#the power is written in her blood. what is she doing about it?
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Hi! I would like to ask this Narcissa seems to love Lucius and Draco, cares for them and appears to be a family oriented person but how come it is stated in her wiki that she despises the Blacks, wouldn't this imply she considers herself more of a Malfoy and I mean why would she despise the Blacks when it comes to blood purity/superiority, I don't know the correct term but don't they practice/talk about it more/the Blacks prioritize it so shouldn't she be proud of being a Black?
So I just want to say real quick that the fanwiki is not always... accurate. It includes a lot of data from the games, interviews, interviews with the actors that I would never count as canon, and it's also written by y'know, fans. it's actually pretty funny to read through the entry on say, Lucius, and be told that he was a "high achieving model student" and "his talent in potion-making even earned him a place among Slughorn's elite Slug Club." (right. it was definitely just the potions.) I'm learning that he "favours a more elegant, refined technique when he engaged an adversary and generally demonstrates great form in his duelling style." [citation: Jason Isaacs is pretty]. And while we're on that topic "it is likely that his looks might have improved upon the fall of his former Master." Very important that we know Lucius gets hot again after the books.
My guess is that this is the bit you read:
[text id: Narcissa had a close relationship with her oldest sister Bellatrix despite their differing temperaments and personality traits. Narcissa always despised the Blacks, but had great respect for those who did. The ones who dared defy their family's beliefs, such as her older sister Andromeda and cousin Sirius Black, leading her to ignore and disown them.]
I don't know about this. Maybe Narcissa and Bellatrix were close at some point, they do use nicknames to refer to each other, but in the timeline of the books there's a LOT of friction.
Narcissa is actively trying to get Bellatrix to "leave [her] alone" during the Spinner's End chapter (which is what the snippet up there is citing.) Bellatrix is... unhelpful about the Draco situation, saying things like, âIf I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord!" She's also blaming Lucius for the Department of Mysteries fiasco, which Narcissa is pissed about:
âDonât you dare â donât you dare blame my husband!â said Narcissa, in a low and deadly voice
We also see some sort of power struggle between them later on, in Malfoy Manor:
âThis is my house, Bella, you donât give orders in my ââ
In the books, I don't think we get any details about how Narcissa specifically feels about Sirius, or Andromeda. There's this:
âI expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.â
Which is just a very Narcissa way of saying "you're on thin ice." I guess the "dear" feels slightly mocking. But she's also actively threatening Harry, so not the most representative moment. We do get this from Bellatrix:
âWe â Narcissa and I â have never set eyes on our sister [Andromeda] since she married the Mudblood.â
But... she is also speaking for Narcissa, and panicking in front of Voldemort. This might not even be true.
As for the wiki saying "Narcissa always despised the Blacks, but had great respect for those who did" - that's such an odd sentence I kinda feel like there must be a typo in there. I'm not sure there's any evidence in the books that Narcissa despises the Blacks.
(I mean I do think, in a fun headcanon way, that you can make a case that she went subtly low-contact with her family after she married Lucius. The Blacks seemed to have a pretty toxic family dynamic going on circa the first war, and one thing you can say about the Malfoys is that there's a lot of love there, and as a family unit they seem solid. Maybe Narcissa did start to think of herself as more of a Malfoy than a Black. (Maybe her Malfoy-blonde hair isn't natural...)
I also think there's something going on with the house elves. The Blacks clearly have a culture of house elves, and the Malfoys... don't? Like there don't seem to be any house-elves there once Voldemort takes over (and I mean, Dobby was such a *stunningly* bad security breach, I'd be shocked if there were.) But the house seems to run just fine, while hosting a bunch of Death Eaters, Snatchers, and prisoners. Makes me think Dobby was the *only* house elf, and that he was originally a Black family house elf who came over with Narcissa when she got married. In that case, I suppose the decision not to get more might mean something. But all that's just me having fun with the worldbuilding. )
#hp#lucius malfoy#narcissa malfoy#bellatrix lestrange#black family#malfoy family#the fanwiki is a gold mine though#but often very#very funny#hp close reading#literary analysis
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me :
me : bloodline magic as an allegory for inherited privilege send post
#my rogue-wannabe..... shes trying to escape the baggage of her bloodline magic soooo bad to a funky rogue hashtag fuck the goverment but its#its like he also doesnt want to think too hard about it. her magic#theyre so so powerful. they could do anything about that power#and mostly they want to run away from it. whole reason he wanted to be rogue (hashtag fuck authority figures steal from the rich)#but even if i joke about it the fact that she does still heavily relies on her magic. however helf back it seems (blowing up a building w#his mind is not the most powerful he can do. fun fact)#its still. like shes simultaneously rejecting her powers. the baggage. the power. while still using it#idk idk... vague thoughts about inherited privilige...#it wasnt ur choice. it wasnt ur fault#but still u stand there. inheritor. heir to that power#what r u going to do?#and he's trying to run away from it. but even still shes still so very reliant. she cant escape it.#the power is written in her blood. what is she doing about it?#and even IF she got succesfull to be a rogue with no magic. she would still have that.#have that power written in her bones. and she couldve done anything with it. use it to help even.#but even then she just doesnt want anything to do with it#shes running. shes running.#but history drags. one way or another you will have to confront it one day.#MAN why do i have so many ocs whos theme is running away from something unresolved having to confront their respective adversary#when it inevitably catches up to them .#rian with grief and the knowledge of being an Accursed. sahya with grief and the inherently horrifying experience of killing.#max with her mother and the trauma from The Woman. hailey with her position of clan heir to a people she kinda hates.#even REZA. with themself. confronting the lie you told yourself. the friend you left. the you that youve turned away from for so long#help do i have a problem#this got away from the original thought.
