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14thgalerie · 8 months

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the one

• pairing: theodore nott x riddle!reader

• now playing: hayloft by mother mother / you that i want by divine

• word count: 1.7k

• genre: angst, fluff, hint of smut

— short one that i kept thinking of.

Theo slumped in his chair, fatigue weighing heavily on him. The clock on the wall opposite him ticked relentlessly, unforgiving of his sleepless state. He had long abandoned any hope of finding any rest. He hadn’t been able to since that fateful night when everything felt right in his life.

His mind wouldn’t grant him solace. Each time his weary eyelids dared to meet from the pure exhaustion of the stress of OWLS, the ongoing war, his brain kept feeding him images of you. You, who kept haunting him from the very forefront of his mind.

The natural curve of your eyelashes. The way it fluttered against his cheeks as your lips made a blazing trail across his cheeks. Gentle whispers that drown him in sheer bliss still send shivers down his spine.

His tie lay abandoned, discarded beside him, next to the pile of papers swept aside in his frustration earlier. The long, emerald fabric had felt too suffocating amidst the overwhelming thoughts of you.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you would also be writhing in bed, unable to fall asleep as he does. Would your dreams torment you with the brief time his hands tangled onto your hair, wayward? Does your dormant body spin cruel variations of that time, telling him tantalising tales of what could’ve occurred if only your insufferable blonde companion hadn’t so abruptly interrupted?

He had never loved you.

Not in the way you wanted.

This desire to fill the emptiness in your heart, to have somebody give you the time and day has obscured that truth. A part of you knew, from the very beginning, but this desperation forced you to turn yourself blind.

Draco was there, a constant presence in your life, a perfect match to have by your side. Born only 24 hours apart, and 10 years of your childhood spent solely with him.

In truth, you both used the other, a fact that you ignored. He relied on you for protection and status as your partner, while you clung to him to feel the fleeting sense of warmth. But the perpetual storm of reality always wearing you both down and, you were rapidly losing the strength to keep yourself afloat.

Unspoken words hung heavy in the air between the both of you as the year progressed and the inevitable return of your father neared. At first, you had both kept your feelings at bay, not wanting this to jeopardise your friendship altogether. But as time went on, it became a routine. Venom spit from raised voices, threats of abandonment and indifference to each other, reconciliation accompanied by hollow promises and sex.

“Are you a bloody fool? She is my best friend and yet again, Draco ‘can’t-keep-his-boxers-on’ Malfoy decided that didn’t matter!” You screamed in frustration, but it didn’t seem to matter when he didn’t even so much as falter at the volume.

“We aren’t even together, so why should it?” He carelessly replies, an air of indifference surrounding him.

“We aren’t? You truly are an insufferable git, I spent two years committing myself to you, and you never thought to mention that little detail before?” You scoffed, incredulous at the idea. It was foolish and outrageous, and not at all like how the man you know would think. Despite your differences with one another, he would still treat you with at least the respect you give to a friend, but now…

“Oh please! Don’t act as if your mind has not been completely filled with that mindless buffoon.”

“For Merlin’s sake, do not dare turn this on me…” You challenged him.

“Or what? Threaten to have your father kill me? Well, surprise, darling, I’m no stranger to that already.” He humorlessly chuckles. “I’ve seen you. I’ve seen that god-awful lovesick look on your face at the mere sight of his back. I am not the complete bloody fool you think I am.”

It hurt, truly, despite the fact that this started as a hilarious excuse of a relationship. You cared for Draco and to see him constantly destroy everything and everyone in his path of destruction left you unable to conjure up any more excuses for him.

“I am done, Draco. We can stop whatever awful pretentious act we put ourselves to and live on our own as you seem to hardly care for even yourself anymore these days.” You laugh, defeat etched on your face.

He never gave you the love that you sought, the kind that Theo had laid bare in complete display for you in just under seven minutes in that tiny closet.

“You came back to me.” He whispers, close enough for his lips to touch the corner of your lips but there’s just a stutter of breath. It makes you want to instinctively kneel and look up to him and beg religiously for mercy, the way he speaks.

“I did.” You reply. Unmoving, but your patience wears thin.

“Look at you,” He mutters, his hand tugging at your head by your hair, exposing your neck to him, and your knees nearly buckle at his breath that burns against your jaw. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet and you’re almost like putty in my hands already.”

“Shut it, Nott.” You quickly remark a decision you notably regret when you are left standing in the middle of the room all by yourself. The cold air from the ajar window left your skin tingling with an uncomfortable feeling akin to when Draco touched you in the past weeks.

You scoff, the sound more as if you were nearly pleading. “What are you doing?”

“You know I hate it when you act like a brat.” He inclined his head, and the movement leaves chills running through your spine for the action is almost similar to someone sinister. But weirdly, it makes you want to tease him even more.

“Oh please, Theo. I’m not blind, as if you don’t dream of it.” You slowly approach him, your fingers make a motion of dragging along the ends of the poster beds. “The way I see your eyes tremble when I contradict every single thing you say. I know you are depraved when your thoughts are only of my mouth…”

You hear a sharp intake of breath when you come near. “The way you would just love it if you could shut me up by having my lips wrapped around you. I know you, Theo.”

His lips twitch into a mirthless smile, he reaches almost mindlessly for your collar. His thumb barely touches the skin of your neck. “Yes, you do.”

His eyes are intense as they dart to your mouth. Your tongue unconsciously makes a sweep against your dry lips.

“I suppose Draco will show me exactly how.”

Taking a page of this man’s book is terrifying but you are tired of this game of tug that you keep playing.

“That would be wise. ”

He’s still looking at your lips.

“I’ll go then.” You try again, unwilling to make the move.

“Go on, you won’t hear a sound of protest from me.” But you remain standing in front of him, the will to move weak against the desire to have him.

“Really?”

“No.”

Theo grabs the back of your head, tangled his fingers in your hair, and made a mess of your mouth. With his lips attached to yours, you grab him by his shirt and the both of you kiss as if you were third years again. Your teeth clashed into each other time and time again and you couldn’t find it in you to slow down.

The need to kiss him, to feel what you’ve been thinking of for several nights on end. You push back at him, desperate to feel the same hunger and need in him, as he kisses you deeper and more profound than you ever thought possible.

The soft, selfish hands that you wished so badly to wipe clean off the bodies of other women move up from the bottom of your back to move you impossibly closer until you are almost one. His voice is ragged when he pulls away, a thin thread of saliva still connecting you.

He says against your cheek, “I love you. I’d die for you. Nobody can ever give you what I could make the pain go away like I could, not even that dense fuck who has a deeper sense of self-preservation than his parents.”

You swallow, agonised by the sudden slow pace that he moves. Not an ounce of energy dared to waste to defend your ex. “I will love you anywhere.”

You shiver at the raw and pure intensity that laced the declaration. You almost want to ask, to hear how. But you don’t think your mind could properly comprehend the ability to piece together the right words to ask.

His heart is pounding from beneath your fingers as you feel the pulse on his neck, almost leaping it out as if all it wants is for you to finally claim it as yours. Encase it in a glass case and put it on display for all else to see.

“In a bookstore, by the water fountain, the sidewalk, in the flames of your home.” His hands come down to your hips, his fingers digging in so harshly that by morning sunlight, purple will be painted on your skin but it feels so heavenly that you don’t push them away.

“I love you, not for the protection you provide and for your substantial looks, but for all the small things you do that bear your soul to me.”

Your hands meet around the back of his neck as he carries you by your thighs towards his bed. Pulling at the fabric that keeps him away from you.

“I’ll love you even as you tell me you hate me oranges. I love you enough that I will scour the face of this earth for a place where I can take you away from your nightmares.”

“I-“ He sighs into your lips, completely delighted by the intimacy that only his mind could conjure up in the lone nights. “I love you.”

You move for the buttons of his polo, while he moves to pull your shirt from you. A race that leaves you both fumbling when you feel his hand carving a path against your waist and up to your chest. You are left scalding, tiny bounces of light flickering in your eyes.

“I will be at your string’s end.”

masterlist

#harry potter #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott angst #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott fanfiction #slytherin #theodore nott oneshot #theodore nott smut

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starcurtain · 5 days

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Female Guidance in Aventurine's Life

One thing I haven't seen discussed in much depth yet, but which I think is especially interesting, is the consistency of female guidance in Aventurine's life: Every single person who we have seen on screen offering Aventurine assistance or making a positive difference in his life is female (with one exception, yes, I'll get there).

Under the read more cause it's longggg:

Before even diving into his family, let's just get the obvious out of the way: Aventurine is, at least supposedly, blessed by a goddess. The very origin of his good fortune--be it actual blessing or curse--comes from the literal "mother goddess" who watches over him. This is one of the only instances in Star Rail where a god character is specifically given a gender, and Gaiathra is not ever ambiguous. She is the classic female fertility goddess with all the trappings of other famous triple goddess figures of the real world. Aventurine's personal belief in the goddess may be shaky, but he nevertheless continues to treasure his people's faith. Thus, at the core, we can say Aventurine is a character who is guarded by the most quintessential mother figure possible.

Now, with the most obvious out of the way:

We know that Aventurine's father died before Aventurine was even born, and therefore he would not have any memories of his father, leaving him to be raised by his mother and sister.

Both women clearly made an enormous and lasting impression on Aventurine; they haunt every single one of his memories of Sigonia and are the key elements of the family Aventurine longs to return to. While he flirts with the concept of death as a way to see his family members again, it was also his mother and sister who instilled in him any sense of self-worth and meaning to his existence, the only things keeping him from giving up on living. His mother believed him to be blessed; his sister insisted to his face that not even the only remaining remnant of their mother had any value in comparison to his life.

It is for his sister that Aventurine first begins expressing a self-sacrificial nature, and from his sister that this self-sacrifice is reinforced when she uses herself as a shield to help him escape massacre at the hands of the Katicans.

It is also from his sister that Aventurine learns many of the deeply meaningful actions he holds onto to the present day, despite having been so far removed from his own culture.

Conversely, every one of Aventurine's early negative experiences on screen appear to have been driven (at least primarily) by men.

Although the Katican tribe of course would have both men and women, the tribal societies on Sigonia appear to be on the fairly traditional side, with Aventurine's mother staying at the camp with her child while his father was the one to go out and hunt for offerings for Gaiathra. This is also supported by Aventurine asking Jade to take him to her "chief" later on. Therefore, it is likely (although of course not guaranteed) that a majority of the Katicans' army was male, and that Aventurine's early experiences with outsiders consisted almost entirely of indiscriminate pillaging and massacre at the hands of what the Avgin viewed as savage, invading warriors. In separate instances, Aventurine was traumatized by these warrior figures three times--first with the loss of his father, then his mother, and then finally his sister.

And even their hope, supposed to come in the form of the "men in black" from the IPC, completely abandoned them, leaving Aventurine once again betrayed by masculine figures that were supposed to be there to protect him. Led by Oswaldo Schneider, another cruel male authority figure, the Marketing Department of the IPC permitted the wholesale slaughter of Aventurine's people--something which we know Aventurine is now aware of.

Then, of course, the next piece of Aventurine's backstory we're given is his male slave master. I don't really need to say anything about this, do I? This man violated Aventurine's human dignity and bodily autonomy, and forced Aventurine's hand in a life or death battle for which Aventurine still punishes himself mentally, even years in the future.

In part to escape the difficulty of his situation and rise to a position where he would have enough resources to--he thought--help his people, Aventurine joins up with the IPC. But when he attempts to make contact with a powerful man in the organization, Diamond, he is instead met by a woman, Jade, who against Aventurine's own expectations determines that she will raise Aventurine up (or use him as a tool, depending on how you currently choose to interpret Jade's motivations), granting him wealth and status beyond his imagination.

(And this line in particular is interesting, because you can take it one of two ways: 1) Aventurine comes from a patriarchal planet that traditionally put men into positions of power [thereby making his own slavery an emasculating act, aligning him further with disenfranchised women]; thus, he is making the assumption that to get anywhere in this organization, he will need to work with a man; or 2) He actually was counting on Jade taking his bet and helping him right from the beginning, because Aventurine perceives women as inherently more likely to protect and aid him than men would be.)

In the end, Jade does exactly as she claims she will, launching Aventurine into a position of power while also closing golden handcuffs around his wrists. She positions herself not only as his supervisor, but as his advocate and ally. She entrusts him with her Cornerstone, a sign of significant faith in his abilities. She even seems to be keenly aware of his bias towards the mother figure, referring to him as "child" in their conversations.

Whether this is genuine or a manipulation tactic can certainly be debated (and I'm not inclined to think at this point that Jade is a genuinely good role model or selflessly supportive person in Aventurine's life), but whatever the case, women are the only people Aventurine even remotely considers to be "in his corner."

We see this even earlier, in Aventurine's call to Topaz. Like with the example of his mother and sister, Aventurine trusts in Topaz's ability implicitly, and considers her above anyone else when it comes to completing the mission in Penacony.

Although of course we don't know if Aventurine has any other friends or allies among the Strategic Investment Department, it seems very likely that Topaz, yet another woman, is the one he is closest with. At the very least, she is the only IPC character (so far) that Aventurine has a complimentary voice line for, one that shows his respect for her talent:

Over and over again, the story aligns Aventurine with female figures in positions of authority, and demonstrates that he is comfortable (although maybe not too comfortable, in the case of Jade) with relying on them and trusting their judgment, just as he did with his mother and sister.

And this pretty much goes off the charts in Penacony, where Aventurine has more involvement with the female cast than virtually any other non-female character (even the Trailblazer!). We set the pattern off right away, with Aventurine immediately being placed into a negotiation situation with Himeko, respecting her role as the Express's leader and working to get himself aligned with the Express by acquiescing to her request for support.

Then there's the fact that Aventurine is the one who finds Robin's body, an event which, although he didn't let it show too much, was almost certainly traumatic for him, given the violent death of his own sister.

Next, twice in Penacony's story, we see Aventurine seek out Sparkle for information. He may not personally like her and her comments may be both racist and dehumanizing, but Aventurine does rely on her--being the only character explicitly seeking her aid, which no one else in Penacony seems to want.

In 2.0...

And in 2.1.

Now, say it with me, guys: Aventurine built an entire portion of his grand plan around the idea that if he looked pathetic enough, a female character would absolutely come and help him. And sure enough, the women come through for him, always! Sparkle gives him the exact last clue he needs to confirm his belief that he could use "Death" to reach the true Penacony, sealing the deal for the rest of his plan.

His plan which also hinged significantly on Black Swan's involvement too, another woman that he views as, if not trustworthy, then at least intelligent and hyper-competent.

Contrast all this, of course, with the treatment Aventurine receives at the hands of Sunday, the lone opposing male character he faces in Penacony.

Sparkle implies that Sunday would humiliate Aventurine in an unmistakably sexual and degrading way, and Sunday himself professes this same desire to see Aventurine humiliated.

Then we're "treated" to the moment in which Sunday uses the Harmony's (or perhaps actually the Order's?) power against Aventurine, in a scene which is supposed to reflect an interrogation but is also, very clearly, another nonconsensual violation of Aventurine's bodily autonomy and dignity by a man. While ostensibly seeking confirmation of the Cornerstone ruse, Sunday instead subjects Aventurine to unnecessary questions about his past on Sigonia, which recall and force Aventurine to re-endure memories of his trauma.

Even if this is what Aventurine prepared himself for and planned to have happen, the pain he experiences is very real, and he suffers both the physical and emotional consequences of Sunday's assault all the way up to his "Death" and possibly even beyond.

(Also, Sunday fans please don't get too up in arms with me for this; I also like Sunday! It's okay for characters to be morally grey!)

I think there's one other interesting example I would bring up here too, and that's Aventurine's conscious decision to weaponize his own masculinity against the Trailblazer. Through the 2.0 and 2.1 Trailblaze missions, Aventurine deliberately acts in an off-putting manner to the Astral Express crew, particularly the Trailblazer, in order to build up to the 2.1 climax where the Trailblazer is supposed to view him as an unrepentant villain and attack him without hesitation.

In order to achieve this uncomfortable, villainous effect, what does Aventurine do? Exactly what other men have done to him.

This is especially apparent if you're playing Stelle because of the ingrained societal taboo of a man entering a woman's personal space without consent, but even as Caelus, it is very clear that Aventurine is leveraging behaviors typically used to show dominance: In a complete 180 to all Aventurine's other body language in the game (normally quite withdrawn, frequently in defensive postures with his arms crossed or hand behind his back, almost always standing several feet away from other people), Aventurine violates the Trailblazer's personal bubble, looming over them (Caelus was sitting in this cutscene, lol), forcing eye contact, and commanding the space while informing them that they will have no choice.

For someone who was hunted, enslaved, had his movements restricted with chains, and due to his own slight stature has very likely been towered over by others who were intentionally asserting their power over him all his life, it is clear that Aventurine associates dominant, typically more masculine-coded physically-imposing behaviors with discomfort and even villainy.

Any girl who has ever had a man loom over her like this will realize very quickly: Aventurine wanted to make himself scary so he made himself act more like a bad man.

(Yes of course I know "not all men." I'm not saying every man behaves in this domineering way or that women cannot be domineering too, obviously, just that Aventurine had a very specific image in mind when constructing a "villainous persona," and the physically controlling tactics most typically used by aggressive men toward women was his immediate go-to.)

But where does that leave Dr. Ratio, the one male character actually on Aventurine's side?

Frankly, I don't want to derail my post about how intensely Hoyo chose to hammer on the message of "Women will protect you" in Aventurine's story with a discussion about a mlm ship, but the take-away here is going to lead in that direction anyway--so yes, Dr. Ratio is the exception.

What is interesting is that he does not come across as an exception at first, and in fact initially appears as another male character being rude and dismissive to Aventurine. Like, there are still people out there calling Ratio an unrepentant racist for this one.

Of course, it's later clarified that this is an act--likely even these insults were scripted specifically to give Sunday's spying ears the "insight" he needed to exploit Aventurine during the interrogation.

But even though it is an act, Aventurine still has noticeable trouble putting his faith in Ratio. He does genuinely doubt him a few times, despite knowing that they are working together to fool the Family.

Even his voice line about Ratio confirms that he doesn't think Ratio particularly cares for him; rather, he thinks Ratio simply tolerates him because he's slightly less unintelligent than those around them.

Ultimately, the entire act with Ratio ends up being a mirror of the real scenarios Aventurine has been experiencing with men his whole life (at least as far as we are shown his life). Men abandon him to fend for himself (unwillingly, like his father, or willingly, like Diamond leaving Aventurine to deal with Penacony alone on the inside). Ratio keeps leaving Aventurine completely alone. Men attempt to humiliate him and violate his boundaries (like Sunday and his slave master). Ratio insults Aventurine's appearance and intelligence repeatedly. Men betray him (like Oswaldo Schneider and his men leaving the Avgin to die). Ratio "betrays" him.

I'm not saying when Aventurine devised the plan for their act, he consciously drew up a list of all the ways men had hurt him in the past and had Ratio re-enact them one by one, but like... that's what happened, whether or not Aventurine intended it.

And okay, the shrinking scene in Dewlight Pavilion was just for fun and probably only slightly fetishy, the devs promise; yes, it was supposed to be a joke! ...But it's also not a mistake that this is yet another instance of a male character in a glaringly metaphorical position of power over Aventurine. Aventurine's tiny in this scene! He's completely vulnerable! He's in a dangerous position and the male character could very much hurt him in this moment.

But Ratio doesn't. (In fact, his line here is supposed to be sarcastic, very ha ha--but also, what is Ratio really saying? "I won't do anything to you without your express consent." What a good guy.)

Virtually everything negative that we see in 2.1 is Ratio doing these things as an act at Aventurine's own request. He doesn't actually disdain Aventurine; his own voiceline about Aventurine reinforces that he sees Aventurine as talented and intelligent.

Whatever you think he was apologizing for in their early scene, he's the only person we're ever shown in-game apologizing to Aventurine at all.

He worked hard to "betray" Aventurine but only as he was instructed to do, and immediately checks in on Aventurine's well-being afterward, even urging him to give up the plan if it becomes too much to handle.

And then, of course, there's the note: "Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck."

After this point, it cannot be denied that Ratio is unequivocally on Aventurine's side, wants to help him, and is not doing so out of any sense of self-gain but largely because he is a good person who simply cares about Aventurine's fate. By the end of 2.1, it can no longer be doubted that Ratio is the exception to the "gender rule" of Aventurine's life, which--the story shows us again and again--was that guidance, protection, and care for Aventurine come from women, while men repeatedly represent dismissal, betrayal, or pain.

