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arabellasleopardcoat · 6 months ago

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Two ships (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Two people who do not understand each other, but keep coming back together. Familiar much? It’s the tale you share with your brother, Daemon.

Warnings: Crybaby! Reader. Medieval punishment for children. Canon character death (Alyssa and Baelor) Sexual thoughts. Prostitution. Mature language. Incest. Fluff.

A/N: In which we explore the complicated dynamics of the sister wife. Requested. We also suscribe to @just-some-random-blogger doctrine about Daemon being a scary unhinged man but soft for the reader.

THE FIRST TIME your brother makes you cry is when you are eight years old. It is, of course, not the first time you tear up because of him. But there is a difference between tearing up because he tugged too hard on your braid, or because he cut your favorite doll’s hair and what he did to you that day.

You shall never forget the reason for your mother’s death, not for the rest of your life. It’s one of those core memories, a truth of the universe. You cannot forget fire burns, you cannot forget water is wet, and you cannot forget your mother is dead because of you. Even if you do not know when you learned those facts, they are still there. Tucked into your mind.

As a child, you used to be quiet. You barely cried, or demanded things of anyone. As the youngest and only girl of the household, you often felt like there was an unbreachable gap between you and your family. And so, you filled your days with your lessons, and behaved well, eager for praise and attention.

Your relationship with your brothers was complicated. Your father was often far away, busy with his important position, so Viserys felt more like a parent than a sibling. The age difference didn’t help things along. While you were still learning how to walk, his betrothal was already negotiated.

Daemon, while much closer in age, is much more distant too. He is mercurial, playing the cruelest tricks on you, but also defending you from other children. Just last week, he had dyed your beloved white dog green, but he had also punched a steward’s son for mocking your braids.

He can never decide if he hates you or loves you. And today, it’s one of the days he hates you. You can’t do anything right, it seems. As you break your fast, with Viserys cutting up your food for you, he calls you a baby. When the Septa comes to get you for your lessons, you are a suck-up. His bad mood escalates during the day, and when your father arrives for lunch and dares ruffle your hair, Daemon doesn't hesitate to call you a cocksucker whore.

For his offense, his mouth is washed with soap. It is not a punishment you have ever endured, because everyone knows ladies don’t get physical punishments, but it looks unpleasant. Whatever cocksucker whore means mustn't be very nice.

By the time his punishment is over, your father is long gone again. He has disappeared into his chambers, and Viserys has been left with the bitter task of reconciling you.

“You will apologize to our sister.” He orders Daemon. “Now.”

“NO!” Daemon shrieks, face blotchy from the humiliation of his mouth being washed with soap. He has not shed a single tear, which you find admirable despite yourself. The taste alone would make you gag, and that is without including the humiliation of a servant holding you while Viserys does the deed.

You feel awkward at the thought. Something doesn’t sit right with the thought of such a thing being a punishment, but you do not dare voice it. You simply sit in the chair Viserys has pulled for you and kick your feet. It soothes you slightly.

“Take it back, Daemon or so help me the Seven…”

“I will not take it back!” Daemon screams, pushing at Viserys. “She is a little whore! She has you all wrapped around her little finger, and now you will send me away…”

“Daemon.” Viserys grabs his wrists, in warning. With several years and a growth spurt on his side, he manages to subdue him easily. You worry that will not be the case for much longer. Daemon looks very different from your peaceful Viserys, shoulders broader, hands a bit bigger. In a few years, he will become a fearsome warrior, and Viserys will still be your bookish older brother.

“Why do I have to go squire for some stupid lord, anyway? We are the blood of the dragon! We do not need those fools.” At this new information, you frown. You clutch your doll more tightly. No one had informed you Daemon had to go squire away from Viserys and you.

“Fostering is important. It helps us form bonds with other houses.” Viserys explains, with the patience of someone who has had this argument already. You tug on your doll, feeling sadder by the minute. Everyone knew but you?

“Why don’t we send her away?” Daemon points at you, and a sudden wave of fear hits you. Viserys can’t agree with him. You cannot leave. Your panic almost makes you miss his next words. “She is the reason mother is dead. I hate her.”

And the world stops for a second. The argument goes on, Viserys screaming at Daemon, but you are still stuck there. Your ears begin to ring, so you press your hands tightly to them and shake your head.

By the Seven, Daemon is right, you realize with growing horror. Your father and Septa always told you your mother had died the way you were born, from the difficult birth. Tears begin to fall down your face, but you barely notice them. It feels like you are choking.

In your childish mind, the death of your mother in childbirth, and your birth had never been connected. You never thought it had been your fault. But Daemon was right. She was dead because she had birthed you. It was your birth that killed her.

Her death was your fault. You killed her.

No. No. It can’t be right.

“That is not true.” You turn to Viserys, uncaring they have long since moved on with the argument. He has always protected you and reassured you. Even takes care to get rid of the monsters beneath your bed every night. He will fix it. “Brother, he is lying again!”

Viserys makes a strange face. A cross between a grimace and a frown. He doesn’t refute it, nor tries to comfort you.

“It’s the truth.” Daemon smiles, with the smugness of someone who has delivered a killing blow. He advances, his eleven-year-old body seeming larger than life to you, and pokes a finger in your sternum. “You killed her.”

It feels like a rug has been pulled from under your feet. You stumble back. It’s all your fault. Your mother is dead, and your father is never home, haunted by the memory of his wife, because of you. Daemon and Viserys lost their mother, because of you.

You killed her. You killed her. You killed her. The world looks the same around you, despite the revelation, and you wonder if it is so because everyone knew but you. Is it why Daemon doesn’t love you? Why father is never around?

A sob makes its way out of your throat, and then another. And another. Soon, you are bawling like a dying animal, and feel like it too. You cry so much, your little heart feels like it will jump out of your chest and you will die. You cannot breathe, choking in your own snot and tears, and panic makes you nauseous.

Never in your life had you ever cried so. A nervous fit, the Maester will call it later, after you puke your lunch and stop making heaving noises like you are lacking air. One caused by extreme distress. Daemon will be standing guard at the foot of your bed when you come to be again. They had ended up having to give you three drops of Milk of the Poppy to calm you down.

It doesn’t happen again, and you barely remember it when you grow up. But Daemon never forgets it.

CRYING IS A weakness that cannot be tolerated. The three of you had been born dragons, but sometimes Daemon doubted Viserys and you had as much fire in your veins as he did.

Said doubt intensifies when he finds you crying in the gardens. Daemon has never been fond of crying women. He is not an empathetic man, and has a tendency to think he is surrounded by fools. Such a character trait doesn’t lend itself to soothing crying maidens. At least, not sincerely.

If he wants to bed the chit, Daemon can pretend like the best mummer. It’s not hard at all to fool highborn maidens into thinking he shares something special with them, convincing them that the pain won’t last, that it will start to feel good soon. When it comes to you, though, the problems start.

You are not a common whore, like most women at court. As a daughter of House Targaryen, you are closer to a goddess than a woman. Fooling a goddess is no easy task, much less when the goddess knows you so well.

His usual tricks do not work. When Daemon tries to apply faux pity, and forced pleasantries, you see right through him. It’s not because you are particularly cunning, but rather the fact that you have a long memory.

Long enough to remember all the pranks and fun he had had at your expense when the two of you were children. With how much Daemon tortured you, it’s no wonder you prefer Viserys.

Daemon never meant to be as nasty to you as he had been. He coveted the attention Viserys paid you, as the youngest in the family. He disliked how everyone fawned over you, how his mother had died, and his father had left, and all they had gotten in exchange was you.

Another part of Daemon simply enjoyed mischief. Causing chaos for chaos’s sake. Like any young boy, he had fun playing tricks on others. The disdain he felt for you had made you into the ideal target.

When the years began to pass, Daemon had noticed you were flourishing into a beautiful maiden. Targaryen custom dictated you were meant to be his, since you were too young to be Viserys’. There was no point in fixing your relationship, or trying to win you over like he did with the other maidens. You were a given thing. No matter your shared past, you would have to marry him.

It’s only the fact that you are embarrassing the family name that prompts him to approach you in the gardens. He has no intention of comforting you. It’s not like he cares that you are crying. Really. How ridiculous.

“What happened to you?” Daemon asks, sitting next to you. “Princess shouldn’t cry.”

It is quite recent, of course. Viserys' ascension to the throne has not actually yet occurred, but the succession issue has been settled in their favor. Daemon had gathered a small force of loyal men that hadn’t been necessary in the end, but Viserys said his first act as King would be rewarding him from his loyalty.

He knows what he will ask for already. Marriage. His grandmother had tried to marry him to a Vale woman, but the idea had ended up being discarded because Viserys’ own match ensured the allegiance of that kingdom. Daemon wanted to have his Valyrian bride before anyone, especially the Hightower cunt, got any ideas.

“Nothing.” You wipe your tears away, angrily. You scoot your cute little rear towards the edge of the tree you are sitting under. As far as you can go without losing the spot of shade.

Daemon sighs. He is used to you being difficult, but it would soon change. You would be informed of your duty and behave in a manner befitting your position in life soon enough.

“Do I need to protect your honor?” The very thought unsettles him. Three years his younger, you are still barely a maiden in his eyes. A pure, unspoiled being. The idea of someone else corrupting your innocence, something that is meant to be his, is infuriating. Daemon hates when other people touch what is his.

If anyone will corrupt you, it’s him.

You laugh, bitterly.

“If only!”

“What do you mean?” Your statement has clarified nothing. He feels more confused than before. Perhaps, you have a secret lover who refuses to take your maidenhead? Or are you suffering from unrequited love? But when? With whom? You spend nearly all your time in the library, pouring over dusty books, or on dragonback. Not much time for entertaining suitors.

You stay quiet. There is a strange expression on your face, a mix of embarrassment and sadness.

“Hāedus.” Daemon prompts, gently tugging on your braid.

“Some ladies Aemma brought were talking about knights, and kissing…” You get a fit of hiccups and nearly choke, so Daemon is forced to wipe the snot from your nose so you don’t suffocate to death. Let it not be said he is a bad brother. “They laughed at me!”

“They laughed at you?” How dare them. Only Daemon was allowed the honor of your tears. You were too important.

“No one asked to dance with me at the feast! And no knight has ever kissed me.” You pout, about to go into hysterics again. “Ever.”

“Doña hāedus…” Daemon wipes your tears, fighting his smile. He has an inkling you wouldn’t think it funny. “You shouldn’t listen to them. You are a Princess, the blood of the dragon. They are just sheep.”

You pout more. Daemon hurries to comfort you. Oddly, he dislikes seeing tears on your face. It must be because you are in public. As a Princess and his future wife, your actions reflect on House Targaryen.

“Ugly sheep. In fact, the actual sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

“But knights have kissed them! And they get asked to dance, and to walk in the gardens, and…”

Daemon raises his hand.

“Knights would kiss you too if they could. But you are too superior to them. They wouldn’t dare.” Or they would meet Dark Sister. All your first should be his. “It’s excellent that you have not sullied yourself with just any knight who looks at you.”

“But I am getting old.”

You are about to cry again. Your female vanity must be hurt, thinking yourself unwanted. Daemon will never understand caring about what others think of him. Dragons shouldn’t concern themselves with the opinion of the sheep.

But there is something about you, the soft little Princess who crumbles up completely when someone is mean to her, that tugs at his heartstrings.

It is why he leans in and captures your mouth with his. You taste like innocence and salt, melting on his tongue. It’s not Daemon’s first kiss, but it feels like it. There is a tug deep inside of him, a strange yearning on his chest, that has not been present when he has kissed other women. Not even maidens.

Cloyingly sweet, dripping on his tongue like the most enticing potion. His. Never has he experienced this before. Daemon wants to drown on it, drown in you. But before he has a chance, you give him a shove and run as fast as you can.

And he stands there, as if struck by lighting, pinned down by the unmeasurable realization that this is love. Love, in its purest form, for his soon-to-be sister wife. It leaves him dazed, confused, rooted to the spot. Utterly out of control.

“DID YOU HEAR?” The serving girl whispers loudly, her voice carrying through the corridor. Night has fallen already, and you pour over a heavy tome on constellations while sitting in one of the windowsills of the Red Keep. It is the best time to put your new knowledge into practice, but the constant chattering of the maids interrupts you.

You close your book, hesitating between scolding them and sending them away, or waiting for them to leave on their own. Scolding them feels unkind. It’s late enough for them to no longer be on duty, and there is no harm in what they are doing. This corridor is a heavily transited one.

Perhaps you should move to your rooms. But you do not have a balcony, and the view from your windowsill it’s quite limited. As you ponder on it, something they say catches your attention.

“And they say the Prince asked for a blonde girl. A maiden.” The Prince. Daemon! You have not seen hide nor hair of your older brother since he stole your first kiss. In fact, you have been avoiding him.

