots—billowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.

After a moment, Otto speaks. “You know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesn’t want special treatment. And that’s a very noble thing to do, don’t you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.”

Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: “Daeron wants to help this family.”

“You’re not going to try to get him out.” Aegon realizes.

Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. “It’s only until November.”

“No, you know people!” Aegon explodes. “You pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you don’t know what kind of shape he’s in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you can’t just leave him there!”

“It’s not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didn’t. So it’s my job to handle these things. You don’t get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.”

“But Daeron could die,” Aegon says, his voice going brittle.

“Any of us could die. We’re in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isn’t finished. We have to keep going.”

“Will you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything you’ve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and it’s not right!”

“Aegon,” Otto says calmly. “It’s unlikely we’d be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, he’ll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t kill the brother of a U.S. president. They don’t want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.”

“Still, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,” Fosco says. “It is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headline—”

“And who the fuck asked you?” Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.

“Okay, then tell Mom,” Aegon says to Aemond. “Tell her you’re going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her you’re going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.”

Aemond replies cooly: “Why would you want to upset her? She can’t change it. You’ll only make her suffering worse.”

“What do you think?” Otto asks you, and you know that he isn’t seeking counsel. He’s summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. He’s waiting for you to say that it’s a smart strategy, because it is. He’s waiting for you to bend to Aemond’s will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.

“I think it’s wrong,” you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.

Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegon’s blood on your palm. For some reason, it’s very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. You’re sitting demurely on a sand dune, you’re building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, you’re flying kites, you’re gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.

“Mr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?” a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. “What do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?”

Aemond doesn’t need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. “Loyalty,” your husband says. “Not just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that we’re currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better future…it’s absolutely remarkable. I’m in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.”

There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smile—elegant, soft, practiced—as Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that you’ve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon you’ll have to again.

“How about you, Mrs. Targaryen?” another reporter asks. “Same question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?”

And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other people—Aegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmo—but not Aemond. It’s like you’ve blocked him out somehow, like he’s a sketch you erased. But you can’t hesitate. You can’t let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where you’re going, something that is rare for you. “Aemond is the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.” You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. “He never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond won’t disappoint you. He’s not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.”

There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a look—just for a second, just long enough that you can catch it—that warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. He’s the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.

Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what you’re going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. “Huh? Nothing. I’m great.”

“No, something’s wrong. You look lost. You look like me.”

You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.

Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. “What did you do?”

Your eyes drift to him. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, it’s all in a rush, like you can’t unburden yourself of the words fast enough. “I put a tampon in and I can’t get it out.”

Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. “You did what?!” Then he tries to be serious. “Wait. Sorry. Uh, really?”

You’re on the verge of tears. “I’ve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and it’s super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. I’m not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isn’t healed all the way or whatever. And now I can’t get it out and it’s been in there for like six hours and I’m scared I’m going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.”

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Aegon says. “There’s no string?”

“No, I’ve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didn’t notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I don’t know, but I can’t get it out, it’s like…the angle isn’t right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I can’t grab it. I’m going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but I’m scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and I’m going to have to make up something and…and…” You can’t talk anymore. There are other reasons why you don’t want to go to the hospital. You haven’t stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like you’ll never have enough air in your lungs.

“Did you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.”

“I don’t know,” you moan miserably. “I mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Aemond you couldn’t wear this dress?”

You give him an impatient glance. “I’m tired of having the same conversation.” When do you think you’ll be done bleeding? When do you think it’ll be time to start trying again?

Aegon sighs. “Do you want me to get it out for you?”

“Please stop. I’m really panicking here.”

“I’m not joking.”

You stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.”

“I’d rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Fosco’s yo-yo.”

“Okay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?”

You hesitate.

“I’d offer to do it,” Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. “But I’m in no condition to drive.”

“But you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?”

“Two minutes tops. That’s a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.”

Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.”

Aegon taunts: “I thought you already hated me.”

You aren’t sure what you feel for him, but it’s certainly not hate. Not anymore. “Where would we do it?”

“In my office. And by that I mean my basement.”

“Your filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?”

“You’re in luck,” he jokes. “My crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.”

You exhale in a low, despairing groan.

“Hey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? I’m game. Your choice.”

You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. “Okay. The basement.”

You walk with Aegon to the house and—after ensuring that no one is around to notice—sneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.

You’re surveying the scene nervously. “I don’t want to get blood all over your stuff.”

“You’re the cleanest thing that’s ever been on that carpet. Lie down.”

You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so it’s out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so you’re hidden from him, like you’re about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you don’t exactly feel like you want to stop. It’s more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that he’ll never know about.

Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. “2:07. I promised two minutes max. Let’s see how I do. Ready?”

You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. “Ready.”

But he can see that you’re shaking. “Hey,” Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so you’re covered. “Do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I’ll try to distract people. I’ll pretend I’m having a seizure or something.”

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. “I just want it out. I want this over with.”

“Got it.” And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. He’s warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. “Shh, shh, shh,” Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like you’ve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. “Relax. You alright?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely in there,” Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. “No string…you’re right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.”

“Now you insult my intelligence. As if I’m not embarrassed enough.”

“I should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?”

“The seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.”

Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. “Sorry, sorry, my mistake,” Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m gonna try to wiggle it out…”

As he works, there are sensations you can’t quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that he’s the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasure—craving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptation—and you instinctively reach for him. Your hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that he’s hurt you again. But once your eyes meet you’re both trapped there, and you can’t pretend you’re not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water you’re desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. “No string,” he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. “Factory reject.”

“Just like you.”

He glances at the clock. “2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.” He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. “So do you like to cuddle afterwards, or…?”

You’re giggling, covering your flushed face. “Shut up.”

“Personally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.”

“Go away.” You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: “You’re not going to keep that under your ashtray too?”

Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. “No, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.” He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. “That should get you upstairs.”

“Thanks.” You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I owe you something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. “Maybe I’m not that bad.”

“Maybe,” you agree thoughtfully.

Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but he’s not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, it’s me again. I’m in solitary confinement. There’s a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. You’re not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think that’s because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.

Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isn’t that something? Houdini would love it. There’s a rat that I’m making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. She’s good company. I’ve named her Tessarion.

Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.

I would very much like to be rescued.

[cherryblossomcowgirl]

Does He Know? Part 2

MASTERLIST PINNED

WC: 2.9k

Warnings: Swearing; Unplanned pregnancy; Cursing; Angst; Fluff; Age Gap

Hangman x reader; Maverick x daughter!reader

.

.

Penny stays to watch Duke while I walk down the beach. After a few minutes, I see a figure sitting in the dunes. I walk over and sit beside him, “Hi.” He looks at me, “Is it mine?” I nod. He sighs, “I never gave you my number. Or my last name. I didn’t even know yours until an hour ago.” I nervously chuckle, “Yeah we kind of skipped over that part.” Jake’s eyes are glassy, “I am sorry, Y/n. Have you been okay?” “It is definitely scary and I have no idea what I am doing. But he is perfect.” He grins, “It’s a boy?” “Mhmm. He is a big boy, too. Born 8 pounds 10 ounces.” “What’s his name?” “Duke.” “I like that.” We sit there for a moment, listening to the waves. I clear my throat, “If you wanted to, you could come by one day and meet him.” His green eyes meet mine and all I can see is Duke, “If you would let me, I’d really love that.” I stand up and wipe the sand off of my shorts, “I should be getting him home. When would you want to come by?” He stands up and shrugs, “Tomorrow morning work for you? Or is that too soon? I don’t want to-“ I cut him off, “Jake, you don’t have to worry about that. Tomorrow morning is great. We are 10 houses down on the left, 126. Blue door.” He smiles, “Okay, see y’all then.” I smile back and head towards Dad’s house. People are still outside drinking and chatting. I plop down by Penny on the couch. “How did it go?” “Surprisingly well. He is coming over in the morning to meet the little guy.” I lean on her shoulder and she chuckles, “Told you so.” “You won’t tell Dad, right? I want to try and figure this out with Jake first.” She kisses my head, “Of course. Go home and get some rest, call me if you need anything.” I hug her, “Thank you, Penny. I am so happy to have you.” “I am happy to be here, Y/n.” Duke and I say goodbye to Grandpa and head home. He eats and goes right to sleep. I follow shortly after, despite the nervous feeling in the bottom of my stomach.

.

.