Ratio is, at least as far as Aventurine's story shows us, the proof that men can be good, that things are not as black and white in Aventurine's life as they might appear, and that--if you do choose to ship him with or see Aventurine as attracted to men--his attraction could be validated (and potentially reciprocated) by a male figure who would not bring additional harm to Aventurine's life. Aventurine makes the final decision to live after seeing Ratio's note--the exception to the rule ultimately proves to be the last piece needed to keep him alive.

But I promised I wasn't going to derail my own post about w o m e n, so let me get to the final point, and the one I really wanted to talk about: Although Ratio gets virtually all the credit for "saving" Aventurine in the fandom, Aventurine was actually saved by, you guessed it, another woman.

Not going to lie, the reason I started this post was specifically because I wanted to talk about how Acheron and Aventurine's dynamic was completely unexpected but actually fits flawlessly with the theme of feminine guidance in Aventurine's story.

Despite the fact that Aventurine made Acheron's life much harder and actively used her as a chip in his grand gamble, she doesn't blame or chastise him for those actions. Although she expresses some incredulity that Aventurine is actually that lucky, she then turns around and congratulations him for his ingenuity, immediately supporting him despite the fact that they don't even truly know each other.

Then it gets even more interesting. Acheron, who frequently hits her companions with deep and sometimes very emotionally fraught questions, asks Aventurine: "Have you never wavered?"

We as players know for a fact that Aventurine is constantly wavering, constantly doubting himself, his luck, and whether he'll even live--or even wants to live--to see tomorrow. But we also know that Aventurine is not forthcoming about those truths, refusing to express them to anyone, even himself. The only way we hear those dark truths is through his "future" self (who by the way, is once again another male figure cutting Aventurine down--of course it's himself but it's also, from the player's perspective, once again reinforcing the message that he isn't going to find safety or kindness in an adult male presence). Aventurine almost constantly deflects and diverts when his emotions or struggles are brought to the fore (unless he's divulging them for the specific purpose of allowing someone else to weaponize them). "I'm fine," he says, like a lying liar who lies.

But he doesn't lie to Acheron.

He chooses to be completely candid with her, to lance open the deepest wound of his life--that he can win and win and win and still have lost everything. The glitz and the glamour has all been stripped away here, at the end of everything, and Aventurine finally feels safe enough to admit that he fears he has absolutely nothing in his life worth living for.

And then, we get this direct parallel: Aventurine looks to Acheron, the woman now before him, for guidance, for explanation, exactly as he looked to his sister in the past.

He needs help, he needs answers, and he is continually seeking that help from the female figures in his life, whose support and kindness echo the lost care of his mother and sister.

"Go where you should be," Acheron tells Aventurine, guiding him across the river of death just as his sister insisted that he flee through the rain toward life.

Look guys, Acheron's even the one who reminds Aventurine to look at Ratio's note in the first place because apparently being an emanator of Nihility gives you x-ray vision, but my girl just gets no credit at all for being Aventurine's real savior, come on now!! Yes, Ratio's note was the final reminder Aventurine needed that someone would be waiting for him on the other side, but Aventurine would never have even gotten to the point of being willing to read that note if Acheron hadn't stepped in and provided him an answer to his question.

She feeds him back his own answer: "Why does life slumber? To rehearse the death for which we are not currently prepared." It is Acheron who reminds Aventurine that giving into the Nihility is pointless, and that rather than simply embracing a meaningless death, it is up to humanity itself to find and make meaning by living. It's this, not Ratio's note, that Aventurine gives as his reason for choosing to go on when asked by his own younger self. It's Acheron's words that finally give Aventurine an answer--why do we live just to die? Because there are people we can still make proud. Because when we go into death, we should do so with our heads held high, having achieved our own sense of purpose in this life.

Ratio gave Aventurine a promise: Someone is waiting for you to come back.

But Acheron gave Aventurine a reason: If life is inherently meaningless, doesn't that just mean you are free to give it meaning yourself?

She saved him, as women have been saving him all his life.

Anyway, this has already been horrendously long, but really what I wanted to say is that I think it is absolutely fascinating how consistent Aventurine's writing is when it comes to portraying where his support comes from and who he seeks guidance from. (Psst, just in case you still haven't figured it out, it's women!) In virtually every instance we are shown, we see the message reinforced that women are Aventurine's greatest allies and role models, while male figures are continually positioned to intentionally or unintentionally let him down and cause him distress.

"But women playing the supporting role to a male character is nothing new, Star, why are you so excited by this?"

Because the role women are playing in Aventurine's life is not the subservient supporter and emotional crutch role that female characters all too often play to male counterparts. None of the women in Penacony or Aventurine's past were there to do the emotional labor for him, to be a trophy or prize, or to cater to his needs. They don't exist solely to help him fulfill his character motivations; they aren't following him around waiting for his next request as their only role in the plot.

Instead, with Aventurine's story, we almost have an inversion of gender roles, where the male character eschews the stereotypical "men are leaders, fighters, and stoic heroes" archetype. Instead, no matter how hard he tries to hide it and keep a stiff upper lip, it is clear from 2.0-2.1's story that Aventurine is a deeply insecure, lonely, and explicitly traumatized survivor of genocide, slavery, and exploitation. Unlike most male characters, who are very rarely portrayed as genuine victims--because come on, shouldn't men be strong enough to fight back? Shouldn't men be able to shrug it off when they are hurt, emotionally or physically? (Of course I'm rolling my eyes here!)--Aventurine is belittled, humiliated, emasculated, and victimized on-screen, roles almost exclusively reserved for women, for whom surviving victimization in fiction is seen as noble.

Meanwhile, the women in Aventurine's life take on the roles traditionally given to male characters. They're both emotionally and physically his protectors. Aventurine's sister gave her life to guard his safety; Acheron ensured he could safely pass beyond the river of Nihility into the Primordial Dreamscape. They give him the tools necessary to succeed where he could not succeed on his own. His plan could never have gotten off the ground without Topaz and Jade entrusting their Cornerstones to him. The knowledge and capabilities of the women around him--not their "feminine charms"--are what allow them to help keep Aventurine on the right path even though he does waver. Even women who disrespect him, like Sparkle, still play a positive role in his life, able to provide him insight gained with their own intellect and talents.

When he has no one to rely on and doesn't know what to do, Aventurine is able to continually turn to the women around him, asking for and receiving not servitude or fawning, but their genuine wisdom and guidance.

tl;dr: If nobody else has him, Aventurine knows this random woman he met two minutes ago on the street will have him, because the women in his life literally never let him down.

(It's just so, so good, and ultimately, it should be very clear why Aventurine's story is as popular with women as it is! A+, Hoyo!)

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ilguna · 6 months

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Piano Sessions: "White Leather" by Wolf Alice + Finnick Odair x reader, their relationship had just started when Quarter Quell happened and both sent to arena, when the rebels pull victors out she gets left behind but her tracker was taken out and the gamemakers can't find her in arena. so everyone assumes she's dead but she escapes. while she's on the run she thinks about the life she wants with Finnick (maybe she sees the propo he does and he says something about her death). as "star squad" makes their way through the capitol they are reunited.

☼ white leather (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, reader has an injury.

wc; 5.7k

prompt; Piano Sessions: songfic, white leather by wolf alice. not noticable.

The seasons are changing, the warmth is fleeting, and the loneliness is burrowing in your heart. While you were being roasted alive a few weeks ago due to the unrelenting heat, mother nature has since decided to be kind rather than cruel. With summer ending, it allows her to relax, iron fist loosening.

It’s perfect timing, too.

If you had to endure it for any longer, you think you would’ve stopped traveling, ultimately setting you back. It was different when you were in the arena, because you weren’t actively moving for the entire day, just in increments. Out here you have no choice, especially if you want to make it back.

The Capitol can’t be that much further. After walking in the trees of Panem for hours at a time for weeks, it has got to be around here somewhere. You know for certain that you’re heading in the right direction because you stumbled into District Nine by accident.

You didn’t even realize you had, even though you crossed through a fence to get inside. In your defense, there’s a lot of sectioned off areas inside of the wilderness, with no apparent reason why. What should’ve given you a clue was the burnt wheat field, stretching as far as your eyes could see.

In the distance, you could make out buildings, something that also wasn’t too unusual, considering that when the districts were formed after the Dark Days, a lot of structures were abandoned. You’ve been hopping between them, actually. It’s dangerous, they’re falling apart, and there’s critters absolutely everywhere, but you don’t have much of an option.

You’ve tried sleeping under the stars, it’s not at all comfortable. You get increasingly paranoid as the hours drag on, afraid of the wild animals coming across you. You’d be able to defend yourself, with the knife that you have from the Quarter Quell arena. In the case of a pack, you’d be screwed.

They’d tear you apart, and then you’d have to add on their damage to injuries you already have. The last thing you need right now is another infected wound. The one on your forearm is bad enough. It’s your own fault, you dug out the tracker prematurely, assuming that you’d be rescued out of the arena, because that was the plan.

When Katniss short circuited the dome using the lightning, she unintentionally messed up the plan, putting the rebels on a time crunch. They were able to get her, Finnick and Beetee out of the arena, you believe. Which left you, Johanna and Peeta behind. And Enobaria, but she doesn’t really count.

You ran across your allies, tried to tell them that if they didn’t want to fall into Capitol hands, then they had to escape that minute. Johanna, who usually trusts your judgement, was resistant to the idea of escaping the dome. She didn’t like the idea of having to survive outside of it, not knowing where to go. She wanted to play it safe, and if that meant enduring whatever the Capitol had in store, then that’s what had to be done.

You would’ve argued with her, possibly even convinced her, if the hovercraft hadn’t appeared above the three of you. They knew exactly where they were because of the trackers they still had. With you being set on not being captured, you ran, leaving them behind, while you got out of the dome.

They should’ve caught you. It was an open field for at least a mile, they easily could’ve seen you, shot you and scooped you up. You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life. Johanna and Peeta must’ve put up a fight, if it took them that long to grab them out.

You didn’t hear news for a long time, not until that farmer caught up with you in that wheat field. She was out of breath, face a bright red from running for so long, sweat running down from her temples. You paused, watching in slight amusement as she tried to catch her breath, clearly wanting a conversation.

“You… what are you… doing out here?” She gasped, a hand on her chest. “If the Peacekeepers catch you…”

At the mention of Peacekeepers, you were no longer smiling. “Where am I?”

Her face twisted. “Well, District Nine, of course.”

The burnt field clicked then, and you turned to look at it with new eyes. It also explained why the fence you climbed over was harder than the last few. Which then got your mind working, wondering if you’d been in District Nine the week before, because it was heavily barbed.

“My name is (Y/n).” You said, head shaking. “I don’t live here, I’m a victor from District Four.”

She squinted at you, unbelieving. She eyed your body, the clothes you were wearing, which is nothing but an undershirt, a pair of shorts and water boots. Not the typical clothing for a farmer out in the fields, you guessed. You came to the right conclusion, because her mouth opened.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” She told you. “How did you get out of the arena?”

“It fell apart. I simply climbed out.”

She made a noise, as if the answer was too easy. “Where are you heading? District Four?”

“No, the Capitol. How far away am I?”

“Close, but you’re going in the wrong direction. You need to get to District Two, they cracked the Nut.” She pointed over your shoulder. “If you get to the rebel base, they’ll help you there.”

You nodded slowly. “They still have Peacekeepers here?”

“We’re too close, that’s why they haven’t retreated. They’ve up and abandoned the further districts. They wiped out District Twelve completely.”

You tilted your head. “Everyone’s dead?”

“They bombed it, seen it in the propos with Katniss Everdeen. Some of her people made it out, they’re in District Thirteen now. Not much left of ‘em.”

“Right.” You murmured. “Thank you for the help.”

“Wait, don’t you want me to look at that for you?” She motioned to where you’d cut out the tracker. “It looks nasty.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Well, good luck.” She said, “You better hurry and get out of here.”

“I will.”

She nodded, watching as you turned away, heading for District Two. From what you’ve gathered, you’re confident enough to say that the Quarter Quell arena was placed in the space between Districts Eight, Nine and Two. When you picture the map of Panem in your mind, it’s the area that makes the most sense.

A part of you wishes that you’d taken up her offer on cleaning out the cut. You have some herbal knowledge, which is what’s keeping it from killing you, but that has nothing on real medicine. This could’ve been healed days ago, and it likely wouldn’t have left a scar.

There’s also so many questions that come to mind since talking to her. Parts of the conversation that didn’t make sense to you. The biggest one being her telling you that you should be dead. Why? At the very least, the Capitol should know that you made it out alive. Especially if they did a sweep of the arena and didn’t come out with your body.

Unless they figured that you escaped and you’ve died out here somewhere, starving and alone. Which is the dumbest conclusion that they could possibly come to. With your track history, the bare minimum that you’ve lived off of your entire life, including your Games, they should know you’re a parasite that you can’t get rid of so easily.

If there’s one good thing that’s come out of fighting in the Hunger Games, it’s that you know how to survive. It would’ve been harder to do if you were rusty, but your time in the arena was a refresher, setting you up to live out here, which is not nearly as difficult. You don’t actively have other tributes hunting you down every waking second.

If the Capitol really thinks that you’ve died, they have a surprise coming.

Your feet stutter a step when you realize what that means. It’s not just the Capitol, District Nine believes it too. There’s a good chance that they’re advertising it to the rest of the districts, then. You wouldn’t put it past them, they rub factors in your faces all the time, like District Thirteen. They led you to think that it’d been destroyed decades ago, when in reality, they came to an agreement that allowed Thirteen to slip out without the others noticing.

Oh, you hope that Finnick isn’t believing the same thing that girl did. You really hope that he wouldn’t take their word for it. But why wouldn’t he? District Thirteen didn’t have enough resources to rescue you all, and the Capitol was right there. Who’s to say that you didn’t die before they could get you out? Or that they didn’t kill you in captivity? Or that they’re secretly hiding you.

They could say anything they wanted about you, and he’d have no choice but to believe it because there’s no evidence proving otherwise.

You’ve been thinking about Finnick a lot lately out here while you walk, mostly your future. It was discussed briefly before the Quarter Quell, because the two of you had come to the agreement of volunteering for the Games. The conversation didn’t get very far after you started talking about the hypothetical rebellion if the arena did work out.

If you had it your way, you think you would’ve talked to him about what he wants to do after the rebellion, because you have so many ideas. Primarily, you’ll be able to travel, you won’t be held down by District Four. You and Finnick could spend months bouncing between districts, and come back home when you get tired of it.

For the first time in your lives, you’ll have freedom. You’ll be able to do anything you want with little to no limit. There will be no more Hunger Games, no more months of preparation with teenagers that have no choice. There won’t be any interruptions, something that held the two of you back for so long.

And you’re not talking about the Games being a burden, you mean the relationship you’ve been denying. You and Finnick have had unavoidable chemistry for years, but between district life and the Capitol, there was no room to explore until recently. And even that seems to have been a mistake, something that should’ve waited.

Except, neither of you could suppress the urges any longer. You were already sharing longing looks and gentle touches, there was no point in withholding the pleasures when you were already dipping into it. That’s why you made it official in April, four months after the announcement, three months before the reaping.

There had been countless nights where you stayed up, dreaming of the day where you’d be able to be yourselves. Where the stars would align perfectly to allow you to become more than just friends. When it finally happened, you almost didn’t believe the words coming out of Finnick’s mouth.

It’s been difficult to take it slow with him, because you feel like you’ve been dating him this entire time, under the table. You might not have been physical with him, but the emotional aspect was there. In your mind, he was already yours. And he admitted to you that he felt the same, that you belonged to him years ago.

You remember shivering when he told you that, because you had a feeling that it was true. These were words that you thought you’d have to wait to hear come out of his mouth. He was eager to tell you these truths, like a weight being lifted off of his chest. Like he’d been planning the exact moment they’d slip out of his lips in a whisper.

When this is over—when the rebellion is done—you want Finnick to yourself. It’s what you deserve at the very least, after all that you’ve been through. If it’s up to you, you’d want him to propose once Panem has begun to relax. You don’t want the teasing, or more years of build up. You just want to make him officially yours, forever.

Whatever comes after doesn’t matter. As long as you can say that he’s your husband, and you’ve agreed to love each other eternally. You’ll take what’s thrown your way with grace. You won’t ask for anything ever again. You’ll be especially good, if you could get what you wanted for once.

You step through the treeline into a meadow, letting you get a clear view of what’s ahead. You take a few steps before you come to a stop, staring at the colorful buildings in the distance. While you had tried your best to stay on track for District Two, you eventually came to the conclusion that you’d rather go to the Capitol, like you’d originally planned.

It’s not that far now. If you keep going, you think you’ll make it there sometime tomorrow.

—

Four hours. That’s all the time it took for you to realize that the situation has majorly changed here. The further you travel into the Capitol, the more it grows increasingly obvious. Especially if they’ve turned to violence to keep people out.

It’s a ghost town, which is not what you expected. The streets are usually crowded, with no space on the pastel sidewalk, crawling with people dressed in bright color. You were sure that you’d get spotted in the first minute of stepping foot into the city. It turns out that you had nothing to worry about.

Well, that’s not necessarily true. While you were temporarily relieved to find out that the outer half of the Capitol had been evacuated, you were put back on alert when you figured out why. There are traps placed on almost every street, with exponential damage to the buildings around.

You’ve yet to figure out if it’s the Capitol trying to defend themselves, or the rebels ensuring that if citizens return, they’ll be met with resistance. If you had to guess, you’re leaning more toward the Capitol. The way the traps are placed are methodological—it’s a pattern you’ve seen before. It reminds you a lot of the Gamemakers.

The traps are nearly perfectly hidden, the triggers in plain sight. You fell victim to the first few, but once you started to really notice where they were and what they’d contain, it was so much easier to avoid them. Once in a while, you’ll find yourself trapped, where you have no choice but to set them off. In those cases, you duck and cover, hoping for the best.

With the sun setting, you think it’s about time you call it a night. The last thing you’d want is to miss a sign and get yourself seriously injured. Everything is easier in the daylight. Besides, you covered a lot of ground today, more than you thought you would.

You stop in front of a lime green apartment building with front doors that are made out of frosted glass. You grab the handle, pulling it open to slip inside. The lobby is cool, reflecting the temperature on the outside. It’s very carefully decorated here, with tall green plants in white pots and a small loveseat with a side table. On top of it is a magazine, with Katniss and Peeta on the front cover.

You wander forward, looking at the directory to find a paper taped to the front of it, the words successfully evacuated printed across the middle in bold writing. You lift it up to see beneath it, curious to how many floors there are. There’s five of them, you’ll probably stay on the third floor to keep from going too high.

As you start up the steps, you keep a sharp ear and eye out for noises or cameras that might capture your appearance. Just because this part of the Capitol has been evacuated, doesn’t mean that they’ve surrendered control entirely. For all you know, there’s Peacekeeper bases around here, ready for the signal to round a rebel up.

When you reach the third floor, you choose the unit that’s located next to the fire escape that you step out of. The door is locked, of course. You hold out your knife, staring down at it. It’s dulled considerably because you’ve been using it for everything while you’ve been traveling. This will be its last job.

You stuff the blade into the keyhole, wiggling it from side to side. For a second, nothing happens, and then there’s a click. You twist the knob, pushing in, opening the door to reveal the expensive living room. You pull the knife out but leave the door open as you inspect the apartment from top to bottom. When you’re convinced there’s no one, you pick up a dining room chair, going back to the front door. You shut it, lock it as best as you can, and then shove the chair as stiffly as you can beneath the knob.

The first thing you do is raid the bedroom, tearing it apart for clothes that you’ll be able to wear without looking ridiculous. Once you have an outfit that makes sense, you shower, watching as all the built-up dirt and dried blood mixes in the water, creating a grainy substance at the bottom of the white shower.

You feel so much better when you step out, drying yourself off. You change, letting the bathroom air out while you go through every cabinet you can, searching for the medical supplies. They’re hidden when you do find them, but they’re top-grade, the type of medicine that you’d send to tributes in the arena to get them healed within days.

You read over the ointment’s directions, and then you slather it over the open wound in your arm. Your teeth are grit hard enough that you think you’ll break them, toes curling at the pain it’s causing. It burns as it works its magic, you toss the tube on the counter, leaving to go back to the living room.

The sun has fully set now, there’s barely any light coming through the windows. Still, you shut the curtains, blocking out the rest of it. You head to the kitchen next, digging through the pantry to find countless cans and boxed goods. You pull out a few familiar soups because you’re starving. After you’ve finally located a spoon, you go to sit on the living room floor in the dark to eat.

You could heat it up, you’re sure that it’d be better that way, but you don’t want to risk more than you have to. You open the can, dipping your spoon inside, and raising the creamy substance to your lips. As expected, it’s not very good when it’s cold. Yet, it could be worse.

You manage to get down half the can before an alarm cuts through the stillness, making you jump in surprise. Your hand wraps around the knife before the television set lights up on its own, and you’re immediately greeted with the face of Beetee Latier.