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The problem with the church today is that so many "Christians" do not actually believe in redemption.
#unironically christian#i say this because of all the people who make comments about people's testimony#like saying they don't believe that only fans girl who was saved and baptized was really saved#like... reading through the comments it becomes clear that the âChristiansâ don't actually accept her#like... my brother in Christ... your good deeds are as worthy as my used pad#that is straight up in the bible#you are not better than her and you do not deserve redemption more than her#her salvation is between her and God#and yes... you say that time will reveal her fruit and you are correct#but guess what#ananias was called to extend a hand to paul *before* his fruit showed#and he was a frigging serial killer who was out for ananias's blood the week before#you do not get to pick and choose which converts you get to except#you are not God and thank heavens for it because if you were we would all be doomed#*deep breath*#i am just so sick of this... farse... that Christianity has become#Christians need a wake up call#oh! and and when you act like its impossible to accept that she could be saved you belittle God's power#you call into question Jesus's blood and it's ability to cleanse and if that is false your salvation is worthless!#also also you go against the things clearly written in the Bible while wearing the title of Christian#which means you are misrepresenting God's nature and intentions which means you are breaking the command to not take the lord's name in vain#wow... i thought i was done at the deep breath... guess notđ
#rat rants
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à±šà§ Ë àŁȘâč SAFEGUARD â dazai, chuuya, akutagawa
summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.
contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself â 3.5k total
notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3
đđđđđđ . . .
there are very few times that chuuya feels heâs been outsmarted. he knows heâs not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isnât a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold.Â
your relationship isnât a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isnât a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know itâs hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesnât have the power of a god nestled inside of her.
the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemiesâ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity.Â
the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants.Â
chuuya kills them all â except for one.
the manâs knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesnât last long, though, before heâs wrapping a hand around the manâs throat, thrusting him backwards.Â
âwhere is she?â chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding.Â
he can feel the man swallowing.Â
chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it wonât matter whether they show up or not. heâll crush the rest of his enemies just as heâs crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well.Â
âi-iâll take you to her,â he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuyaâs hand.Â
he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before heâs kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.
the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you.Â
how fiercely and loyally he loves you â it drives him to near insanity.Â
finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you.Â
chuuyaâs rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. âget the fuck away from her,â he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.
âwhat are you doing in here?â the men left in the room panic, but they donât have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them.Â
limply, they fall to the floor.Â
chuuya rushes over to you.Â
the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isnât worried about him. heâs a coward; heâll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and heâll burn this building to the ground once heâs gotten you away from it.Â
âhey,â chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. heâs not sure if itâs exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but youâre still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing.Â
âhey,â he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. âwake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?âÂ
it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. âchuuya?â you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. âis it really you?âÂ
guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and youâre delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably havenât eaten, either.Â
he shouldâve been there. no one shouldâve ever had the chance to hurt you, yetâŠ
âitâs me, iâm here,â he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. âshit,â chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. âiâm so sorry, iâm so sorry.âÂ
he canât get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. âitâs okay, chuuya,â you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. âyouâre here now.âÂ
âyou have to stay awake,â he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesnât know how hurt you are. chuuyaâs no expert when it comes to medicine, but heâs smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones.Â
âstay awake for me, okay, honey? iâll get you back to the boss and weâll find you a doctor. youâll be just fine.âÂ
âokay, chuuya,â you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, âi just want to go home.âÂ
"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later.Â
finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. youâre so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. âletâs get you home.âÂ
đđđđđđđđđ. . .