As children, he had played plenty of nasty tricks on you. Once, in a fit of temper, he had beheaded all your dolls and hanged their little heads from a window. But adulthood had mellowed him out. Or so you thought.

The worst thing wasn’t that Daemon stole your first kiss. It was that you enjoyed it.

“No!” The other girl sounds scandalized.

“Yes. And that is not all. He took her roughly, and was kicked out before even…”

Took a whore roughly? You knew he whored around, but hurting whores was a new low. You weren’t too approving of his behavior, but whoring was normal for young lords. Everyone knew they did it, even the most pious ones. Hurting them, though? It was no better than being a rapist.

The other girl lets out a gasp, but she sounds more delighted by the gossip than anything else.

“Imagine how rough it had to be for them to kick him out.”

“I would say plenty. Poor girl.”

“He is out again, is he not?”

“Every night, like clockwork. Something has roused his appetite, it seems. He used to whore, but not…”

Their scandalized voices drift down the corridor, and you think the rumor must be wrong. Daemon wouldn’t hurt anyone. Sure, he whored around, and took plenty of maidenheads, but your brother wasn’t cruel.

Was he?

He had stolen your first kiss. Beyond the softness and the sweetness of the kiss, Daemon had ruined a moment that was meant to be special. Now, it was forever tainted with the memory of being made a mockery of. Not only by those girls, but him too.

There was a difference between stealing a kiss and hurting whores, though. Much more, when it came to hurting them seriously enough to be kicked out of the pleasure house.

Was it your fault? Had he discovered with you he enjoyed taking from women by force? Was he taking out his anger with you on them? The maid had said the girl was blonde. Perhaps Valyrian blonde.

You needed to know. You ran to your rooms and got your black cloak, set on finding him.

Finding Daemon was no easy task. You made it to the city on foot, but once there, you had trouble locating the pleasure houses. There was no sign outwardly pointing to them, but you managed to get to Flea Bottom without getting mugged. Or at least, this looked like what you thought Flea Bottom looked like.

The streets were dirtier, the crowd rougher and drunker. There were people sleeping on the floor, no Sept in sight. This was a place far away from the Gods. The few Goldcloaks patrolling seemed uninterested in actually preventing crime.

You made sure to walk with purpose, afraid of being stopped if you looked like you were out of place. The streets were badly lit, and you could barely tell apart one alley from another.

A sudden tune caught your attention. A woman was singing in a tongue you didn’t recognize. You decided to follow her voice, but before you could do so, someone blocked your path.

“… A dragon for half an hour.” It was a woman. Her hair was dark and hanging limp around her face. She swayed as she walked. “My prince, I will let you choke me.”

You made a face, realizing a strand of your silver hair was peeking on the edge of your hood. She thought you were Daemon, you realized. Both your brother and you kept your hair long, and in the darkness of the alley, with your hood up, you may have looked alike. Was she a whore?

“I’ll let you. A dragon, please, I need to feed my children.”

Children. She had babes. You imagined them, tucked in their beds, wondering where their mother had gone. What if something happened to her? If the children had a present father, he would provide for them, and she wouldn’t be here. It was how the world worked. She must be alone with the babes.

You reached inside your cloak, and pulled out a gold dragon. There was an odd sort of pity building inside you. You imagined yourself, offering up your body to strangers to feed your children, and your heart shattered into little pieces.

You had never questioned the role of whores. They were sullied women, but they served a purpose. Entertain the men so they didn’t hurt others. Tend to their baser needs. It didn’t feel so clear-cut as you avoided the woman, in fear she might attempt to service you.

The voice sounded louder, so you ducked into the next alleyway. It was then you saw them.

The woman singing was sitting at the entrance of a small house. She was scantily clad, as were the surrounding women. But there was only one of them who caught your attention.

She was tall and willowy, with long limbs. There was a haunting elegance to her that looked out of place in the Street of Silk. Her blonde hair was long, and in the right light, could be mistaken for silver. It cascaded down her shoulders. Her face was eerily similar to your own. She was tragically beautiful, stricken by some unseen grief.

Sitting down and clapping along to the song, she looked as if she was praying. There was a dark stain on her neck, cleverly hidden by her hair. The closer you looked, the more it seemed like a bite mark. Not just any bite. A vicious one.

You gasped, hands coming to your mouth to muffle the sound. Whores had never been of concern to you, but now you were seeing their reality, and it was heartbreaking. The thought of women in brothels, in cages, as pleasure slaves, made you want to weep.

Women like you. That she wore your face was even more jarring.

WHEN CARAXES HAD been born, he had not done so alone. Out of the ether, his sister had come, hands linked with his. Meraxes, goddess of the sky, an eternity doomed to hold to her sibling. Caraxes only reflected his twin’s colors, gazing up at her as the flowers did the sun.

It was said that they met only once a day, thanks to the mercy of Gaelithox, who allowed the twins to embrace every sunset. It was the reason Meraxes hated him. He held on to her too strong, and prevented her from embracing the one who she truly loved. He invaded even her reflection, seeking to make himself a part of her, even invading her sacred reflection in the waters of her twin.

The story was always one of your favorites. You begged Viserys every night to tell it to you, sickening Daemon with your romantic tales. He isn’t sure why he is reminded of it today, of all days.

Foreboding, he will think later, when the storm has passed. But now, he chooses to focus on the coronation taking place in front of him, and bask in their triumph.

“Kings reward loyalty.” Viserys says, after the crown is placed on his head by a proud Aemma. “And my first act will be rewarding those that stood by my side.”

Daemon and you are kneeling, the first among the crowd. The first to take a knee to their King. There is a strange feeling in his throat, and he fights the urge to cry. Daemon has always considered tears a weakness, but the moment is so perfect, so magical, he feels the urge to do so.

Men don’t cry. Instead, they take big breaths, and savor their victory. Viserys on the Iron Throne, and Daemon about to be given your hand. All they have ever wanted, now ripe for the taking.

“Brother, please rise.” Viserys' voice is clear and loud. Daemon does so, pleased by the honor of being the first to rise in front of the masses. They had talked about it, of putting up a show for their political enemies, but Daemon had never expected Viserys to grant him honors before any other of his advisors. “Your diplomatic and martial skills were essential to securing my claim. As a reward, I give to you our sister’s hand, and name you my heir. May the two of you have a fruitful union and make House Targaryen proud.”

And when he turns to you, with a smile on his face, he realizes why he remembered the story of Caraxes and Meraxes.

Your beautiful, purple eyes, are wet with tears. You remain on bent knee, frozen.

Daemon pulls you up with the utmost tenderness, one reserved for family alone. The hand on your elbow seems to shake you out of your stupor.

“Thank you, my King.” Your voice trembles, but you speak the words dutifully. You know as well as him that this is Viserys’ day. Everything has to go perfectly. There can’t be any hint of division between the three of you, not when the rallying cry for Viserys had been that he was bringing back the three heads of the dragon.

Three siblings. Three dragonriders. Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys.

“It is a great honor.” Daemon adds, tightening his grip on your arm. You look ready to bolt, and he is tasked with reminding you that you can’t.

A silent tear travels down your cheek. With your back to the crowd, no one but Viserys and Daemon can see it. Viserys gives him a long look, pleading him to do something. Neither of them had been expecting your reaction.

They had thought you would settle well into your duty. That marriage would give you a stable tether, a shield for your fragile soul. Viserys had chosen Daemon for the honor, had given you to him to care and protect.

But you seem even more scared that you were before. How wrong had they been.

“We are very excited.” Daemon hugs you to him, fighting to keep his composure. Your rejection stings, and he wants to rage, but he can’t. Because you are in public, and House Targaryen doesn’t air their dirty laundry in front of witnesses, but more importantly because your dam is breaking. You let out a little sob, and Daemon has to embrace you fully to prevent you from falling apart.

Fools that they are, the rest of the courtiers mistake it for a sound of joy. What else could you want? To marry the King’s heir, a Valyrian husband who can give you pure Valyrian babes.

“Good.” Viserys smiles, a bit strained. You take a shuddery breath, and straighten up under his arm. Daemon can practically feel the change, from scared girl, to experienced courtier. You know as well as he does the importance of presenting a united front.

You smile. It’s as fake as the silks whores wear, when pretending to be a Targaryen Princess. To the inexperienced masses, it tears all the same.

“How joyful days come ahead. Long live the King!”

You open your arms, the picture of the hopeful bride. The smile threatens to crack your face in two. The crowd cheers. A royal wedding is always something to admire, and there is no better way of celebrating a coronation than with one.

The hour is late when Daemon finally manages to catch Viserys alone. You have gone straight to your rooms after the feast, sulking. Aemma has been sat outside your door for hours by now, trying to coax you out like one would do to a skittish cat. Her talks of duty and royal wombs only got her a pillow to the face for her efforts.

Daemon and Viserys, much more used to your moods, hadn’t bothered. You were angry, but not hysterical. Both often manifested in tears in your case. Only one could prove lethal.

“I do not understand.” Viserys frowns. “What more can she want? The two of you will get Dragonstone, for a few years at least, and when I have an heir, you will not be kicked out. You are family.”

“I do not understand it either.” Underneath the simmering rage Daemon feels, there is only confusion. He is a knight, and has proven his skills sufficiently enough to be awarded Dark Sister. He is of an equal standing to you, a Prince to a Princess. He loves you so deeply it scares him.

The Seven know he has tried to get you out of his head through every means possible. He has deflowered more maidens that he can count this week alone, his cock is chafed raw, and yet, no matter how beautiful they are, your face still haunts him. It’s your name on his lips when he comes, and your body he pictures under him. The whores are never right. Their hair is the wrong shade, they are too thin or too fat, their tears taste of iron instead of your sweet salt.

You should not think it is a bad thing. Women love that sort of thing, leading men by their cocks, getting them so cuntstruck they cannot see straight. You should love it too because it is a weakness to him, but a power you can wield. And yet, you hate it. You had run.

“I cannot go back on my word now.” Viserys reaches for his cup of wine. He knows that his reign is still fragile, and if his lords see his sister defying him, they might get ideas. “She has to marry someone, and with her delicate constitution, I cannot in good conscience…”

“Handing her to a stranger is a bad idea.” Daemon agrees, not out of some selfish motivation, but because he knows it’s the truth. You have always been far more delicate than most ladies, with your books and silly ideas about the role women should play. Had you not been so closely tied to Viserys, you may have even supported Rhaenys.

If Viserys was Aegon, you were Rhaenys. The sensitive little sister, loved because of her innocence and kindness. You never tried to push your strange ideas, after all. You just looked like a kicked puppy when contradicted.

Any other man would crush you at the first hint of defiance. Daemon, used to you as he was, knew rage was futile. If you wouldn’t settle in your duties easily, he had to take action and ensure you did through other means.

Gentler means. Daemon still remembered the fits you used to have when little. Viserys did too. Neither wanted a repetition.

“I have thought about it, and you should forgo the bedding.”

“I agree. It might make her sick.” Sick is the euphemism they use for your fits when there are prying ears. Daemon gives a pointed glance at the guards. Viserys drops the topic after that.

Almost against his will, when the embers of the fire they sit in front of die, Daemon goes to your rooms. He isn’t really thinking, when he walks down the hallways that lead to your chambers instead of his. Nor is he thinking when he dismisses your guards, and opens your door.

You are laying on your side, a pillow held to your thighs. Your hands are made into fists over them, as if you had fallen asleep in your rage still. Despite it, your face is peaceful, with only dried tear tracks to disturb your childish expression.

Your body is curled into itself, tightly. You must be cold, Daemon thinks, and takes of his cloak to lay it over your form.

In dreams, you smile. And Daemon understands that he is no Gaelithox. There was a reason Caraxes and Meraxes were only allowed to embrace once a day, after all.

HORROR AND RAGE are not emotions that lend itself to permanence. At least, not in you. Not when it comes to him.

Not when he plays such strange game, and gets you strange prizes. Daemon has not asked for his cloak back. You have taken to sleeping wrapped up underneath it.

How can a man capable of such cruelty be capable of such tenderness? Confusion means ignorance, and ignorance breeds fear. You have known Daemon all your life, but you are still unable to understand him.

The only certainty you have is that when he is near, your rationality flies out of the window. It’s all instinctual. To fight, to fuck, to fucking fight.

The sleep of reason produces monsters. Monsters that take hold of your heart and squeeze it, until it is no more than liquid and pulp. Did he hurt that woman? Will he hurt you? Love you?

Daemon had stolen your first kiss. Daemon had gotten kicked out of a brothel. There was a girl in the Street of Silk with a bite mark on her neck. He had visited you the night of your betrothal and tucked you in.