“This is a repeated broadcast from District Thirteen, a reminder of the faces we’ve lost to get here.” He says. “We Remember, do you?”

It cuts to Haymitch Abernathy, sitting in a dark room, wearing a grey jumpsuit. The background is an empty area. To an extent, he looks better than the last time you saw him.

A feminine voice speaks from off-camera. “What do you remember about Cashmere and Gloss Ritchson, the brother and sister duo from District One?”

“They were a bright pair of mentors, even when they were teenagers.” Haymitch says, staring at the camera. “There was nothing the two of them couldn’t do, and it showed time and time again when they performed miracles outside of the arena. Cashmere had an undeniable dedication that was admired by everyone, and Gloss was very hardworking to ensure his tributes got the best possible. It’s a great loss we’ve suffered losing them to the Quarter Quell.”

You squint, eyebrows twitching. Is this a memorial piece? If so, it’s a little funny for someone like Haymitch to speak about Cashmere and Gloss, considering that they were never invited into the alliance. Or thought about twice, beyond the idea of them possibly killing Katniss or Peeta.

The screen fades to black slowly, before Haymitch comes up again. “Brutus, he won a couple years after I did. He was friendly to me after my Games, and had briefly tried to help me after the tragic loss of my family.” He pauses to sigh. “Even though we could never see eye to eye, that did not keep him from drinking with me on occasion.”

Beetee shows up in the next clip, in the same spot that Haymitch was on a stool, only he’s in a wheelchair. Something must’ve happened between the arena and now. You wonder if it has anything to do with the lightning tree.

“Wiress was very intuitive, incredibly intelligent.” He adjusts his glasses, shaking his head. “It may appear that we have lost no one at all, but with her absence, Panem will not function the same. She worked alongside me to create some of the more important Capitol devices, a factor they neglected to think about. We will miss her dearly.”

You finish the can of soup, and you’re pulling on the tab to open the next when his face shows up on screen. Finnick sits on the stool, eyes puffy and a little bloodshot, bags underneath from the lack of sleep. There’s a slouch in his posture, a small length of rope in his fingers that he fiddles with.

“Tell us about (Y/n) (L/n).” The female voice says.

Finnick swallows, voice quiet. “What isn’t there to say?” He asks, looking into the camera. “She was my best friend, and more than that, my girlfriend. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known, always so considerate and patient with everyone around her. How President Snow can take such a gentle life and then brag about it is a mystery.”

Your blood runs cold, suspicions confirmed. So, they have been broadcasting you as dead. They saw an opportunity and took it, wanting to make themselves look more ruthless. When in reality, they haven’t so much as touched you since you escaped.

“I love her and I miss her.” He says, tired eyes filling with tears. An overwhelming urge to reach through the screen to hold him seizes you. “If I had known my time with her would be cut short, I would’ve done everything to protect her.” He breathes shakily. “This is why we must stop the Hunger Games. For loved ones like (Y/n).”

Finnick is gone, once again replaced by Haymitch, who begins to speak about Mags, your mentor. For the first few seconds you stare at the screen, face slowly twisting before it hits you.

Mags is dead.

“What?” You murmur, sitting up.

“Mags was the first mentor to approach me after I won my Games.” Haymitch says. “She was a sweet woman that could see the pain and understood what I was going through. I was the first victor of District Twelve, she was the first face of the Hunger Games. And for as long as I let her, she helped me mentor.”

Of course she did. That’s who Mags is—was. If she saw someone that needed help, she was there. She even approached Johanna after her Games to give her some tips because Johanna was slowly sinking.

“Mags did not deserve to die the way she did.” Haymitch says.

It moves on to the next victor, the woman from Five who was killed in the arena. You try to listen, but it’s difficult. You can feel yourself slowly getting sucked out of your body and into the open air. You’re here, but are you really?

The entirety of Panem thinks you’re dead, and as serious as the situation is—it’s a little funny. If this is the rerun, that means that they’ve been Finnick speak on your death dozens of times. There is not one person left in this country that believes otherwise.

But you’re not dead. You’re here, in one of the many luxurious Capitol apartments, eating someone else’s vegetable soup that they’ve saved. If you had gone to District Two like the girl from Nine told you to, this wouldn’t be the rumor.

For the remaining eight districts, the statements are brought from the victors that now reside in District Thirteen or some faces of previous Capitol citizens. Which you can tell by the way their skin is tinted or the tattoos that line their bodies. There’s even a part where a former Avox sits on the stool, signing while his brother translates.

It wraps up with Finnick talking about Rue and the future that was stolen from her. She was just an innocent child, and the Capitol thought it was right to force her to fight for her life with other older kids, who were much bigger and more skilled. When she should’ve been at home, with her family.

Beetee shows up at the end, hands in his lap. “We Remember.”

The screen dies, but not completely. It glows faintly, illuminating the small area that you’re sitting in. You need to get out of here—out of the Capitol, at least. You should be with Finnick. He needs to know that you’re alive, because the idea of you being dead is killing him. After the two of you fought to be together, you’ve been ripped from his fingertips.

You don’t sleep tonight.

You want to, with the couch being the comfiest thing you’ve laid down on in months. You know that the apartment is secured, you triple-checked everything. No one is coming to get you. This isn’t what keeps you up.

So, you relax in front of the television in the living room, eyelids feeling heavy the moment your head touches the pillow. When they shut, that’s when the problem rises. You’re not tired anymore, even after counting sheep for what feels like hours, your mind is still running.

By the time the sun is peeking through the curtains, you’re ready to leave the apartment with a packed bag. It has the essentials inside like food and water, and the ointment you’ll be using to heal your arm. You’ve grown too attached to the knife you had in the arena, so you find a way to sharpen it, giving you a reason to keep it.

The streets look the same way as they did yesterday, nothing has magically shifted. You head for the train tracks that’ll bring you to a tunnel that runs to District Two. It’s what the girl in Nine called the Nut. It serves several purposes, including training the new Peacekeepers underground, but it’s also the easiest path to get in and out of the Capitol.

While you should’ve gone to District Two straight away, you’re glad you didn’t. If you had, you wouldn’t have known the whole story. You can’t imagine how overwhelming it could’ve been if you came across the rebels and they bombarded you about how you’re alive.

You travel blindly through the streets, dodging and setting off traps, watching the chaos that follows. A few of them are made up of weapons that shoot out once triggered. You manage to react quickly most of the time, but you still come out with a few nicks from blades that are impossibly sharp.

Other traps are made up of insects that are abnormally colored and move in ways that they shouldn’t be capable of. When you see this, you decide that you’re right to say that they’re designed by the Capitol’s Gamemakers, because it makes no logical sense the other way around.

When it appears to be around lunch, you stop to eat in a shop with broken windows, stomach growling. There’s a nice aqua blue couch a few feet away from the door, void of the glass shards that litter the tile floor. You open a can of soup, and dig out a small pack of crackers to have with it.

It’s still disgustingly cold, and yet it could be worse. After what you ate in the woods these last few weeks, anything is a good meal compared to that. Even the crackers seem like a treat.

You set the empty can on the floor when you finish, sitting back against the cushions, staring through the open window. A pair of black birds circle over a nearby alley for a minute. They’re the first sign of life that you’ve seen in this city since you got here, besides the mutts that come out of the traps.

They settle on the roof of a building, side by side, much like the birds at home when they land on power lines. You’re about to look away, when you watch as they both simultaneously tilt their heads, attention set on whatever is in the alley. Your face twists, confused.

As soon as they open their beaks, beginning to screech, you realize that they’re not birds, either. They look to be like jabberjays—a Capitol weapon. You get to your feet, swinging the bag strap over your shoulder. You don’t know how they can see you, because they are definitely not facing your direction. You shouldn’t be in their view.

You take a single step, before you freeze where you are, watching as a group of people dart out from the alleyway. They’re dressed in black, wearing combat gear and carrying weapons. You’re terrified, wondering how the Peacekeepers have found you, until you realize that they are not Peacekeepers. Peacekeepers wear white.

There’s almost a dozen of them, and their leader is pointing his finger down the street to your right, an area you haven’t explored yet. He barks out an order, one of the girls in the middle turns with a gun, shooting at the jabberjay. They flap their wings, rising from where they’re perched, flying around.

Rebels.

Your lips part, wanting to speak, but the words die in your throat. You’re not dressed like they are, you look like you belong in the Capitol because of the clothes you’re wearing. You’re even sitting in an abandoned boutique as if you’re not completely surrounded by danger.

It doesn’t matter, they’re gone before you can work up the courage to speak. You watch as one of the boys toward the end grabs another boy with blonde hair, pulling him along. Neither of them stick out in your mind, and then the first boy turns, looking over his shoulder, right at you.

It’s Finnick. It’s Finnick, and he’s pulling along Peeta.

You move now, trying to follow him. You’re sure he’s seen you, but as you step out of the shop and in front of it, looking at where you’d been standing, you see that it’s too dark to make out much of anything. The awning above the street blocks any sunlight that might be able to get inside.

“Hey,” You call, walking after them. They’re moving too fast, trying to escape the birds, running around the corner. You begin to jog, not wanting to lose them in the maze of Capitol streets.

Even as a team, they move remarkably fast. You’re barely catching Finnick’s bronze hair in glimpses each time they take a turn. They’re losing the birds, though. And even worse, you.

“Hey!” You shout, sprinting down the street. “Wait!”

It grows more narrow, crowded with decorations that citizens couldn’t pull inside before leaving. There’s many places to hide, too many buildings to duck into. You can’t see Finnick anymore, much less hear the stomping of their boots against the asphalt.

When you’re breathing so hard that you’re sure you’re going to throw up your lunch, you slow down, coming to a stop in the middle of the walkway. Your face contorts, hands on your hand.

“Fuck.” You breathe, walking at a slow pace. “Finnick!”

You peer into the local stores, checking behind every bush. You know that eight people would never be able to hide around this area without splitting up. They could’ve gone anywhere.

“Finnick, please!” You stop in the middle of a crossroads, taking your time to look down what each road offers. “It’s me, it’s (Y/n)! I’m alive!” You struggle to breathe normally, whispering, “Please, I’m alive.”

When there’s no appearance, you sigh. The one chance you had, and now he’s gone.

“(Y/n)?” A faraway voice asks.

You turn instantly to face the person, finding Finnick standing at the end of a walkway. He’s not alone. In fact, he’s with the leader of the group, who’s clutching a large gun in his hands, wary. This doesn’t bother you.

“Finnick.” You say, starting toward him. “Oh my god.”

There’s a deep crease between his eyebrows, watching you come closer. “You’re—how are you here?”

You walk straight into his arms, letting him crush you against his body. You grip on tightly to his shoulder, face pressed into the space above the vest. He presses a kiss into your hair once, then twice, and again and again. When he’s had enough, he pulls away, grabbing your face to kiss your lips.

It’s gentle, loving, but quickly turns greedy as he refuses to let you go. And when he does, it’s not because he needs to breathe, it’s because his shoulders are shaking. His face is wet, eyes filled with tears. You bring his forehead to yours, thumbs wiping away the tears.

“It’s okay, Finnick.” You murmur.

“The Capitol said you were dead. They showed your body. How are you—?”

“I escaped out of the arena.” You tell him, stroking his hair. “I’ve been in the trees between the districts the whole time. I got here yesterday.”

He backs away, lips pressed together, tears still sliding down his cheeks. “Of course you did.

You pout, shaking your head. “I cut the tracker out.” You show him your arm, which is looking better this afternoon, but still far from healed. “I’m not sure who’s body you saw, but it wasn’t mine.” You reach for his hands. “I am so, so sorry.”

He pulls you back into his body, hugging you. “You’re alive, (Y/n). That’s all that matters to me.” He frowns. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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15-lizards · 10 months

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It fucks that there are so many characters that are an antithesis to one of The Seven while still embodying their traits and technically representing them. Cersei is the Mother in that she only has love for her own children, but no mercy or any sense of nurturing. Tywin represents the Father’s protection, his justice, but that justice is always unfair, and serves only him, not even his own children. I have a Rolodex of all the knights that warp the values of the Warrior. Jamie and Arthur have to break one vow to stay true to another. Sandor is vile and cruel and dishonorable, but still protective of the innocent. Tyrion does his best to mend the broken city and protect its people like the Smith would do, but is also actively destabilizing things and fucking shit up for his own personal gain. Margaery had managed to maintain being the idea of the Maiden while being married three times, and hiding her plotting under the guise of innocence and virtue. Bran is a young Crone, his wisdom and foresight forced upon him instead of being obtained naturally through age. And Arya is a wanderer with no identity, a killer who takes life at random. But unlike the Stranger, Arya is still Arya, no matter how she tries to hide herself. She is a scared girl with a bias, not killing unthinkingly but rather in order to enact her revenge and seek justice, the opposite of what Death would do. Anyways these kinds of foils absolutely fuck

#asoiaf #AND the crone let the first raven in the world when she peered through the door of death like??? bran is so Crone kinnie #everyone always like arya stranger and yeah she is sometimes but she’s also an 11 y/o who kills ppl bc she needs vengeance of some kind #her ass is NOT unbiased and unmerciful like Death

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miguelhugger2099 · 4 months

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A Knight's Oath

Summary: You're a princess in need of a personal guard after your father's passing. Miguel from the enemy kingdom, is assigned to become a spy that kills you. Next>>

Knight!Miguel x Princess!Reader, Enemies to Lovers(?), Angst, Fluff, Not proofread, Word Count: 1,005

Like any tale as old as time, history is never clean. Freedom is never gained through peace. It is violence, a necessary one at that, in order to get what you need. Even if it means becoming the villain to some and the hero to others.

Your father was no exception. As a young king, his father had died in battle protecting the kingdom during a famine. With its citizens crying for help and other countries trying to step on their kingdom, your father had picked up a sword and began to lead a slaughter in the name of freedom. With your mother at his side, she helped on the inside, providing jobs, and a sense of community for hope and pride of their heritage. It had been a long thirteen years of bloodshed, but ultimately, the king had successfully pushed back intruders and helped bring his kingdom back to life.

In the middle of the war, you had been born–a princess–a new era of hope and peace for the land. Your people had celebrated your birth with parades, art, music and dancing, while your parents always showed you off with pride. For the next couple of years, you had been raised to be kind, resilient and humble. You were still just a baby when it had ended, so you did not know the true extent of it. You did know there was a war where other countries had looked down upon you and despite the small size of your army, you had won. You knew your father did whatever he had to do to protect the faces of the common people and the future of your life so you never faulted him for it.

Unfortunately, your father passed just before you reached adulthood. An unknown illness and went in his sleep. Everyone had mourned the terrible loss of their protector and beloved king, father and husband. Despite his actions in war, he was always incredibly kind to his people and was a great role model of a man in your life. You took pride in the fact you were his flesh and blood and that would never change. So with honor and grace, you worked hard to follow in his footsteps to be a great leader.

Others, however, did not share the same feelings. In other stories, your father was the devil himself. A cruel king that had struck anyone who had gotten in his way, caused the downfall of armies and used wicked ways to poison and torture troops to his advantage. When word of his passing had spread, many had celebrated the death of the evil king and hoped all those who lived in his kingdom perished with him.

Miguel O’Hara was one who thought the same. He hated the king that had started a war and it killed his father, hated how the aftermath of it left his mother depressed and his family starving. His homeland was in shambles because of your father and for years, he prayed for a chance to help his own country in gaining revenge.

So, for years Miguel had worked his way up in the ranks of his homelands army. A protector of his people and a way to finally fight back if another war were to break out again. He not only trained hard for his home, but to also feed his family—his mother and little brother. He often worried about them but little Gabriel was always eager to help while Miguel was away. Always a kind soul, he was.

When rumors had gone out that his king had been planning on planting a spy and an assassination on the princess of the enemy land, Miguel’s interest had been piqued. He thought to himself, without an heir, that wicked kingdom would surely fall to its knees and get what they deserve.

Naturally, Miguel had been called in for an audience with the king. He bent down on one knee and bowed his head.

“My Lord.” He greeted.

The king’s slicked back white hair practically glinted in the sunlight where its rays were seeping through the tall windows of the throne room. “Stand, soldier.” His voice boomed.

Miguel stood back up, the metal of his knight armor clanking against each other and he rested his wrist on his sword by his side. The king spoke again. “My boy, you are the finest gem in our armed forces. Your victories are endless and you make all of us here proud.”

Miguel’s face didn’t move, still as ever and it only made the king’s grin curl up even more.

“Which is why I’ve assigned you a special mission,” Miguel took a deep breath. “As the princess of Etheria’s guard.”

Now that had made Miguel’s face scrunch up in disgust. “My Lord, forgive me but–” He quickly shut his mouth when the king raised his hand.

“You will portray yourself as one of them. Eat, sleep and breathe like them and gain a position of a knight in their castle,” He explained. “There are talks of the princess needing a personal guard. Once you have gained information and the trust of those lowlife scum, you are to kill her. Once she is dead, we will invade their land and finish what they started.”

Miguel let his words seep into his thoughts. To live amongst the people he’s loathed since the beginning? It was barbaric and humiliating.

But this was his chance. A chance at revenge. He was angered when the king had died before he could even get close. Now, with the opportunity of sticking a sword in his own daughter’s heart–Miguel felt that was an even better alternative.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by his king. “Do what you must to be as convincing as possible. Care for her, protect her, admire her, kill one of our own if need be– just make sure that no one expects a thing… Especially the princess.” Miguel stood up straighter, saluting the man in front.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Dismissed.”

A/N: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara imagine

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transmutationisms · 5 months

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I read your review of Poor Things and I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the section in Alexandria? It was horrifically executed on many levels but narratively, that part of the film is about Bella learning about class structure. She rebels against the cruelty of society through charity then by working as a prostitute, during which time she has cruelty inflicted upon her instead. Finally, she realizes that God’s creation of her was ultimately cruel, and then she runs away with her ex-husband-father only to realize that her prior self-mother was fundamentally characterized by cruelty, especially to her “lessers.” She then decides once again that she does not want to be cruel, but then she achieves this by taking God’s place as the doctor-patriarch and ruling his household with a new pet goat. The entire film is also about Bella learning about feminism: the arbitrary oppression of women is not only nonsensical, it’s bad! But then the ending has her reproduce almost all those power structures and cruelty she claims to reject, and has the unfortunate consequence of positioning her as ultimately equally cruel/callous as God, the guy she meets on the boat who shows her all the starving people, and her former self-mother, etc. I was wondering if you had any thoughts on why this is or like, what the director’s message was beyond self-contradiction and taking cheap shots at starving people?

so i would quibble a bit with the idea that bella's experience in the maison-close is exclusively or even primarily portraying sex-for-pay as a site of cruelty. i think it's more depicting paid sex as work, and work as unpleasant and repressive, and that's why the maison is the site where bella gets involved in socialist politics—if moral philosophy is the arena by which she responds to the injustice of the poverty in alexandria, then labour politics plays the analogous role where the maison is concerned. her problems there aren't inherently with the idea of being paid for sex, but with specific elements of the work arrangement (eg, she suggests that the women should choose their clients, rather than vice versa). ofc she has some customers who are cruel or thoughtless or rude, but i didn't read the film as suggesting that was universal to sex work, and the effect of the position is more to demystify sex, for bella, than to convert it into being purely a site of trauma or misery. now i don't think this film offers a particularly blistering or deep analysis of sex work or socialism or wage labour, dgmw, but i do think the function of the maison is different narratively to that of the alexandria section.

anyway to answer your actual question: yeah so this is really my central gripe with the film. lanthimos (slash his screenwriter tony mcnamara) spends much of the film gesturing toward bella's growing awareness of several hierarchical structures that other characters take for granted: the uneven nature of the parent/child relationship (god took her body and created her without asking); class stratification (alexandria); the 'civilisation' of individuals and societies via education and bio-alteration (bella's talk about 'improving' herself; her 'progression' from essentially a pleasure-seeking child to an educated and 'articulate' adult). these three dimensions often overlap (eg, the conflation of 'childishness' with lack of education with inability to behave in 'high society'), though, most overtly, it's in that third one that we can see how these notions of improvement and biological melioration speak to discourses about the 'progress' and 'regress' of whole societies and peoples, and voluntarist ideas about how human alteration of biology (namely, our own) might produce people, and therefore societies, that are better or worse on some metric: beauty, fitness, intelligence, morality, longevity, &c. this is why i keep saying that like.... this film is about eugenics djkdjsk.

the issue with the alexandria section to me is, first, it's like 2 minutes (processed in the hollywood yellow filter) where the abject poverty of other people is a life lesson for bella. we're not asking any questions like, how is that poverty produced, and might it have anything to do with the ship bella is on or the fantastical lisbon she left or the comparative wealth of paris and london...? secondly, everything that the film thinks it's doing for the entire runtime by having bella grapple with learning about cruelty, and misery, and the kinds of received social truths that lanthimos is able to problematise through her eyes because she's literally tabula rasa—all of that is just so negated by having an ending in which she bio-engineers her shitty ex-husband, played as a triumphant moment. i don't even inherently have an issue with the actual plot point; certainly she has motive, and narratively it could have worked if it were framed as what it is: bella ascending to the powerful position in the oppressive system that created her, and using her status to enact cruelty against someone who 'deserves' it—ie, leveraging her class and race within the existing social forms rather than continuing to question or challenge them. if that ending were played as a tragedy, or a bleak satire, it would at least be making A Point. but it's not even, because it's just framed as deserved comeuppance for this guy we were introduced to in the 11th hour as a scumbag, so it's psychologically beneficial for bella actually to do the sci-fi surgery to him that literally reduces him to what's framed as a lower life form. unserious

#the favourite and the lobster also have some troubling body and disability politics and i think this is a throughline with lanthimos #but this one is particularly egregious to me given the ending lol #poor things

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myladysapphire · 1 year

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My Lady Strong (II)

Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?

word count: 1,911

CW: violence

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen ( can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclamer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

A/N thank you soo much for all the likes on the last post, I hope you all enjoy this one!

laughter filled the Godswood as Aemond chased after Aemma, circling the weirwood tree.