the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion.Â
normally, he doesnât stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off.Â
with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to moriâs office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone elseâs jobs had been completed. heâs a lot of things, but heâs never been a slacker; and heâll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.
though, he doesnât have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him.Â
he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored â an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage.Â
âhow rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?â mori says, sighing histrionically.
but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if itâs been dipped in ice. he canât explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldnât feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course.Â
but you⊠youâre different.Â
âcan i trust you to diffuse the situation?â mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. âi can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.âÂ
akutagawa doesnât even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own.Â
he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.
thereâs a ransom â bring them the money and theyâll return you, mori had told him. youâre only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable.Â
mori probably wouldâve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you.Â
as regrettable as that may be.
akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow.Â
âare we not in a rush?â akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.
âapologies,â the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest. Â
even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy.Â
akutagawa doesnât care who they are. he doesnât care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. heâll rip them apart, easily, and heâll make them suffer â theyâll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets.Â
what he feels for you⊠well, itâs too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesnât even know if thatâs his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.
and he canât do that if youâre dead.
finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. itâs tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesnât want to be found.Â
akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain.Â
a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him.Â
though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain.Â
he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and youâre there â bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding.Â
his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips.Â
âwhere are they?â he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you.Â
you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, heâs so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads.Â
âgone,â you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. âthey fled when they heard it was you coming.âÂ
âand left you?â he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions arenât as visible on his features as he thinks they are. âwere you not a ransom?âÂ
âno,â you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. âi was bait.â
anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. âiâll go after them. where are they headed? theyâll pay, iâll slaughterââ
âryunosuke,â you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. âstay.âÂ
he has half a mind to ignore you â the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes⊠you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken.Â
âplease,â you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word.Â
he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what heâs doing with you.Â
âiâll call hirotsu,â he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you.Â
đđđđđ . . .
dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies.Â
though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest.Â
his only love â his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well.Â
dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating.Â
but he canât always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe.Â
he shouldâve at least told you to take a friend.Â
âboss,â his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. âiâm so sorry. your wifeââ
âif anything⊠anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?â dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. âi will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.âÂ
âof course, sir,â the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the bossâs wife to get herself into such a situation.Â
and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harmâs way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isnât able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you.Â
with all the strings heâs able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesnât take long to find you, for those that have bravely â or stupidly â used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation.Â
thereâs little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own.Â
heâs already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they wonât have ever existed.Â
today, he doesnât care what happens as long as he finds you alive.Â
youâre held hostage by two men â so completely beaten that theyâve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you canât even open them.Â
dazai doesnât hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall.Â
slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive.Â
he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemyâs face changes â any of his remaining hope vanishes.Â
âyou told me she was unharmed,â dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats.Â
the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. âwe lied.â he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile.Â
dazai hums. âyou the leader?âÂ
the man doesnât give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. heâs no one â just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you.Â
âdidnât think so.â dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all.Â
dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, youâve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him â the worst side of him.Â
youâre no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when youâve shared a life with him for years? but that doesnât mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become.Â
he stumbles over to you, where youâre still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isnât right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple.Â
it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you.Â
âiâm sorry,â he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that heâll hurt you even more. âiâm sorry, darling. i shouldâve â i shouldâve been there.â dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. âfuck. fuck â iâll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. iâll cut them down one by one.âÂ
âosamu,â you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. âiââ
you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words donât leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.
âhey, hey, hey.â dazaiâs voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch thatâs barely there. âyouâre safe. iâm here, okay? theyâre not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.âÂ
you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.
âcan you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?âÂ
you hesitate for a moment before answering; heâs not sure if thereâs a reason you only answer the first question. âi can walk.âÂ
dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you â and thatâs all that matters.
thank you for reading !!! â€ïž
#bsd x reader#osamu dazai x reader#dazai x reader#osamu dazai x you#dazai x you#chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#nakahara chuuya x reader#chuuya x you#chuuya nakahara x you#bsd x you#bsd imagines#bsd x y/n#dazai osamu x reader#chuuya imagines#bsd fanfic#bsd x gender neutral reader#dazai x fem reader#akutagawa ryuunosuke x reader#akutagawa x you#akutagawa x reader#akutagawa x y/n
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Hi sweet angel, I have to admit that I'm new to your profile, but my obsession with your writing is almost as great as my obsession with snow, I have a request that changes the story a little bit.