When we wake up, I dress Duke in a cute little blue outfit that has an airplane print. I frantically pick up around the house and at 09:55, there is a knock at the door. I lay Duke in his bassinet and open the door, “Morning Jake.” “Morning Y/n. You doing okay?” “Yeah, we are good! Want some coffee?” He nods and follows me into the kitchen. We grab coffee and I motion for him to follow me into the living room, “He is a little sleepy but he is in here.” I watch as Jake carefully approaches the bassinet. He looks in and his entire face brightens. “Oh my gosh, he looks just like me.” I chuckle, “Yes he does. It’s kind of rude since I am the one who grew him.” Jake looks at me with tears in his eyes, “I am sorry.” “Oh I was just kidding, he is adorable.” Jake shakes his head, “No, I am sorry you had to do this alone. I am such an asshole.” I put my hand on his shoulder, “It’s not like I was asking you to come meet the parents or anything. We didn’t know this would happen.” Jake grins, “I went back every night that week to try and find you.” I chuckle, “Really?” He nods, “Yes ma’am. Then I got deployed, was only back in the states for a week when I got the call to come back to Top Gun.” Duke starts wriggling around and I pick him up, “Shhh Mommy’s here. You’re okay.” When I look over, Jake’s eyes are glued on us. “You want to hold him?” “Can I?” “Of course you can.” I hand Duke over and Jake pulls him in close. He gazes down and rubs circles on the side of Duke’s head. There are a few minutes of silence. I stand back, admiring the way he is looking at Duke. Jake’s eyes meet mine, “I love him. I just met him and I love him.” My eyes water, “I felt that way the moment I saw those pink lines.” “Does your Dad know?” I shake my head, “I’m dealing with one thing at a time. Penny knows.” He nods and looks at Duke, “What are we going to do?” I sit down on the couch and he follows. I clear my throat, “Maybe we start with the basics?” “That sounds good to me.” “Okay, my name is Y/n Y/m/n Mitchell. I am 26 and a forensic scientist.” “Jacob Thomas Seresin, but my friends call me Hangman. Fighter pilot. 38. Where are you from?” “Down by Santa Monica. Came up here after college once I found my Dad. What about you?” “Texas. Went to UT and then straight to the Navy.” Duke starts fussing and I tell Jake, “He might need fed. Want to give him a bottle?” He nods and follows me to the kitchen. As I warm up the bottle, Jake watches my every move. I turn to him and chuckle, “What’s up?” “I thought about you so much on the deployment. But now you are glowing.” “I thought about you too.” Jake starts feeding Duke, “Did you hate me?” “No, Jake. How could I? Maybe it wasn’t the best circumstances, but you gave me Duke.” His eyes are welling up again and Duke finishes his bottle, “What do I do now?” I giggle, “You burp him.” I take Duke and show Jake how to. Jake takes him back and gets a burp out almost instantly. I pat Jake’s back, “Look, you’re already a natural! Now he’s ready for a nap.” He follows me into the nursery and lays him in the bassinet. I kiss the top of Duke’s head and turn on his sound machine and monitor. Jake looks around at all the planes, “Your Dad?” I nod, “Him and Penny got a little carried away.” I sit down on the couch and Jake stands there, “Do you want me to go? Or..” “Jake, I know this is an odd situation but you can stay as long as you’d like. I just have some cleaning to do today.” He sits beside me and sets his hand on top of mine, “I don’t want to leave him yet.” I squeeze his hand, “You don’t have to. You are always welcome here.”

.

.

As the weeks pass, Jake and I fall into a comfortable routine. He stops by whenever he has time and my Dad isn’t there. Usually he brings food, or coffee, or gifts for Duke. I get home from picking up Duke to see Jake on my front porch, “Hey! Sorry, was chatting with Penny.” He smiles at us and I hand him Duke. He hands me a small bag, “Here, open it.” “For me?” He nods and follows me into the house. I open it up to see a small box with a big white bow. Inside, there was a diamond solitaire necklace on a yellow gold chain. “Jake, oh my gosh. You didn’t have to do this. This is crazy!” He grins, “It’s his birth stone. Noticed you wear gold jewelry.” I put it on and hug him, “Thank you. That is very thoughtful.” He squeezes me tight and we head over to the living room. Duke seems to be getting bigger every day. He is constantly smiling and cooing. His favorite toy is his play mat that Jake got him, it has little airplanes hanging around him. We lay him on that and sit beside him on the floor. Jake rubs my back, “How was work?” “Good! Had a lot of inventory to get through today. Got a few samples back from the lab, so I had to call a few detectives to come get the results. How was your day?” He smirks, “I shot down your Dad in the simulation today. And then Rooster. And then Payback. And then Bob and Phoenix.” I lean on his shoulder, “Look at you go. Was Dad mad?” I feel his chuckle, “I would say he was more surprised than angry. He shook my hand after.” He plays with my hair as we watch Duke wiggle around on his mat. I take a moment to breathe. These last few weeks have been so peaceful. Jake and I have a nice rhythm going. We do Duke’s bedtime routine and then we eat dinner together. Sometimes we watch a movie, or play a board game, or sit on the back porch and watch the waves. Some nights he stays in the guest room to help with Duke. I had gotten used to doing it on my own, but it is nice having someone with me. The house isn’t as quiet as before. Jake raises his eyebrow, “What’s on your mind?” “This has been nice. I don’t feel as overwhelmed. Or alone. Thank you for being here.” He pulls me in closer, “Y/n, I will always be here. For both of you.”

.

.

We start Duke’s bedtime routine and he does amazing as always. Afterwards, I make dinner and Jake joins me in the kitchen. We eat and I turn to Jake, “What do you think would’ve happened if I didn’t have Duke?” “What do you mean?” “If you saw me at that cook out, and I didn’t have Duke, what do you think would’ve happened?” Jake thinks and finally answers, “I would’ve talked to you. Definitely would’ve tried to get you to go out with me. You probably wouldn’t want to, because of my reputation. I would’ve told you that I couldn’t get you out of my head the whole time I was deployed. What do you think would’ve happened?” I grin, “I would’ve given in and said yes. Then I would’ve told you that I thought about you nonstop.” He throws his arm around me and pulls me in, “You mean that?” “Mhmm. I tried to find you! Not that week, I had a crazy case at work. A couple weeks after we met I kept going back to the bar. Then a couple of weeks later I took a test. Then when I had Duke, they handed me him and he was your twin. Bright green eyes and a head full of blonde hair.” He steps back and tilts my chin up to look at him, “Is this okay?” I nod and keep my eyes locked on his. He leans in and our lips meet. His kiss is soft. His movements are slow and gentle. My brain starts flashing back to that night. The electricity today is exactly the same as a year ago. It takes my breath away and my knees feel weak.

.

.

I wake up and my head is still reeling from last night’s kiss. There was something about Jake that made me feel drawn to him. The night we met, it felt like I was under a spell. He was charming and funny and gorgeous and southern. Everything happened so effortlessly. Now here he is, in the midst of a confusing and complicated situation, not letting it phase him at all. He’s helpful and thoughtful and he’s making my heart do backflips in my chest. I get out of bed and go to grab Duke. Jake is already in the nursery, he stayed over because it was Friday night. He turns to me, “Look at him. Sleepy little dude.” I smile and head to the kitchen, “I’ll make some breakfast.” Jake follows me and starts the coffee pot, “How did you sleep?” I yawn, “Good! Is the guest bed comfy?” “Oh yeah. I’m also not picky, I could sleep anywhere.” My phone buzzes.

Dad: Can we come by? Missing my little man. 💙

I look at Jake, “It’s Dad. Do you feel ready to do this?” He walks over to me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, “Honey, I’m ready whenever you are.” I take a deep breath and respond.

Y/n: Sure! Maybe in an hour? He is still sleeping. 😴

Dad likes the message and I try to stay calm. Jake notices my nervousness and kisses the top of my head, “Hey, everything is okay. I can handle whatever happens. I promise.” I kiss his cheek, “Thank you. It’ll be okay. It has to be.” Grabbing my phone, I shoot Penny a quick text.

Y/n: Need to tell him. Jake is here now.

Penny immediately responds.

Penny: I will be right there with you. All 3 of you.

That calms me down and Duke wakes up. We dress him and wait for Grandpa to arrive.

.

.

There’s a knock on the door and I tell Jake to stay in the living room with Duke. I open the door to Dad and Penny. Dad hugs me, “Hey baby girl! Where’s my little buddy?” Penny hugs me and I stop Dad in the entryway, “Actually Dad, I have something to tell you.” His face flushes, “Is he okay? Are you okay? Tell me you are both okay?!” “We are both fine. It’s about Duke’s Dad.” Dad looks at me and raises his eyebrow, “I thought you said you only knew his first name? And it was a one night fling?” Heat rises to my cheeks, “Yeah Dad, it was. I kind of ran into him the other week.” His jaw drops, “Did you tell him? Does he want to be involved? Did he remember you? Did-“ I cut him off, “Yes, yes, and yes. Okay. Dad, he is in the living room. And I need you to stay calm. And to remember the circumstances. And to stay calm.” Penny rubs his arm and I can see that he is flustered. He takes a breath and looks at me, “Okay, baby girl. After you.” He motions and I start to walk to the living room. We turn the corner and I look at Dad. You can practically see the steam coming off of him. Jake is standing there, swaying because Duke is fussing. “Hangman?!” Penny pats his back, “Okay Pete, we don’t need to yell.” Dad’s face is red as can be, “Hangman?! My daughter?! You got my daughter pregnant?!” I stand in front of Jake, “Dad, I didn’t know who he was.” Jake looks down and then to Dad, “Mav, I swear I didn’t know she was your daughter.” Dad’s eyes are darting between the 3 of us. He turns to Penny, “Why are you so calm?!” Penny sighs, “I was there when Y/n and Jake saw each other at the cookout.” “Dad, I asked her not to tell you. I needed to try and figure this out first.” He sits down on the couch, “So have you? What is the plan here?” “Jake has been coming over most nights to help me. It is still early on but it has been really nice.” Dad looks at Jake, “Are you going to stick around? What are your intentions here?” Jake clears his throat, “I am going to be here for your daughter and my son, sir.” Dad laughs and I put my hand on Jake’s arm, “Dad, I know this isn’t what you wanted. I didn’t exactly plan for this either. But Jake only found out he had a child a few weeks ago, and he has made an effort to be there for me and Duke. I need you to at least respect that.” He sighs, “Okay. For you. And Duke.” He stand up and walks to Jake, “If you hurt her or him, you’re done.” Jake nods and Penny swats his arm, “Pete! No threats. Let’s get out of their hair.” They say goodbye and head out the door.

.

.

Jake and I flop onto the couch. He chuckles, “Guess that could’ve been worse.” I lay my head on his chest, “Sorry about him. He’ll come around.” We lay there for a minute. “Can I ask you something?” “Always, Jake.” “Do you want to be with me? Long term? Like marriage and a house and a dog?” I look at him, “Is that what you want? I never really thought about those things, because it was just me and Duke. Honestly, I didn’t think I would be able to have those things.” Jake traces my jawline, “I want those things. I want to do this right.” I glance at the baby monitor, “I want to do this right, for him.” “So where is your head at on this?” I think for a second , “I don’t want to rush into marriage. I’d like to date? At least for a bit.” He nods, “That sounds good to me. Are you still okay with me staying over some nights?” “Unless you wanted to move in? That way you could see Duke more.” Jake smiles and leans over to kiss me, “I would love that.” I laugh, “I don’t even know where you live. Do you have a lease?” “Nope. Renting a room from a buddy in the squad. I could move in whenever you want.” I kiss him back, “You should probably start packing your bags.”