It might mean nothing. It might mean everything. Whichever it is, you have no time to come to terms with it. Viserys wishes for the two of you to be married by the end of this moon. It makes you feel even more blindsided and betrayed.

None of them had thought to ask you before deciding. They had just done so.

The idea of marrying your brother wasn’t what came as a great shock. As a child, you had often daydreamed of honoring your ancestors and becoming your brother’s wife. It was the way things should be. But you had always thought you would marry Viserys.

When Viserys married Aemma, you thought you would marry someone outside your household. Daemon and you were clearly ill-suited, even before everything that had happened between the two of you.

Betrothing the two of you would be madness. You had never understood each other in the manner Viserys and him did. You were an outsider to their relationship, the other head of the dragon. Rhaenys to her conquerors.

But inexplicably, Viserys had done so. Being betrothed to him without even being asked about it stung. No one had thought to warn you, or ask for your opinion. They had simply announced it to court and hoped you would comply.

The feeling of betrayal had only mellowed out after asking Viserys his reasoning. He hadn’t been trying to blindside you, he had explained. He had thought you would be happy. Both Daemon and you yearned for Valyrian partners. It made sense to betroth the two of you, especially because Daemon had asked to marry soon.

Your brothers were just dumb. But their foolishness was a dangerous one, since they rode the two biggest dragons of your generation and sat on the Iron Throne. Common fools could undo the damage they caused.

But in your case, there was no way out but through. Viserys had begged you to give Daemon a chance, and so, you found yourself preparing for meeting him.

Viserys had chosen the place the two of you would meet. The Godswood was neutral territory, and far away from the castle that if you started shouting insults at each other, only the Kingsguard shadowing you would hear.

It only made you dread the encounter further. You had taken a liking to the Godswood, and were contemplating using it as a hideaway for when things at court got to be too much. If this went wrong, it would forever taint the place for you.

You decide to arrive early, to allow yourself some time to compose yourself. Daemon beats you to it, already waiting near a tree when you get there.

“Hāedus,” Daemon says, when he sees you. In a show of rebellion, you have decided to wear your more modest gown, with a neckline that nearly reaches your ears. Aemma had encouraged you to wear something more revealing, but you wanted to strangle the cow. “You look lovely.”

“Lēkia.” You press a kiss to his cheek, unsure if you should greet him like you always do, or the betrothal has changed the protocol. Kissing his cheek as you always do seems safer, but you regret it when his eyes flutter closed at your touch.

He is acting odder than usual. In an increasingly out-of-character charm offensive, he takes off his cloak and places it on the grass.

“So you may sit.” His tone is too formal. It makes you even more wary, but you sit. Daemon does the same, by your side. So close, you end up frowning more.

He leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

“Despite my struggles, I have come to admire you.” Daemon noses along the hair right above your ear. “Rationality has left me, and no matter how hard I try, you haunt me at every corner, every hallway, every street of this damned city.”

“What am I supposed to say?” You complain, with a frown. You push him a little, to be able to meet his eyes.“I am well aware of your attempts at forgetting. Valyrian whores, Daemon? Really?”

“It was all in vain.” He pulls you back in, embracing you. His hands are warm around your stomach, his lips chafed against the skin of your neck. “Let me take down your hair.”

Your eyebrows raise. Out of all things he can ask for, this is the weirdest one. His petition is so simple and innocent, you almost think he is not Daemon.

“Let me take down your hair.” Daemon begs. The ardent tone in his voices surprises you. He sounds like a man possessed. As if he cannot survive if you deny him. “Hāedus...”

This devotion, this unexpected fit of love, surprises you. So much, you find yourself nodding.

You feel his chest contract with his sudden inhale. His hands are careful as they unmake your braid. His touch so tender, even the most delicate hairdresser would envy it. But when your hair falls down your back, in mussed tendrils, he shows himself to be Daemon.

His nose presses to your temple, breathing you in. His fingers run through your hair, and he presses feverish kisses to your scalp, your jaw, your ear. Licks the sweat behind it, samples your earlobe with his teeth.

Teeth. It makes you tense. You think of the girl in Flea Bottom, of the bite over her throat.

“I can’t stop thinking of you. You appear before me in the darkest corners, and in the brightest meadows.” Daemon inhales, hands grasping your waist tightly. “When I squired, away from home, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I didn’t know it was love then, but I have loved you since before I knew what the word meant. I fucked the tightest cunts of Westeros, sampled the prettiest maidens, and yet it is your face that I imagine when tugging at my cock.”

Something inside you snaps. Among the righteous indignation, a strange satisfaction takes place. You shove him off you.

“Don’t be crass!”

Daemon doesn’t attempt to embrace you again, but remains unbearably close. Your eyes drift to his lips. You would love him even if he were the one who mauled the whore. You would love him even if he did it to you. Because of it, perhaps.

“I want you to be mine. Put me out of my misery.” Daemon begs, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Marry me, and end my suffering.”

“You frighten me.” You whisper, without quite meaning to.

“Do you fear I will hurt you?” Daemon asks you, voice very gentle.

You avert your eyes. It’s not that what you fear. It’s how out of control you are when it comes to him.

“I would never.” He vows, leaning in. His lips brush against yours, before Daemon presses his forehead to yours. He looks into your eyes, and smiles. “Do you remember the last time we kissed?”

“Of course I do, you idiot.” You scowl at the memory. “You stole…”

“No. You were crying because no knight…” He gets up, and begins to tug you to your feet. You remain sitting. “Oh, get up, you stubborn thing.”

“Daemon!” You complain, but get up. He stands a few feet away from you. Curious about the point he intends to make, you cross your arms over your chest and glare.

He offers you his hand, as if to dance. You take it, eyes full of distrust.

“I have been a cunt. But you have to stop running.” Daemon circles you, pulling on your hand slightly. Is he…? Your confusion must show on your face because he gives you a mocking glance. “To dance from afar is not to dance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You might as well be in Essos.” Daemon keeps circling you. “Let us dance properly, for once.”

“Here? Dance?” There is no music. And your brother has never been one for bursting into spontaneous song and dance. At least, you don’t think so.

“Together. You wanted knights to ask you to.” Daemon pulls you close, into a hug, and the puzzle pieces finally fit. The day he had kissed you, you had been crying because no one had asked you to dance. That Daemon remembers the reason when you had nearly forgotten it yourself astonishes you. “Now a Prince asks you. Do not make me ask twice, please.”

“Let us try. To dance as if glued by fire. Let me prove I can be good to you. That I listen to you. ”

And it’s stupid. It’s silly, there is not even music. But you let him pull you in, this time, and realize Daemon has always been capable of tenderness. At least, when it comes to you.

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yv0nn1e · 10 days ago

Text

"we were born to a world with dead ends."

gravity — rafayel

summary: to be betrayed in one timeline, to find out the truth in another, and now, to seek revenge in the current.

pairing: rafayel x non!mc fem!reader

cw/tw: angst? mean reader, some twists from the myths and the actual lore itself.

note: an alternate version of my backburner rafayel fic where instead of falling in love with rafayel, reader gets angry when she realizes lemuria's fall is actually because of rafayel.

word count: 2k+

non!mc reader who remembers the excruciating pain of losing her life in every single timeline where rafayel was involved.

non!mc reader who, in the current timeline and at eleven years old, starts to get flashbacks of her past lives, not knowing what they were until the memories fill each other in as she matures. the older she gets, the more refined those visions become, until she reaches the age of fifteen where a rough vision of rafayel, her beloved, gives up his heart, and lemuria for this strange yet certainly unforgettable girl. non!mc reader who, realizes that she might have died at rafayel's hands— that lemuria fell under rafayel's sacrifice and love.

non!mc reader who, at fifteen, decides to walk away from the sea and from her dearest friend who, she now knows, had betrayed their people in their past lives. she goes to land with her aunt, finding solace in her passion for acting and the dramatics. rafayel had tried to stop her, or at least, get him to accompany her yet he could never forget the underlying anger that had filtered her eyes.

"you're really leaving? but why?" rafayel asked. he wasn't sad, not exactly. perhaps just a tad bit melancholy at the thought of his truest friend walking away, leaving him all alone to face the pressure of the sands and seas all by himself.

"i can't achieve anything here." she replies, the duality of the meaning behind her words floating above rafayel's head. she can't achieve anything if she stays right where she had always been after all these years, after all these lives: right next to rafayel. she will be bound to the same ending if she stayed any longer.

they bid each other goodbye, and non!mc reader was more than ready to start a new life. perhaps, if she stayed away from rafayel, if she had stayed away from lemuria, then she cannot befall the same painful fate that she would during her previous lives.

non!mc reader who physically and internally experiences the actual pain of the lemurians' sufferings in her past lives whenever she would get a vision despite the fact that she had already stirred far far away from the sea.

her aunt talia looks at her worryingly as non!mc reader sits on the plush of the luxurious couch, her hand in her chest as she took in deep breathes— each and every inhale activating that painful tightening in her chest, the same sensation of internal stabbing.

"did you get another vision?" talia asks, her soft and delicate fingers rubbing non!mc reader's back. the girl could only nod as she takes one last deep breath before slumping her back towards the headboard of the couch.

"how much longer will i have to endure this? do you even get visions like mine too?" non!mc reader chokes out as she takes a glass of water. her aunt talia visited her on set today. it had been long since non!mc reader had decided to live above water and join the humans. she's an adult now, in her twenties, and a successful young actress at that.

"dearest, you know i don't. we've spoken about this. you're— you're different." talia says in a hesitant tone. these two have tried to figure out the root of non!mc reader's visions, how do they happen, and why they're happening in the first place. but nothing. they have nothing. the only thing they were certain about was the fact that the visions are highly implied to be true. the tales and myths about lemuria align with the visons and flashes.

"perhaps, there is a reason that you, out of everyone, has been bestowed such gift." talia comforts, a gentle pat glides over non!mc reader's shoulder blades.

she could only scoff. "this is no gift. this is a curse."

non!mc reader who falls into shock as she stumbles upon a familiar purple set of hair on a tall figure during a banquet. could it really be— "yn!" her name rolls off his tongue so softly, gently. all so familiar and nostalgic that for a second, non!mc reader forgets that the man whom her love transcended one life over another for had been the cause of her impending doom.

"rafayel?" she minds his presence. he looked a lot older than she'd last seen him. he was a lot taller, his lean figure built stronger with grown muscles, his aura being more elegant and confident. and yet, she questions whether or not he had changed. "what are you— why are you here?"

he tells her that he's settling in linkon for a while. he says that he's got a lot of business advocates and opportunities to stumble upon the city as he pursues his artist career. he then reveals to her that he too had left the sea not long after she had gone, saying something about how the sea's weight felt a little too heavy under ground.

"does it really get easier up above the water?" she throws the question out rhetorically as they find themselves in a secluded seating area of the banquet.

rafayel wasn't dumb. surely, he felt the venomous tone in her voice or the unwelcoming glare from her gaze. he wishes it would be his mind playing tricks on him but the more he stares deeply into her eyes, the more he feels as though something was not right between him and his dearest friend.

"i don't really think so." he replies to her rhetorical question.

one thing about non!mc reader is that she isn't entirely certain that her snarky remark wasn't applicable to her. over the years, she often doubts whether or not trying to escape her home was better for her.

the both of them stare at each other. one pair of eyes gazing at the other's figure filled with confusion and nostalgia. wondering where he went wrong or if he had done something wrong. the other set of eyes staring in regret, unsure of whether or not joy or anger should control her thinking as of the moment.

the silence was louder than ever, until it was interrupted with that even louder ringing in non!mc reader's ears, that stabbing pain becoming stronger— probably the strongest she's ever felt as every fiber of her being was aching.

and yet she was too stubborn to let a slither of her vulnerability and truth slip past the cracks of her facade.

"i have to go." she tries to say confidently or rather, in a more composed way as she stood up, grabbing her purse and clenching her chest with her free hand which earned her a concerned and confused gaze in rafayel's face.

"are you okay? i can take you—"

"im fine, rafayel." she insists, pushing past him as he stood up to reach her.

"it was certainly something to see you again." she coughs out a fake scoff as she takes one step forward, only for a gasp to slip past her lips when her ankles bend, cause her whole body to not only pulse in excruciating pain, but to fall.

she feels the pain take her away from consciousness, a flash of white turning into a silhouette of a younger boy, his hair the same shade of violet as rafayel's, his voice more playful, as the image of her childhood in the prosperous kingdom of lemuria in a previous life takes place in her mind for a while, but the realization did not go unnoticed.

no, it does not get easier above water. as long as gravity exists, the weight of the world will always pull you down to the ground where one must acknowledge the truth.

non!mc reader who realizes that the pain she feels whenever she gets visions started when she left the sea.

she finds herself waking up in a bed of soft silk and fluffy pillows. this wasn't her home, the ambiance was rather softer and cleaner as the sun's rays painted dawn against the windows.