Coryo is completely obsessed with the reader, but she thinks he is just an affectionate friend, both become mentors and instead of snow falling in love with lucy, it is the reader who falls in love with her tribute, and begins to move away from Snow, he can not accept this and manipulates the games, Not for lucy to win, but rather, to get rid of the reader's tribute. (Sorry for any mistake, English is not my mother tongue, so I use Google translator)
Slipping Through My Fingers || Young!Coriolanus Snow x reader
GIF by i forgot sorry :( divided by @firefly-graphics
A/n: this took me forever to finish idk why đ also this has to be the longest fic i've written so far.
Warnings: mention of blood, possessive coryo, mentions of death
Wc: 2,975
Coriolanus Snow Masterlist
"Can I see you tomorrow morning?" Coriolanus looks down at you with hope in his eyes, you open your mouth but close it before sighing. "I can't, sorry. My parents want me to be home when my grandparents are there," You lie through your teeth as he hums, nodding.
"That's fine, tomorrow afternoon then?" His hand touches your waist as you smile up at the boy. "Of course Coryo, I'll see you then?" You touch his hand that was at your waist as he nods. You give him one final smile before disappearing around the corner.
You felt bad for lying to him but you didn't know how he would take it if he found out that you were actually going to meet your tribute first thing when his train from the districts arrived in Panem. Your tribute, Dean, from district 8 intrigued you. You couldn't keep your eyes of the screen when he appeared. He caught your eye immediately.
Coryo couldnât stop complaining all day about his tribute from district 12, Lucy Gray. Saying that she would not last a second in the game. Unlike him, you had faith in your tribute.
So here you were, standing on the platform waiting for the train to come to a halt as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. A smile on your face, dimples on display as the doors open revealing Dean. He was taller than you imagined, but nonetheless, he looked surreal. There was no denying that Dean was good looking, incredibly good looking which you would imagine would play a role in the amount of donations he would have.
"Dean. Y/n Y/l/n. I'll be your mentor." You extend your hand out in front of him as he looks you up and down before shaking your hand. His shake was firm, his fingers calloused. An indication that he was a hard worker.
"Are you supposed to be here? I don't see other people like you around here," He says as he looks around the train station. You notice Coriolanus' tribute, Lucy Gray walking by and staring at the two of you questioningly. You make eye contact with her before clearing your throat and looking back at Dean who hadn't kept his eyes off of you.
"No. I'm not supposed to be here." You confess, your hands fidgeting with the ends of your skirt as Dean raises an eyebrow at you. "Then.... what are you doing here?" You pause. What were you doing here? You could have waited like the others for tomorrow to meet him.
"I uh- I wanted to welcome you to the Capitol." You offer him a smile. Silence. "Can I be blunt with you Dean?" Your head slightly tilts, a habit of yours when you ask questions. "Sure," He shrugs. "I see potential in you," You hold his hands in between yours as he glances down at your intertwined hands with an expression you couldn't quite figure out.
"You can win this hunger games. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that you do. Such potential like you for a bright future shouldn't be wasted," You solemnly smile at him. Dean stays quiet for awhile, his hand still in yours before a peacekeeper roughly pulls him away from you.
"Hey!" You shout as you follow the two. "It's time for them to go Miss." The peacekeeper says as he throws Dean into the back of a van. Just as he walks away from your view to close the door, you jump into the van along with the rest of the tributes. "What are you doing!" Dean whispers yells at you as you stay hidden behind him.
You let out a sigh of relief once the doors close. "What's this? Is this your mentor, Dean?" A girl you recognised to be Carol asks with a sinister smile. You push past Dean and extend your hand out for her to shake. She looks at your face then your hand and lets out a laugh.
"Why would I shake hands with someone like you." She spat as a few others laugh alongside her. You notice Lucy Gray once more, sitting there silently. "Why do you get special treatment Dean, huh?" Carol pushes you backwards catching you off balance as Dean catches you.
"I could kill her right now," Carol chuckles like a maniac. Dean moves you behind him, "Leave her alone," He voices out, his tone screaming authority. Before Carol could respond, the van shook violently as you all lose your balance. You let out a groan as you felt your body slam against the van door before it flies open, causing you all to roll out onto hard rocks.
You let out a groan as you slowly lift up your head, squinting your eyes at your surrounding before you hear Dean's voice. "Y/n! Are you alright?" He asks worriedly as his grips your bicep, aiding you to stand up as you realise where you were. You were at the zoo cage.
You place a hand on your head as you let out a low groan. "Excuse me! Hello! Over there! Can they not hear me in there?" You hear a familiar voice belonging to Lucretius Flickerman. Dean takes a hold of your forearm, helping you keep balance as he whispers to you, "Own it." You look up at him with a small smile. He offers his arm to you as you link arms and walk towards the iron bars.