[mondaymelon]

when they first fell in love with you. ♡

(sumeru genshin impact males x gn!reader)

written headcanon style! enjoy ✩

(a/n) might be writing a part two of this with tighnari and some other male genshin characters so please comment which characters you would like to see! thank you for reading ♡

˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

cyno ♡

he was never the emotional man, at least not around other people. but to you, he was just the hobby-chasing mahamatra who liked to play card games religiously.

the two of you met a long time ago, years before, during his time at the academia. The two of you had the same biology class. over the course of half a semester and more than a few group projects, you could say the two of you had grown relatively close.

close enough that cyno, being cyno, was comfortable enough to tell always tell you his most terrible jokes.

"hey. why did the biologist break up with the physicist?"

you had stared at him quizzically, not sure if this was a test or an actual question about the work, but replied anyway. "what?"

"they... had no chemistry."

"..."

"do you get it - because like chemistry is a subject of science and biologists study the science of life and we're in science class and-"

he'll never forget the way you laughed that day. the way your serious expression faded into one trying to hold back laughter, and the way your lips curved upwards instantly... he felt his heart skip a beat as you let out a quiet giggle under your breath. he didn't know why or what, but a wave of affection swept over him, almost engulfing him completely before he reeled it back, face tinted red.

"hehe, you're funny, cyno." you had told him, smiling sweetly, still struggling to mute your laughs.

"am i?" cynos crimson eyes were wide as he looked at you with a look of surprise.

"mhm!" you nodded at him, beaming. "oh, are you free after school today? we should meet up to do the homework."

cyno hid his face from you then, face burning and flushed red as he mumbled out a response. "i'm free."

"great!" you slid him a slip of paper, torn off of your biology worksheet. "i figured you should have my number. don't forget to text me, okay?"

"i won't."

and he kept his word.

al haitham ♡

it all happened after the school announced an academia-wide field trip to the desert, quite the far trek in hindsight. you were surprised the school even agreed to it. that aside, the entire school was excited about it, especially to people who had moved from the sandy dunes to the lively rainforest in order to study at the academia.

however, al haitham, your literature class partner, had stayed silent. you glanced at him several times throughout the entire day, but his expression didn't change one bit, nor did he even look from his book.

"al haitham." you called out his name, eyes sparkling curiously. "what are you reading?"

"a comprehensive look at sumeru's last 300 years." his answer was short and quick. you whistled, impressed that he was willingly reading such a text.

"are you going on the field trip?" you questioned, wanting to ask but not wanting to annoy him.

"i see no reason not to." yet another blatant answer. he turned the page absent-mindingly, eyes trailing from sentence to sentence. you decided to let him read, not wanting to bother him more than you already had.

just then, a group of students walked into the room, bustling about loudly and chatting amongst themselves not too quietly at all. if they noticed the two of you, they certainly didn't care. they laughed and shouted some more before taking the tables next to where the two of you sat and continued to squawk about.

you caught al haitham wincing at the noise, mutely noting the fact that he had taken off his headphones. you never realized the ashen-haired man had sensitive hearing, but now a lot more things made sense- especially the fact that haitham never ate lunch, like the other students, in the cafeteria.

hesitantly, you reached up and cupped your hands over al haitham's exposed ears. "is it too loud?" you whispered as quietly as you could, hoping that al haitham wouldn't be bothered by your question.

as you glanced down at his expression, his look of astoundment startled you. his emerald eyes sparkled with a look of tenderness that you would've expected as he gazed up at you, his diamond shaped pupils staring up at you and you only.

then, so subtle you almost missed it, he whispered, face flushed:

"thank you."

kaveh ♡

kaveh was always a friendly person, and that was certainly not an exception when it came to you. after a class, he would always burst into the room and come to walk you to your next one.

it come to a point where you would wait for him to show up after the lecture ended, purposely packing up your things slower as you scanned the door for any signs of the blonde man. and he always showed up.

always.

except, then he didn't. you waited until the students of the next hour began to come in, and then waited more until you were sure you were already late. yet, he still didn't show up. worry began gnawing at your stomach as you fidgeted through all of your classes that day, mind cloudy.

and he wasn't there the day after that, either. you missed his presence, his sunny demeanor, and his blushing reaction whenever you decided to tease him.

after about a week of the constant torture, he showed up again, grinning and raising his hand as if he was expecting a wave after your design class.

and you didn't just give him a wave. you dropped all your things instantly, eyes wide and teary, and leaped onto the man, sending both of you tumbling to the ground as you gave him the tightest hug you could manage.

underneath you, kaveh let out a shout of surprise, trying to get you off of him so he could get up, but he wouldn't budge. and he glanced down at you, confused at what had gotten you so worked up, he spotted glistening tears spilling down your face.

"wh-what's happened?" he questioned with a worried expression as he helped you up, tears still running down from your eyes. "did someone hurt you? who was it??"

"idiot..." you leaned against his figure, burying your face into his chest, not caring if you were to be late or not. "you left without a word...!"

"i-i'm sorry-!" kaveh glanced down at your figure clinging onto him, face flushed as his heart pounded so loud that he was sure you would be able to hear it. "i caught a cold..."

"don't leave me again like that, okay??"

"o-okay."

wanderer ♡

you had known him for a long time now, you would've admitted if you had no other choice but to be truthful. but it was a hopeless thing, since never once did he ever seem to notice you - much less care about you or your wellbeing.

at least he had never outright told you that he disliked your presence. it was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

so it was a surprise when he showed up at your doorstep, clothes and hair drenched from the relentless rain outside. he stared at the ground sheepishly, expression embarrassed as he spoke. "i... i didn't have anywhere else to go."

"oh." you had stood there for quite a bit, mouth rounded and eyes wide before returning to your senses. "you can come inside. i'll get you a towel."

the dark-haired man nodded silently, stepping outside as drops of water fell from the sides of his hat. you halted, whipping around. "leave that on the porch."

"but-"

"it's wet. it's going to be no help when we try to get you dry." seeing scaramouche's face fall, you cleared your throat. "but if you must, you can leave it in the mudroom."

"...alright."

you weren't even sure why he was sitting in your living room, a towel around him and sitting on your couch by the fireside, slowly sipping a hot mug of tea. he didn't seem to be thinking of speaking anytime soon, so you did it in his place.

"did you need something?" you questioned him after taking a long sip from your own mug.

"no, i just..." he shook his head. "can i stay here? just for a little while longer?"

the softness in his voice startled you, but you managed to give him an answer without stuttering either way. "you can stay for however long you want." at your response, you saw the male's eyes light up, along with his face flushing a bit too, an action that was not gone unnoticed.

"...i appreciate it. i want you to know that i really do. thank you."

masterlist ✩ next

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Eleven

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Ducky deals with the fallout of Jake's bar kiss; Bob interrogates Jake and asks a big question

WC: 1.5K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

You grabbed Natasha’s arm. “We have to go.” 

She frowned. “What’s going on?” 

You shook your head, trying not to alert anyone else. “I saw Jake in the hallway by the bathroom. Kissing some random girl.” 

Natasha’s brown eyes went hard. “I’ll kill him.” 

“Please, no,” you whispered. “Can I just stay at your place tonight?” 

“Of course.” 

“Also I’m going to piss my pants.” 

“Come with me.” She took your hand and led you out toward the back of the bar onto the deck. Your eyes automatically flocked to the place where you had stood the night you first met Jake. Instead, Nat pointed to the edge of the deck. “Pee on the sand.” 

You laughed. “You’re joking.” 

“It’s that or go back and risk seeing him again.” 

“I hate you,” you muttered, wobbling over to the edge of the deck and hiking up your dress, squatting down over the dunes. “This is a new low for me.” 

The door swung open and your mouth dropped in shock as Bradley barreled outside. “What’s going on?” 

“Oh my God!” you yelled, pee running down your leg. 

Bradley’s eyes went wide. “What the?” 

Natasha grabbed him and whirled him around until his back was to you. “Bradshaw, shut up. Y/N, finish your piss so we can get out of here.” 

“I hate my life,” you muttered. 

Bradley laughed. “So this is what girls do at bars? Pee outside.” 

“Only when Seresin is making out with random bitches by the bathroom,” Nat said. 

Bradley’s face pivoted into a frown. “What?” 

You stood up, stepping over the wet sand. “Let’s just not talk about it,” you whispered. “Can we go home now?” 

Natasha nodded. “Do you want to just leave?” 

“I need to say goodbye to Bobby or he’ll worry.” She nodded and you eased the side door open, shoving through the crowd to get to where Bob and Sena were sitting in the corner. “Bobby,” you whispered in his ear and he turned. “I’m not feeling great. Nat is going to take me home.” 

He frowned. “Do you want Jake to take you?” 

“I really don’t.” 

His eyes, ice blue, hardened. “What does that mean?” 

You sighed. “I just need to go home, it’s been a long night. I love you.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek then smiled at Sena and gave her a hug around the shoulders. “It was lovely meeting you.” 

“You too,” she said softly. The two of them watched as you walked out of the bar toward the front door. 

A moment later, Jake reappeared at the table. “Hey. Where did Y/N go?” 

Bob shook his head. “Home with Natasha.” 

“Why?” 

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, Hangman. Why?” 

Jake gulped. 

***

Natasha’s apartment was girlier than you had expected. Pink pillows on the guest bed, monogrammed towels in the bathroom, a gold french press in the kitchen. 