"you're finally awake." she gets taken out of her trance as she turns her head to the doorway, a smiling rafayel leans against the frame of the door. "you good now? maybe next time, don't insist that you're fine when you're not."

"what?" she's confused. she's never passed out from a vision before. sure, at first the pain was unbearable, but years of endurance has built her some kind of immunity or rather, suppressants that makes the ache less painful.

"you had a really high fever last night. what's worse is that, the tides weren't even low. we don't usually get that sick but i guess you're just a bit helpless without me, yeah?" rafayel teases as he brings her a tray of food and medicine. she stares at him in awe, that buried affection for him attempting to break past the cracks, but she does not let it go.

non!mc reader starts to see clearer visions now that rafayel is back in her life. with the added age and maturity, the flashes are longer and less vague. so when the moment a full vision of what happened during the sea god's ceremony played, anger resurfaces her mind.

non!mc reader who swore to avenger herself and lemuria, her beloved land. which is why, when rafayel introduces his new bodyguard, she immediately knew that she was the sea god's bride. that rafayel's miss bodyguard had his heart. literally.

and if it was what's needed to restore lemuria, she would stop at nothing to have it in her hands.

non!mc reader who is staring as the main lead in a new linkon tv series that depicts a tale about an ancient underwater civilization called lemuria. she could only laugh hysterically at her role. was she really playing the role of the sea god's bride? the sole thing she could never be in whatever universe or timeline she was in? oh how destiny loved to mock her.

non!mc reader who asks rafayel for help, feigning vulnerability and saying that she needed his bodyguard too, saying something about her old bodyguard going away for a while, even offering to pay double what rafayel was paying her.

non!mc reader who takes this chance to let her suppressed anger over the centuries and lifetimes that have passed out. it started with complicated coffee orders to fetch then upgraded to delivering her wardrobe, only to accuse miss bodyguard of practically sullying the dress with her reckless actions. in general, just treating her like the worst. miss bodyguard could quit whenever she wanted but rafayel had asked her so persuasively to induldge in non!mc reader's request since she was one of his closest friends.

non!mc reader who gets attacked by one of her visions, the pain stronger than what she assumed was the strongest attack when she met rafayel in that banquet before. what's more severe was that she could practically feel and hear the screams in her more recent visions.

non!mc reader who is sick and tired of suffering the regrets of the past, tired of carrying the weight of a future that is clearly telling her to take responsibility. so, one day, she flat out says to rafayel to do something about lemuria. to take his heart back, to end his people's sufferings. and yet, rafayel, like in all those visions she would see and remember, only replied with the same thing: that there would be other ways.

non!mc reader who damns it all, never stopping at one ask to convince rafayel to take his heart back. every chance she could, she would try to bring it up with rafayel which results into the man questioning his bestfriend's eagerness. she wasn't usually like this. she was never this insistent. despite the rejections, non!mc reader is thankful that rafayel was asked to be an illustrator in her new project because it makes it easier for her to bother him to own up to his responsibilities.

yn lets out an exhausted sigh as she looks at herself in the mirror. this costume was ridiculous, she thinks, as she analyzes the decor of the dress— the director said it would be a close-to-accurate replica of lemurian bridal attires. her top, a delicate yet structured piece, bared her midriff, emphasizing her poise, while bands of gilded accents traced the contours of her shoulders and arms. a flowing sash, transparent like morning mist, hung from her waist, its shimmering fabric embellished with ornate patterns that mirrored ancient symbols of wisdom.

fuck, they were right. it was close to accurate. so much so that non!mc reader starts to pity herself, thinking that the only moment she would have gotten to dress up like a true lemurian bride would be in a show, a fictional, unrealistic series that depicts the story of her beloved and the other woman he had chosen and would choose in every other life.

she steps out of the dressing room, the staffs getting the scene ready as the director yelled out orders. rafayel was with his bodyguard in a corner, discussing with the other illustrators what to do or add into the scene to make it more vibrant.

"it's a wedding scene, it's supposed to be colorful." he rolls his eyes, his bodyguard chuckling in amusement at his sulking. non!mc reader wonders how the producers even got the rafayel to agree to being part of the project. initially, she would've thought that rafayel thinks they would sully the lemurian culture and tale itself and yet, here he was, ever so passionate in the intricate coloring of the set.

"honestly, these people look like they're trying to disrespect the lemurian legacy—" rafayel stops speaking as he turns around, only to be met with non!mc reader in that traditional wedding gown. she looked certainly beautiful in it, he could not deny that. in fact, it looked rather fitting on her, as if she was meant to wear it.

she was currently distracted, practicing her lines with her partner in the show so rafayel's gaze goes unnoticed.

non!mc reader who has to poorly go through a physical and actual demonstration of how the end of lemuria was met because of this stupid show that somehow, got every detail accurately correct.

the way her limbs trembled at the set, the lines, and the impending remembrance of what was to happen after the ceremonial scene in the story. her terror was so obvious that her stutter and shaking figure immediately warned the director and everyone else that something was wrong.

the recreating of the scene in a different perspective terrified her so much, the trauma of reliving that kind of pain and watching it replaying in her mind. the fear was strong enough to trigger another vision, clearer than ever.

"excuse me. i'll be back." she manages to speak, immediately running back to her dressing room to handle the pain all by herself.

non!mc reader who has never told rafayel about the visions. the only person who knew about them were talia and herself. so one could only imagine the feeling brewing in rafayel's guts when rushes to open the door of her dressing room, only to see the actual pain his yn has to go through. all alone. all by herself.

it only then hits him. this must be why she had been so insistent on taking his heart back. this must be why she had left. why she had been so distant— why she acted the way she did.

she was angry at him. albeit, she was literally hurting because of the actions, the bond, the devotion he had sacrificed and given away.

his beloved yn was suffering because of him.

in every universe, he would give his heart to his love, causing him the loss of his kingdom and his entire being. in every universe, non!mc reader has to endure the physical manifestation of the regressing feeling of neglect and abandonment from the one true person that holds her protection in his hands.

in every universe, they were always bound to be met with dead ends.

#rafayel #rafayel angst #lads angst #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lads mc #lads x reader #lads #rafayel smut

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kakashixhatakesxwhore · 9 months ago

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Love Language Headcanons

What I imagine the love languages of Iruka, Kakashi, Itachi (w bonus Hashirama and Madara) to be. GN!Reader, until Madara.

Warnings: lil bit of sexism from Madara (nothing new), fluff, lmk if this sucks

Masterlist💿

Iruka

Words of Affirmation

While he's giddy around lunchtime when he sees the note you left in his box, Iruka much prefers to hear the words of love come from your lips

After a long day, sharing his knowledge and wrangling children, the only thing on Iruka's mind is the sweet, little nothings you would soon be whispering against his ear as you two lay in embrace

Some nights, Iruka would even be known to fall asleep before dinner, in your arms, lulled and comforted by your tone and your words

There's something in the constant reminders of your love for him that keeps him spry, his adventurous spirit engaged

With every syllable of 'forever', Iruka can feel his heart thrum in his chest

Likewise, he will be the first to compliment every outfit, any touch of makeup, or even just your sleep-coated face in the early mornings - he wants you to hear his voice every time you look into a mirror, praising you and adoring you

Nothing will ever stop Iruka from telling you exactly how he feels in a given moment, no audience or situation too embarrassing

In fact, he adores telling you how devoted he is to you with an audience - he wants everyone to know you are completely and utterly his, and he goes weak in the knees when you return his words

Kakashi

Physical Touch

When you're sitting with him, his hand is lightly gripping your thigh, reminding you and everyone else who you came with

He finds he cannot walk without touching you, his arm needs to be over your shoulders or your arm locked into his - even when moving through a crowd, Kakashi will hold onto a bit of your clothing as to not lose you

Every night is spent completely tangled together, a jumbled mess of legs and arms, in and out of the sheets, with you practically on top of him

Even while asleep, if you roll away, Kakashi will lock his arms around your waist, pulling you close for a warm cuddle

He's always kissing you while you're within the sanctity of your shared home, and when he's not, he's rubbing his nose against yours, putting his forehead against yours, or nuzzling against your cheek

Will come to the bathroom with you, if you let him, just to sit on the edge of the tub and shoot the breeze while you pee

Never stops getting tingly and bashful when you touch him, especially in public, so aware of the declaration of together-ness that your touch brought

Kakashi cannot stand when someone else touches you, even your close friends - he's got quite the jealous edge, and you know his hands will be all over where the other person touched you, soon, vying to erase the memory of another from your skin

Itachi

Quality Time

He hasn't got a lot of spare time on his hands, but he feels like he might go insane if he doesn't spend every available second with you

The kind memories warm Itachi in the cold nights, so he is especially keen on making a million with you

Comfortable silence is common, which relaxes Itachi immensely

He wants to be with you fully every time you are together - reading is fun, but he prefers to do anything that distracts from you at, quite literally, any other time

Knowing his hours were numbered, Itachi curses the universe for letting the time spent with you slip away like sand in an hourglass

I suppose time flies when you're having fun, and he has never had such an abundance of fun as when he's by your side

Any activity is a good activity when done together, even ones that Itachi didn't particularly enjoy like laundry or mending clothes - he found he could watch paint dry with you and still enjoy himself thoroughly

Lingers heavily when it's time to say goodbye; he can't do it if he doesn't need to it

Itachi plans three months in the future at the crack of dawn - he can't help but try to optimize the length of the periods he spends with you, somehow being able to schedule entire days to be together

Hashirama

Gift-Giving

Knows exactly what you want, in what colour, in what shape, in what size - to the exact dot.

Hashirama can think of no better way of proving his love for you than proving he knows your material desires inside and out

Some way, some how, he never runs out of ideas of things to get you, and absolutely no price is too steep for something he knows you'll love

His favourite part of showering you in presents is the face of shock and sheepishness, telling you he would go to the Edge of the World if it had the only tree with the fruit you craved

Enjoys giving you things that can be used by both of you, like books, rare spices, hair products, but loves giving you things to wear

Who else can procure a silk dress, with yards of intricate embroidery? Who else can find jewels so large and sparkly? Only Hashirama, thusly marking you as his to anyone with working eyes

But truly, your favourite gifts aren't the adornments, or spices, or a massive house - the gifts that truly enraptured your heart were the handmade cards and drawings Hashirama spent hours perfecting for your eyes only

Madara

Acts of Service

While Madara rarely humoured you with a walk through the sunflower fields, he would consistently ensure that you could go through life without the slightest hint of discomfort

He'll make you a tea in the morning, bringing it to you with a gentle shake of the shoulder to wake you up - it's how you start every day, with a small smile and a steamy drink, reminded that Madara would strive to wake you like this even if the world were actively burning

Going both ways, Madara deeply enjoys it when you prepare dinner for him, and will pitch in with the dishes to show you that he was truly thankful

Women's duties are women's duties, but Madara would do anything you asked of him without hesitation within your home (in public, he'd be much more conscious, however helping you as much as he could while still saving face)

Dotes on you entirely - if you told him you wanted the sky to turn fuchsia, he would be taking to the God of the Skies in an instant

Half the time, you don't even need to ask Madara to do something for you, it'll already be done, and done so perfectly you would be left with no question as to who did it

Every thank you, to Madara, is like you asking for something else, and he will tear the world to shreds until it is just to your liking

#iruka umino #kakashi hatake #itachi uchiha #hashirama senju #madara uchiha #iruka x reader #kakashi x reader #itachi x reader #hashirama x reader #madara x reader #naruto fanfiction #headcanon #headcanon list #love language

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crimsonspring · 2 months ago

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"my star, that's not what i had meant." xavier's voice, as always, is as gentle as can be. she's over-consumed with anger, grasping at straws in attempts to validate her desperate want to scream at him, so she tries to think of a time when he'd raised his voice at her, and she can't. not even by a singular decibel.

xavier, a man so fitting of his angel-like features, was the kindest and gentlest soul she's ever known. even during their biggest fights, (she wonders if he'd even consider them fights, because he never fights back) he'd only ever gently explains his thoughts as she snaps and throws her arms up in frustration. this time, it's no different.