Their friendship was admired around the keep, the girl adored by all. Somehow keeping her sweet nature following her brother’s ‘prank’, though she had become timid, often hiding behind Aemond, and never letting go of his hand.

Aemond adored this, he wanted her to be utterly dependent on him, and she was. She listened to what Aemond said, often refused to do something if Aemond did want her to or was unable to come.

It was why her mother considered a match between them following the birth of her newest brother, Joffrey. Aemond had already demanded he one day become her sworn sword once he had completed his training, and she doubted he would accept Aemma’s marriage to anyone but himself.

“Aemma!” he ran up to her, picking her up and spinning around before they fell to the ground in a fit of giggles.

He sighed, turning to his side “My father wishes for me to start attending dragon lessons”.

“Then I shall come also” Aemma declared, grabbing his hand, “then once we have learned we shall claim a dragon together!”

“But Aegon and your brothers will be there” Aemond spoke, trying to deter her.

“so, you don’t want me to come?” she pouted

“of course, but… they’ll be there… and they are nothing but cruel” he insisted “ I do not want them to torment both you and me over having no dragon”.

“But we are Targaryens, so what if we do not have a dragon… we are dragons!” she laughed, “please Aemond, I could not bear to part from you”.

“It will only be for a few hours”

“And what am I to do?” she got up “Wait and sew? No, I shall come!” she demanded

All Aemond could do is sigh in defeat. Though he really he wasn’t sad about it, it was not like he wanted to part from her either.

Her brothers hadn’t expected her to show up. Much to their disappointment, she had kept her distance from her brothers and Aegon for the past year. Truth be told they did not expect the prank to become what it was, to make Aemma cling to Aemond more and more.

At dinners, she sat between their mother and father, eating as fast as possible, and on the odd occasion their grandsire called for a family dinner she would place herself between Aemond and Helaena. not uttering a word to her brothers or Aegon, running away when they were near.

And yet today she showed up, hand in hand with Aemond.

When they had heard Aemond was to start attending lessons in the dragon pit, Aegon had come up with the idea, the prank. And Jace and Luke being the jealous brothers they were more than happy to pull it.

All three of the boys regretted their prank on her and had made efforts to reconcile, all failing, miserably. And this prank would become not just a prank on Aemond, but a prank on her also seeing as her Aemond were an extension of one another, much like a dragon and its rider. what one felt, the other did too. They could almost read each other’s minds, always knowing what the other was thinking or saying.

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you.” Aegon announced, as Jace finished with Vermax.

“Do you have one for me too?” she asked, shyly.

Aegon’s eyes softened, it was the first time she had spoken to him in gods know how long and though he would not and admit it , Aegon had grown a soft spot for the brown-haired girl. “No Aemma, but I’m sure you and Aemond could share” the last part caused Luke to giggle before running of to fetch whatever the surprise was.

“What is it?” Aemond asked, grabbing Aemma’s hand tighter and pulling her into him as Aegon wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

“Something very special” he winked.

“you two are the only ones without a dragon”.

“indeed” Aemond nodded.

“And we felt bad about it, so… we found you one, Aemond” Aegon announced.

“Found one? Where?” Aemma asked, excited for Aemond, they had always agreed to share a dragon, should one manage to claim one.

“The gods provided” Aegon stated simply, before Jace and Luke came running forward, a rope in hand…. and a pig attached to it.

“Behold…the pink dread!” they announced, as Aemond and Aemma’s face fell.

"Be sure to mount her carefully, the first flights are always rough" they laughed.

Aemond ran off, Aemma was quick to follow.

“The prince Aemond and princess Aemma” a kings guard announced dragging them into queen Alicent chambers.

“Aemond, Aemma?” the queen questioned. “What did you do?”

“they did it again” Helena spoke.

“After how many times you've been warned, must I have you two confined to your chambers?

“They made me do it” Aemond insisted

“as if you needed the encouragement” Alicent shakes her head “Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.”

“they gave him a pig” Aemma shouted, seeing Aemonds frustration

“A what?”

“They said they found a dragon for me… But it was a pig.” he looked down “they said we could share it”.

“You will have a dragon one day., both off you” Alicent reassured.

“He'll have to close an eye.” Helaena whispered lowly.

“I know it”.

“They all laughed… they even made a tail and wings for it!”

Only Aegon received punishment from the prank, her brothers were let off her mother and grandsire deeming it childish fun and teasing, much to Aemma’s disappointment .

She returned to the cold shoulder, refusing to even acknowledge their presence, not that she did that much before.

The rift between the two families grew even further, rivalry between the mothers spreading towards the children. This time not for the throne, but for Aemma.

Aemond was always with her, the only time they did have with Aemond alone, was their swordsman lessons. Lessons which Aemond had begun to take his lessons with Ser Cole seriously, taking on the role of being Aemma’s defender and protector.

“Keep your feet light and your hands heavy.” Criston ordered.

Aemma stood above the training yard, watching beside her grandsire and the hand.

“This is the stuff, Lyonel…. Lads that learn together, train together... knock each other down, pick each other up. They will certainly form a lifelong bond, wouldn't you agree?” her grandsire spoke, a proud gleam in his voice.

“That is the hope, Your Grace.” Lynol strong agreed, “should the princess be witnessing this, your grace?” he questioned, looking towards her. She had brought a book to read Viserys, though she doubted she could sway his attention away from his sons and grandsons.

“I wish to watch Aemond, lord strong, he had wished to show me his progress” she announced, looking down proudly at Aemond as he swung his sword at the strawman.

“Ahh, let her stay, it is rare I get to see her without her shadow as is” Viserys laughed.

“of course, your grace”

“I've won my first bout, Ser Criston.” She heard Aegon gloat. “My opponent sues for mercy.”

“You'll have a new opponent then, my Lord of the Straw.” Cole spoke “Let's see if you can touch me… You and your brother” he nodded to Aemond.

“Weapons up, boys… Give your enemies no quarter” he spoke, focusing all his attentions on her uncles, as her brothers stood to the side, before greeting Ser Harwin.

“It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston” Harwin spoke.

“You question my method of instruction, ser?”

“Oh, I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils.”

“Very well.” Ser Criston sneered “Jacaerys, come here…You spar with Aegon…Eldest son against eldest son”

Harwin scoffed “It's hardly a fair match.”

“I know you've never seen true battle, ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't something anyone should expect.” Cole snarked “Blades up… Engage.”

“grandsire” Aemma mumbled “it’s hardly fair”.

“oh, its just boys being boys Aemma” he dismissed, focusing on the yard once more.

She averted her eyes, focusing back on her book. Lynol strong too focused on her, his eyes watching her, assessing her. His gaze was soft, but he looked at he as if he knew something she didn’t.

“Lord Strong?” she spoke “would you like to read with me?” she asked, flinching at the sound of metal clashing.

“of course, princess” he nodded, a small smile on his lips.

“You dare put hands on me?” she hears Aegon scream, capturing her and Lynol attention.

“You forget yourself, Strong.” She hears Cole spit out “That is the Prince.

“This is what you teach, Cole? Cruelty... to the weaker opponent?” Harwin scoffed

“Your interest in the princeling's training is quite unusual, Commander” he snarked back, moving in closer saying something she could not hear. Though it must not of been pleasant judging by the punch Harwin landed on her face.

“Stop!” she screamed, flinching away and burying her face in her hands.

“Stop this!” her grandsire repeated, as guards dragged Harwin away from Coles laughing bloody face.

After that everything changed.

Her mother grew desperate, having ser Harwin sent to Harrenhal. He was close to their family and his departure seemed to deeply upset her mother and Jace. she was not too bothered, her mother’s attention now lied in the new babe, Joffrey, and council meetings. She was looking for more and more support, Harwin outburst, and marriage offers seemed to be the best way to secure them.

“I wish to speak. Be seated.” Her mother spoke up, as the small council meeting was pulled to a close “I have felt the... strife... between our families of late, my queen.” She spoke to Alicent “And for any offense given by mine, I apologize. But we are one house. And long before that, we were friends.” Alicent nodded. “My daughter Aemma will inherit Dragonstone after me, I propose a marriage between Aemma and your son, Aemond, the pair are already attached at the hip, let them be the glue that once binds our two families. Ally ourselves... once and for all, let them rule Dragonstone together”

“A most judicious proposition.” Viserys agreed, smiling.

“Additionally, if Syrax brings forth another clutch of eggs, both Aemond and Aemma will have their choice of them, uh... a symbol of our goodwill.”

Alicent nodded, considering. “Rhaenyra” she sighed, looking down. She wanted time to think.

“Oh, Seven Hells. Um...”

“My dear... a dragon's egg is a handsome gift.” Viserys spoke to Alicent.

“The King and I thank you for your offer and we will consider it duly.” She nodded, dismissingly “You must rest now, husband.”

“Yes.”

“The proposal is a good one, my queen. We're a family. Let us put aside these childish quarrels. Join hands and be stronger for it.” Viserys spoke, as they made the way to his chambers.

“yes, Aemond and Aemma shall be pleased” she nodded, “but she is desperate” she sneered “She feels the earth washing away beneath her feet and now she expects us to ignore her transgressions and for me to marry my son to her...” she hesitated, “only daughter”

“Alicent” he sighed, “we agree, on the betrothal?”

“yes” she sighed, keep her beloved daughter in her grasps and she shall have Rhaenyra eating out the palm of her hand.

next part

Taglist (bold wouldn't let me tag)

my lady strong: @aemondssuit @idonotknowenglish @sydneyyyy18 @wondergal2001 @whitejuliana1204 @meowtastick @bellaisasleep @tinykryptonitewerewolf @sarahkimtae @winchesterfamiliebusiness @iiamthehybrid @zzz000eee @spookydaddy01 @melllinaa @ateliefloresdaprimavera @dreamingofyourmoons @aleemendoza2425-blog

HOTD: @targaryenmoony

Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter

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howyouloveyourdragon · 1 year

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What about alpha!rhaenyra x omega!reader x alpha!daemon, where reader is Rhaenyra’s soft shy younger sister? Maybe Viserys hasn’t given them approval to marry her, so they sneak her out of the red keep and secretly wed in a traditional valyrian ceremony on Dragonstone? They would IMMEDIATELY begin breeding reader so nobody can take her away from them

thank you for your request! i like how you're thinking anon

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴇʀᴄɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏᴜʀ, ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴋɪɴᴋꜱ: ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ('*' is where the nsfw comes in)

𝕴 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖘 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌, 𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕽𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖓𝖞𝖗𝖆'𝖘 𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖑 <3

"𝐍𝐎, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐓 marry her!" Viserys exclaimed. Rhaenyra's jaw clenched but Daemon scoffed beside her. "And why not?" She yelled back. Daemon sneered at the King, his lips twitching. "She is still young." Viserys offered weakly to which Daemon rolled his eyes. "You tried to marry Rhaenyra off before her ten and seventh namesday, Y/n is certainly old enough!" Viserys seethed at him and stood with a finger raised threateningly. "Y/n is also a second child, a second daughter no less and until we are in need of allies she is of no concern. She may whom she chooses when I deem her old enough." "My sister is not one to be used! There is no better safety than to have her between two alpha Targaryens! We are stronger than any other." Rhaenyra shouted. The castle bellowed with anger as though taking a life-force of its own, to whom it agreed with would be commented among scattering servants. "If you plan to wed her to some highborn cunt, test us but he will not leave with our bride." "You cannot possibly believe me to allow a wedding between all three of you, I forbid it!"

"Then try!" Rhaenyra snapped back vehemently. She turned with her long hair whipping as harsh as a sentence while Daemon took a powerful stance of his own as he too left his brother to wallow. Viserys clenched his jaw and rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. "Escort them and under no circumstances are they to leave you sight besides their chambers." He commanded, causing guards to start tripping over themselves to abide their King. For the first time in years he was not the quiet man they had grown accustomed to and it was enough to repel any desire to be around the more unruly Targaryens. Rhaenyra and Daemon were the first alpha born children in the Targaryen line since Maegor the Cruel and his parents Aegon and Visenya, the origins of their Iron claim...and though there had been before them, there was no telling what would be possible if both longed to steal his omega child even rarer than they. Leaving the Keep was easy, the hard part was convincing their sweet bride to abide by them. Loyalty was not something easily lost but Rhaenyra had prepared for this since the both of you were young, it was not often that women could marry with or without their status. However Viserys had always been very cautious with you, keeping you sheltered inside due to the young lure of an omega. It was far too easy for someone to steal you away with your kind nature if he let you out unless he ensured you were encircled with guards at all times but that was not a prime solution. Rhaenyra was sure you had never seen the outside even when mother was alive. She thought of this as she and Daemon murmured to each other as they sped down the hall and with a final glance they nodded and left their respective chambers. They were going to take you by law or by force and Viserys had made his choice. It was time to play their move.

Rhaenyra stepped into her chambers with a plan. She and Daemon would use the passageways and–oh. When she turned her head there you were sitting patiently on her bed with a book in had and your hair cascading behind you like a fairy-tale beauty. When you saw her, a radiant beaming smile forced the light of all stars to crash your eyes willingly just for it to meet your sister. Her heart stopped for a moment but when you stood she knew that nothing was going to keep her from expressing her love for you. She cared for Daemon, hell she even cared for Criston, but neither affections ever nearly reached her care for you. She didn't stop her feet when they moved toward you, a giddying glee enveloping her as you stepped toward her. She wanted you to feel her adoration as she took a leap and pulled your alluring face toward her own and joined your lips in an earth-shattering embracive kiss. Her tongue moved against your mouth like it belonged there. She wanted it to belong there. When the kiss became too suffocating she pulled away to breathe and found her fingers having entwined in your hair. Your eyes were blown out in beautiful circles of confusion and joy and she revelled in it. "Avy jorrāelan, hāedar." She declared as your own hands rested against her. (I love you, sister/younger sister) You melted into her arms. "Majigho tosh nyke." (Come with me) Her hand tugged you further into the room until she had you pressed to a cold stone wall. She worked hard to push back her bed and open the passageway for your curious eyes. She took a hold of your hand again and pulled you in.

"What is this?" You asked with wonder as you scaled the building with your eyes. She chuckled before kissing your cheeks. "The start of everything, my love." She replied, hearing Daemon's oncoming footsteps. When he reached them there, both were in a giggling excitement but that wasn't the cause of his surprise. "Kepus!" You announced at the sight of him and turned into a beautiful flush of pink. (Uncle) A desire to possess you rang in his ears and it showed in his sly grin. He greeted you both with a nod of the head before pulling a bag from behind his back. He tossed it to the floor as you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him to your height. His eager arms lingered on your waist only to release one in favour of his fingers playing with a strand of your hair. He chuckled mischievously. "What's this?" He asked, referring to a small cut hidden beneath the curtain of white. You pulled away bashfully though his other hand stayed trapping you in his embrace. Rhaenyra watched with increasing excitement. She glanced at the bag and rifled through it. You batted your eyelashes at him as you recounted the events which caused your short strand. "I, well..." You trailed. Rhaenyra ever the more confident answered for you. "She was riding on Syrax with me and we hit a branch." She answered teasingly. Daemon hummed and held in his amusement at your embarrassed flush. He stroked a thumb over it affectionately before leaning in to kiss it gently. Your eyes closed as an innocent gasp left you. "Then it will heal." He noted. "It would be a shame to scar such a pretty riña." Daemon delighted in the sweet tilt to your mouth. (girl) "Indeed." Rhaenyra purred, rising from the bag so that she could thrust a pile of fabric into your arms.

You looked down and frowned at it. Daemon had to stop himself from asking to help. "Clothing." He answered your non-question. You looked up into his violet eyes. "We're taking you for the adventure of your life, darling." At the words, Rhaenyra sent you an assuring grin and nod of encouragement. To their persuasion, you followed Rhaenyra's lead, both of you pulling a beige shirt over your head after Rhaenyra unlaced your dress and let it fall to the floor. She sucked in a sharp breath while Daemon let his eyes wander your form. You acted too quickly for him to let them stray from task for too long as he pushed the hidden passage back in place but he appreciated the brief glimpse. When dressed, Rhaenyra's comforting hand cupped your cheek and drew you into another kiss. A short panic shot through you when you broke from her and saw Daemon watching but she quickly pulled you back to face her. "He knows." She spoke. "We love you together, my sweet hāedar." Daemon approached with cautious calculated steps and drew your bodies both into him, a hand on each cheek. "It is not something to fear, dōna jorrāelan, it is to be celebrated and we know just how." He pressed his warm lips to your forehead and laid a kiss there.

The dragonpit was silent as Daemon paid off guards to allow entry but it didn't quell your nerves, your hands were occupied with each Rhaenyra and Daemon as they guided you onto your dragon and they mounted their own. They shared a glance. The start of forever awaited them as they rose in the air. They kept you and your dragon between them as if guarding you, Daemon behind to keep watch of the city below in case their presence came known and Rhaenyra guiding you forward. As the warm air blew in your face you remained unaware of their intentions. The wind whispered promises of devotion and the sun shone on them like it was made for this day and when you finally landed, Rhaenyra almost didn't want to glide to the floor. She rushed at the chance to help you down however and grinned wickedly back at Daemon. Dragonstone? You wondered though anticipation rattled your bones. Daemon came to sweep you under his arm as you came closer to the castle where their Septon stood waiting. You hesitated at the unfamiliar sight but Rhaenyra and Daemon's smiling faces urged you forward. They swept past the Septon as though not there at all, instead leading you inside. The stairs were winding as they took you up and into a large lavish chamber where a perfect gold and red garment entranced you, it seemed to pair with the headpiece beside it. Daemon leant into your ear. "Soon." He whispered before leaving. Rhaenyra kissed you before you could question further and left you in the room.

Seeing them again but this time in their own garb felt like a warm pressure clutching you in a tight embrace. Their own prideful expressions furthered your trust in them, reminding you of their love. "Do you know why we're here, my love?" Rhaenyra asked quietly and held your hands together. You shook your head and pulled a lip between your teeth. She smiled. "We want to marry you." Your eyes widened and snapped to see Daemon's smirking face immediately. "We need you to be ours." He continued. "We need to claim you, would you like that?" Breath clogged your lungs with a strong push keeping your surprise down. Rhaenyra's fingers glided up your arm. "You only need to say yes." She told you quietly and nuzzled her nose in your hair, breathing in your scent. She wholeheartedly believed that you were made for her. "Will you?" The fluffy feeling she projected into your heart kept you from disagreeing. And so a gentle, "Yes", fell from your lips like a plea. You felt her wide grin against your neck as she lay a series of kisses along it. Daemon's form surprised you when his fingers rolled around your waist so that his teeth could mould onto your jaw and suck a sweet mark just below. He soothed it with kisses of his own and when they both pulled away from you, you felt cold and needy. However there wasn't time for that. Viserys could realise you were missing any second now as they guided you once more toward the Septon. The Septon officiated your promises of love and protection. The sharp sting along the line of your lip felt dull as they soothed you with amorous eyes and warm hands. Your thumb became stained with the blood of the dragon and you didn't mind because it reminded you of your love. "Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever." When you all joined to pledge your love with a kiss, their lips brought your own into a security you had never known before but also a freedom. A new world for them to experiment.