In the morning, you wandered into the kitchen, wet hair hanging down your back. “I didn’t peg you for a gingham bedspread.” 

She grimaced. “My mother decorated. Can you tell?” 

“Just a little.” You looked around. “It’s very … pink.” 

She sighed and sat down on the bar stool next to you. “Don’t remind me. Listen, about last night.” 

You shook your head. “Going to pretend it didn’t happen.” 

“And what about when he brings that girl home?” 

“I told him he could date,” you whispered. “I told him that he should.” 

“Are you on drugs?” 

“Yes, I’m high as a kite while five months pregnant.” 

Natasha took a sip of coffee. “I’m not saying it’s great but you might have to be the adult here.” 

“He’s thirty years old,” you countered. “He knows what he’s doing and he knows what he wants.” 

“What that man wants is you.” You turned to her, mouth hanging. Natasha nodded. “I mean it. I see the way he looks at you. He wants you, despite what he might do or say.” 

“Only because he thinks he has to.” 

“Jake Seresin has never listened to a word of advice that he didn’t want to,” she replied. “If he wants you, it’s because he really does, not because he thinks it’s the right thing to do.” Nat paused. “The only question is, do you want him, too?” 

***

The doorbell rang. Jake rushed out of his room, no shirt, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders and frowned. You had a key. If it was you, and he hoped it was, you would have let yourself in. 

Which could only mean it was someone else. And he didn’t want to see anyone else. He thought about ignoring it when there was a knock. Hard. 

He flung the door open. “What?” 

Bob stepped inside. “Hangman.” 

Jake frowned. “Floyd.” He paused. “She’s not here.” 

“I know she isn't. That’s why I’m here.” 

Jake felt his heart speed up. You were leaving. A part of him had dreaded it from the first moment you stepped through the doorway of the new apartment. That you would decide to leave him before the baby arrived, or even after. That you would see he wasn’t fit to be a dad. 

Bob paced in a tight circle before training his eyes on Jake. “I know you and I, we have a history. We don’t even really like each other. But you’re having a baby with my sister. My only sister. And she means more to me than anything.” Bob paused. “She means more to me than my own life. So trust me when I say, there’s nothing you could do that’s worse than hurting her in any way.” 

“I’m not going to–”

“You already have.” Bob cut him off. “This cat and mouse game or whatever the two of you have going on? It stops today. She’s hurt and you’re hurt and you’re both fucking stupid.” 

“I don’t know what your deal is Floyd, but–”

“Do you love her?” 

Jake stopped in his tracks. His eyes lifted to meet Bob’s. The two men stood in the middle of the living room, squared off. 

And then the door opened, and you appeared with Natasha right behind you. You frowned. “Bobby? What are you doing here?” 

His eyes lingered on Jake before crossing the room and looping his arm over your shoulder. “Came to get you, Duck. Thought we could grab some lunch.” 

“Um, sure.” You looked at Jake who had a pale sheen to his skin. Like he was going to be sick. “I’m going to change real quick. Wait for me by the car?” 

Bob nodded and slipped through the door. But not before you saw the glance he shared with Natasha. “Y/N? I’m going to head out, too.” 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you said softly and she smiled, filing out behind Bob. 

You closed the door to your room, emerging a few minutes later in a fresh dress, hair twisted up in a bun and a pair of sunglasses over your tired eyes. Jake sat on the couch, staring at his feet. 

You walked past him, grabbing your bag off the table where Natasha had placed it. As you opened the door, Jake’s voice floated across the room. 

“Are you coming back?”

It was quiet. Too quiet. Practically a thin whisper. You resisted the urge to turn around and look at him. 

“Yeah,” you said after a moment, one hand on the door handle. “But it would be great if you weren’t here when I did.” 

And with that, you pulled the door shut behind you, putting a wall up between you and Jake. 

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @withahappyrefrain @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @gigisimsonmars @xomrsalliej4787xo @myfaveficrecs @mycobrakai1972 @sio-ina-bottle @joaquinwhorres @justanothermagicalsara @je-suis-prest-rachel @shanimallina87

@rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me  @kmc1989 @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @bbyvanessaa  @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @boiolay @sometimesanalice @na-ta-sh-aa @bobfloydsbabe @kmc1989 @rosiahills22 @palepeanutponyshoe @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @mel119g @daggerspare-standingby @grxcisxhy-wp @mrsjobarnes @csmt-m @rockbottompunk-blog @joaquinwhorres @xoxabs88xox @spinning-away

[yelenasdiary]

in response to that hilarious pic of flo, maybe the prompt could be Flo giving an interview to the reader but she’s not listening to the questions because she’s distracted by the readers looks? maybe reader even “tricks” Flo into answering “yes, of course” to a “will you go out with me?” question because reader knows Flo is not paying attention to their questions? 😂 can’t wait to read whatever you pick!

Drabble || Trick Question

Pairing: Florence Pugh x Reader

Summary: You've got the opportunity to interview Florence Pugh and Timothée for the new Dune movie, when you notice that Florence is struggling a little to focus on the interview you take a leap into the deep end and try to draw her attention back to the interview.

Fluff

Warnings: None, this isn't proof read or corrected! | 0.5K

AC: I fell inlove with this idea the moment I read it! Thank you for sending it, I hope you enjoy!! x Post in question

"My next question is for you, Florence" you said with a soft smile. The actress whom had been in and out of this entire interview. The first you thought maybe you had asked something she didn't feel comfortable to answer but as the interview went on you soon noticed how she was unable to keep her eyes off you.

Florence tilted her head slightly, as if to tell you to go ahead with your question. "Did you get a chance to learn how to sand walk from Timothée?" you asked. Timothée laughed, shaking his head. His laugh brought Florence's attention back to the interview, she chuckled. "Unfortunately not, but it does look really cool!" she replied.

"Good to have you back on earth!" Timothée joked, poking fun at his friend. Florence threw him a cheeky side eye and chuckled.

"I agree! it does look really cool" you commented before moving onto the next question on your queue cards.

After a few more questions for Timothée and Florence, you wrapped up the typical questions and had a few minutes left to play a little game with the cast.

"We have a few minutes left so I thought we could play a little trivia question game" you suggested.

"Sounds fun, let's do it!" Timothée smiled.

"I'm in!" Florence added.

"Sweet! The first question is, which animal has ten hearts?" you asked. Florence frowned instantly as she tried to think of the answer, meanwhile Timothée only needed a few short seconds to have the answer pop into his head. "Ten hearts? god, that's a lot" Florence commented, "do you know?" she asked, looking to her friend and cast member.

"Yeah, it's the earthworm!" He replied.

"That's correct!" you smiled. Florence looked to be in disbelieve but the moment her eyes landed on your smile, her mind went blank. "What is the run time of the first Dune?" you asked.

You noticed Timothée's eyes widen while he racked his brain for an answer but Florence didn't react, she just looked at you with a soft smile tugging at her lips. Timothée soon noticed that Florence was once again caught in the beautiful of your eyes but didn't say anything to pull her attention back to the little game.

"I wanna say it's like three hours and fifth teen minutes" Timothée replied, completely unsure of this answer. "Florence? your thoughts?" he asked.

"Uh? oh, I think it's like two hours and forty five minutes" she quickly replied.

"You were very close, it's run time is two hours and thirty five mines!" you said before taking a quick look at your queue cards once more but once again, Florence's attention was quickly shifted back to you.

"This one is more for Florence, again" you started, just to make sure that Florence's attention was else were, and it was. "Would you like to get dinner after this?" you asked.

Florence nodded, "yes, I love too" she replied, "wait, could you please repeat that?" she added, leaning slightly forward. Both you and Timothée broke into laughter making Florence's cheeks to turn redder than ever.

"You need to pay better attention" Timothée teased.

Florence chuckled, "if you were serious about that question, I meant it, I would love too" she said, looking back at you.

Taglist: @marvelfan98 | @boredandneedfanfics | @music-4ever | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @scarlettbitchx | @mallyka-blog | @itsalwaysskorpioszn | @caporal-nino | @natashamaximoff-69 | @evilcr0ne | @boredandneedfanfics | @teganmiller | @ihavezeroclue13 | @tobiaslut | @itsmelulu | 

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : VI]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content waring : 18+ smut/nsfw, manipulation, fingering, p in v, virgnity loss, unprotected sex, creampie (Just asking for a friend: Do the Bene Gesserit need a condom?🤔)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: On your twentieth birthday, after spending nearly three years with Qimir, you finally decide to reveal your secret to him. And from that moment, your relationship with him will never be the same again.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : As mentioned, This fan fiction mixes elements from two universes, so some details might not match canon perfectly. I’ve made adjustments but will try to keep key canon elements intact. I hope you read this for enjoyment, not to nitpick details.

ps. Writing smut in English is rather demanding for me. I hope you can forgive any mistakes in this EP. I’ve done my best 😭

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 6] Four things cannot be hidden—love, smoke, a pillar of fire and a man striding across the open bled.

On your twentieth birthday, after spending three years with Qimir, you finally decide to reveal your secret to him.

There is no point in hiding it any longer, especially after he has already seen something he shouldn’t have on that ship. Besides, you no longer wish to conceal it. That near-death experience has changed your perspective—not just on your own feelings but also on the visions that have surfaced from deep within your subconscious. Through the fog of time, you sense profound changes—both in the future paths and in the bond between you and him.

A bond you never wanted to form. Feelings you wish to deny. But no matter how hard you try, in the end, you can’t escape it.

Sometimes, fate has a strange way of twisting things—you can’t help but think that when you recall your first meeting. You hated Qimir with all the intensity of your feelings. You couldn’t stand him. There were moments you even plotted his death, planning to flee far away. But who would have thought that three years later, you’d find yourself lying in his arms on a small bed in a rundown hotel near the Starports on Olega, far removed from the bloody events on Tatooine.