"oh come on, xavier. you meant exactly what you said - you don't think i can do it!" she speaks accusingly, deep lines of upset drawn in between her brows as she frowns. "you said "i don't think it's a good idea to involve yourself in this mission," did you not?" xavier opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it soon after. because she was right, she had quoted him verbatim.

she scoffs, shaking her head as she glares at her lover. "and yet, your name was the first one i saw when they released the list of hunter confirmed for the mission! do you see me as less, xavier? i know i'm not as experienced as you are, but i'm still a good hunter!"

xavier has his head hung low, blonde strands covering his guilt ridden blue orbs. he feels guilty, there's no question about it. yet, the small selfish part of him, ruled by the memory of his dying lover's body turning cold in his own arms, makes no way for regret to reside in his body. till this day, though a long time since the memory was birthed, there isn't a day where the feeling of his legs growing numb from staying frozen in place, fearful of any minuscule movement that will reinforce the fact that she has died, doesn't haunt him.

it was not as though he isn't aware of her capabilities as a hunter. she was talented beyond words. the way she moved and danced with the swords and weapons against the wanderers like the battlefield was a stage for her very own recital - her skills captivates him every time he had the honour of sharing the battlefield with her.

but he won't lie, ever since doctor zayne himself had pulled him aside secretly after he had accompanied her to her monthly appointment to advise him to be cautious of her overexerting herself physically at work due to her heart condition (and though neither doctor zayne nor she has given him much clue about the true urgency of her condition, he cannot help but be haunted by the fear and frustration in the cardiac surgeon's eyes), the fear has kept him up on more nights than he thought possible.

he's still silent, unsure how he'd like to go about this. as worried as he is, he bets it's an even more difficult experience for her to go through. her condition was something they barely talked about, she often shrugs off the topic every time it was brought up. xavier understands that she fears it too - almost to the point that she overcompensates for it by being too fearless. xavier wishes they could just simply talk about their fears together, but he doesn't know how to.

"so? nothing else to say now?" she almost challenges him, scoffing yet again in disbelief as she finally pulls her glare away and crosses her arms. xavier actually has a million and one things that he wishes to say, the bulk of it being apologies and the truth that's been weighing so heavily in his heart.

xavier is soft spoken, his body often the pen that writes the words he wishes to speak. "i.." he begins, then shakes his head as he steps in front of her, and so naturally, gets on his knees. an arm wraps around the back of her knees, and his free hand captures one of her own. he finds strength in the warmth of her skin, a reminder and reassurance that she was still alive and well - and he shan't squander this chance.

"i apologise, my heart." he sighs, grateful when she doesn't pull away. there is still stiffness and hesitance in her body and he doesn't blame her for that, understands that she's upset. nervously, he looks up at her, a little desolate when he sees her purposefully looking away. he takes her hand to his lips, where they press a soft kisses on each of her fingers. he doesn't know the intent is to comfort her, or himself. though he enjoys the imprints of her skin against his own, would tattoo the art lines of her fingerprints onto every inch of his body if he could.

"without a doubt in my heart, i know you're the bravest woman alive. enthrals me to no end how you're so beautiful, so talented and so intelligent all at the same time. all the marvels in the world stored in you." his eyes never once strayed away from her face, and you could see the twinkling in his eyes as he continues to watch her like she was the embodiment of the flowers that bloom in spring - and this garden was a place he'd be the most devoted pilgrim for. and with the honour of being the one she loves, how could this soldier not want protect his beloved treasure?

"but in all honesty, i'd been a bit worried since your last appointment. you've never truly told me what happened, so i don't know how to gauge things." he continues his explanation, still on his knees as he continues to press his kisses against her skin. this part of the explanation though, sends a shiver down his own spine as he recollects the reality of the situation. his star might not be okay, and he doesn't know what to do to cure her, except to just protect her. pulling his eyes away from her, he whimpers and presses his forehead against her abdomen. "i'm just scared."

the prince of philos is on his knees. a man with enough power to rule a planet, but in his eyes, that will all go to shame - rendered useless - if he can't find a way to save her.

"i understand that you don't feel comfortable with telling me what's going on.. but i know that it's not good. i don't know how to make you feel better, so i figured at least, i could do my best to keep you from harms away." he feels her fingers comb through his blonde locks, and he impossibly nuzzles closer to her, his arms tightening around her torso. "if you tell me what i can do, my love, i'll do it."

"i swear to you. tell me what i can do. tell me what you need, and i'll travel a million times around the world for it."

#not proof read yet xoxo #the ending is 100% rushed bc i started this piece a couple days ago but i just could not finish it #but i desperately needed to get xavier being on his knees (as he always is) out of my system #whenever i think of xavier as a person #gentle always comes to mind #might revisit this piece again in the future #xavier x reader #xavier x mc #love and deepspace #lnds #xavier fluff #lads #l&ds

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yuukirita · 2 months ago

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"How? Expand on this. You can't just tell me that and run away, anon. Whatchu mean?"

I mean, I have a fanon where sparklings don't develop mentally or physically without their Sire and Carrier, since it wouldn't be safe for them. Sentinel killed Megatronus and Prima Prime before they introduced BabyBee and BabyCliff to the public.

And both BabyBee and BabyCliff were too young to remember what happened that time and considering the fact that they hit their heads when falling to Sub-Level 50, it can be expected that they don't have many memories.

ey only know that sometimes they have fleeting memories of two giant robots that (although they can't see their faces very well) always smile at them and make them feel safe.

(and when they see Sentinel for the first time, they are terrified for some inexplicable reason)

Ahhhhh! Context! FABULOUS!

Sparklings not developing without its caretakers is interesting. That on it's own is more interesting to me than the primes being the parents- but that's just because... I like worldbuilding. It reminds me of the Robots movie where the robots only grow when they get new parts so they need an external influence to change their bodies to match their mental when it's needed. Which is cooool. And having something like that with Cybertronians is neat! Even if the process is less involved.

With the babybee au however... Especially with your suggestion of the Primes being their first caretakers, it's tricky.

That means we'd have 50 year old babies (lol like Grogu), that in on itself isn't that bad. But if they're so young and they cannot grow neither mentally or physically, how did they survive so long?

The whole sparkling life cycle is a whole... mess. Because it's mostly fannon. Like, what is a sparkling? How independent can they be? At birth/creation, how aware are they?

Every version is valid though. Cuz its fannon. I like your idea, I'm putting it in the 'cool fanon' idea box. But I'm not using it. You can expand on that though! Would love to see it! Seriously, never stop creating! :D I didn't think much about why sparklings exist- why Bee is a sparkling. Just wanted to draw cute stuff. I say he comes from the well. Why does Primus make sparklings? I dunno! :D But it is fun to wonder about.

#transformers one #bumblebee #babybee au #awsering messages #fannon #sparklings

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duck-a-doodle · 4 months ago

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More tactical cuddlebug? Please I beg of you

A/N: My my, so sorry for the late response it has been a hectic semester. Here goes nothing and I hope you enjoy it! :-)

[No beta we die like McTavish.]

TACTICAL CUDDLEBUG HEADCANONS

Despite their many years in the military, which meant few surprises for the team, you were still something they marvelled at when they think about you as an addition

You were a refreshing breeze to the stale air of their grey compound, and you began to rub off on them

Across the list of military personnel which they have met, you were the most "small"

By no means were you miniscule, but to them you just felt different

Most soldiers have a hard shell and an even harder personality, but you had a tough shell with a "squishy heart", according to Johnny

This observation led to various responses, such as a heavy urge to pat you on the arm, back or head

Johnny was quick to lean into it, even going as far as to squish your cheeks, enjoying your presence and damn near treating you like his favourite teddy bear

Once you joined him in his bunk to help with his crossword puzzle and he pulled invited you onto his blankets for better comfort, and Simon, who came to remind him of a briefing, walked back out the door the moment he opened it

Gaz was second to come to terms with enjoying the physical contact, and he loves to nudge you in the side and give you a side hug like a brother would

On his best days he would sit on the couch with you and read together, each of you on one end of the couch with your legs stacked comfortably like pick-up sticks

Price's affections came few but not rare, and somehow his eyes seemed a little brighter after a few pats your head, tucking away the memory of watching you lean into his hand

His hugs are the best when you bid him goodbye when either of you have separate ops to take on, and the warmth you get from his soul-crushing hugs are another high

Simon would engage with you more than Johnny if not for the fact that he was conflicted

He already hangs around you more than Gaz or Price which speaks plenty for itself

He was quiet and mostly helpless against this odd feeling of needing to be in physical contact with you, thus he cannot help but do it albeit he does so stiffly or roughly

He will needlessly grab your vest and aggressively tighten it "for your safety", followed by a heavy tap on your helmet before everyone settles into the flight

Johnny tells you during the ride that Simon cannot handle the fact that he is facing cuteness aggression and that he has caught Simon several times clenching his fist when he sees your mess of a collar to keep from fixing it

He was not quiet enough and received a hefty smack on the back of his heavy duty headgear from the man he mentioned

You think that they are all either as cuddly as they say you are, or that they are simply extremely touch starved people, for whom you have opened the floodgates to affection

The truth is, every single member of the team are cuddlebugs, but it has become a silent agreement that the title goes to and remains upon you alone.

#call of duty x reader #captain johnathan price #call of duty #duckscribbles #kyle garrick x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader

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wolfgirlcoven · 24 days ago

Text

My Experience with P-Shifters & Mythicals, and why I'm Anti Physical IDs for Alterhumanity.

[Massive TW for Cults, Abuse(Including Digital SA, including COCSA), Delusions + Validation/Encouragement of Delusion, and probably more that I cannot for the life of me think of off the top of my head]

Hello, I'm Phoenix, but you can also call me Silverthorn. I've been in the nonhuman community since 2011-2013, and initially got my start in P-Shifter/Mythical communities, the ones of most note being ArdaErellon, GrowingWings4Life(usually just called Grow Wings.), and other adjacent webs.com forums.

I'll be documenting my experience with the community chronologically to the best of my ability, but do be aware that it may be a bit splotchy, as my memory of it all is a little janky due to the trauma and the fact this occured over 10 years ago now. It is of importance to note: I am neurodivergent, I speak from the perspective of someone who has been dealing with undiagnosed autism since childhood, which in turn, did influence my level of understanding of the world. My memory is also a little messed up due to dissociation from childhood trauma.

2011 - 2012: The Start - My start with P-Shifting began in 6th grade, when I was 11. I had met someone, who I will refer to here as Dragon. Dragon was my closest friend, however this was NOT a good thing. I had begun awakening to my inherent nonhumanity, but you know, when you're young, you'll believe in very fantastical things. Dragon was a P-Shifter, and I thought I was too. This is how our friendship really solidified. What easily could have been innocent schoolyard RP became grounds for abuse, manipulation, etc. Dragon convinced me that everyone hated us, and people would actively run away from me because where I went, she followed. Dragon was notoriously an asshole to others, but she used this to convince me that everyone hated me.

2013-2015: Aka "The Peak". 2013 is when I entered the online P-Shifter scene. Now, I had read websites and guides on p-shifting prior to this, but this is when I actually got INVOLVED so to speak. After reading some of the Maximum Ride books, I began experiencing phantom shifts of wings, which in turn lead to me joining GrowingWings4Life (colloquially known as Grow Wings), a forum on webs.com for Avians and other mythicals. I, obviously, began attempting to grow wings. This is where I met my flock. I've named two of them here before, but for the sake of this post I will be using stand in names. I also got my first scoliosis dx at age 13, during a school evaluation. This will come up again in another section of this post.

Aqua was the first one I met, she was basically a sister to me. She was honestly the first REAL friend I had, to the point where we called eachother sis. It was through her where we met the rest of our flock, albeit most of them would separate except for Red. Red was another one of the flock, unlike the other key members (Julio and Cailen. I WILL namedrop them for the bullshit they did. Julio was 18, and I don't remember Cailen's age but I do believe she was older than me, Aqua, and Red. I think maybe 18 but I'm not Positive.), he was also 13, like Aqua and I.

Julio got kicked from the flock for trying to groom Aqua and I over kik (classic 2013 experience I know), and Cailen went separate ways after a breakup with Red (she did some HORRIFIC things to him, which I will not disclose here other than it being SA) Things with the flock started out good at first, I mean why wouldn't it? Of course, we also learned about Awtok. We genuinely believed in them, and in part, were responsible for bringing knowledge of Awtok to Grow Wings out of sheer FEAR for everyone's saftey. Awtok's chokehold on our flock specifically remained.

Enter G32: Another school friend of mine, and self-professed Keyblade master. Though not an avian and p-shifter like the rest of us, he was part of our flock. I do fully blame myself and take responsibility for getting him involved with the flock + the consequences of doing so. He got involved the summer of 2014, but I had known him prior, and trusted him. G32 was someone we went to for advice and whatnot. In a way, despite Red and I being the leaders of the flock (when we started dating in 2014), I'd consider G32 to be the one pulling everyone's strings.

It was through G32, that Red became convinced he was a monster. Again, wont go into full details but this lead him to spiral into full on delusions. I remember him texting me in a state of extreme distress one night because he had "seen" his "true form" in the mirror. Looking back, this was clearly a hallucination. He ended up having MULTIPLE experiences like this. Now, he had been having some experiences akin to this prior to G32's claims about Red's true nature, but it was only after those that things got as bad as they did, such as full on berseker shifts for what his species was. (According to G32 the species was like an offshoot of the heartless from Kingdom Hearts.)