*You knew what would happen when you inevitably reached your chambers, the burn in you grasping you in a chokehold. Rhaenyra's soft hands against Daemon's hard touch made you feel euphoric as they slipped you and each other from your traditional garments. A low groan ripped from Daemon's chest, leading his hands to hold your breasts and squeezing while Rhaenyra wrapped her hands onto your waist and sucked marks as dark as his eyes into your skin. After years of pleading, she finally had you. You were the only thing she had ever believed was destined to be hers and now you were her own to mark and praise as she saw fit. "So good for us." She murmured, her wet lips trailing you. Daemon moaned at the sight. "Our good omega, aren't you?" The prince asked and you had a feeling it wasn't rhetorical as his iron grip held you. Rhaenyra raised her eyes to look at your blissful face. He pulled away from you then to watch as you nodded. "So perfect." Rhaenyra breathed, her hands sliding onto your breasts from behind and rolling them like a massage. Daemon kissed your jaw and followed the line of your body until he reached the valley of your breasts, kissing Rhaenyra's hands before further trailing down.

When he reached your lower belly, his hands swept under your rear and hoisted you against Rhaenyra's body so you were between them. He wrapped your legs around his hips. Rhaenyra relinquished her hands although your whimper made her desire to take you back into her again but she stepped back and swallowed. She sat herself waiting on the large bed. "Gaomagon jaelā naejot sagon īlvon, dōna riña?" He whispered to you as he walked you toward it too. (Do you want to be ours, sweet girl?) He dropped you down onto the plush mattress. Your head lay back between Rhaenyra's thighs, her fingers carding through your hair soothingly. "Say it." She whispered into your ear. Daemon started kissing down your stomach.

"Jaelan sytilībagon aōhon." You answered. (I want to be yours) And it was with that statement that they knew they had you right where they needed you. Daemon didn't hesitate to press a sloppy kiss against your bud, his tongue circling around it like nothing you had ever felt before. Rhaenyra's hands moved to interlace with your own as you thrashed your head back into her. His tongue guided along you like his vows. "Sȳz riña." He murmured, vibrating his mouth against you. (Good girl) A shuddering jolt passed through your body, curling your toes and fingers. Rhaenyra almost moaned just watching you fall apart atop her. His tongue lolled into the depths of you and flicked back forth, experienced. "Skorkydoso gaomagon ao pendagon ao sylutegon?" Rhaenyra asked, throat tightening at the thought of having you herself. (How do you think you taste?) She took in your flushed cheeks and droopy eyelids, you were perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. "Dōna..." She whispered. "iā heksīr averilla?" She pulled her hands from yours so that she could suddenly rake her nails over your pointing nipples and groaned. (Sweet...or like wine?" Daemon chuckled as your hips snapped up to his mouth, her teeth briefly leaping along your sensitive bud. You squealed at the sharpness of his canines but just as you were about to release another moan, Daemon's head pulled back and let you hips fall back onto the bedding.

A heave escaped your lips even when you looked down at his waiting violet eyes. Your disappointed and confused furrow of your brow treated him like a winner and he couldn't hold back his evil grin. You almost whined for him but then he was hoisting your legs over his shoulders and leaning forward to join your faces. Your legs burned as he stretched them up close to your collarbones and your neck felt cold when Rhaenyra's body moved from behind it. Daemon was smirking at you. One of Rhaenyra's hands stayed on your nipple, flicking you nipple back and forth like a toy but the rest of her sat beside your limp body. Daemon stroked your face firmly and delighted in the whimpers he caused. "We're going to breed you, sweetling." Rhaenyra told you in her beautiful lilting voice, it almost made the words sound less vulgar. She pressed wet kisses down your neck. "You're ours now and some people don't want you to be." "Will you teach them with us, dōna riña?" Daemon's face was so close to yours but he refused to give into your desires so soon. He urged Rhaenyra with a knowing look to start pressing a slow ring on your clit. Then she slipped it inside, stealing your gasps with a suction-like kiss. "Yes." You replied when she released you with a soft squelch. Daemon growled as if he was being possessed by Caraxes and sucked a harsh mark into your neck.

"Our good girl." He breathed. "Are you ready for my cock?" His tone was domineering and his words vulgar but all you could think about was how good it would feel when his thick appendage finally broke through you. He chuckled wickedly at your dazed glassy eyes and guided his length to your waiting, swollen entrance. Rhaenyra's finger sped up though she withdrew the one that had been slinking inside of you, leaving a gooey trail up your stomach as she slithered it up to your mouth. She tapped your lips and when she dipped it in and lay it at your tongue, a lewd mewl escaped you. Daemon exchanged a proud nod with your sister and felt his breath stutter as he began sliding himself into you. Your red sopping mound nearly scurried away from him but he held your hips tightly in place and Rhaenyra murmured sweet praise into your ear.

"You don't want to be taken away from us do you?" She asked quietly while Daemon halted halfway-through to allow at least some adjustment. Rhaenyra tilted her head at you and let the upturn of her lips glide into a smirk. You shook your head and gasped as her lips pressed against yours. "Then let us have you...all of you." A light trail of blood seeped into the bedding when your uncle broke through the only barrier keeping him from you but none of you seemed to care as he thrust forward and sunk into your wet heat. "Taking me so well." Daemon commented as easily as complimenting your dress but a moan released from buried within his chest as your tight hole engulfed all of him. "Our good girl, we're going to fill you until you burst." His hips snapped against you in a pleasing join of sweat-slick flesh. You had the heat of the dragon within you and it didn't let itself go unnoticed. Rhaenyra's leg swung around your middle when your soft moans and jolting body continued, forcing Daemon to lower your legs. Tears began to release but she kissed at them until you couldn't tell what was from your eyes or the wetness of her tongue. She slid her mouth to capture you, her tongue probing your own.

"I want you to show me what Daemon taught you." The crinkle of your brow went ignored until her thighs locked on either side of your head and her cunt dropped onto your lips. Your inexperienced tongue licked at her curiously and a warm pride filled your chest when she moaned. Your mind went dizzying as your body took full control, you almost felt like an intruding ghost as the heat of your bodies swept over you. You felt as her nub grew larger and larger, sighing in satisfaction as your eyes closed. Daemon's pace maintained a hard brutal pace, abusing your hole until a tingling heightened in your stomach. You cried out as an unknown feeling ebbed away at you. "That's it." He coaxed, almost yelling. "Cum for me, my pretty wives." Rhaenyra let a hoarse scream erupt as you whimpered and thrashed below her, a wave of pleasure finally crashing and a new taste dripping onto your tongue. You lapped at it like a greedy dog but they loved it, Rhaenyra's fingers wrapping in your Targaryen strands and gripping like a vice. The come down felt a newfound clarity. His skin didn't stop slapping against yours until a surge of his seed flowed into you. As it began to drip out of you, he used a singular finger to curl it back into you, thrusting as it did so. Rhaenyra eventually slipped from you but when her fingers released your hair, they played with it in a relaxed threading. "Perfect." She breathed before sliding off the bed much to your disagreement. They both chuckled at you with affectioned smiles. "I hope you don't think we're done, dōna ābrazȳrys." Daemon pulled out of your heat and quickly began to rub his manhood again as Rhaenyra took his place. She was already rubbing your pelvises against one another. "We won't stop until we know you swell with our babe." "You're insides are going to stain white by the time we're through with you."

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waklman · 1 year

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Not Strong Enough

summary: bradley struggles to understand his grief or you ask bradley why he doesn’t like when people take care of him.

warnings: heavy talks of parental death, mental health, and medicine/medication. 18+ blog.

word count: 1.8k

this is for boygenius fans who also took the line ‘once i took your medication to know what it’s like’ line quite literally bc haha same 👍🏻, not sure if it'll even translate well but lol

something ‘bout you masterlist.

Bradley Bradshaw had been a freshly twenty three when he first discovered that yellowed pill bottle hidden away in his bathroom cabinet. For all these years, the plastic casing was stashed behind a deteriorating box of waterproof band-aids and a decade-old bottle of rubbing alcohol, not meant to be found by anyone else but Carole Bradshaw.

So, when his innocent search for a first aid kit ended with him blankly staring at a cluster of tiny blue tablets spilled into the palm of his hand, the first thought that crossed his mind was to put it away. He knew his mother was no longer around to finish off her prescription, he should put them back where she had originally left them. It’d be wrong if he were to toss them down, especially when they weren’t his to take.

But Bradley Bradshaw did it anyway.

In swallowing down the expired medication, cupping a handful of sink water to aid himself, a sick expectation had welled up within Bradley that night. A part of him hoped that once they dissolved in his stomach—he’d finally be able to understand why she needed them in the first place—that it would give him a glimpse into the mind of the woman he was so curious about. That, if he just had a mere taste of what Carole Bradshaw had taken daily without his knowledge, he'd somehow be closer to her in that way.

Once they settled, Bradley would be able to encapsulate her essence, gaping that bridge he wedged between them. Perhaps then, he'd stop feeling so guilty for looking like a splitting image of her dead husband while she was combating her grief.

But for a plastic tube so brightly colored, it held something so unbelievably numb.

Laying stiffly across the bed he’d already started to outgrow, limbs dangling off the ends of the mattress, a black hole began to materialize—tearing right through his chest that night.

Carole Bradshaw never had to outwardly say it, but Bradley knew she struggled with things he couldn’t begin to fully comprehend as a young boy, barely grazed by the cruelty of the world. So, he did his best to not be another problem for her to deal with growing up, as she had fair share of those in her lifetime.

In elementary school, Bradley was the only student seated quietly, scribbling drawings of airplanes into his name tag with a thick blue crayon, while everyone else cried for their parents on the first day of school. It had been a strange revelation for a child to come to, that he needed to learn how to be alone—how to be without his parents, in case they both weren’t there anymore.

Yet, by the second grade he came to terms with that.

And throughout highschool and college, Bradley made sure to stay out of the line of trouble, for the sake of his mother who made herself sick with worry. Despite what others may think, Bradley paid special attention to his grades, in the same way Carole tended to the burst of star shaped lilies planted in their backyard. And in times where he felt alone during his youth, it almost felt cruel to voice that back to his mother when she asked him ‘How was your day sweetheart?’

It was only when she passed that he finally cried out to her, gripping onto that limp hand by the hospital bedside. It was only when Bradley was truly alone in his life that he felt it was enough to finally say it outloud.

But in his true nature, Bradley bounced back.

The realization that came to him when he was a child, that he’d eventually stretch out the rest of his life alone, hit him again. Moving forward, he had been so sure that he’d be fine with that. There was no room to feel a semblance of pain if he kept everyone at an arm's length away. It somewhat worked to ease him off the loss of Carole, and it should work with everything else in life. But, the universe had different plans for him, when they led him to you.

It had been another night you two spent staring at the stars, sitting on the same blanket on his front lawn, where Bradley found himself not thinking twice about everything he said. Maybe it was the comfort the night sky provided him, or maybe it was because he was just talking to you.

“Hey Bradley?” you call out for him, cutting through the silence. “Why don’t you let people do things for you?”

Bradley keeps his eyes trained on the lights dusted besides the full moon, knowing you were looking at it too. “What do you mean?” He softly asks, delaying a bit.

Slowly, you turn your head, admiring freckles that speckled across his cheek. They lightly danced over the scars adorning his face, and just barely kissed over the tip of his nose. And despite the array of stars twinkling right in front of you, trying to catch your attention again as they glimmered—you had always found him much more mesmerizing.

Bradley Bradshaw was a once in a lifetime sight you had the privilege of seeing up close. And for that reason, you can’t look away from him, not now at least.

“When people let you skip them in line, you don’t do it,” you warily pause, watching Bradley nod as you start. “Then you do that thing where you buy your own beers before your team gets to the Hard Deck, so they don’t beat you to it,” you bite your lip, digging through your list of observations.

“And you have this look when I do stuff for you, like, you don’t understand why I’m making you lunch or why I’m buying you stupid things that remind me of you,” you finally share, stretching your legs out.

The silence that lingers after is heavy.

Bradley takes in a quiet breath, reminded by the life sized teddy bear you lugged into his apartment just last week. “It’s not something I’m used to,” he provides weakly, recalling the way you excitedly screeched at him when the bear fit perfectly on his couch. He’s still not looking at you as he continues. “It’s..it’s dumb. But the idea of someone looking after me, even if it's in a small way. I just…it feels weird for me.”

Everyone he knew, acted as if they hit the jackpot when someone else confessed that they loved them ardently. But while others wished for a moment like that, Bradley wished against it—it would be too burdensome for him. Bradley never wanted someone to love him again, not until now.

“Do you…not like when I do things for you? Is that something you don’t–”

“No. When it’s you, it feels different, ” he cuts you off suddenly. “When you pack me lunch, I feel good eating it. I don’t…I don’t feel guilty eating it,” his head drops, hanging forward like a weight. There had been so many times he secretly threw up his own mother’s cooking, thinking it would hurt less if he didn’t take her token of love. “I hate feeling bad about things like that, it’s not normal,” he confesses.

You blink back the tears coating your eyes, not wanting to lose sight of his starlike freckles. “I want to help you feel good Bradley,” you whisper, fingers twitching at your side.

Swallowing thickly, your eyes dart between the solemn expression he’s wearing and the scrunch his fingers give the thin blanket below him. “I want you to feel okay with being loved, you deserve it as much as anyone else does. I want that for you now, and I think…I would’ve wanted it for you if we were both kids.—if I was lucky enough to know you when I was ten.”

At that, Bradley finally smiles, and it doesn’t seem so tasking to do so. “Would you have sat next to me in class?” He finally turns to you, starting a study of your face, realizing that you glow brighter than the stars shining above both of you.

“In class, and during lunch time. Then we would have hung out during recess too because obviously I win you over with my charms,” you softly smile at him, playing with the idea.

It’s too late for it now—the possibility of you two growing up together as kids. But a part of Bradley likes to imagine it anyway.

If you had been there during his quiet walks home from school, it would have kept his tears from falling. If you fell over in a heated game of tag, he would’ve kissed over your bruised knees like he does now. And if you were there when he came home to an empty house, he wouldn’t have taken Carole’s medication to know what it’s like to be someone who loved him.

“What if all I did was draw the ugliest airplane models?”

“I was a pretty weird kid. I’d probably sit there drooling while watching you doodle,” you confirm, biting your lip to suppress a small laugh.

Bradley extends his hand out to you, uncurling your lip from your teeth to hear it spill from you. Right as he does, you finally giggle in his palm. “Hey, don’t start droolin’ on me Babybear,” he warns, laughing with you.

With his hand cupping your cheek, he leans in to press a quick kiss to your smiling mouth. “I wish we could’ve been kids together,” he cements, pulling back.

“Bradley,” you lean into his hand, warming his calloused palm. “Did you forget about us snatching the last toy plane right from that kid in Target the other day?”

Bradley lightly shrugs, tracing his hand up to tousle your hair. “We have more fun with that plane than he ever will,” he decides, leaving his hand there, holding the top of your head firmly.

Head clamped under his fingers, you nod. “I bet he wishes he could fly it as high as we do when I’m sittin’ on your shoulders.”

“That’s right,” he gradually nods in agreement.

“Speaking of, let’s go back inside and fly it after you take your medication,” you sternly point a finger at him, pairing it with a look.

Bradley mindlessly begins to draw an outline of a plane into your scalp, using his index resting over the back of your head. “Will you feed it to me?”

“That’s a silly question. You know I always do,” you tilt your head slightly.

Bradley softens, finishing off his invisible sketch, adding the detail to the airplane wing.

“Yeah, you always do,” he echoes.

Lieutenant Bradshaw had been thirty nine when he first discovered he’d been prescribed the medication his mother once took. Instead of her name printed across the label, there was his name. Bradley Nick Bradshaw.

But, when it finally came time to take it, Bradley was never shaking above the sink, apprehensive as it spilled out into his palm, no. Because you were always there, softly whispering I love yous as you gently dipped it into his mouth.

Bradley Bradshaw was never left curious about how it felt to love someone like him, not when you kept telling him how rewarding it was.

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dyns33 · 28 days

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The Fall of House Harkonnen

I'm not sure what to do with Feyd to be honest.

I'm trying to do dark + fluff but I'm not that good at it. So I started with something short, and not really a Feyd x Reader, since they are twins here. Only platonic, fraternal love here. Even if he's over protectitve and possessive.

It was known throughout all the Imperium that the Harkonnens were cruel beings.

Without pity, without heart.

This seemed even more certain when it came to the young Na Baron, Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, nephew of the Baron and his heir.

True, except with his twin sister.

Or rather dizygotic twin. A strangeness of nature, because if the boy resembled his father and all men born on Giedi Prime, Y/N had taken on the features of their mother and the inhabitants of Lankiveil.

This singularity alone could have been enough to disgust the Baron to the point of making him want to kill the child or leave her with her parents. There was also the fact that she was a girl, being inferior and uninteresting.

It was the older brother who had begged for her to be spared, because even though he wanted to impress his uncle and had no attachment to the rest of his family, he felt a certain sympathy towards his sister.

For this, he had often been punished by Feyd, but it was perhaps also what had saved his life.

Because if Glossus liked Y/N, Feyd adored her more than anything in the world.

As if she were a part of him, a vital, essential part. Extremely possessive, jealous to the point of obsession, he insisted that she be taken with him by the Baron, even though he did not see what to do with her.

“If she doesn’t come, I’m not coming either.”

A refusal was impossible. Vladimir Harkonnen needing a successor, and having clearly seen that only Feyd could be suitable, he couldn't say no.

Marrying her for political advantage was also unthinkable. The Na Baron scared away any suitors who might have been interested, and he would have killed the one their uncle chose for his twin.

There would have been the possibility of letting her choose, because maybe he would have agreed to let her go if she had asked him to. It was rare for him to refuse her something, and in fact people often went through her to communicate with Feyd without taking the risk of being mutilated.

Not right away anyway, because just talking, looking, or thinking about Y/N could be grounds for severe punishment. No one imagined what he would do if someone dared to touch her.

Of course, he was the only one not subject to this ban. The worst rumors ran in the dark corners of the Harkonnens' house, when it was known that the twins shared the same bed.

The Na Baron could have ripped out the tongues of everyone who said such horrors about his sister. They could think what they wanted about him, but not about her.

He also could have just said he didn't want her like that. He had never touched her as he touched his concubines, or any other woman.

Superior to all the others, Y/N did him the honor of letting him put his ear to her chest, rocking him to sleep, a calm and serene sleep. He only slept well with her, listening to her heart, which beat only for him, and thanks to him.

The few times he was alone with her, Glossus Rabban begged her to convince Feyd to be reasonable. It was quite hilarious that such a request was made by the one they called the Beast.

Probably it wasn't really him asking, even if you could see worry in his eyes, the eyes of an older brother.

He never left her, and at the same time Feyd was totally submissive to his twin. It was painful for him when she wanted something that went against what he deemed necessary.

This could have been a means of control. But threatening the young woman would have caused more problems than getting favors. She was untouchable no matter what.

For a time, there had also been the fear that she would use this advantage to torn her brother as she pleased. But if the rest of the family was cruel, Y/N seemed to be the heart of it, the only little beating heart, still a bit human.

It happened that she suffocated a little under her brother's protective love, but she had gotten used to it, perfectly understanding how it worked and knowing that he needed that to feel good.

Feyd didn't know how to be good, but he was doing his best. However, that didn't stop her from teasing him.

“Suppose I meet a charming, kind young nobleman who treats me well…”

“Why do you want to torture me like this, my sister ?” he sighed, snuggling against her. "It's been a long day. Lots of annoyances, stupid people. Don't make me think about these atrocities."

“Me, happily married, is that an atrocity ?”

"Yes."

“But what if I asked you to find me someone ?” Y/N said with a smile, rubbing his back tenderly.

"If there was someone who deserved you, then I would accept. But that's not the case. So you will stay with me, I will become emperor, and you will rule by my side."

"It's not very conventional. And bad for the future of our house."

"The witches will do what is necessary for this. I will take the hand of one of the Emperor's daughters to ensure my power, I will give her a son, then I will not see her again. Maybe I will even kill her, since she will no longer be useful."

"You're so mean. Would you be happy if people talked about me like that ?"

“I will kill anyone who dares.” he grunted, while purring under her hands.

When the Emperor ordered Arakkis to be given to the Atreides, Piter suggested an alliance, before moving on to assassination.

Not that he wanted the Atreides to live, but it was obvious that their deaths were even more desired by the Emperor because of their popularity, who would later seek to attack the Harkonnens because of their wealth.

"The Duke should have had a daughter, who would have married the Na Baron. Since he had a son, it would be possible for us to propose a marriage between him and…"

“Finish this sentence and lose your tongue.” Feyd hissed, never taking his eyes off him, his blade dancing between his fingers, ready to strike.

"I appreciate this proposal, but as you can see, this idea is not a good one. My dear nephew is right to oppose it. The Atreides do not deserve to be linked to any member of our family, nor to have any power over my Dune. We will take it back from them, then we will deal with the Emperor."