You are uncertain if it can even be called love. But one thing is certain: Qimir's presence changes your life forever. He changes you. You change him. And you have no idea if it is for better or worse.

Resting your head on Qimir's chest, you let his large hand caress your back. It's strange how safe you feel with him, despite having witnessed him kill so many people.

But it's not just you who feels this way. Qimir doesn't seem to fear you either. His words are blunt and direct when he finally asks about what he's seen. "I saw what you did—you control people with just your words," Qimir says. "What exactly are you? A member of some witch's coven?"

He turns on his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, holding you close as if to comfort you from the terrifying events that have unfolded earlier. Yet at the same time, it is clear he intends to keep you there, preventing you from leaving until you answer his question honestly.

You know Qimir’s intent, but do not push back. You remain silent for a moment before replying.

"It is an ancient technique passed down by my people," you confess, feeling as though you are revealing a terrible sin to some forgotten god. "We use our voice to command others, bending their will to our desires." You pause before adding, "And no, I am not part of any witch’s coven. My mother said those covens are nothing but lowly imitators, trying to replicate what we truly are."

"Your people? What do you mean?" Qimir frowns, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. A wave of unease washes over you as you realize that the moment of truth is finally upon you.

“I am Bene Gesserit.”

Bene Gesserit—those words, foreign to most in this age, are known only to a select few who have studied ancient history.

According to old records, before the rise of the Jedi Order, the Bene Gesserit was a powerful religious order that held great power throughout the galaxy, known as the Sisterhood. They only accepted women deemed worthy into their ranks.

It is said that the Bene Gesserit were the true originators of the Force, passing down their teachings through generations. The Bene Gesserit sisters possessed mysterious powers and physical capabilities far beyond the reach of ordinary people. They could neutralize poisons within their own bodies, control others with the power of the voice, and train their minds and bodies to heights that defied natural limits. Some could even glimpse into the future with an eerie sense of prophecy, though only fragments of what was to come—except for the Reverend Mothers who led the order. They alone held the power to peer through the memories of their ancestors, journeying through the past, present, and distant future.

And it was this obsession with the visions they received that drove their beliefs. The Bene Gesserit were convinced that the universe was heading toward destruction, haunted by the prospect of a terrible future. Their only solution was to guide human evolution to its pinnacle through meticulous breeding programs that spanned generations. They strengthened their power by sending their sisters to marry and breed with the ruling houses of various planets, integrating themselves into the political and religious structures, and influencing every layer of society, from the lowest to the highest ranks—all for one ultimate goal: the creation of the Kwisatz Haderach, a superior human who transcended all others.

Yet ironically, it was the Kwisatz Haderach himself who brought about the very doom of the universe, which the Bene Gesserit had feared and attempted to avoid all along.

The Bene Gesserit succeeded in creating the Kwisatz Haderach as intended, but they utterly failed to control him. Paul Atreides, the only son of Duke Leto Atreides and Lady Jessica of the Atreides, a Bene Gesserit sister, became a religious icon before he reached twenty. He was revered as the Lisan al Gaib—Voice from the Outer World—and was worshiped as a godhead. He led the Fremen, the ancient people of Arrakis, in a jihad that spread across the galaxy. Tens of millions perished in the holy war, and hundreds of millions more during the tyrannical rule of the Kwisatz Haderach’s own son.

Eventually, the Kwisatz Haderach's dynasty was annihilated by the vengeful masses, and the universe slowly began to heal, giving rise to numerous new sects, including the Jedi Order.

The Bene Gesserit were said to have vanished during this time, and rumors of their demise were widespread. Some claimed that the Kwisatz Haderach, driven by his hatred for the Sisterhood, had eradicated them entirely, while others believed they were blamed for the jihad and were hunted down by the vengeful populace.

Regardless of the cause, the true reason for the destruction of the Bene Gesserit was their overwhelming power and the mysterious goals they pursued. It was decided that the Bene Gesserit witches should no longer exist in the universe, as no one wanted to risk the emergence of a second Kwisatz Haderach.

For thousands of years, you have been the last Bene Gesserit. Although your skills and powers are far weaker than those of your ancestors due to a lack of proper training, you still surpass both Jedi and Sith. Your power is the source of the Force they wield—an ancient power that none can fully replicate unless they are also Bene Gesserit.

“I am not only a Bene Gesserit; I am also a Fremen,” you reveal, deciding to share another layer of your secret with him. You point to your deep blue eyes, the eyes of Ibad, the distinct mark of your ancient race, now long extinct along with the Bene Gesserit. “My Fremen name is Hara[1], a name known only to my mother."

You are surprised at yourself for disclosing your Fremen name to him. For the Fremen, a tribal name carries deep meaning and significance, given only to those who can be trusted completely.

However, you feel a sense of relief after finally speaking, though it's not complete. There are still secrets you haven’t shared with him, but revealing this much is already more than enough. You trust Qimir, but you are unsure how much of this truth he can truly accept. Deep down, you are terrified he might see you as a monster, shun you, or worse, decide to eliminate you like others might. Your very existence might be too dangerous to allow you to survive.

But Qimir says nothing. He appears deep in thought, his expression unreadable. You can’t discern his feelings, and the silence grows unbearable. Finally, you ask, 'Do you fear me now that you know who I am?'"

As the words leave your mouth, you bite your lip unconsciously while waiting for his reply, worry gnawing at you. How strange it is to be afraid of his rejection more than your own death."

"Fear?" Qimir tilts his head, puzzled by your question for a moment. Seeing your distressed expression, he quickly grasps your concern. "I have no reason to fear you," he says, stepping closer to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "I do not fear you," he emphasizes, sealing his words with a firm kiss on your lips.

You let Qimir kiss you a little longer. When he finally gives you a chance to catch your breath, you ask, 'Even though I am dangerous?' Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with uncertainty.

Everything feels too perfect and too smooth, and instead of providing reassurance, it only makes you feel more uneasy.

Qimir smiles widely, almost as if he wants to laugh but is holding it back. "Oh, in that case, it’s me you should fear more." He teases, his tone playful, as he resumes kissing you. Not on your lips, but now on your ear, nibbling playfully, while one of his hands moves up to your breast, caressing and teasing your nipple through the fabric with his thumb.

Your eyes widen as you realize what is about to happen. You grab Qimir’s arm, quickly halting his mischievous actions before things can go any further. “Qimir,” you call out his name, your heart pounding, your voice faltering with each shaky breath.

Qimir stops immediately, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. You see the clear reflection of desire in his dark eyes. “Don’t want to?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of pleading, though the playful smirk at the corner of his mouth suggests something more sly, as if he knows every thought in your mind without reading it, knowing that you won’t refuse.

His knowing demeanor makes you feel annoyed, but there is little you can do. In a situation like this, you are at a disadvantage in nearly every way.

“Well, I…” You try to speak but hesitate for a moment, your cheeks burning hot as if set aflame. You don’t know how to explain it to him without making yourself feel even more embarrassed. “I don’t know how... I’ve never... you understand, right?”

That isn’t entirely true. Even though you have never been intimate with anyone, you aren’t that naive. As a Bene Gesserit, you can see the past through ancestral memories, which sometimes bring you glimpses of things you shouldn’t see, intruding into your dreams. But dreams and reality are entirely different. You feel out of place, unsure of what to do, like someone who has read extensively but fails when it comes to practical application.

Qimir lets out a clear laugh, his sly smile shifting to one of genuine amusement, making you blush even more. Before you can protest, he seizes the moment and silences you with a kiss.

This time, though, it feels different.

Never before has a kiss between you two felt so deep and intense. His lips and tongue are sharp and distinct as they invade, filled with a potent desire that permeates every touch, burning with unwavering purpose, as if he wants to touch the very core of your being, reaching the true self you have never revealed to anyone.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His mouth lingers on your lips, and his hands gently cradle your cheeks. “Relax, don’t be afraid,” Qimir whispers, his lips trailing to your neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your skin, then moving down to your chest. “I told you before, you don’t need to hide yourself when you’re with me.” His voice is soft, almost dreamlike, but every touch is real.

You follow his lead, as if under a spell, letting him undress you without resistance. His large hands roam over every part of your soft skin, planting kisses along the curves of your body, from your shoulders down to your hips, and finally to the inside of your thighs. His dark eyes examine your naked form without looking away, not missing a single detail, taking in every perfection and flaw—nothing hidden, nothing concealed.

“I want you to feel every emotion within you—anger, fear, and desire…” The word ‘desire’ from Qimir’s lips was as sweet as honey. “Embrace who you truly are, what you can be, and what you can do when you’re with me—only with me.”

You flinch as his fingertips brush against your delicate folds before sliding inside you. You can feel every knuckle as he slowly works his way deeper, one finger becoming two, gently stretching you as he allows you to grow accustomed to the sensation. He then begins to move them slowly, his thumb rubbing your bud, massaging every sensitive spot inside and out, sending shivers of unfamiliar pleasure through your body.

Waves of strange, stinging bliss ripple across your skin, making you restless as you writhe in the throes of sharp delight. But his other hand presses firmly on your lower abdomen, forcing you to stay still.

“Be a good girl,” Qimir admonishes, a grin tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying watching you struggle helplessly beneath him.

You moan, burying your face in the pillow, your entire body trembling with the intensity of your climax, making you feel like you are floating in a sea of stars. After catching your breath for a moment, you look up to see Qimir hastily removing his own clothes. His skin is pale, his body sculpted with lean, defined muscles, as beautiful as a statue in a temple. But what sets him apart are the scars, some small, some large, like cracks in marble. Yet these imperfections only make him more striking, unique, and beautiful.

Qimir turns to look at you, fully aware that you have been watching him the entire time. His face softens in the dim light, but his eyes remain dark. You sense the intense longing within them—a desire he’s harbored for a long time. You wonder why you never noticed the fragile restraint in him until now. He seems on the verge of snapping, as if he’s been wound too tight, ready to unravel at any moment.