G32 also, on multiple occasions, forged messages from AWTOK, usually through 3DS swapnote, and then also forged messages from other "keyblade masters" who got involved with the flock via fake phone numbers.

Back to Red, because of the sheer amount of abuse he went through, ended up repeating the cycle of abuse with me. What he did to me was not ok. He had, through Cailen's abuse, become to believe he was possessed by a succubus who was Cailen. This began his manipulation of me, going so far as for this "possession" to lead to basically the Succubus threatening to leave me if I did not engage in sexual text-rp/sexting with Red as a way to prove my love & devotion. It eventually stopped, though i cannot remember what caused it to stop. Again, we both were 14 and severely mentally ill. I DO NOT HOLD THIS AGAINST HIM, AND I FORGIVE HIM FOR THIS. WE BOTH WERE VICTIMS.

Now, Red was VERY remorseful of what had happened, though we never actually talked about it or mentioned it after that, though I wish we did. It pretty much was him just apologizing but not specifying the incident (most because I told him not to), and me not actually letting him confess to what had happened. I wish I would have let him speak, but I was a scared child. Like I said, looking back now, and not out of a place of hurt, I can recognize he and I were both victims of abuse.

Come 2015, shit with G32 really hit the fan. From forging messages from other keyblade wielders turning against the flock, threatening to kill us for being traitors by aligning ourselves with Red, and the like, to then, when we stood up for ourselves, claiming it was all fake and a lie he spun, and then back to threatening us with the keyblade wielders after. It got to a point where it almost became a physical altercation on school grounds the following day. It was after this that things fell apart. The flock stuck together but ultimately separated, with the last I've heard from any of them being in 2016.

2016 & Onward: 2016 I still held onto some P-Shifting beliefs, but had begun to break away from them. It was really only come 2018 that I had fully recognized the nature of my beliefs were steeped in delusion, albeit the occasional relapse into p-shifter thoughts does occur to this day. I'd be lying if I'd said I haven't attempted to p-shift despite knowing and accepting it's impossible.

Now, other things not in this timeline that did happen, but I didn't feel were as interwoven with my flock experience:

ArdaErellon - when GrowWings went down, this kinda became one of the main sites people went to. It's not up anymore but I do remember the admin, Tinnuwen, asking people for their IRL locations, like addresses and whatnot, in order to open portals near them so they could travel to the realm of ArdaErellon.

Razgriz Pack & Other Cyberpacks - I got involved with a cyberpack when I was 13, when I didn't want much to do with them they threatened to send their other werewolves after me lol. I Don't remember if it was Razgriz or a different pack that I was involved in, mostly because I didn't spend much time around them.

Why I'm Making This Post:

I make this post because I've seen a resurgence in the P-Shifter & Mythical communities. Moreso, I've seen this become accepted and welcomed into the alterhuman community, which poses a SIGNIFICANT threat to the saftey and wellbeing of others. I've seen people ACTIVELY encouraging and validating delusions of Clinical Lycanthropes/Zoanthropes, claiming that it is harmless. IT IS NOT, I KNOW FROM EXPERIENCE.

My wing delusions were encouraged, and we avians took any criticism of our attempts as threats and people just wanting to be assholes. Because of the repeated validation of my "physical" wing growth, i actively avoided getting treatment for my scoliosis for over 2 years. Like i said earlier in this post, during an exam at school, they felt my spine was curved. However, because I fully believed I was growing wings, I REFUSED to let my family take me to the doctor, refused to let them get x-rays of me, for fear that they'd discover my wings, because I was a terrified CHILD. This lead to my spine becoming so severely curved that I was at risk of my lungs collapsing. I fear to see what would have happened to me had I not eventually gotten surgery in 2015. The point is, the beliefs involved with subcultures such as p-shifters, holotheres, mythicals, etc. is inherently harmful. The denial to accept ones biological humanity, and the laws of physics that come with it, is a saftey risk. When people speak out about their experiences, they get dogpiled by the physical therian community, and victim blamed. When we explain why these things are harmful, we get accused of a whole slew of things, such as trying to make humans like us, or bring ableist by saying that encouraging delusion is harmful.

Me, Red, and Aqua should NOT have had to live out our teen years in fear of AWTOK, in fear of uncontrollable shifts, in fear of hunters, etc. We should have been able to have our formative teen years be normal. My friend Sundew, also known as @aesthetikins , was there when I was going through all of this, as we met in highschool. E knows first hand the amount of damage this stuff did to me, as again, e was there when it happened.

This is also the one time I feel OK to be That Guy and put this in the tags of the harmful groups I'm talking about, because maybe, JUST MAYBE, it'll save someone else from going through shit like what I went through. Edit: this is ok to reblog, and i actually encourage it

#therian #otherkin #alterhuman #nonhuman #physically nonhuman #physical therian #p-shifter #p-shifting #holothere #mythical

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snowprincesa1 · 1 year ago

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{seducing the prince }

Jacaerys x F!Lannister!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys knew he would have to marry for duty, he didn’t know his duty would be to you.

Trigger warnings:‼️Coitus and jacaerys a whipped man playing hard to get 😘😘😘😘

Special thanks to my babe/beta reader @luckytoucan 💗💗💗💗

Jacaerys always hated you. Hated how close you were to the Aegon and aemond in his childhood. How you always preferred their company over his. He tried so hard to make you notice him, to make you perhaps feel and inch of what he felt for you. Each time those dreams get shattered by the sound of your laugh with helaena and daeron over him. He didn’t fail to see how Aegon and aemond had indoctrinated you with hatred against him and his brothers. He had to hate you, hate your pride and pettiness, the snobby Lannister attitude you held. He saw you as one of the Queen’s party hoping for Aegon the elder to ascend the throne over his mother and him.

But sure enough that did not happen. Queen Rhaenyra ascended the throne and when jacaerys turned sixteen named his heir to the crown infront of all the lords and ladies of the court. He would forget you, forget how you looked walking through the gardens with his aunt, he would forget the way you danced, the way you haunted his very soul. Jacaerys felt himself grow mad with the constant thoughts of you blurring his mind turning it into a slurry. He needed to get away from you and the clasp you had of him. He needed you gone from his sight and away so he could just lose memory of you entirely. Over the years your cruel teasing did not weaken, often throwing him a flirty smile knowing damn well that nothing on this earth would ever get you to marry a bastard, crown prince or not, you took pleasure in complimenting as to how strong he had grown. Every ‘compliment’ you threw was an insult in disguise.

You can only imagine the shock he felt when his mother there queen Rhaenyra betrothed him to you years later, his stomach flipped upside down, in excitement? Fear? Annoyance? He looked over to you and there you were smiling at him as though you held the upper hand.

“You are not upset by this? Not even in the slightest?” He asked surprised as he grew more frustrated at the fact you seemed so alright with this.

“If i marry you I will be queen someday, surely you are just an addition that comes with the arrangement” you said sipping from your wine, amused by his reactions. Of course, he should have expected this from a Lannister, no matter how pretty they come you cannot change their nature. Always so smug, he wanted to make you feel the way he did. He was so helplessly in love with you but deemed your lannister self incapable of love, too smug to even care to feel a thing. Now as your betrothed he found himself at an advantage..

You on the other side always tried to to revert back to the past and change the way you behaved towards him. You quite literally tried to charm your way into his heart but all your actions seemed to be of no avail. He always shut down every smile with a polite nod, every kind word you said was met with his disdain, he quite literally at this point assumed your whole existence as a mockery towards him. You believed your betrothal would soften his heart up but instead it hardened it. The man could not seem to bear your presence, always growing agitated.

You attempted to win him over with gifts, with kisses which he averted from, with physical affection holding his hand and batting your pretty eyes at him, he showed no reaction to these. You often attempted to flirt with him in high valyrian which he had perfected, instead of appreciating your effort, he took the time to correct your pronunciation and grammatical errors.

You embroidered for him. You attempted to melt his heart by talking of the future where the two of you would have little children. Nothing worked, the most infuriating part was that with all the time you spent swaying him you felt yourself grow more fond of him yourself.

Whenever jacaerys sparred with Nettles, a supposed dragon seed brought to court because of her fierce skills in combat, you felt your heart feel the pang of anger and sadness. He seemed more fond of his uncles over you at this point and you felt absolutely helpless. You wanted to leave the past behind and win his affection. Perhaps that is not what fate wanted for the two of you. You walked away from the sparring ground and jacaerys noticed your absence in his mind.

The whole court was not blind to this tug of war game between the two of you, the jealousy that lingered between other possible lovers the two of you had. His brothers teased him incessantly over how he kept your embroidery in a special box in the cupboard and how he blew up if anyone attempted to touch what you gave him. Jacaerys loved the attempts you made towards him to make up for your past behaviour, he loved every moment of it. Every smile of yours would replay over and over in his mind once it was over. Thoughts of future children with you sent his blood rush to his nether regions, to see you carry his children.

He would often dress up far better than he usually did for sparring lessons in case you’d visit..or rather he’d dress down, discarding his sweaty shirt only if you were in the vicinity.

Nothing bothered Jacaerys more than seeing you with his uncles, at princess helaena’s name day party. His angered expression not was one he attempted to hide. you could feel his glare towards his uncle Daeron, a man of the same age as him. Daeron was mischievous and cheeky who also like everyone enjoyed annoying jacaerys as the two of them always saw each other as rivals even though they shared a wet nurse. Jacaerys could take it no longer dragging you away from dinner, his hand lingered on your arm, holding you firmly but not enough to hurt you.

“How many times must you repeat this song and dance?” He hissed pushing your back into the cold pillar “why can’t you leave me be?” He asked, his hands holding yours as you struggled in his hold, his hands had covered the entirety of your wrist as though it was nothing.

“Can you not see? How blind can you be?” You asked in an angry tone. His grasp did not leave your hands as he suddenly turned you around pressing you against the rough pillar wall pinning your hands to your lower back as you felt his figure croon over you. “Why do the gods have to make me put up with you” you felt his hot breath on your ear and the heat of his body radiating your own. You were glad he could not see your flustered face.

“I’ve only ever tried to get your attention” you voiced out, on hearing your voice he pressed you further into the bricks. You could hear him chuckle.

“So you throw yourself at my uncle?” jacaerys answered his grip tightening around your wrists. He felt conflicted a part of him died to believe your words, that you wanted his attention, the other ran his imagination wild seeing you with Daeron in uncompromising positions. “ah yes, they’re true born and i am..” he trailed off his hands abruptly let your wrist go. “And what do they tell you that it is a pity that your beauty is being wasted on me, a strong prince as you once said” his voice echoed in the empty corridors, he had lost all awareness of his surrounding.

“No! I did not say that! I have played very trick in the book, I have used every tactic anything to get you to like me and the only time you seem to ever even look at me is if I am with another. You think I like parading myself in this tight gown for no reason? Have you even seen my dress or have you been too caught up in your hobby of making me your enemy”

“Yes I have seen the way you look!” He answered angrily. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at you.

“Then tell me how do I look!” You yelled back you felt tears if frustration bubble at the rims of your eyes, you looked away quickly would this how the entirety of the marriage would go? With you begging for him to notice you? You needed him to notice you at this point, want was no longer sufficient.

“Beautiful” jacaerys said the words he had held in his mouth for so long “So beautiful that if I take one glance it’ll never be enough, if I get one taste that too would not suffice, my greed, my lust is insatiable for you” you knew you had him then, he was yours and yours to keep. Your efforts weren’t in vain.

“You do not hate me then?” You asked surprised as his eyes watched you intently at your every move, what were you planning now..

“Oh make no mistake I do, I’ve always hated you. You’ve always played me as though I was a game. I am not my lady I would have remember that I am the crown prince of the seven kingdoms, my parentage does not matter because I am a Targaryen” he said he turned to leave one more.

You walked towards him and grabbed his face in yours, he admitted that he thought you beautiful and in your eyes that was a victory in itself, this was your chance to seduce your brunette prince as you closed the distance between your faces by planting a gentle kiss on his lips, in hopes it would sway his feelings about you. He gasped against your mouth feeling your lips press against his so perfectly. His hands instantly wrapped around your waist feeling the fabric of your gown crumbling it in his hands, “you shouldn’t hate me, sweet prince” you teased him, habits die hard. As his lips fought your own for dominance, his right hand reaching up to hold your face as he drank you in, the moment your lips parted for a gasp his hot tongue found its way into yours, your mouths in total sync, it was hard to keep your mind sharp now, just as he did you grace into your senses.