Politics had no interest for Y/N. She heard nothing of the plans of the Baron, the Bene Gesserit, or the Imperium. It didn't matter to her in the slightest.

She was only happy with her brother, and it was the same for him. An inseparable pair.

So there was a moment of hesitation when their uncle decided to entrust Arrakis to Feyd. An immense honor, which he had been waiting for for a long time, in addition to which would allow him to further secure his future as ruler of the galaxy.

But Dune was dangerous, so it was obvious that it wasn't a good idea for Y/N to accompany him.

None of them liked the idea, but for once the Na Baron couldn't deny that he shared his uncle's worries. No one would be stupid enough to hurt his sister if she was on Giedi Prime, but she was a target on Arrakis.

"I'll be back soon. Or you'll join me when we've eliminated the Fremen rebels."

"… I have a bad feeling. Stay."

"My sister. My sweet sister." he whispered, kissing her cheek. "You have nothing to fear. You know I am a well trained warrior."

"I don't doubt your abilities. I doubt that these savages are as honorable as you. Can you promise to come back to me ?"

“I have never broken my word, much less the word I give you. We will not be separated, Y/N.”

News of the Baron's death came first.

Then the commander announced to her with a small voice that Glossus had also succumbed.

He was silent for a moment, giving her time to process what he had just said, but Y/N already knew he wasn’t finished.

As she had predicted, young Paul Atreides had not fought by the rules. He should have lost, according to witnesses, but he played dirty, and he stabbed the Na Baron instead of accepting his defeat.

While demanding the hand of the emperor's daughter, he had ordered that a message be sent to the last of the Harkonnens, the only heiress. If she were smarter than the rest of her family, she would be willing to bow to him.

“What should I answer ?”

“Leave me.” Y/N only said without looking at him.

"But he's waiting for an answer… They're going…"

“Leave me.”

"Sorry, Baroness. Call me when you have made a decision."

There was no decision. No word. No Harkonnen bowed their head to an Atreides.

Refusing to be separated, and since he won't come back like he promised, Y/N decided to join her twin where he was. Even though he refused to admit it since they were children, he had never liked being alone in the dark, waiting for her to sneak in his room.

Her planet, her people, their fate didn't matter to her. In this moment, as cruel as the rest of her family, her heart was only for Feyd, and it had no reason to beat anymore.

#dune part 2 #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fanfiction #not really feyd x reader

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anki-of-beleriand · 6 months

Text

In the darkness you said goodbye

Summary: Wanda makes a mistake, and she thinks she can tlak herself out of it.

Warnings: Cheating, F/M sex, bittersweet ending, Wanda is to blame.

Pairing: Reader/Wanda - Reader/Carol - Wanda/Vision

Author's note: This story is an experiment, mostly I want to see how it goes as a one shot, and second just want to see how it goes with Wanda. I hope you guys liked it, as always English is not my mother tongue so forgive me my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Second part: In the light you love her

Winter was your favourite time of the year.

The snowflakes falling on the ground, and the sound of Christmas jingles around the streets was enough to put you on a good mood. It had been five years since Thanos was defeated it and the Blip was reversed changing the shape of the universe, the stories people told were now shaped for a past that defied everything they knew.

Midgard had certainly changed in the last years; new heroes were born and the old ones were ready to step aside and give way to the new generations. Your face lifted up to the Avengers Tower standing proudly in midtown Manhattan while the cold of the early afternoon surrounded you in a comforting embrace.

You smiled to yourself, music blasting through your ears while your hand closed around the small box you had worked your ass off to get for this special date. Your phone vibrated, the ringtone you attached to Natasha’s name breaking through the music and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the sudden interruption.

“Yes, mom?” The voice at the other end chuckled, and you allowed yourself a tender smile.

“I’m just making sure you’re okay, kiddo, no need to be a brat about it.”

“I am okay, more than okay, I’m super okay!”

“So, you’re nervous.” The older woman replied, and you gulped chewing on your lower lip.

“I am, I’m super nervous.” You confessed, the hand closing around the small box as you spoke. “Tasha, I love her, I…god when I lost her in the Blip, I almost lost myself to darkness…”

“I remember, Y/N, I know it was hard for you.” And Natasha remembered those dark times, you had always been an open gate to darkness.

The very nature of your species made it easier for your heart and soul to give into darkness, your powers were not only a manifestation of your mutation but also a warning sign of what you were capable of doing. But Natasha never gave up on you, and from the moment Thor brought you in and she took care of you, you became the woman Natasha knew you could be. Then, Thanos happened and Natasha could see for the very first-time what Thor and even Loki meant when they said that you were born out of pure blackness. You became unfeeling, careless, cold and almost cruel…

The moment you lost Wanda, on that battlefield watching her disappeared, that was the first time Natasha feared you.

You turned around destroying every single servant that Thanos had brought with him, your shadows covering Wakanda just before they perished in screams of pure agony. Darkness had covered you, and everything would have ended in disaster if Steve hadn’t knock you out; not many understood the deepness of your love for Wanda, but Natasha had been there to see the growing friendship, the affection and the tender moments stolen in between their teenage years.

Natasha had seen the relationship grow from afar, and she could tell you were far to in love with Wanda to not suffer with her lost. But even after you woke up, it wouldn’t be until everyone went looking for Thanos in space that you really broke.

Natasha still remembered when you crumbled to your feet after having destroyed an entire fleet of Chitahuri while looking for Thanos with Carol. How you cried until she put her arms around you, and you finally let go of the pain of losing the woman you loved with all your heart and might. You cried for days, and soon every surviving Avenger was afraid of losing you, of not being able to reach out to you. Natasha hated to see the suffering in your face, the whimpers leaving your lips as you tried to talk and explain that you were hurting so badly you didn’t know what to do.

It took time, but eventually you started recovering. Tony and Steve, as well as Carol and Rocket helped in the process. From them you learnt about your past, and your planet, they talked to you about your origins and your powers, and Natasha was happy to see you recover.

You became not only an Avenger, but also an amazing woman.

And now, after five years of having defeated Thanos and recovering the woman you had been in love since you were fifteen years old, it was just fair for you to have a happy ending.

“You have grown so much since I first met you, Y/N. Wanda is a lucky girl, you know?”

“Nah, I’m the lucky one, I just hope…I mean…” You stood by the gates of the Tower, trembling while cleaning up your sweaty hands. “We’ve been talking about having children and all, and I just… I don’t know if I’m a mom material but…”

“You are. You are, Y/N, now stop stalling and go get her, kiddo. I love you.” Natasha stated in that motherly tone you had come to love as well, you chuckled when you heard Yelena in the background and Natasha cursing in Russian.

“Okay, okay, don’t kill auntie Lena, and stop cursing. I call you when …. when I can.”

“Please have loud, sweaty sex with your soon to be fiancée, and call us when you finish!”

“Yelena!”

You chuckled shaking your head while hanging up.

The building was mostly empty, there was only one security guard that greet you with a polite smile and a mug of hot chocolate on his hands. You went past him into the elevators, your finger selecting the floor Tony had given to Wanda when he first finished the Avengers Tower.

You stood there hearing the music, your hands completely sweaty while your heart hammered hard against your chest. There was a deep void inside your stomach, and you couldn’t help but lifted your eyes to the numbers on the screen. You knew that day would be the day, today had been your last active day as a hero, and Tony had already hired you as normal everyday scientist in one of his investigational facilities. Wanda still thought you were in Kamar Taj with Strange and a girl that had shown to his doorstep, so tonight would be a great surprised that you hope would finally give you your happily ever after.

When Wanda came back, trying to build your relationship with her had been hard.

Wanda found it difficult to adapt herself to a life she was not used to, she found it hard to find out you had travelled around the galaxy being a hero with someone like Carol Danvers and Rocket. At first, you found it funny that Wanda was jealous of Carol, but then it was not only Carol but also your new house in Westview, or the bicycle you bought to go around the city. It was about your job at Stark’s Industries and your lack of interested in being a hero. Then it was you leaving your hero life behind and wanting to be normal, or to gather the new generation of heroes…

Your relationship with Wanda had been rocky, to say the last, after she came back.

But you had learnt that time and communication fixed everything, and after a while the both of you talked about what you really wanted. About your future, about your hopes…and you realized that Wanda wanted nothing more than a life with you. To build a family, and to be happy. She was finding it hard to do so, in a world that had moved on without her, and you made sure to let her know every day that your life had been nothing without her in it.

You smiled putting the ring from your pocket.

Now, finally you could close the last gap and asked Wanda to marry you. You had given up everything in your old life, to start your new life with Wanda.

“Okay, here we go…”

The door of the elevator open and you stepped inside the living room. The place was decorated with candles, and the sweet aroma of Wanda’s favourite perfume. You furrowed your brows, looking around the place you could see her back, and some of her things scattered around.

You walked down the halls, stopping dead on your tracks when your eyes fell upon something you did not recognize. It was a dark jacket. You looked around the scene, and then you caught the sounds. You felt dizzy, your body burning while your stomach dropped leaving a foul taste in your throat.

The hallway was dark, most of the doors were closed but the last one at the end of the hallway. Yellowish light came from it, and as you approached it you could tell it was the light coming from different candles. You were trembling, all of a sudden you felt cold and empty.

A heavy weight positioned above your shoulders, and your heart trembled at the sight before you.

Wanda was on the bed, sprawled and legs wide open with Vision on top of her. Both were naked, and Wanda was throwing her head back grabbing the bedsheets tightly, Vision was trusting inside her whispering in her ear.

Your eyesight blurred for a moment, but your presence went unnoticed and just as you came in, you left. You were staggering around the hallway until your knees gave up and you fell with a soft thud, tears rolling down your eyes and the ring you had made for Wanda fell to the floor.

A part of you, the darker part, ignited a fire inside you ready to scream and bring down the hole building with Wanda and Vision in it. You wanted to make them suffered, for them to experiment the sheer pain you were experimenting at the moment. But another part, the one you had gained with your family and friends simply told you to go.

And so, you did. Falling into the shadows you disappeared leaving behind the ring you had made to Wanda as promised to her, a commitment, and show of your love for her.

Later that same night, Wanda cringed shivering as she exited her room. She placed a hand on her face, shamed and self-disgust filling up her mind, just as she thought of the passion that Vision ignited in her. She knew she needed to put a stop to the affair with Vision; she knew that she had to do it soon if she really wanted to move forward with Y/N and actually started the family you two had talked about. But Wanda was afraid to do so, she was afraid of the consequences, of Vision not understanding, of anyone finding out…

Wanda was strolling down the hallway until her feet stepped on something hard on the floor. She furrowed her brows, and her expression soon changed as she realized it was a small box. At first she thought this was one of Vision’s attempts to get to her heart, but then Wanda felt her stomach dropped and her heart ached painfully in her chest.

Inside the box there was a ring.

And suddenly, Wanda realized how stupid she had been.

Wanda stood there, her eyes wide open filled with tears. She made her way to the door, but you were no longer there, the room was still dark and when she turned on the lights her gazed fell upon the dark box you had been carrying for almost five years.

“Wanda…” Vision said behind her, but Wanda couldn’t do or say anything at all, her eyes completely fixed on the ring you had brought to her.

It was a start.

A green start resembling a spiralling galaxy, the shank of the ring made of white gold.

Your name and hers written around it, the date you two said I love you to one another right beside them.

It was at moment that Wanda realized how stupid she had been.

_________________________________________

“You really have some nerve to come here, Wanda.” Natasha stood by the door glaring at the redhead, her arms crossed though she could sense Yelena getting her weapons ready.

“Natasha, I need to talk to her.” Wanda was on the verge of desperation.

For more than a month she had tried to reach out to you, to try and get to talk to you and explain herself. Wanda knew that whatever you had seen, whatever had happened, she would need to do more than explain what had happened. Why she did it. You were nowhere to be found, and everyone had closed their doors to Wanda who only got disgusted faces, and harsh words thrown at her.

She knew she was risking a lot by coming here, but it was her last chance.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.” Natasha stated, her eyes glaring at Wanda. “Now, if you excuse me…”

“Natasha, please…�� Wanda all but begged, she had tears in her eyes and it was quite evident she had not sleep in quite a while.

Natasha hesitated; she wondered if Wanda understood the gravity of her sin.

The former Black Widow almost went to the Tower to kill with her bare hands the red head. Y/N had come home, a scream of pure pain leaving her lips just as tears rolled down her cheeks. It took Natasha almost an hour to get Y/N to tell her what had happened, and she was so heartbroken she curled up on her bed and cried while holding a hand to her chest.

No one knew the reality of a broken heart.

How much it hurt, how it made your body cold and ached as if a thousand knives went through your every nerve. Y/N spent three days on her bed, ignoring everyone and everything around her. For a brief moment, Natasha had been afraid of the darkness growing in your eyes, day in and out seeing it covered your iris and expanding little by little.

“You broke her heart, Wanda.” Natasha stated through gritted teeth. “You broke her, and she loved you more than life itself. I can’t tell you just how much she loved you and how much you messed up…”

“I know! I know! I know!” Wanda screamed putting a hand on her face. “I know screwed up! I KNOW!”

Natasha seemed unfazed by the outburst, and Wanda broke in front of the former Widow pleading with her eyes.

“Please, I just need…”

“She is not here.” Natasha finally said.

“What?” Wanda winked confusedly; Natasha hesitated before speaking.

“She left two days ago.”

“Where? Why?” Wanda panicked, she glanced at Natasha then back at Yelena. “Where is she?”

“She left the planet; Loki came in and took her away.” This time around it was Yelena, the blond-haired woman smirked nastily at Wanda. “And we don’t know when she will be back, perhaps never, and if she is lucky, she may meet someone that won’t break her heart.”

Wanda stood there, lost and crushed by this news. Natasha hesitated for a moment, a part of her feeling this was not the best way to give the news. The woman stepped forward moving past Wanda.

“She is not coming back anytime soon, Wanda, so if I were you I would just let go.” Natasha turned to look at Wanda. “She waited for you, she almost lost herself for you, she was going to marry you…”

“I know! I just…god, this is so mess up!” Wanda wrapped her arms around herself. “I need to…I…I just…I need her…”

“You’re too late for that, Wanda.” Natasha then turned around and left.

Wanda stood there.

She was alone, lost and desperate, and without a single clue as to where you were or how to reach you out. Not a single way to talk to you, to explain to you…Wanda fell to her knees, her hand reaching out for the ring in her pocket. Tears rolling down her cheeks, and her mind a pool of confusing thoughts.

She would wait if it was necessary.

She knew that you were hurt, and she would wait for you to have a chance to explain herself to you.

And then, she would make sure to show you that Wanda was yours. That you held her heart in your hands.

It would be quite a while before she would see you again. But Wanda would wait, just the same way you did.

_________________________________________

Winter was back.

You lifted your eyes to the sky, closing your eyes while enjoying the feeling the cold on your face. Your ears twitched catching the sound of laughter inside the house, turning around you saw Kamala Khan squealing like a fangirl while hugging Carol tightly. You smirked at the sight, Carol was still getting used to such shows ow affection and Kamala was certainly someone without any limitations in her PDA.

“Y/N!! Oh, did you hear?? I will help you guys move!!!” Kamala went back inside her house screaming at the top of her lungs, “AMMI!”

“Move?” You asked raising a single eyebrow, Carol winced making her way to where you were standing.

“Well, I was thinking that perhaps I shouldn’t be moving around so much, and that staying on Earth is not such a bad thing, after all.” Carol shrugged looking away from you, her lip caught in her teeth with her mind filled with thoughts and possibilities.

Overthinking her every step as always.

“I think Monica is going to love it, Kamala is screaming her appreciation…”

“And you?” Carol asked this time around facing you with just a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “You’re back again, what would you do?”

You had been away for two years, while you never stopped contacting Natasha and the others you had left earth with a single thing in mind. To heal. Your heart had been broken to pieces the moment you found about Wanda’s infidelity, you had cried and cursed and almost turned to darkness until you found yourself at the hands of Carol Danvers. For the second time, the woman took it upon herself to help you out, out of friendship she never thought she would get a chance with you; not after having heard of your story with Wanda and certainly not after she was back. Her odds didn’t improve one bit when she saw how heartbroken you were, Carol knew by then you needed a friend and that was what she offered you.

A friendship that, little by little turned into something else.

Still, there were times in which Carol doubt herself and the relationship she had forged with you.

You softened your featured, your arm wrapping around her waist putting her closer to you. She leaned in, nuzzling your neck before placing a soft kiss on your jaw looking for comfort. You smiled lowering your face until your lips met hers, the kiss was slow and sweet, and Carol smiled into the kiss.

“So, that’s an idea of what you want to do?”

“Ugh, gross.” Monica made a face while Kamala was looking at the scene with a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

“Okay, ladies, nothing to see here.” Carol tried to shush them away, but you wrapped your arms around her again, you turned her around and kissed her once more making Monica gaged and Kamala giggled nervously.

“Let’s give them a show, Danvers.” You mumbled in between kisses; she punched you lightly on the arm flustered stepping away from you before she decided to just follow your lead.

“Very well, I think it is time for me to go back to work but…” Monica turned to Carol wrapping her arms around her. “Please, Auntie Carol, tell me when you get there and don’t forget to keep an eye on the plane.”

“I won’t Captain trouble.” Carol said affectionately, Monica smiled sighing as she stepped back.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rambeau.” You gave her a hug, and the other woman glanced at you then back at Carol.

“You’re one to say, Natasha Romanoff is still waiting for you and you heard Fury…”

You winced fidgeting on your spot, you had heard Fury and Natasha was also waiting for you. You nodded scratching the back of your neck.

“I guess is inevitable.” You shrugged. “I will tell you all the gross details of these meetings.”

“I will wait for them anxiously, take care of Auntie Carol please.”

“I will, don’t worry.” You winked at Monica and stepped back to join Kamala and Carol inside the Khan’s family.

“Hey, are you okay?” Carol fixed your hair behind your ears, you nodded curtly pecking her nose.

“Yeah, let’s eat and then I will take you home, Captain Marvel.”

Earth had changed in the last two years she had been here.

The street were loudly, and the technology had certainly improved a lot. The stories were different now, most of them included the newest heroes in the cities, and the evilness lurking in the shadows. You enjoyed the soft purr of the bike you had bought in Jersey City, Carol had her arm wrapped around your abdomen leaning against your body while you drove down the streets of a city you had not seen in a long time.

Up until now, you had spent your time in the guest room at the Khan’s family home. You had tried to say no, but Ms. Khan was very adamant that they would not stay in a hotel or something equally dangerous. And Kamala was beyond excited to have them both in her home, at least until all the moving details had been arranged and soon they would be driving down to Luisiana.

To say you were nervous was an understatement, it didn’t mater you had spoken with Natasha almost every day since leaving earth. Or that you had been kept up to date with the gossip around the Avengers and the newest additions thanks to Yelena, it was the fact that this little party would include Wanda as a guest. Two years ago, you had left your home running away from your feelings, your heart had been broken and you never thought it would mend. And while it took some time to get it back together, to actually allow yourself to feel and fall in love again.

You had done so.

Carol had become your world, but this time around you were careful to not lost yourself into the relationship. Carol was not an easy person, and while the road to happiness had been a bumpy one, you wouldn’t change a single thing of how everything happened. Not if it meant that at the end of the day she would wake up with you beside her, a mug filled with coffee and a morning of meaningless talks watching the space in the window of a ship.

“Wow, I don’t remember this building being here on my last visit.” Carol stated getting off the motorcycle, she glanced up to the building then turning to you.

“I bet Tony made some arrangements.” You smiled turning to the main gates, your hand seeking out hers.

“Are you ready?” Carol inquired tilting her head, you nodded curtly and then without wasting any more time, you two entered the building.

There were many familiar faces, but soon you found yourself being wrapped in a tight hug by none other than Natasha. You softened your face and your arms wrapped around her pulling her close to you, Carol watched from a distance, her lisp curling into a gentle smile before she turned around and left for the bar. These moments were for you, and you had been waiting to come back and see the people you love, Carol could understand that much. With a heavy heart, and insecurities filling up her mind, the woman made her way to the bar never noticing the redhead glaring daggers at her back.

“You look so good, Y/N, did you cut your hair?” Natasha put you at arm’s length, her eyes twinkling while the examine you with care.

“Yeah, a little and well I have to be on top physical form to be in space, so…” You smiled sheepishly, Natasha chuckled placing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“How have you been?” Natasha finally asked and you just shrugged.

“Fine, I guess. I just come here due to a mishap of powers between Carol, Monica and a girl called Kamala.”

“So I heard, quite the adventure I guess.” Natasha then hit you on your arm.

“Hey!”

“So if it hadn’t been because of that you wouldn’t have come?” Natasha was a little hurt by this, you shook your head lowering your gaze before shrugging.