Qimir wastes no time, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close until there’s no space left between you and him. His hardness presses firmly against the crevice of your thighs, the heat spreading through your body as his cock gradually sinks into your swollen slit, filling you completely.

A low moan escapes his lips, soft and barely audible. Qimir pauses briefly, giving you a chance to catch your breath and adjust. As he takes a moment to relish the closeness, he revels in the warmth of your tight, slick, silky walls that embrace his length perfectly.

"It might hurt at first, but it’ll get better soon. Just bear with it," he murmurs, his hand gently stroking your hair. He plants a warm kiss on your cheek, trying to comfort you as your face contorts with pain. It feels like he’s about to tear you apart as he pushes in fully. You lock eyes with him in shock as a flood of emotions washes over you—strange, frightening, painful, and thrilling all at once.

Your lips part, letting out a silent moan as Qimir begins to move, thrusting in to the hilt until you can feel every inch of him deep within you. He brushes away a stray lock of black hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His lips press a kiss to your sweat-dampened temple as his hips thrust forward, quickening the pace. Your soft inner walls tighten, clenching around him as his tip repeatedly hits your sweet spot.

By now, the pain has subsided, replaced by waves of pleasure building inside you, ready to explode.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you grip Qimir's shoulders as if your life depends on his mercy. Your hips rise to meet his movements, every fiber of your being striving to get closer to him, nearly melding into one.

The rhythm changes slightly, slowing down and becoming less steady but more forceful. You pant heavily, feeling the climax approaching, each movement bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Just a few more thrusts, and you both reach the peak together. He spills into you, his release filling you up and spilling over. The hot, wet feeling of his cum makes your body shiver and feel dizzy, still unaccustomed to these new sensations.

The room gradually returns to calm. When Qimir pulls away, your body suddenly feels light and empty, like weightless cotton. You drift in the calm afterglow, enveloped in his embrace as he nuzzles you, kisses your cheeks and forehead, and caresses your hair tenderly, just as lovers do."

But there are no words of 'love' from his lips. The last thing you hear from Qimir before slipping into sleep is, 'You’re no longer alone. You belong to me.”

Instead of feeling reassured by these words, a strange unease flickers through your mind, as if you've just stepped onto a path of grave mistake.

Footnotes:

[1] In Fremen culture (as depicted in the film Dune), Fremen names are special names that differ from regular ones, only shared with outsiders when there’s deep trust and acceptance. For example, Chani tells Paul her Fremen name, 'Sihaya,' as a sign of accepting him as a lover. That’s why the reader needs a Fremen name—it’s culturally important (and I certainly WILL NOT USE Y/N as a Fremen name, absolutely no way!). I’ve hinted at this name since EP : I (if you pay attention, you’ll notice it), and it ties into the story, so I hope you're okay with the name I picked.

[utytimeline]

I might make some people mad, but I'm gonna say it, anyway.

So, Ceroba's reason for choosing Chujin over Star was because she wanted someone more mature. At least, that's my understanding. Star was playing cowboy and role-playing with his friends while she wanted to settle down and raise a family.

And... yeah, Star had a lot of growing up to do. And he did almost none of it until Ceroba stopped him from shooting us.

Star's main character flaw is his ego, but it's even worse than just an ego. Half the reason he set up the Wild East was to help everyone else. He wanted to bring in money to help his family when the Swelterstone's effects caused a drought; he wanted monsters to get a taste of what the surface is like so they don't drown in despair; and he wanted to make Ceroba happy after she lost both her husband and her child. All of this on top of feeling like he was a "nobody farmer" that couldn't do anything or help anyone.

So Star's primary character flaw isn't as simple as just having a big ego. His primary character flaw is trying to fix others as a way of fixing himself.

Sometimes this is a good thing, tho. I often think of Star as the "papa" of the Feisty Five. He's the protective one, he's the one teaching them ethics (reminding Mooch that they're not supposed to be bandits, playing dead to teach Clover about the responsibility of potentially hurting someone), he takes care of the town, he's made ALL his own money from this town that he built himself (enough that Mooch wants his inheritance, so it's a sizeable amount), he even gave his posse a designated nap time, gave Ceroba a home (and possibly gave her his bed while he crashes on the couch), sews his own clothes, set up all the rules and regulations... and I could go on, but I think I've made my point. Star is not wholly irresponsible. He's not perfectly responsible- he, and the rest of the posse, have a habit of breaking and losing Blackjack's weapons, they're all loud and rowdy, and they have a tendency to forget to turn off their boulder machines out in the Dunes.

So, yeah, Star does still have some growing up to do. But he's got a good start.

As for... everything that went wrong... That was entirely due to Star's worship of humanity. Star fell in love with westerns and with the justice and overall sense of romance that they portrayed, so much so that he not only tried to make himself into one of his western heroes, but he then extended this worship to the first human to ever set foot in the Dunes- namely, Clover. And because of this, Star completely threw everything that was good about himself out the window. He sees a human an immediately decides "this is my deputy," without even really giving Clover a fair chance to see if they even are deputy material. He forgot the safety glasses, got so worked up he forgot how to pronounce "duel," became extremely temperamental, apparently forgot that Vengeful Virgil was scheduled for the train mission that day, locked up a Royal Guard against her will (arguably committing treason in doing so, I might add), and just generally began running over everyone's words and emotions, including Ceroba's.

So when it came down to the Showdown... Star blamed Clover. Star's not an idiot. He knows good and well it's not Clover's fault. It's Star's fault- or more precisely, it's his worship of humanity that is to blame. But the problem is, he's taken it upon himself to guard the feelings of other monsters, to make them feel hope and joy. And he just screwed up and stole all that from them. So he's conflicted, not willing to admit that he has done the exact opposite of everything he set out to do. And since it's his worship of humans that led him to this point, he decides to blame the human.

Hence, the Showdown.

But he doesn't want to do it. He says himself, "Monsterkind's Hero is a title soaked in blood." He loves humans. And he sees Clover as a friend. He doesn't want to kill them. He's not a killer, and he doesn't want to be one. He doesn't believe in it. Justice is one thing, but... how is it just to kill someone that did nothing wrong?

So. Here's where Ceroba comes in. Telling Star he needs to calm down and go back to who he used to be. And Star points out that she's changed, too. Even Ceroba says, before taking Clover to the Steamworks, that she doesn't know if she has room to tell Star to go back to the Starlo she used to know.

Ceroba, tho, is no different than Star (this is the part that I said might make some people mad). Ceroba worships Chujin just as much as Star worships humans.

Ok, look. Chujin was a great craftsman. He built so much- furniture for Dalv, his and Ceroba's house, the space heater at the Honeydew Resort, many other items in use throughout the Underground, Kanako's toys (even programmed a video game for her), and so much more. So much that even Star respects him for all that he did for everyone.

However, there is also much that indicates that Chujin wasn't the best at his job. His only award is "You Tried at Engineering," and it took 14 tries for him to build a working robot. In Chujin's defense, I will say that it is impressive that he did build a working, sentient robot without the use of a SOUL, which is how Alphys made both Mettaton and Mew Mew; however, if Chujin is really such a genius, why did it take 14 tries to get Axis to work, when it apparently only took 1 try for Guardener?

And then Chujin didn't just stop with robotics, but went on to SOUL research. Two completely different fields. (And before anyone starts commenting on Alphys, I just want to point out, yet again, that both of the robots she built did use SOUL power; so, realistically, Alphys never was a great robotics genius, but rather, everything she did was a part of SOUL research- hence, the reason Asgore hired her as the Royal Scientist). But Chujin decided to press on with his SOUL research, despite there being no indication anywhere that he had ever done any such research before.

Now, I'm not trying to say that Chujin wasn't remarkable or a genius. I'm just pointing out some things that indicate that maybe he wasn't quite the genius that Ceroba wanted to make him out to be. And... Ceroba's reaction to his "You Tried" award. She's proud of him. More pride than what is warranted by such an award.

Ceroba said she met Chujin when he pretty much rescued her after she twisted her ankle, fell into a ditch, and laid there for several hours, unable to move. She also said that she had considered dating Starlo before meeting Chujin. So... hate me for this if you want to, but I feel like she may not have the best judgement when it comes to guys. Now, that's not to say she picked losers or creeps. Both Chujin and Starlo were/are sweethearts that care deeply about everyone around them. But the fact remains that Ceroba left behind the guy that she'd known all her life for a guy she just met, just because he rescued her from a bad situation.

And I'm not even saying she made a bad choice! By all accounts- including Ceroba's, Martlet's, and even Starlo's- Chujin was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working monster, and a wonderful husband and father. But... he wasn't perfect. And I think Ceroba, even though they had to have been married at least 10 years, just always had stars in her eyes where he was concerned. He was her everything. She believed he could do no wrong. She believed it so strongly, she was willing to do... many horrible things.

Ceroba's drive to kill Clover started with her love for Chujin. She wanted to do anything to keep him alive in her own heart. And when their child begged and pleaded for a chance to help, Ceroba agreed, because Kanako woshipped her father, too. Ceroba's misguided belief in her husband guided her to do things she would never have done otherwise.

Thus the reason for her guilt. It's not just guilt over killing her own child. It's also guilt over knowing that it was her own misguided worship of a monster that wasn't as perfect as she thought he was, that this was what led her to kill, and to kill again.

Ceroba worshipped Chujin. Just as Starlo worshipped the ground Clover walked on, Ceroba worshipped the ground Chujin walked on.

So when people point to Ceroba's comment that Starlo didn't grow up... yeah. She's right. Starlo needed to grow up.

But so did Ceroba.

One of the hardest parts of growing up is realizing that the people you worship are just people. They make mistakes, and you, yourself, are mistaken for believing they can do no wrong.