That’s how you found yourself with your dress ripped to shreds and your leg propped on his shoulders as he thrusted into you sharply, he made no attempt to stop any time soon, you gasped and moaned and claws at his chest anything to make you feel as though you had control over your betrothed. He drove you mad stopping just when you were about to peak, he denied you of cumming over and over leaving you teary eyed moaning as he brought you such pleasure and pain. If he denied you once more you felt as though you would collapse from the sheer need.

This was your punishment for everything you had ever done to him, every smirk, every mocking word, you felt yourself bend in ways you never thought possible. Jacaerys felt up the fat of your thighs as he leaned in the two of you in to fetch a passion filled kiss. You felt his heavy length press into your sensitive spot and he smirked on seeing you squirm under him as so, release was a mirage so close yet so far. “I should not let you cum, you do not deserve it” he said kissing the leg that sat on his shoulder.

“Tell me how I can win your forgiveness my prince” You moaned out feeling him hitting that one spot that made your head go hazy as you looked to at him with lust drunken eyes.

Jacaerys smirked “there’s nothing you can do” he grunted out letting moans of his escape as his eyes shut from the intensity of the pleasure, perhaps he was being too cruel to you..

“You are right I do not want your forgiveness, I want more— I need you to be mine” you whined out, the pure euphoria of having you in his arms, under him, needing him just like he prayed to the gods you would. His feelings perhaps were not entirely one sided.

“You already have me, do you not see?” He said truthfully holding your hand to his heart “it beats for you lioness” He whispered in your ear and you gasped from the sheer intimacy and lewdness of your hips moving into each other, the soft wet sounds emulating in the wide halls but now all you could focus was on the man before you, his fingers reached down to your nub rubbing a calloused finger over it, the right little circles along with the snapping of his hips made you throw your head back and moan in tears as you felt your release build up for the fourth time since jacaerys had edged you, your eyes filled with tears as you looked to your betrothed with pleasing eyes to let you cum.

Jacaerys could not find it in himself to deny you of your pleasure anymore as he felt you come hard with a shrill cry of his name. All over his tunic. He felt his own release build up seeing your fucked out look with a few more sloppy hard thrusts he gave you all his cum, strings of his seed trailed down your shaky legs. He swore this was the hardest he had orgasmed ever in his life, his breath lost as he plopped himself over you his head resting in the crook of your neck as you rolled his silky brown hair between your fingers.

“You mean it? You love me?” You asked feeling him hum on your neck placing soft kisses on it as the two of you sunk to your feet using the pillar as support as jacaerys peppered you with kisses.

“Lying has never been in my nature” he said “I have loved you since the moment you I laid my eyes on you, princess” he smiled pulling himself from your neck to gaze upon your afterglow, messy lip tint smeared all over your face from the bruising kisses he gave you. You gasped and playfully punched at his side. “Your little tactics to get me to love you were quite entertaining, I admit” he smirked kissing you once more” as the two of you embraced in the cold of the night you felt so warm with his arms over you.

“You’re telling me all my seduction tactics were never necessary?!” You asked bewildered at your betrothed, you saw jacaerys crack up laughing as though if your realisation was the funniest thing to him. He would have to make up for this he knew, he was always ready to turn the tables around and win your forgiveness with his own seduction tactics.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys Targaryen x reader #jacaerys strong x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys Targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys strong #house of the dragon #asoiaf #hotd #hotd fanfiction #jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys x female oc

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munariplans · 2 years ago

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is there someone else? | n. romanoff

synopsis: you and natasha have been going through a rough patch lately. wanda comes in and shows you everything natasha is unable to offer.

natasha romanoff x reader | slight wanda maximoff x reader

word count: 4.9k words

read part 2 here and part 3 here

warnings: angst, almost(?) cheating, discussions on pregnancy and treatments

masterlist

“nat, you have to be patient!”

“i am patient!” the woman before you screamed, red hair almost matching the redness on her features, as she gripped the edge of the table in your shared bedroom. “i have been patient; for days, weeks, months, i have been patient! but this is not working; whatever tony and bruce have been cooking in that lab, is not working!”

“these things take time; natasha, you cannot—”

“—no, not for me,” again, your wife cut you off; hot tears brimming in her eyes now, “not for me. It’s not a timing issue, it’s my body’s issue. the reverse hysterectomy doesn’t work, and the IVF won’t work either.”

this time, you knew better. reaching out towards her, you ignored her flailing arms half in protest, half in desperation, to push you away. you embraced natasha with all that you had; holding on to her as if it would piece her broken pieces back together. and it was precisely then that she broke down; her body physically melting against your own and her sobs filling the atmosphere of the quiet, bleak room. the room that had once been the sanctuary for the both of you; late night rendezvouses against the knowledge of the other avengers, patch-up sessions where natasha would trust you over any medic to see her scars and wounds and not judge, it was even the safest place for natasha to run into after particularly hard missions.

the place still looked all the same, with the addition of natasha’s belongings now taking up eighty-percent of your space (in what was essentially a room for one, but the both of you had been reluctant on upgrading to a bigger room in the compound with the memories made in your room). but the feeling was not the same.

you held her tighter. “it’s only our fourth round, so what if it doesn’t work? we can always try again.”

“what if i’m tired?” she asked, voice too small, too fragile. “what if it doesn’t work again? what if it’s just a me problem? i can’t have children, i can’t give you a baby, and i never will.”

“don’t say that, don’t say things like that.” were the only comforting words you could offer, a little tired, a little irritated, at her repetition of insecurities being voiced after each IVF round the both of you went through.

you led her to your shared bed, and when natasha tried to reach out for you in the night, she felt you shift closer to the edge of the bed, and away from her.

–

common side effects of natasha’s fertility treatments included frequent mood swings, this you knew from bruce’s multiple warnings before. he had taken special care to explain it to you, and had even advised you to seek help from clint if necessary. you remembered brushing him off with, “i think i can handle my wife’s emotions just fine.”

if only you knew what you were getting yourself into, you chided yourself now, staring at the back of natasha’s head, sighing. a little pissy and agitated would be a fine understatement.

you were the assigned leader for the mission; you had thought it was natural that everyone followed your instructions and heed your warnings. not for natasha.

she had taken a path that was more direct to the enemy’s line of fire, and considering her complete disregard for her own safety, and the fact that it was right around the time that she could be pregnant from a previous round of treatments, it was very clear from your point of view that she was putting herself in imminent danger, and that you had to step in.

you remembered steve asking why natasha was so far off from her tracker, and it was the moment everything clicked. you knew your wife. you knew precisely why she had taken off her tracker.

“nat, fall back.” you spoke into your comms, knowing full well she had heard you. there was no response.

“natasha. ”

two enemies had thrown themselves at you, and in the time taken to take them down, natasha still had not responded.

you were about to call her for the third time when her comms crackled to you. “kinda—busy—here.”

behind her was the sound of gunfire. screams, cries, the occasional thunk of metal hitting against bones. you thought it was natural that you freaked.

“natasha, i am this mission’s leader. i am ordering you to fall back, i repeat, fall back!”

“no! i can get the chip faster this way, i’m right in their comms room!”

“agent romanoff, this is not a request. if you don’t fall back now, i am reporting you to fury for insubordination of a direct order.”

she had turned her comms off. the whole team practically heard you scream through their comms, “fuck!”

steve was kind enough to cover for your spot, while you ran headfirst into the comms room to extract natasha. and although her being swarmed and outnumbered by a large margin of enemies was something you expected, it could not compare to the horror that spread through your system at the sight of her pinned down, gasping for air as an enemy tried to wrestle her for the gun she was holding.

he was gone in the next second, as natasha rolled over to catch her breath. she cursed under her breath, preparing for the onslaught of another one tumbling towards her, but when it was you that filled her vision, helping her stand and leaning her onto your body, she wasn’t so sure if it was any better.

“i—told you—” natasha tried to say, but you cut her off.

“—you disobeyed a direct order, nat. you could’ve gotten killed.”

–

though, back in the quinjet, it felt as if the roles were completely reversed. natasha was berating you in plain view of everyone else, while you could only sit back, and accept the harshest words that were coming out of your wife’s mouth.

“do you not trust me? how many missions have we been on together, and how many have i parted to take care of things on my own? how many missions have i gotten injured, or killed? i am not some fragile, brittle object, you know! i am—”

“—romanoff, i think she gets your point,” tony tried to cut in, but the glare shot his way was enough to make him shut his mouth faster than he had opened it.

“—i am capable, and you know i was, of extracting the chip myself! we could’ve avoided so many casualties! and now, look where we are, no chip, building destroyed, and civilians dead. all because you wouldn’t trust me to be able to take care of myself.” natasha jabbed her finger to your shoulder roughly, as if to only rub in your humiliation deeper.

but you only sighed, and stood up. a resigned look on your face, you called peter forward, and as he approached the table nervously, eyes darting between you and natasha, she spotted it. spider-man pulled the chip out of his suit, and handed it to you.

you showed it off to her, and the rest of the team, and shook your head. “we would’ve gotten the chip regardless. you didn’t have to put yourself in unnecessary danger, and you didn’t have to undermine my leadership.”

you retreated back to the darkness of the quinjet, hearing natasha sigh irritatedly and march right up to the front again.

–

halfway on the trip back home, natasha finally made the decision of risking seeing you to get herself some water, seeing as the supply was all the way at the back of the jet. she had unbuckled her seatbelt, ordered peter to step in for her, and made the short, but agitating journey to where you were.

but you were not near your designated seat near the supplies, or anywhere where she thought you would be, as she unscrewed the water bottle and discretely scanned the jet for you. i’m not worried for her, i'm glad she’s not in my line of sight, is all, she tried to convince herself.

but what she saw next, as she was walking past another part of the jet, made her stop in her tracks. you were next to wanda in the makeshift medical bay, your suit unzipped and tied around your waist, fireproofs lifted up to reveal a huge wound that Wanda was tending to.

you seethed as the scarlet witch tried to draw back the bleeding with her magic, grabbing her hand and chanting, “gentle, gentle, please.”

fuck. natasha couldn’t believe she missed out on the fact that you were injured. she had thought your gait looked a little strange when you were escorting her to safety earlier; and there was blood in her hands as she let go of you, but she had chalked it up to being an enemy’s. you had sat through her beration, her humiliation, and had said nothing to her of your injury.

your eyes were shut, as wanda navigated the stab wound, but her own eyes then drifted up, catching natasha’s. the scarlet witch didn’t budge, looking up at natasha almost in defiance, mostly in resentment.

a weird feeling settled within the woman, but she shut the curtain to the medical bay, and returned to her seat.

–

natasha watched yours and wanda’s friendship begin to bloom. It seemed as if the avenger had found a solace within your company, as she naturally gravitated towards you in most social settings; team dinners, tony’s outlandish parties, even during team meetings and discussions. in those moments, natasha held your arm against hers closer, putting extra effort to drape her body as close to yours as possible as a warning. if you noticed (you did), you didn’t say anything to her, merely welcoming her into your open arms and letting her find comfort at the same time.

however, no matter how much natasha wanted to keep you close and all to herself, her own hormones got the best of her on her worst days. more IVF sessions had passed with little to no success, brimming and breaking hope simultaneously, and natasha was finding it harder and harder to sit through you merely reassuring her that it takes time. on her worst nights, she would find even your mere presence in the room an abhorrent sight, instead shunning you out into the common areas or mentioning that she wanted to sleep alone tonight.

natasha never missed the heartbreak, or desperation, in your face. perhaps you had been too nonchalant towards her mood swings, perhaps you had paid too little attention to her needs, or perhaps, and you hated yourself for thinking about it, natasha was slowly growing out of love for you. you never missed the mixed emotions on hers, as you so often grabbed your pillows and headed out to sleep on the couch.

–

one particular night, where a stupid argument about paperwork that you had syphoned off to natasha, preventing her from going out into the field had ensued, and finished, it ended once again with her yelling at you to get out of the room and sleep somewhere else for the night. the both of you were certain, by that point, that the whole compound could hear all of the words exchanged and screams torn. but natasha was headstrong, you never were, and you gave in, as always.

left with nothing but the bitter taste of natasha accusing you of underestimating her, and the fact that your relationship was on such a thin thread that was affecting the morale of the whole team as well, you exited the room.

but when natasha tossed, and turned, and tossed again that night, the absence of your body beside hers and only the coolness of the sheets on her skin, the guilt began to settle in. as it always did. she could have been more thoughtful, should have considered your own workload, should have cared more about your feelings too.

with tears hot in her eyes and a resolution to apologise, she left the room, still in her nightgown, to search for you in the common area. when she did find you, however, you were hunched over said paperwork that you had thought to pass off to her, the stack that she screamed would prevent her from going on her mission the next day.

you had wanted to ensure that she could still go, eventually.

she called out your name, but when you turned, all the apologies that she had wanted to spill, the invite to return back to your room, were silenced; for wanda’s own head had popped up beside yours, evident that she had been laying on your lap and accompanying you at work.

she realises that wanda is there for you in all the ways she never was these days. she realises the outlet for you to share about your day, your frustrations and worries, was not her now. no, of course it wasn’t her, why would it be her? not when she picks a fight for every little concern you voice out, not when she dismisses your every attempt to talk to her now. a scarier feeling began to form; natasha realises that wanda may be your home now, not her.