“No, of course not. I did have plans…” You stated and Natasha was about to speak but trailed off just as her eyes caught another person coming towards them. “I knew I have to come back, and I was dying to see you all, I was just… waiting…”

“You were waiting for what?” Wanda asked behind you, and she wait anxiously for you to turn around.

You thought the moment you heard her voice again, that you saw her again your resolution would crumble and that perhaps you would fall under her spell once more. One of your greatest gears included your weakness to perhaps leave behind your relationship with Wanda and moved forward. But this never happened, and soon after you started healing it was easier to move on. Now, after two years, you stood before her and you realized you had been scared for nothing.

Of course, your stomach dropped, your palms started sweating and your head fluttered in your chest when you saw her again. She was still as beautiful as you remembered her, her voice still carried with it such a powerful tinge, something you had always loved from her.

But something else had changed, the shivering in your heat came along with an old pain and rage that went through your senses. You clenched your fists closed, but remained impassive while Wanda offered a tentative smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Wanda chewed on her lower lip before speaking, “do you think we could talk?”

You glanced out of the corner of your eyes to see Natasha standing closed to you, Yelena had stopped talking with a brunette in a dark suit, and both of them were walking towards you. You then lifted your eyes and soon you found the eyes of Carol looking at you with curiosity, after a moment the other woman smiled and nodded in understanding.

“I think we need to talk, Wanda, lead the way.”

Two years ago, on a day such as this, you discovered the pain behind a betrayal.

You glanced at the sky, the snowflakes falling slowly down the streets, the breeze caressing your warm cheeks while you waited patiently for Wanda to speak. The other woman had changed as well, she looked thinner, and tired, her hair was longer and she seemed quiet and alone. Wanda turned her stare to you and you could see their love and regret and loneliness.

“Why didn’t you stay?” She asked, her voice breaking by the end of the question.

You raised a single eyebrow snorting while shaking your head.

“You really asking that?”

“The ring…You were there…” Wanda started and you winced remembering that day, the old pain coming back as you remembered how it felt.

“I could have killed you and Vision.” You stated looking away from her. “I was so mad, so heartbroken, Wanda…I knew if I had stayed or said something…well, it would have ended in a bloodbath.”

Wanda winced wrapping her arms around herself, “I just…god, I’m sorry. I just…I’m so sorry for everything, I never…”

“What, Wanda? You never what?” You asked harshly, Wanda stepped back lowering her face.

“I was afraid, and I wasn’t sure of what I wanted, okay? I came back and you were already all over me, and I really didn’t know what you were expecting of me, and he was just there listening to me and…”

“And I didn’t? Wanda I asked you, everyday I tried to make our communication to work!” You huffed rolling your eyes at the excuses. “What were you hoping for, Wanda? A child? A dick? What?”

Wanda had thought about it in the last two years, she thought about her reason and why she had entered into a senseless affair with Vision. The truth was she didn’t know exactly why, she always thought that you had everything resolved by the time she came back, you had five years to organise your life and made decision for the future whereas Wanda had been trapped in nothingness until she came back to face a world she didn’t recognize. Vision had been the only one who understood, the only one who let her talk and expressed the way she wanted to about the situation, and in the midst of those conversations Wanda fell into passion and desire to make her life and indecision more bearable.

“I was just hoping everything went back to normal, and that…I didn’t feel so lost.” Wanda mumbled knowing her words meant nothing to you at the moment.

You sighed shaking your head, “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Y/N, I just…I…search for you.” Wanda mumbled, you nod curtly at her.

“I know.”

“I want to explain, to tell you that it meant thing.” Wanda stated lowly. “I wanted to tell you that I Lov…”

“Don’t.” You cut her off before she could continue. “Don’t say it, you don’t have any right to say to me anymore, Wanda.”

Wanda stepped forward, holding back her tears she made sure her eyes were locked with yours, her heart beating fast and her whole-body trembling.

“I love you.” Wanda said softly. “I’m still in love with you, and I just…”

“Can you hear yourself, Wanda? If you love me you wouldn’t have done…you would have come to me first! We would have talked about this, about us!” You exclaimed waving your arms around. “You wouldn’t have cheating on me just because you felt alone or misunderstood.”

“Y/N…” Wanda started but she cut off as soon as someone entered the balcony you two were in.

“Hey, baby, are you…Oh, sorry, I’ll be inside if you…” Carol interrupted glancing at you then at Wanda, before turning around and leaving.

Wanda clenched her jaw, turning to you eyes that flickered between red and green.

“So, you left two years and you have replaced me already?” Wanda asked bitterly, you snorted shaking your head.

“Nobody can replace you, Wanda. You will always be my first love.” You stated softly, your heart fluttering at the veracity of your words.

Wanda clenched her eyes close, you closed the distance between you and her standing right in front of her. Your eyes drifting for a moment to see the ring you wanted to give her on her left hand.

“Wanda I loved you with my whole heart, I thought you and I will be forever but after I saw you with Vision, I couldn’t take it.” You mumbled placing a hand on hers, Wanda shivered and she knew there was a finality in your tone.

When she imagined this meeting the outcome was different inside her head. She always thought you would come wanting to go back but not without some kind of request or penance so everything could back to normal. She never imagined the outcome of this would be for Wanda to experience the same broken heart you had experience two years ago.

“I didn’t want this to happen.” Wanda mumbled wrapping her arms around herself, you pressed you lips together stepping back a little. “I thought we…”

“Me too.” You replied.

Wanda was about to take the ring away, but you stopped her offering a bittersweet smile to her.

“I made it for you, so…it’s yours, Wanda.”

The other woman broke into a half smile, but she was looking just miserable, she caressed the ring and the tears fell down slowly.

“Are you…are you happy?” She finally asked, you scowled at that question.

“Are you?”

Wanda sighed looking away before nodding, “yeah, yeah I am.”

You pressed your lips together, lowering your eyes before looking at her.

“That’s good.”

The lie rolled out of her lips easily, and while it was quite evident you knew Wanda was lying neither one of you was about to say anything at all. Wanda put her arms around herself, she wanted to say something else, perhaps asked how long passed after you left for you to get together with Carol, or how exactly did you two ended up being a thing. But Wanda knew that wouldn’t help at all, if anything would make her bitter.

“I guess…you better go back, I…Carol must be waiting for you.” Wanda turned her back to you, her eyes to the city.

You stood behind her, your hand lifting to reach out to her.

For a brief moment, it seemed as if you were to look for her, perhaps to talk or say something, anything that might change your situation and hers. You thought the moment you went back to her, that perhaps the old flame would ignite and that you and Wanda could offer one another a second chance. You were afraid that perhaps what you felt for Carol was just…revenged, and just a sense to fill up a void left by the broken heart.

But it wasn’t like that.

And while a part of you would always love Wanda, she wasn’t the person you were in love with.

Carol was playing with her drink on corner far away from everyone else, she was looking gloomy while pursing her lips. You softened lightly, strolling directly towards her.

“Hey, Marv, why are you pouting?” You chuckled when she lifted her face towards you, her eyes going wide before she tried to play it off.

“I’m no pouting.”

“You certainly look like someone who is pouting.” You chuckled leaning in to peck her cheek.

“I’m no pouting, and what are you doing here? I thought you were still talking to Wanda…” Carol looked away trying to conceal her emotion, she didn’t want to look jealous or insecure, she was supposed to be stronger than this.

You leaned in wrapping your arms around her waist, “mm, I was but now I’m not and I think I want to go home, so…shall we leave?”

Carol narrowed her eyes at you, it took her a moment before she placed a hand on your cheek.

“Are you okay?” She asked, tilting your head slightly.

“I am.” You replied smiling softly.

“Did you two…clear things up?” Carol didn’t want to look eager, nor did she want to sound desperate. But she had always known the conversation with Wanda was something you needed to do.

It was a chapter of your life that was waiting to be closed.

“I did, we did.” You hesitated before continuing. “I realized that a part of me would always love Wanda, she was my first love.”

Carol nodded in understanding, her mind soon brought Maria to memory, and she could relate to what you were saying. She was observing you with care, your eyes gleaming lightly as they locked yours, and Carol felt her heart skipped a beat at the softness and love she found there.

“Then, I realized that you are the love of my life, Carol.” You said it so simply Carol felt her abdomen and her heart flutter, making her body tingle at the revelation. “I am in love you with you, and I can’t imagine anybody else I want to be with but you.”

You had heard before how many people stated Carol Danvers was a flat, unfeeling individual, that she was just too unemotional, and quite incapable of expressing emotion. You had discovered this was far from the truth, Carol was someone who felt too much and suffered in silence; she was just selective with the people she allowed in her life.

“I love you to, Y/N.” She mumbled just before closing the distance and kissing you softly.

“Mhm, I think we better go.” You said smiling goofily at her, “wait until we tell Kamala where we were.”

“Oh, no please, she is going to start arguing with us because we didn’t bring her over.”

“Don’t worry, I have it covered, I ask everyone for their signature.” You replied showing a small notebook you had stolen from Kamala’s room. “I think with this we are forgiven.”

“My hero.” Carol stated rolling her eyes, you winked at her before grabbing her hand and dragging her around the room to say goodbye.

Wanda watched from a distance as you and Carol said goodbye, your face never lost the brightness brough by your smile and your hand never left that of Carol who was following you with tenderness and love all around the room. The young witch knew she had messed up her chances with you, she knew the moment she saw you entered the Avenger’s Tower that what would happen that day would be a final conversation more than anything. Wanda felt her heart break to pieces, her eyes filling up with tears as she finally realized she was alone.

She had tried to cover her mistakes, and her emotions with a meaningless night of passion that had costed her happiness.

Now, as you entered the lift with a laughing Carol by your side, she realized that you had said goodbye to her a long time ago.

That day Wanda had broken your heart while hidden in the shadows.

#personal #fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandaxreader #female reader

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virgincels · 1 month

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SUBSTITUTE LOVER !

ft. jack krauser x fem!reader, jack krauser x leon s. kennedy

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, internalised homophobia, referenced domestic abuse, use of the f slur im so sorry, some kreon, smut, a little voyeurism, blood at the end

note. commission for @d10nyx !!!! feeding people what they want :3 nyxie wyxie i hope this is good n i hope u enjoy it!!!!’ LUV U MWAH.. ignore any mistakes… my editing sucks 😓 goes back n forth between krauser n reader pov pretty fast n the smut is a little boring 😓 pretend bootcamp is like not super top secret !!! also idk how american military works so ignore my attempt at that

As a young girl, you understand love to be an unconditional, non-negotiable and non-refundable thing. It’s human nature to love, it is your god given right to love and for your father to deny you of the only thing your heart knows to do—It’s downright cruel.

He’s a military man and that comes with perks. You get to visit his platoon and get an eyeful of bulging quads and strong jaws and sweaty abs— That is the only perk now that you think about it. Oh, and that cute blond dude who still has all his hair. Duh. Otherwise he wouldn’t be blond. He’s a total babe and when he smiles, blinking at you with feline eyes as he watches quietly from behind his bangs, you find yourself keeling over to support the weight of your aching heart.

(Pussyache, heartache, it’s all the same to you.)

Whenever you ask your dad what’s so special about him, why’s he got such shiny hair? What shampoo does he use? Is it a medical condition, does he have to keep the hair? Does his head get cold or something? He goes all stiff like you’ve asked too much of him, which you never have, you ask for nothing but love.

Ever since your mother left—Well, no it’s not even that. He didn’t change when she left. Dad is the same ol’ dad you’ve had for years. Jack is Jack and your mother isn’t going to change that, she didn’t change that, so she left and never looked back. She left you ‘cause you’re Jack’s girl and nothing is going to change that. You carry a part of your father wherever you go and that would be unwelcome in her house. She told you over the phone that she no longer needed all that medication - it was just your father.

Oh, he’s not so bad. Jack keeps you fed and clothed and what else are you meant to expect from a dad? No dads love is adequate to the way you love them. Never has and never will be.

Still, he’s changed and that you’re sure of.

His temper is short, you’re well aware. You live with the guy, of course you know all about it. He flips out when the toilet lid isn’t closed, and when you give him a gentle reminder that you don’t carry the same junk he does down there, Jack gives you the cold shoulder. It’s all about gentle parenting with your dad, but the sulking has escalated into full blown temper tantrums and you don’t know where you’ve gone wrong.

Dad’s never gotten physical. Until he does. And now you don’t remember a time where he was ever kind. You’re beaten into a pulp by the hand that feeds you and you’re not quite sure where it all went wrong, what you’ve done to be on the receiving end of such intense resentment.

All you’ve ever known is a man devoted to anger, but he’s not violent. Your dad is not violent. He’s the one who picked you up when you toppled over, he taught you how to ride a bike and he put you on his shoulders to see the world from his point of view— And that is it really. Nothing more, nothing less.

You don’t have daddy issues so to say, more so it’s your father that has issues in general, and those issues are untouched by any flame, they burn brighter than tiger eyes. It seems that they’ve started to fracture, and now the only thing that brings him relief is his fist on your supple skin, a cathartic end to a hard fucking day.

Let’s get one thing straight - Jack Krauser is not a faggot. Jack had a wife and he fucked that wife in the marriage bed once and they never fucked again. You were conceived on the first try.

A faggot couldn’t do that.

It starts with Leon S. Kennedy. He’s wet behind the ears and wet in his pink mouth and pink hole. He stares at Jack like he’s seen something nice, then he looks away a moment later, unable to hold his gaze.

Jack Krauser isn’t gay. It just gets lonely out here. It gets hard to keep his men in line and nothing scares them more than dick. Jack Krauser is not gay—And when Kennedy’s tight little hole cranks him in like a wine cork, it means nothing. This is how you get through to insolent brats, it’s the only way, no other method has worked as well as this.

If Jack Krauser was gay he would lounge in the bunk with Kennedy, he would tenderly wipe the sweat from his blond brows and kiss him stupid. But he does none of that. Kennedy is sent to shower, limping as he goes.

(Not before Jack gives him a nice hard smack on his backside and tells him to Pack it up, Boy Scout. Not before Leon presses his nose into the hollows of his neck, his boyish beam is that of a cat that got the cream, sweat gleaming to highlight the shape of his collarbones.)

So yeah. Jack is straight, and he can prove it. He would be able to prove it but the only bitch for miles left him. There’s you. But that’s fucked up. Jack wouldn’t go there.

Then you start to ask questions about Kennedy. And of course it’s him, with the petal lips and tawny lashes that remind Jack of toffee drizzled on coffee cake, of course he caught your attention— Of course he did.

(Like father, like daughter.)

You prod and he snaps, icy eyes a frigid landscape as his gaze pierces you with bone-chilling intensity. You shift from foot to foot, toying with loose threads at the hemline of your frayed nightdress.

“Sorry, dad.” You look down at your feet, wiggle your toes against the kitchen tiles and get sent into the edge of the counter when Jack lands a solid hit on your cheek.

Why, he oughta use some of that military training on you. Not the dick. Not ‘cause he’s gay, but because you’re his daughter. Obviously.

Definitely not ‘cause he’s gay.

Jack could fuck you if he really wanted. You have some, uh, assets. Yeah, you have tits, those are interesting. You have an ass, that’s nice. Got a pussy, an extra bonus. All of those are things that Jack loves. Really, he does, and he doesn’t need to prove it to anyone.

Jack takes your chin in his crushing grip, tilts your head to the left and then to the right, you tremble and make yourself small, clutching at the counter behind like you intend to saw yourself in half so your top half can make a quick escape.

“Dad…” Your little hand wraps around his wrist, fingers barely touching as you try to get him off, shaken up by his sudden burst of violence. “I’m sorry.”

He grunts, releasing you from his hold and watching your body crumple in on itself. You cup your cheek to check for damage, pressing the pads of your fingers into your jaw with a groan.

It throbs with each pulse of Jack’s heart.

You think your dad has a crush on the rookie. It might be a stretch, but he never looked at your mom that way. It transcends love and turns into hatred and heat ‘cause your dad is incapable of producing any positive feelings towards anyone ever. You would know that better than anyone, you know him better than anyone, better than he knows himself.

His tongue runs along his white canines as he watches Kennedy hold a plank and man, he’s got it bad for the rookie. You don’t blame him - look at that form, at that ass. Dad has good taste, he gets it! Now that the two of you have found some common ground, maybe he’ll stop backhanding you into next year.

Kennedy’s given mercy by your oh-so gracious father and his body caves in, hitting the mud with a soft thump—He gets up ass first and you suck in a breath at the same time your dad lets one out. His hips raise and his hands find grip in the ground before he plants his feet, lifting his body despite the discomfort that tinges his muscles. Kennedy hobbles away and you love watching him leave. Dad must think the same ‘cause he reaches down to adjust his cargos. Gross.

You catch them in the showers a week later.

You got bored waiting around for him, okay? The showers were your main priority—Not to see this, but to catch some hunks mid scrub down and turn the place into a porn set. Life has a funny way of taking all your wants and twisting them into half-wants. Seeing Leon naked? Great, amazing, no notes. Seeing your father naked? Dear fucking lord, you need a bullet put through your brain stat.

They're giving each other a muscle massage or whatever. Code for the most tender groping you have ever seen in your life. Dad cradles the back of Leon’s head sweetly. Jesus, you don’t think you’ve ever used that word to describe him. Their lips brush and Kennedy is the one that pulls back, Jack’s head moves forward to chase them, settling with ghosting kisses along the soft skin of Leon’s neck, dotted in cocoa dust moles and a protruding Adam’s apple that gets the same delicate treatment. Along with a quick lick that draws a moan from the base of Leon’s throat.

You think you might be intruding on something more personal than sex. Holy fuck, you didn’t know your dad could do personal, you didn’t know he had the ability to love so ardently. To love at all. What a dick. You don’t know whether to look away or not.

Like, Leon is—He’s cute. You like when his feathery lashes dust his cheeks each time he closes his eyes, you like how his body, soft with baby fat, gives away to the roughness of your father’s touch. The flesh of his hips divots when Jack grips them. Your father presses his back to the cool shower wall, the buttery flesh of Leon’s ass moulds to the shape of his fingers when he tugs him close to his broad chest— Cute, he has back dimples. Jack slots his thumbs in them, and then he makes the mistake of lifting his eyes from Leon’s angel face.

The running water is not enough to stop him from spotting you, head poked into the shower room as you gape. For your sake, you dip out the door to make your exit and head back to the car, not sure on whether you should be traumatised or enlightened by the possibly harrowing image that’s burned into your retinas like the worst form of LASIK.

The ride home is silent. Dad is silent most of the time, he talks but not to you. There’s one thing to talk about, but you doubt either of you want to touch on that.

Jack lets you in first. The door clicks shut behind him and you’re both alone. He’s always alone with you. He’s never missed his wife until this very moment. Not out of love for her, but out of pure convenience. She would break up the silence, she would remind him that he is in fact attracted to women and what you saw back there was nothing. Hell, he could give you another sibling if you asked—He could do that.

In one try, like a real man.

He could get it up, he can get it up, he only gets it up for women. Kennedy is the closest thing to a girl, alright? That’s all there is. Wait till you find out about what they do in prison. Every guy at camp has had a turn with Kennedy—That’s just how it works. It’s not about being gay, it’s not— It’s just tradition, isn’t it? Picking on pretty boys like that, it’s the only way to get rid of all that pent up testosterone or whatever it is that swelters within Jack.

When you turn on your heels to leave for your bedroom, Jack calls your name. You freeze so fast it’s almost comical. Like you’re playing musical chairs.

“Yes, dad?” Your gaze is stuck to your white socks, the print of the floorboards is mighty interesting.

His brow dips and his scowl morphs into a pained smile that brings you more fear than comfort, his hand is heavy on your shoulder and Jack thinks this expression suits you well.

“You think you're smart?” Barging in like that, making assumptions that only women would make—You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.

“No, sir.” The chill that runs down your spine straightens it.

“On your knees, girl.” The way you’re looking at him—He hates it. You think you got him all figured out, putting him together like a puzzle, but you’re missing one piece—He’s not gay.

“No,” you say while doing as he says.

(Kennedy does that, cries out No! as the plush of his ass meets Jack’s thighs, as he fucks himself like a faggot on a dick that belongs to a man who once had a wife, a man with a daughter.)

“Dad, no—Daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t even see anything.” You hang your head, pleading with the ground as Jack fishes his soft cock from his cargos, refusing to meet the tip with your eyes.

Your apology is lost to the softness of his dick, hanging huge and limp against his thigh like a deflated balloon. Fuck—No, no, it’s not because Jack is gay, it’s the daughter thing. You’re his daughter, and to get hard at the sight of your daughter would only ever elicit a prison sentence.