So, anyway. There's as much Staroba (Starfox, I call them) hatred as there is love for the ship. I've seen both sides of the argument: Starlo isn't mature enough; Ceroba is insane. Yeah. You're both right. And that's why they're perfect for each other. They both made the mistake of changing everything they were in an effort to continue worshipping their idols. They both went nuts. They were both driven to kill. This is the inherent danger of idolatry, believing so much in something that isn't real, that you will do anything to make it stay real to you.

[finalfrontierpublishing]

So it's been a while since i posted any books - mostly because i've been hiding my progress like a little sneak.

I just finished this bind last night of The Desert Storm by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, or really it's volume 1 out of like ??? 15, maybe. Please take whatever i say with a pinch of salt (I have had 0 sleep for more than 24 hours, and that tends to make me a little very sleep-deprivation drunk a.k.a. unhinged). Okay, on to thoughts! The Desert Storm was foisted onto me by @celestial-sphere-press who told me under no uncertain terms that I WOULD FUCKING LOVE THIS SHIT. Well, I did. This more than 1 million word epic about Ben Fuckin' Kenobi is pretty much god-tier fanfiction. It reads like a goddamn novel. I can never think of canon again without thinking that this good shit should be canon. I read it and then consumed half of it within a week, and I have zero regrets. @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, i absolutely love you and love your writing. It is the best thing since sliced bread. It is better than sliced bread.

I also had the benefit of @celestial-sphere-press saying, hey would you want to use the typeset? MY GOD, i am grateful. I love this fic, i would have typeset it if it hadn't been typeset but Des did such a beautiful job that i am absolutely in awe and thankful that she and the author allowed others to use it. Look at it - it's so beautiful. I only had to think hey, i just gotta design the cover and et cetera and so the book happened.

Please also check out @celestial-sphere-press 's amazing post here and here, who is the only person i know who's started and is almost complete in fanbinding this epic, and is also making an author a copy of the entire series.

Some stats, if you will.

96215 words || 380 pages

Title font: Ghaomiec

I took some inspiration from starblight bindery's lovely desert scape as well as this amazing cover of Dune which i own. I love that the landscape emanates Dune vibes while being oh so Tattooine - just sand and heat, relentless loneliness and melancholy. This fic centres around Obi-Wan Infinite Sadness Kenobi so it needed SAD VIBES TM, which i tried to deliver in desolate landscape form.

Also thank the heavens for Renegade members, who in a masterful stroke of Group Buy Saves Money, managed to source extra-out-of-production colours of Colibri and help a fair number of us get really cool limited edition versions of bookcloth. I am now a proud owner of a lorge stash of Duo and Colibri of which i am now sitting on like a shifty dragon with a hoarding problem. Good luck getting your bookcloth now, Folio Society, ha ha (gloating)! This particular bookcloth is Colibri Copper which has been wholly stashed for The Desert Storm series. I am leaning on transitioning to Malachite for Rise and Fall when I get to it.

The front cover design was done with a stock image and converted to a PNG, which i then fiddled with and did some HTV magic with. It was remarkably easier to weed than expected. I tried something new and ironed the design on the naked bookcloth first before gluing it to the boards, which was a new challenge in making sure everything was aligned.

Endpapers are marbled endpapers (Renato Crepaldi) which I got from Hollanders, which perfectly fit the colour scheme of the bind. The only hiccup was as I was cutting, I realized the sheet was running in the opposite direction of his usual papers and half the size, and only yielded 3 A5 size endpapers and so my heart went noooooooooo. oh well. i guess i will use it for quartos.

Endbands are my favourite - silk in 3 colours in the french doublecore style (as i was binding this i did not have the mental capacity to handle the difficulty of 4 strands). the truth is i usually only can do 4 when I have higher brain function and am willing to spend 80% of my time unraveling it from getting tangled.

I also forgot to mention I had mild fuck-ups, I got glue on the front endpaper which I had to hastily remove with wet cloth, and the back square is preposterously bad but I'm ignoring it for now.

Anyway, i've actually managed to complete a few other binds which have not been mentioned here as they've all been gifts/ surprises or event books in some form. I am SO EXCITED, also because I am travelling in the latter half of July to San Diego and L.A. and I get to meet some bookbinding friends in the flesh. Renegade is fucking amazing y'all. I am ready to embrace these crazy lads who have enabled me for the last 1 year, even when i'm the solitary (1) weirdo from my country of origin in the server. Also... potentially bookbinding trip early next year??? I am enthused.

[feyd-meowtha]

@middlingmay's Fic Rec Questions

I saw this list and thought it would be fun to give it a go!!

1) Fic that's made you laugh the most

He May Be The Reason by @c-goldthorn. It's a Clegan Notting Hill au and it makes me squeal with delight. So cute that I got distracted while reading it and missed my stop on the train.

2) A fic that made you cry

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder by pillar of our community @swifty-fox. I'm sure most ppl have probably read this one but it's such an amazing post-show continuation that really doesn't pull it's punches when it comes to both PTSD and the realities of being gay in the 40s

3) Fave comfort, silly fic

It's a little rogue but I'm gonna say Awake, Alive by the wonderful @whirlpool-blogs. It's a pet sematary au so not exactly what you would call traditionally comforting but the ending makes me so happy and the whole thing is just a joy. The fact that this came to mind when I thought 'comfort fic' is probably pretty telling about me as a person....

4) The fic that made you try a genre or trope that you don't usually read

This is also a bit rogue but it was tricky since I'll read anything, so I'll go with Strings of the Strings of Life by the lovely @weimarweekly, not because of any of the content but because I don't, as a general rule, read Dune fic that was written after Dune 2 released. I've bored everyone to tears with my complaints about that version of Feyd but it is what it is so I tend not to like any fics written about that version of the character BUT the prospect of a feydpaul Berlin techno au was too delicious to resist and the whole fic is so fun. It makes me miss Germany sooo bad.

5) An author who has inspired your own fic writing

This one has got to go to the anonymous author of both Close And Yet Closer and The Replacement. Both of these fics are god tier and their character psychology and willingness to allow their versions of the characters and relationships to be ugly and messy are so inspiring to me. They were also the first person in the John/Hausman tag on ao3 which is currently just me and them. I think about the replacement all the time and it was a HUGE influence on 3am Eternal. If I can ever write half as well as them I will die happy.

6) What are your fave underdog authors? Those that you feel are underappreciated and deserve a bit more love

Hmmm, this is kinda hard cus the MOTA fandom is pretty small so I feel like a lot of stuff gets decent buzz. Imma shout out @whirlpool-blogs again and especially their fucked up clegans fics, I have read and reread all of their works and they're always so so good. I will also add @steeseman for Up In Our Bedroom. It's another great post-canon fic and while it has a lot of hits, I don't think I've seen anyone talking about it on here.

7) What's one thing you wish writers/readers did more of when it comes to fanfiction.

The obvious one is comment, it really does make my day when I get a nice comment, even just a couple words or an emoji mean a lot. The other thing I would say is writing curt/Kenny fic, there's not much out there and I want more please. Also more fics where characters relationships are like genuinely kind of fucked up and toxic. I love that shit.

8) What's one thing you wish writers/readers did less of when it comes to fanfiction.

Oh man, I really do not know. The only thing I can think of is that I hate the word 'yap' or 'yapping' so if I see it in a fic I shudder. Hmmmm, I guess I also wish that there was a little more consideration when writing Gale's dad as an alcoholic because it's often treated as the basis for him being a shitty person. Addicts aren't automatically bad people and I sometimes feel like it's portrayed that way. @blixabargelds wrote an excellent post on this

9) I'm adding an extra one and that is current WIPs I am reading

Sympathy For The Devil by @blixabargelds, it's a modern ghost hunting AU and the set up is AMAZING. I will also throw Superstar in here even though it's not releasing main story chapters yet, everything Frankie writes is so tailored to my personal tastes it's crazy and I am so excited to read @mildharm's John POV chapters too. Literally foaming at the mouth thinking about it rn. When it starts being released fully, I fear it may kill me.

Love Song From A Dog and The Heart Is A Muscle by @swifty-fox. I've only just started THIAM but I'm so hyped for their take on the tattoo shop/flower shop au.

Hit Me Where The Heart Is by @london-cowboy makes me legitimately insane. I jump for joy whenever there is a new update, these versions of the characters and their stories are, as Paris Hilton would say, beyond. I do not have the words to say how much I am loving this fic. The characters and setting feel so real and it's just so creative. AMAZING.

I need to get around to starting let us not desert one another; we are an injured body and also the time skip fic whose name escapes me by @irregularcollapse and also catching up with @weimarweekly's rodeo fic, Looking For Eight

Writing this was very fun and I encourage anyone reading to give it a go if they fancy it!!

[witchthewriter]

𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐫𝐜 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: also I cannot disclose his name right now because that is apart of the storyline. It's very cute how it's revealed...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝐀 = 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛?)

Oh my god, this Orc is 100% affectionate. He loves running up behind you and grabbing you, twirling you around.

He just loves seeing a smile on your face, and that makes him extra affectionate. He just wants to kiss you, especially all over your face, making you blush.

He's also very physical, when on a raid he'll have you by his side, either holding your hand or having you on his shoulder.

𝐁 = 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 (𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑝 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡?)

You know how your relationship started - it was through friendship. He had broken the chains that your captors kept on you day and night. And gave you a harsh decision.

Stay here and be found by those who want you enslaved. Or come with him, and live a life of freedom. It took you a moment, but you chose the right decision.

That's how you went from being freed by him, to finding friendship, and then to best friends. He was always checking on you, helping you to acclimatise with everyone.

Blend in, learn their way of life. And he didn't leave it to other people to teach you, no, he taught you himself.

Some may say he was harsh at times, but you always knew he did it for your betterment. Everything he did was to make sure you were growing. Not stuck in a victim mindset.