“yes, nat?” you said, your face devoid of any emotion.

she could have screamed, could have cried, could have threatened wanda with death and tore her away from you right away. she could even have accused you of doing something you promised you would never do to her when you got together; but she didn’t. natasha wanted to trust you, and she didn’t want her own insecurities to get the best of her, and the worst of you, again.

instead, all she did was nod towards wanda, swallowing a huge lump in her throat. “n-nothing. come back to our room when you’re done with that. the bed’s too cold.”

–

it was in the way wanda voluntarily paired herself up with you for missions. the way you could conveniently shove her out of the way of raining bullets, putting yourself in the line of fire for her without a second thought.

the way you were the first person wanda looks for at the end of said missions. the way you allow wanda to ease her worries by laying her head against your shoulder afterwards.

the way wanda hugs you just a little too tight, too long, right after the team worries of your cut-off comms from a particularly hard mission.

natasha hates herself for noticing all of it.

–

tony called out your name to the common area one night, despite you and natasha agreeing to have an early night-in for a round of doctor’s visits the next day. she was a little annoyed at you for being so ready to heed his request, but followed you anyway, hoping it would be quick.

“as you can see,” tony spread his arms, gesturing around the room to the other avengers, “your best friend isn’t around. she’s been gone from us for exactly two nights in a row now, and we want to know why.”

his game show host-style of speaking ticked you off, but you swallowed it down in favour of everyone else around, and smiled politely at him. he continued, “rogers says it’s her time of the month, which, might be true, is totally boring and not helpful to this discussion at all. danvers says she’s probably just sick of our shit, which, might also be true, but is being a debby downer and i do not stand for it. with the amount of vomiting vision hears from his room, he says it’s because i gave her food poisoning when I tried to cook dinner on monday, which is the least likely option there is, so i’m disregarding it. what do you say, huh?”

“she told me she has a stomach flu.”

this time, thor chuckled from the corner of the room. grinning, he sneaked in with, “classic pregnancy symptoms, i say. natasha’s been the one trying for a child, but have you accidentally knocked the wrong woman up, kid?”

he didn’t need your furious glare and natasha’s choked sob behind you to know he had voiced out every insecurity of hers so perfectly, as the black widow practically stormed straight back to your room, with you hot on her heels, trying desperately to call out her name.

–

“it was just a joke, nat, and he knew it! you and i know it!”

“was it really?” natasha’s eyes were red and raw, throat hoarse from screaming, “was it really a joke to you? or have you really gone and fucked her and gotten her pregnant?!”

“that’s impossible and you know it!” you retorted, taking one step closer. natasha took one step back. your hands had raised, trying to reach out for her to see reason, but seeing her retreat only sent a knife straight to your heart, and you threw them up in the air, giving up. “nat, i—i—wanda’s a friend. that is all she is, all she will ever be. i don’t understand why—”

“—do your friends touch you like I do? do your friends get to lie their head on your shoulder, hug you goodbye and welcome home after every mission, be the outlet for your frustrations and worries, your celebrations and joy? do your friends matter more than I do?” she cut you off, shoving you against the wall this time.

you took the opportunity to grab her wrists, tilting your head so you were directly at her eye level. “natasha.”

she refused to meet your eyes. “natasha. look at me.”

she shook her head, refusing to give in, refusing to let you see the insecurity, heartbreak, and jealousy in her green eyes, now dull and wearier than the emerald they once were. “fuck you.”

“natasha, what is going on with us?” you asked sincerely then, begging her to see reason, to see you. “we fight everyday, we barely spend any time together, and you don’t even bother trying to listen to me. to help me help you see reason. you hate me on most days, you despise what i am, what i do, and i don’t know how to fix this. have i become so broken, so unlovable, that you cannot even stand to be in the same room as me anymore?”

natasha slowly lifted her gaze, blinking away the tears. “you don’t seem to mind.”

“because I don’t want to ruin whatever we have left!” you shouted, exasperated. “i don’t want to lose whatever shred of love my wife has left for me, i don’t want to make things worse, and i don’t want to make you feel worse. tell me, is it the baby? is us trying for a baby too much for you, nat? is this not something you want anymore? because ever since we’ve started trying—”

“—it’s not the baby, it’s me,” natasha freed her wrists from you, turning away. “it’s me, and my inability to be a wife, a proper wife, to you. fuck, i can’t even give you one thing every married couple wishes for, a fucking child, and now you have to run off to an actual woman who can. i’m a fucking failure, that’s what i am.”

“nat, not every couple wants—not every couple needs—a child. i’m perfectly happy with—”

“—are you really? are you really perfectly happy with the way things are? do you not wish for more, something I can’t give? someone who can understand you, love you, better than I can?”

you knew where this was going, and you rubbed your forehead in frustration. “what are you getting at, natasha?”

“don’t tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you.”

you sighed. “i honestly don’t.”

“of course you don’t!” natasha’s voice broke, uttering the next words, “but I do. because she looks at you the way i look at you. the way i wished you looked at me.”

“nat, don’t do this. don’t do this to yourself, and don’t do this to us. i can assure you wanda is…is…” you trailed off, not believing the incredulity of it all.

“is what?” natasha hoped with all of her heart you could finish the sentence. “is what…? tell me. younger? better? easier to love, than i am?”

but you could only shake your head once more, furrowing your eyebrows. “you know what, nat? i give up. i truly give up. if you can’t get over yourself and your own insecurities, even though we are married, even if you knew i only love you, i cannot help you. i need a break…we need a break.”

you didn’t tell her for how long, you didn’t tell her what you were going to do, or what she could do to fix things. you merely brushed past her body folding in on itself in anguish and absolute heartbreak, and packed your things. that night, you had left her all to herself, and she had only felt loneliness like this once.

suddenly, natasha was twelve again, all alone in the red room to fend for herself. she had lost her parents, she had lost yelena, and now, she had lost you too.

–

wanda was browsing through the menu, seated in front of you at the hotel balcony, celebrating the end of another successful mission together. it was a few weeks after the incident with natasha, and with no end goal or date in sight of when you were returning to her arms, you had resigned yourself to stick to wanda, much to the scarlet witch’s pleasure, too.

“an aperol spritz or a negroni?” she had asked, but you were busy staring right at her.

wanda’s eyes were blue, wide and ethereal. Her hair was a lighter colour than natasha’s, hands softer as they wrapped around yours, hugs tighter.

natasha was all that you had ever known, and loved. you have been together for so long, you find it hard to believe that what you feel for wanda could ever be real.

she was kind, patient and understanding; wanda never complained, never screamed or raised her voice at you. you remembered when the feeling began; the very night where natasha had practically banished you from your room, and her footsteps came pattering down to the common area where you were. wanda had just returned from a mission with thor and sam, but still insisted on staying up with you. as her head laid on your lap that night, her big, blue eyes staring up at yours, you felt something stir in your stomach; a feeling that you hadn’t felt in a long while with natasha. butterflies anew.

you became concerned, protective, of wanda during missions. always worrying if she had eaten before a gruelling day, taking extra patience in training her for combat practice, you began wondering if you had really looked at her as just a friend all this while. when wanda and natasha both came home with a bullet graze on their arms on one mission, you found yourself worrying for wanda almost as much as you did for your wife.

perhaps that was the moment you knew, and so did natasha.

–

wanda called out your name lovingly, half-laughing as you stared into blank space yet again, dissociating as she stepped out of the shower.

“you still upset that I chose the negroni?” she teased, and you rolled your eyes playfully.

getting up to change, you tried hard not to hyper-focus on the beads of water dripping down wanda’s body, as she bent down to find a spare change of fresh clothing. “of course. criminal, that you order everything but an aperol spritz in Italy, of all places.”

you found the t-shirt that she had been looking for, and whistled for her attention. but right as the woman stepped forward to take it off of you, you tugged it under her grip, side-stepping further into the room.

“apologise, for the spritz, for me, and everyone else in italy.”

wanda shot you an incredulous look, before your own serious resolve broke too, and the both of you ended up laughing, nearly tumbling forwards towards each other. somewhere along the line, wanda decided to take the opportunity to try to take the shirt, but your reflexes kicked in, and right as she reached forwards, you went for her legs; throwing her onto the bed to dodge her attack.

giggling, still, wanda tried to sit up as you pinned her down. but the woman managed to take one of your own, as she grabbed your hand, and with one swipe, had your wedding band in her left hand, taunting it over you.

“got something of yours, too,” she grinned, handing out her other hand for an exchange, “now give me my shirt.”

your eyes widened at the sight before you then. wanda, dressed only in a towel that was barely hiding anything from view, the compromising position you were in, the wedding band she had taken off of you at that moment.

heart to heart, yours beating as fast as hers, wanda finally noticed too. slowly, but surely, her red magic came up to envelop the both of you, the warmth in them flowing through your senses, making your head fuzzy and lightheaded.

she leaned up, mouth just inches from yours, hoping, begging, for you to close the distance. her towel had almost fallen off her body then, arms around your neck. if you dared look down, nothing would be hidden from view.

“come on,” she murmured against your lips.

you hesitated, the grip on her waist suddenly disappearing. “i…no.”

wanda pouted, you remembered shaking your head. “i’m married, wanda.”

“please.”

you snatched back your ring this time, throwing the t-shirt onto her body and looking away just as quickly. opening the door to the balcony, you found it hard to catch your breath. “i can’t. i’m sorry.”

–

though, that night, watching her sleeping figure sprawled out on the shared king bed, you took another swig of the gin leftover from the bar, wondering if you had made the right choice.

the opportunity had presented itself, and yet you didn’t take it.

natasha had left a text earlier on your phone, and you cursed when you remembered what date it was. it was almost an asshole move to simply text her back ‘happy anniversary to us’ too, when she had sent a long paragraph apologising for what she had done, and begged you to come back to celebrate your five-year wedding anniversary together.

–

sleeping on the couch, and as far away from wanda as possible, you felt your phone vibrate in the middle of the night.

getting up groggily, you had almost thrown it back to where it was, until another text came in, and another. they were from Natasha.

i have to tell you something. you had texted her back with a question mark, but her only reply had been that she refused to tell you over text, and that you would only know when you got back.

considering the state of your relationship with her, and the way you had practically ruined whatever hope of rekindling her affection for you with the anniversary text, you almost knew what it would be already. she would be taking the first step in ending your relationship, and marriage.

looking back at wanda’s sleeping form then, you selfishly thought again if you should have proceeded with the kiss.

–

natasha was already waiting with the other avengers when your quinjet landed. wanda had gotten off first, looking back at you awkwardly, reaching her hand out to help you disembark, after an injury to your right rib. you smiled at her, but rejected her help.

natasha strode towards you in two cool, calculated steps. you offered her a half-smile, but her face was determined, and hopeful. her arms were around your waist in the next second, and for the first time in the last year or so, the black widow tipped you over, pressing her lips against yours in the most passionate, loving kiss. In front of everyone, in front of fury, in front of wanda, natasha claimed you as hers.

“what—” before you could finish your question, she was already dragging you to your shared room, leaving you even more confused than before. perhaps it was a goodbye kiss, perhaps natasha had felt the need to claim you one last time before parting ways, perhaps she had simply missed you over the time you were gone. the last one seemed most impossible.

“sit.” she had gestured, forcing you on the bed. “close your eyes.”

you groaned, the injury on your ribs resurfacing. “nat, i’m really tired, the mission was a success but my side is—”

“please,” natasha begged this time, “please.”

you relented, and closed your eyes anyway, hoping whatever this was, would be over soon and that you could have a full night of uninterrupted sleep for once.

natasha rummaged for something in her bag, and opened your palm up. three small, plastic sticks were placed in them, leaving you more confused than ever.

“open your eyes.”

your heart sunk into the depths of your stomach when you saw what they were. time came to a standstill, the glaringly obvious image before you the prophecy for your past, present and future. three pregnancy tests, all positive.

you finally looked back up at natasha, her eyes brimming with tears of joy and hope. her arms encircled your neck again then, tears fresh on your shoulder.

“i’m pregnant,” she murmured into your skin, as if it would solve everything. as if it was the answer to all of your problems together.

a/n: who's side are you on?

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #black widow x reader #scarlet witch x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #black widow #scarlet witch #marvel cinematic universe

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