“Daddy,” you try again, cradling what you have with him close to your chest, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—Please, daddy, I don’t—Dad.” You fail to plead your case, you fail to garner any interest from his cock. “If it’s about—I don’t like him, I don’t like Leon, dad, you can have him, he’s all yours I swear—Just don’t do this to me, daddy, please.”

Jack’s cock twitches at the mere mention of his name.

“What did I tell you ‘bout running that stupid mouth of yours, girl? Where are your fuckin’ manners?” He rubs the ruddy tip along the crease of your jutting lips, the bottom one trembles. “Thought I taught you well.”

“No… No, don’t do that, dad—God, no.” Your complaints are snuffed out by the fat dick that stuffs itself down your throat, half-hard and thick enough to be a choking hazard.

(It poses a threat to you, but not to Kennedy. Man can that kid suck cock, with a face like that he’s lucky he’s not begging for his life.)

You gag and Jack pinches your nose. If he had a son, he would’ve taught him to play ball. But he’s stuck with a daughter, and the most you can do is dig your nails into his thighs, mucusy spit hanging from your chin in stringy strands.

“You’re made for this,” Jack tells you, and he’s right. Biologically, those lips of yours have evolved to maximum pout to suck cock. They bear resemblance to Leon’s—The vein on the underside of his dick throbs. Jack’s jaw is offset as his teeth grind together, splintering into thin shards of bone. Not the fucking time to be thinking of the rookie and his floppy hair, softer than cotton beneath Jack’s fingers, the rookie who is shaven clean save the shadow that lines his lips, the rookie that sports hardened lines on his otherwise plush abdomen, pink skin leading to an even pinker dick—Holy shit, what’s wrong with him?

At this pace, Jack’s going to contact a fucking therapist—Have it out with his bitch wife. That’s exactly what it is. Sexual frustration he's not been able to take out on your mother.

His cock slips from your mouth, it rests heavy on your face, casts a shadow as you cower at the sheer size. “Dad…” You cough wetly, hacking up bile that you push back down with a pained gulp. “Daddy… Don’t do it to me, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to look, dad, I’m not—I’m not mad at you.”

He scoffs, lifting you by the Peter Pan collar of your floral blouse—You look like a fucking Mormon. That pisses him off. Jack’s not a Mormon or a faggot, there are so many accusations in the air and it all rises to crescendo. You’re bent over the dining table, the fullness of your skirt is hoisted up to ruche around your waist in makeshift pleats and your white cotton panties are dangling around your ankles.

The lips of your puffy cunt cushion his dick and Jack starts to feel a little queasy. Not because—Not ‘cause of the pussy. It’s not that. It’s the daughter thing. Seriously—There’s no time to waste, Jack forces himself into your pussy before his dick folds in on itself. As he pistons himself in and out of your only partially wet cunt, it feels like nothing. Jack is numb.

Feels nothing, hears nothing—Sees nothing but him. The anger inside of him rises like a devastating wave, ready to engulf every skyscraper in its path. You end up being on the receiving end as you have been for as long as you’ve been alive—His very own punching bag. What else are kids for, huh?

Your stubborn pussy pushes him out, you dig your nails into the glazed wood of the table, clawing like they might find purchase in the grooves. Dad, dad, daddy, dad—It doesn’t work on him, you do nothing for him. When you cry, he doesn’t feel sad, and when your cunt clamps down on him, it brings him no pleasure.

A hand comes to rest on your back, forcing you into a sharp arch as Jack’s hips smack into yours at a bruising pace. Somewhere along the line, a very thin line that Jack snorts, it blurs—Your salty tears become the tang of Leon’s sweat, your hips become buttercream smooth in his grip, and your pussy—Your hole milks Jack for all he’s worth. The shroud has lifted from his shoulders and Jack feels weightless.

You lift your head, blood leaking from your nose, it congeals in fat lumps on your skin. “Daddy…” You sniffle, having had your head held down, grinding your bloody nose to a pulp against the smooth of the dinner table.

“Clean yourself up, girl.” Jack rolls his shoulders back, fists tightly balled by his side as he has proved nothing. Nothing at all. He’ll have to try again. No father of yours is a faggot. Can’t do that to his little girl.

(Excuse after fucking excuse.)

#jack krauser x reader #jack krauser smut #krauser smut #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #jack krauser x you #krauser x reader #dead dove do not eat

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animusxy · 2 years

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Aemond Targaryen with a Blind! reader, Pt 1.

Summary: Aemond meeting and befriending the reader after she finds him crying over the cruel comments of his missing eye by the servants of the Red Keep. Reader is from a noble family and completely blind, a bit of a renowned sweetheart as well.

Warnings: Allusions to Parental Neglect towards Reader.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 3.5 / Part 4 / Part 4.5 / Part 5

Aemond had met you when you'd first come to court with your mother and father. You were both around the same age, so it was encouraged but not forced that the two of you spoke together.

You were both around 13 at the time but Aemond was older than you by nearly 10 moons.

Although this was mainly for alliance purposes, your parents never expected you to get married with your condition. So close friends were the next best thing.

Besides everyone who had met you could say that you were a kind and caring person, so most people you met were willing to lend a hand if your family needed it.

The two of you didn't meet face to face until around a week after your arrival.

You were sitting in the Godswood of the red keep, feeling around the flowers beneath the Heart Tree. The flowers were most likely 'Dragon Breath' but you couldn't see its shape nor colour so you wouldn't know for sure unless someone told you. You could only feel around the leaves and stem.

Now, the funny thing about being born without functioning eyes is that your other senses are somewhat more advanced. You can hear more than what others do and are far better at perceiving what sounds could be (purely because it's the only thing you can do when you can't see)

So, you could hear the sounds of quiet crying before said crying person realised you were there. Instead of staying where you were of leaving them to their own devices, you decided to approach them.

It took a bit longer than what you would've liked considering that you kept stumbling over roots and rocks, but it seemed that the person, male presumably, was too preoccupied to realise that someone had arrived from behind.

"Hello?" You spoke gently, not wanting to startle them too much. You heard their breath hitch and they sniffled. You could imagine that they may have been embarrassed about being caught crying here. So, you spoke up again before they got too upset.

Aemond hadn't recognised you at first, after all he'd never met you before, but he knew off you. His mother had warned him and his siblings to be careful as you had 'seeing difficulties' as his mother had put it, not wanting to be rude in the face of your parents. However, your mother had, surprisingly, referred to you as being 'as blind as a bat'.

He introduced himself reluctantly, not wanting to be seen as a Prince who was a cry-baby but many servants had spoken about your kind nature so it seemed as though you wouldn't hold it against him. He was right.

You asked why he was crying, promising that you wouldn't dare speak of it (which was also true). Naturally, he was hesitant to release this information, so you asked him if it was about his looks. Since your arrival you had heard next to nothing about the younger prince besides from his 'hideous' appearance.

Apparently, he'd lost an eye in a fight with his nephews at Lady Laena's funeral after claiming the largest dragon living in the world.

He responded to your question with a small yes. If you had regular senses, you probably wouldn't have heard it, even though you were sitting next to him now.

To most young ladies, it seemed as though the eye was too much, and they disregarded all else there was to the prince. It was understandable that he was so upset. He'd now taken to wearing an eye patch to lessen their harsh words but even that wasn't enough.

Honestly, you weren't sure what you could say to make him feel better. You couldn't just say that it was alright, because it simply was not. You couldn't say that looks didn't matter because while they might not to you (because, well, you can't see) they most certainly did to him.

Instead, you turned the conversation towards something different. Anything you could think of that Aemond would enjoy. How was his training going? Did he have any lessons today? It didn't seem much to you, just a way to get his mind off of things without talking about his eye.

Little did you know that it was exactly what he needed. He didn't want to talk about his eye anymore. He just wanted to forget about it for now.

And what better way to do that then with someone who couldn't even see the damage?

His mother was pleasantly surprised to hear that he'd talked with you. Aemond wasn't much of a social child, so it came as somewhat of a shock.

What came as more of a shock was how these conversations continued.

There wasn't really much you could do, or rather was allowed to do, due to your disability.

You couldn't sew pretty shapes and pictures onto a piece of fabric, you couldn't write letters or read them. You certainly weren't allowed to help with any meals or chores considering how you'd just bump into things or cut yourself.

Oh, how Aegon loved to tease you over that. You never got annoyed at him for it surprisingly, mostly because you also believed that it was rather stupid how little you were able to do.

Aemond found that due to this you spent much time in the gardens feeling the flowers and the grass. Trying to see if you could perhaps differentiate different flowers.

He knew Helaena would love to be your friend when he found that out.

He sat with you between his lessons and confirmed different species of flowers using a book he'd gotten from Helaena.

You'd ask him how different colours looked and chuckle lightly as he tried to explain them using emotions.

In his defence, he actually described them very well.

Your conversations of flowers grew to other areas, like interests that the two of you shared. You were a fan of history but could never really indulge in it because you couldn't read the books.

Whenever you asked about certain historical events that you were interested in your parents had always turned you away. Not at all trying to hide the fact that they preferred to spend time with their other sons and daughters as opposed to you simply because it took more time and effort for you as you had to be spoken to in order to learn things.

Aemond loves his history, he knew all about the Targaryen Dynasty and its dragons, it was one of the things he was truly proud of. You on the other hand knew the bare basics. The kings and the order that they came in, the biggest of the dragons, and Kings Landing. He was more than happy to indulge you in all the things in between.

From this chance meeting a beautiful friendship flourished.

Okay, I'm definitely making this 'Aemond x Blind! Reader' a little series. In the same format as this one just with different scenarios happening. I'm much better at writing fanfics in this format and I could honestly continue this for days.

If you have any requests for HOTD please send them, I'm happy to see them through. I will read and write anything about some of these characters for hours, especially if they're either Daemon or Aemond. Also feel free to send some ideas about head cannons for this 'Aemond x Blind! Reader' rabbit whole that I'm now getting myself into.

My best ideas always come late at night.

#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond imagine #prince aemond #aemond stannies #HOTD #house targaryen #aemond targaryen #hbo house of the dragon #hotd 1x05

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saylorsaysstop · 8 months

Text

Scared | Stephen Strange x Fem!Reader

a/n: i needed a lil bit of angst and also wanted a first-time dad!Stephen fic so... i combined them. here you go 😭

warnings: bit of angst, talks of childbirth (nothing explicit), anxiety

The hours seemed to tick on forever. Another few nerve-stricken paces and Stephen Strange was positive he’d burn a hole into the linoleum floors.

As a surgeon, he had never been nervous performing a procedure. He was the greatest neurosurgeon out there and no one could take away his title. His calm reserve, his steady hand. He was quintessentially perfect. Anxiety didn’t grip him in its vice.

Until the accident. He finally was made aware of his emotions and how delicate he truly could become. He discovered his unwavering ability to exhaust emotion; tears, sadness, happiness, love. It all came like a tidal wave upon his metaphorical shoreline when you happened. When you walked into his life, he discovered that he could feel all of those emotions, sometimes all at once. But fear was the least felt.

Until today. Today he felt fear. He never wanted to experience such a cruel emotion but as he watched you writhe in pain and cry for him to make it stop while knowing this was one problem he couldn’t solve with the wave of his hand, that nature must take its course, he grew scared. He had been waiting for this moment ever since those two lines appeared on the pregnancy test, after the initial shock of oh wow, I’m going to be a dad after not wanting kids, and today in the delivery room, mournful that he couldn’t be more for you than just a hand to squeeze and a shoulder to cry on… and bite. He wasn’t expecting teeth marks on his skin today, but he’d let you do it a million times over if it meant he could get you through this.

“You’re doing so good, baby. I promise. It’s almost over.” he had encouraged you with both hands clasped through yours, his body leaning over the edge of the bed as you worked through every single ache and pain. You held him like a vice until you were dizzy, his voice the only thing holding you to the bed. You blocked out the voices of the doctors, nurses, you only desired Stephen’s encouragement through such a trauma as this.

And when the pain ceased and you felt a sudden emotion of emptiness, the one thing that only you had held on the inside for nine months was extracted from your being, you felt numb.

Stephen held you tightly, awaiting that glorious sound all parents mewled about. His hands were trembling in yours as he waited, and waited, and waited.

“Come on, sweetheart. Cry.” Stephen whispers to a little girl who couldn’t hear him. “What’s going on?” he demands, using the voice he reserved for the operating room.

He hears the doctor and nurse's correspondence.

“Fluid in the lungs” - “Can’t breathe” - “Lips are blue”.

Quickly, his mind whirred and he knew what was happening. His baby girl had entered the world essentially lifeless. He turns to you, feeling as you force yourself up in the hospital bed by way of his arm. You clutch his forearm in a death grip despite your strength having been drained, the wave of adrenaline pulsing through your veins as you struggle to overhear.

“What is going ON?!” you scream at the top of your lungs, pain surging throughout your limbs. You were a brand new mother who hadn’t got to see your daughter’s face and more importantly hear her cry.

“Honey, I need you to lie back down,” Stephanie coaxes, kissing your forehead that was slick with sweat. You look up at your husband whose eyes are fixated on you. “Take some breaths for me, alright?” He knows you’re on the verge of panic so he quickly reaches above the hospital bed to grab the oxygen mask.

“Stephen!” you exclaim, lungs aching. He shushes you and closes his hands around yours. He wouldn’t dare let his resolve down, not now. You needed him more than ever and he couldn’t let you see him fall apart, even though he wanted to bombard those working on his baby and the cause.

“She’s going to be okay. We’ve got to let them look at her.” He smothers his face against your hair, reaches up, and strokes your scalp, “That’s my girl, nice deep breaths. I need you to stay calm for her. Can you do that for our little girl, sweetheart?”

You nod your head. Your ears were ringing so loud after she came out that you didn’t overhear what Stephen did.

“I-I’m scared,” you blubber.

Stephen can feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes. I am too, baby. I am too he thinks to himself.

“There’s no need to be scared. I’ll be scared for us both.” Stephen kisses your temple before moving to your lips, tasting the saltwater tears that had fallen to your mouth.

That was hours ago. Stephen continued to pace the floors. The last he heard was that his daughter was being taken to the NICU for further observation and to be stabilized. Fortunately, Christine had stopped by a few times to check in. She of course had no updates for the two of you, but she was there as a means of emotional support. Each time she snuck in quietly, she’d find a pacing Stephen who she only sighed at.

“Have you sat down?” Christine whispered, seeing as you were finally asleep. Stephen shakes his head as Christine grabs his hand, forcing him to stop. “Stephen. You need to sit.” she leads him to the chair but he shakes his head.

“No, Christine, I need–,”

“To be a supportive husband and great father. You can’t do that when youre footprints are embedded into the floor.” she chuckles quietly but turns serious upon seeing his wary expression. She licks her lips and sighs. “If that little girl is anything like you? She won’t give up. She’ll be a fighter. But she needs a father who can remain strong for her… You can’t stay strong if you’re exhausting yourself. The same goes for her,” Christine looks over at you. “She needs you to lean against during this which means she needs you relaxed and alert. But pacing won’t do anything.”

Stephen draws in a sharp breath and finally takes a seat upon Christine’s pushing of his shoulders. She smiles at him and pats his shoulder.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Stephen.”

He sure hoped so. “Thank you,” he nods his head, appreciative of her friendship despite their past. He squeezes her hand just before she removes it from his shoulder.

“Try and squeeze in a cat nap. You’ll feel better.”

He chuckles, knowing sleep was out of the question entirely. But rather than arguing with her, he nods his head in agreement. When Christine left and Stephen was left alone with his thoughts, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine him finally holding his daughter, and how relief would wash over him the moment he could see her. That’s how he managed to close his eyes and relax. He did it for his two girls. You and that precious little one fighting upstairs.

An hour or so later, when the door to your room opened, Stephen’s eyes bolted open and he was up on his feet in seconds. The woman who delivered your daughter enters the room, pushing a tiny glass cart. Stephen’s heart thudded wildly in his chest, realization washing over him at just who this sweet little visitor could be.

“Hi, Dad,” the doctor whispers.

Stephen gasped quietly at the sight, that relief he clung to after Christine left washing over him. “How is she?” he asks.

“She scared us there for a little while.. she came so fast that she swallowed some fluid on the way out, but she’s perfectly healthy. I didn’t want to wake Mom up. I know she’s been anxious, but would you like to hold your little girl?”

Stephen felt a rush of emotion. He never wanted kids. He thought they were irritabilities, tiny humans who would annoy him forever. He was one of those people who when the kid ran around the dinner table in a restaurant after being told to stop, would smirk when they finally smacked their forehead against the surface. Christine normally always kicked him in the shin under the table and then you started doing it when you began dating. But that all changed the morning you approached him with trembling hands and a positive pregnancy test.

“Yes, please,” Stephen whispers, looking over at you. He was grateful you had finally succumbed to the clutches of sleep. He wasn’t sure how much longer you could keep going, as you were nearing 48 hours of no sleep at all.

The doctor smiles and motions him to sit in the chair beside your bed. She rolls the glass cart over to him and looks down at the sleeping bundle. “She didn’t get to have skin-to-skin with Y/N so would you like to do that? She can do it also when she wakes up, but we find that skin-to-skin holds many benefits.”

Stephen nods his head as the doctor lists the positives such as bonding, regulation of body temperature, and heart rate, among others, tears burning the corners of his eyes. He quickly unbuttons his shirt and pulls it open, his heart racing even faster when the doctor carefully picks up his daughter and leads her to his chest. She rests the baby on top of him and immediately, Stephen feels like a brand new man. The softness and warmth of her skin against his made his serotonin level skyrocket and caused more tears to freely fall.

“Congratulations, Dad,” she whispers in the dimly lit room. “We just fed her in the nursery but when Mama wakes up, we’ll let her try feeding her. Call if you need anything,”

Stephen nods his head and watches the doctor leave, gently closing the door behind her. He looks down at the new life snuggled against him. Her eyes peel open, naturally blue irises glassy as she moves her lips. Stephen could already see you within her. Her sweet little nose, the curl of her lips. He took a small peek under the hat, the tiniest wisps of brown hair visible, sending the new father into a chokehold.

“Oh, my darling girl,” Stephen coos. “You gave Mommy and I quite the scare today… Yes, you did. But I’m so glad you’re here. Do you know who I am? You’ve heard my voice every single day… Whether I was telling you and Mommy how much I love you or bickering with Wong. You’ve heard it. I’m your Daddy,” the words fall like water from his mouth and his chest tightens as he dubs himself with the title. Daddy. He’s a father.

The baby girl gently closes her eyes, lips smacking as she remains rested on his chest. Stephen ran his fingertip up and down her spine, bewildered by how soft she was. He glances over at your sleeping form. He smiles, being the proudest he’s ever been since the day he proposed and the day he wed you. He had you to thank for all of this. His little family. The only family he’s known other than those he’s encountered on his journey.

“My sweet Tessa… Yes, you’re my special girl, aren’t you? I promise. I may not do everything right in life but I’ll do right by you. Thank you for changing my life,” the tears flow without warning as Stephen presses his quivering lips to the side of her head, squeezing his lids shut as he snuggles her closer. You stir gently and awake to the sight of your husband holding your newborn, your heart fluttering.

“She’s okay?” You ask hoarsely.

Stephen’s head lifts at the noise and a smile of relief greets his face. He looked exhausted and you felt bad that he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep except for his small power nap. He wouldn’t dare miss out on anything.

“She’s perfect, sweetheart. You did it.”

The look of utter pride glows on his face. You feel your lungs refill with fresh air as you wince, moving to sit up gently. “Can I?”

Stephen chuckles quietly. “How could you ask me something like that? Of course, you can. Tessa, let’s meet your beautiful Mommy, yeah? I know, I know,” he shushes her as she starts to pout her lips, a pitiful cry on the verge of slipping. Your body felt like electricity had just been shot throughout it, the excitement bubbling.

“Here, let’s unbutton this,” Stephen holds Tessa in one arm while he helps you unbutton your hospital gown. Once your chest is exposed, Stephen places Tessa on you and you fall apart the moment you touch her. Your lips quiver and the tears spill.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, kissing her. You drew in a deep breath, Tessa’s scent making you cry even more. Stephen slips into bed beside you and carefully puts one arm around you while holding his other hand over yours that’s currently on Tessa. “S-she’s perfect,” you cry.

Stephen wipes his eyes through a sniffle.

“She is,” he can’t help but agree. “I’ve never seen someone so little,”

You giggle softly, kissing her head as you lean into your husband’s chest. “We’re parents, Stephen. We have a daughter.”

He smirks, his eyes resting on you. He leans in and kisses your lips tenderly, savoring the taste. As he pulls away, both of you turn your attention down to your newest addition, your hearts soaring over the moon.

#doctor strange #dr strange #stephen strange #marvel #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange fluff #stephen strange fluff #doctor strange angst #stephen strange angst

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