He even went so far as to challenge one of the assholes who was making fun of you behind your back. He won of course, and no one spoke ill of you again. Because your best friend, your orc, was one of the fiercest of them all.

𝐂 = 𝐂𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 (𝐷𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑐𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒?)

OH OF COURSE HE LIKES TO CUDDLE. You live in the sand dunes, and cuddling makes sleeping a lot more comfortable. Also this Orc male is just so affectionate, any opportunity he gets to kiss you, hold you, keep you close - he takes it.

His favourite way to cuddle is when he's lying fully on his back, and you climb on top of him. He laughs at how you have to catch your balance every once in a while. You'll look up at him with an exasperated look and he laughs; a big belly one. And helps you stay still.

𝐃 = 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 (𝐷𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔?)

Yes he wants to settle down, but not quite yet. He wants to show you everything the world can offer first. Seeing as though you came from being a slave, you didn't know the world and what was in it.

He's very good at cooking, as that was how he contributed to the horde when he was younger. By catching food, by baking bread etc. He still bakes bread for the horde.

And because there isn't ... someone who comes to clean the tents, he learnt to clean up after himself. Yeah, he might take a day to fully clean his boots, or weapons, but he does get it done.

𝐄 = 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐼𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝘩𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟, 𝘩𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡?)

He couldn't. He could never say those words to you, instead, he would challenge someone he knew he couldn't win in a fight, and go out that way. He'd rather die than break your heart.

And if he did have to break up with you, it would generally be for a good reason. Probably to save your life. But still, he'd rather die than live without you. You've changed him and he's changed you - in the best way possible. You're a unit. A team. There's never one without the other.

*when challenging someone it's to the death btw

𝐅 = 𝐅𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞(𝐞) (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑?)

Loves commitment, and adores it, it's you who he's waiting on. He wants you to be ready, even though he is 100% ready to marry you. To bind himself to you forever. He isn't one to shy away from it. Doesn't understand why others don't want to have a life partner.

𝐆 = 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦, 𝑏𝑜𝑡𝘩 𝑝𝘩𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦?)

Very, very gentle with you emotionally. He's been the one to open your mind and heart to new possibilities. He skyrocketed your confidence, he gave you both a real and hypothetical shoulder to cry on. He let you open up about your trauma - and walked through it with you. Advice? He's great at it.

𝐇 = 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐬 (𝐷𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡? 𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒?)

Loves hugs, and loves 'em real good. He loves the feeling of your arms wrapped around him. Your warmth is a reprieve, even if it isn't cold, he loves to feel your warmth. When it comes to the other Orcs, he'll give them a clap on the back or a running jump when they've had a big victory.

But with you, he's kind, warm and gentle with his hugs. Oh, apart from the surprise ones. But he knows you love them.

𝐈 = 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐿-𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑?)

When he proposed to you, that's when he first said, "I love you." Because he knew the first time he said it, he needed to put a ring on your finger.

But he did want to say it a lot earlier than when he proposed. He felt it mere days after knowing you.

𝐉 = 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑗𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑔𝑒𝑡? 𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦’𝑟𝑒 𝑗𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑠?)

He gets quite jealous when he sees someone HE's intimidated by, flirting with you. But when it's someone he sees beneath him, then he doesn't really care.

Unless you're looking at him with those 'help me' eyes, then he becomes incredibly angry and possessive.

He will kill anyone who makes you uncomfortable.

𝐊 = 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 (𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒? 𝑊𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢? 𝑊𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑?)

Your first kiss was very gentle. He didn't want to hurt you with his tusks, but because (I know this is logic coming in here ew) your head-to-head ratio is very different, you basically fit in between the tusks. There was a lot of light, soft laughter. A lot of blushing, from the both of you.

He loves when you kiss his eyelids, especially when he's just about to fall asleep

His favourite place to kiss you is on your shoulder, or your wrists where the manacles were. You still have the scars from them.

𝐋 = 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝘩𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛?)

Oh my god, your Orc is amazing around children. He thinks they're brilliant. They're such imaginative little creatures, and they say the most funniest things.

He'd love to have a huge family...but he doesn't know if that's in the cards for you two...

𝐌 = 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚?)

He's always awake before you, having gone out hunting for breakfast, or helping to make breakfast when the meat was eaten at dinner. Sometimes he makes eggs, (his specialty is flat bread).

He always gives you kisses good morning - if you're awake to notice them or not.

He brings you breakfast in bed, because he knows how loud everyone is and he doesn't want you to feel overwhelmed at the beginning of the day

Oh, and he's usually humming everywhere he goes...

𝐍 = 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚?)

Oh, nights are the best. When the candles have been blown out, and you both get comfy in each other's arms, he asks you which story you want him to tell. He's got an infinite amount. Some true and some not. He can make anything up on the spot, it's quite impressive.

You usually fall asleep to the gentle lull of his voice and the thud, thud, thud of his heartbeat.

𝐎 = 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 (𝑊𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠? 𝐷𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡 𝑎 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦?)

He isn't a closed person to you. He opens up to you, to encourage you to do the same. But with others, he keeps things to himself. Besides his history as a slave himself. He's proud of how far he's come. He doesn't want to overwhelm you with all this information about himself and scare you away.

(Not that it would, you accept everything he is)

𝐏 = 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦?)

By you? He's as patient as can be.

By others? He's yelling, he's telling people off, he's telling people to hurry up - and then if you surprise him by standing behind him, then he's instantly quiet.

"Oh, dear, just making sure ... everything is going smoothly..."

𝐐 = 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐞𝐬 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑢𝑐𝘩 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢? 𝐷𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔?)

This is the stupidest question because he remembers every goddamn thing about you. From the smallest details, to your birthday, to your family's names and how they treated you. He always remembers anniversaries. Everything you say to him about yourself is like a little piece in this puzzle he's working on. And he feels so grateful that you open up to him.

𝐑 = 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 (𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎��𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑝?)

When you officially chose him. Your wedding day - he always thinks of it when you're away from him.

The way you looked, the smile on your rosey cheeks. The way there seemed to be a glow about you, like a god had chosen to illuminate you for the whole day

The feast was mighty, as was the drinking

But the best bits were when you were alone. Not just the sexual bits, but when you both got excited to be married. To be recognised as partners forever.

𝐒 = 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑?)

10000000000% Protective. You've spoken to him about letting you do independent things while away from home, and he agrees to let you, but he's worrying the whole time.

He just doesn't want anything bad to happen to you. You're his treasure. His most prized possession. You're his love. His soulmate.

Your Orc protects with his body, with his bare hands. He would go down swinging without a weapon to protect you.

He never expects you to protect him - he's five times the size of you, and is very battle savvy.

But you protect him by keeping a level head, by not panicking if he isn't there.

𝐓 = 𝐓𝐫𝐲 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑢𝑐𝘩 𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑠, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑠?)

He remembers EVERY ANNIVERSARY DATE, he loves giving you gifts and makes sure that he does an equal amount of chores (and does some of yours as well).

This Orc is CRAZY about you, absolutely head over heels in love with you

The gifts are always over the top as well, but they're always stolen (because of the raiding) but you don't care. You love that your new necklace or ring used to be owned by an asshole. Now they have a proper home with you.

𝐔 = 𝐔𝐠𝐥𝐲 (𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑑 𝘩𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑠?)

Farting, and burping really loudly. He has no shame about it. Until you looked at him with a shocked look, but in a surprise twist - you burst out laughing. A true laugh, snorting, grabbing at your stomach. You weren't used to such brazen acts being done with a stone face.

𝐕 = 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 (𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠?)

...Surprisingly Orcs can be quite vain.

Now wait wait; I'm talking, about how their tusks look - some choose to accessorise them.

Some do their hair in special ways (specifically your significant other). Who absolutely adores his hair. He loves how long it is, and how shiny it is. It reminds him ... of his family. Of before they were enslaved.

In terms of comparing himself to other Orcs in the horde, he does realise that he isn't the prettiest, but he damn well is the most ... sexiest looking. Very masculine, and intimidating. And he likes that. He would rather look intimidating than beautiful.

𝐖 = 𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 (𝑊𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢?)

HE WOULD DEFINITELY FEEL INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU. It would be torture, for him to be without you. To wake up and not have you beside him, to not see you there next to him. To walk the world without having your hand to hold. You're the only person he wants to walk the world with.

This isn't two halves of a whole type of thing, no. You were both whole and completely perfect beings on your own.

This is ... he would rather die, or live the worst life possible if you weren't around. He didn't know how much happiness his life lacked without you. Now that he's experienced it, he can't let you go.

𝐗 = 𝐗𝐭𝐫𝐚 (𝐴 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚.)

He really, really enjoys having his hair played with. Especially pampered; having it shampooed, conditioned, and braided. Like a mini spa day. OH, and he LOVES spa days. He will gather a bunch of oils, special tools and things and take you down to the river. There, you'll both cover yourself in oils and soothing ointments, to lay in the sun with the cool breeze wafting over you.

𝐘 = 𝐘𝐮𝐜𝐤 (𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒, 𝑒𝑖𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟?)

Oh c'mon, he's an Orc, there is nothing physically he would find disgusting. It would be how a person acts and how they treat others - that's what would turn him off or make him feel disgusted.

For example, someone unkind to those smaller than them, or who yell at children and the elderly with malicious intent.

He also hates those who are close-minded. Who are too traditional and conventional, who cannot see past their own opinions to let new ones in.

𝐙 = 𝐙𝐳𝐳 (𝑊𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝘩𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑠?)

Snores.

Snores.

Very loudly snores.

And rolls over in his sleep, practically crushing you. He's much better at it now, the whole not accidentally killing you in your sleep thing, but he still sometimes forgets that there is a human atop him. It should be noted, that his snoring has become a lot more comforting. To you it means: I'm here, you're safe. You told him that during a fight one time and he broke down in tears.