"Y/n Y/l/n, one of the mentors for the 10th hunger games." Lucretius says to the camera as he then directs his gaze towards you. "The game makers did tell you to jump into the cage with them," His tone was skeptical. Dean looks down at you as you glance at him before looking at Lucky.
"They didn't tell me not to. They just said it was a mentor's job to introduce our tributes to the citizens of Panem, and I thought well if Dean is brave enough to be here, then why shouldn't I be too?" You say with confidence, "For the record, I didn't have a choice," Dean butts in.
"What is Y/n doing there?" Arachne gasps as she ctaches the attention of Snow and the others as they look to the screen. There you were, linked arms with a tribute, looking awfully comfortable with him to add. Snow furrows his eyebrows at disbelief that you were there.
You told him that you were to be at home, but clearly not. Coriolanus watches with intent as you look at Dean when he spoke. His fists bawl up as Clemensia makes a comment. "You alright Coryo? You look.... bothered," Her hands rest on Snow's upper arm as he pries her touch off of him.
"I'm fine," He snaps as he leans forward on his seat. He was bothered. Very bothered seeing you so close with a tribute. "He's obviously not fine, he's bothered seeing Y/n so touchy with her tribute, isn't that right Snow?" Arachne teases as he slams his hand on the table causing her to shut up. "Shut it, Crane." Coriolanus says through gritted teeth as Arachne puts her hands up in surrender.
"They look really close. Can't blame Y/n honestly, she got a good looking one," He hears Clemensia quietly say before he had enough and stood up, storming off.
~
"Coryo," You call out as you catch up to him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you offer him a smile. He says nothing, his face stern as he continues to walk, not bothering to look at you. "Hey listen, I'm sorry I stood you yesterday, I just got super busy-" "Yeah I saw, busy with your tribute right?" He gives you a sarcastic smile as you scrunch your eyebrows.
You were all making your way to the enclosed cage to talk to your tributes. "What?" Snow rolls his eyes at you, finally stopping. "I saw your interview with Flickerman. Looked awfully close to your tribute," You let out small chuckle as his face shows no sign of amusement.
"Coryo, I was just introducing myself to him and getting to know him that's all. I have faith in him that he will win and I wanted him to know that. Wouldn't you do the same with your tribute if you had faith in her?" You touch his arm as he looks at your hand.
"Right?" You try and get a response from him as he sighs, "I guess," Is all he says before intertwining his hands with yours. You look down at your hands, a sweet gesture from him. When you both get closer to the tributes, you unclasp your hands with Snow and walk towards Dean who has already seen you and was making his way closer to you.
"Hey," You greet Dean as you look through your bag and find the half of your sandwich and cookie which you put away for him. You hand it to him as he thanks you, immediately taking bites as you watch him. He could feel your stares as you look away. Your eyes land on Coriolanus and Lucy.
He was talking to her about something as Lucy looks towards you and Dean. Snow finally looks at you, his expression cold as you gulp and look at Dean who was already looking at you. "He your boyfriend or something?" He asks as he takes another bite of the cookie. Your eyes widen. "Who? Coryo? No." You laugh as Dean stares at you.
"He's just a close friend of mine." You say as he nods, unbothered. "Do you? Do you- uh- have a-" "No." He deadpans as you slowly nod. From afar, Snow was watching the two of you interact the entire time. "Do you want to win Lucy Gray?" He turns his attention from you to his tribute.
"Do you think I can win?" She asks him as he thinks. "Honestly? no." He admits as Lucy scoffs. "But if you listen to what I say and do what I tell you to do, you will." His tone was stern as Lucy nods, her eyes following his eyeline which led to you and Dean. "That your girlfriend? That girl who was with us yesterday in the van."
"Her and Dean seem to be close, don't you think?" Lucy watches Coriolanus' face, his jaw clenching at the mention of the two. "They're not close, she just knows how to play the game," Coriolanus snaps before standing up and backing away from Lucy Gray.
~
You hadn't spoken much to Coriolanus the past couple of days. You were with Dean quite a lot, making up strategies and scenarios for when the games started. "I care about you, Dean. A lot." You take his hands in yours, the sound of his iron shackles making you cringe as you look him the eyes. Dean looks around the room before caressing your hand.
You and Dean have gotten very close over the past days. You both had faith in each other, trusted one another. Coriolanus narrows his eyes at the two of you, 2 desks away from him before his gaze settles on your touching hands.
He lets out a quiet scoff as Lucy Gray looks over to you and Dean. "Do you know him?" Snow asks her as he cocks his head towards Dean. Lucy shakes her head. "You want to win, don't you?" He leans in close to her.
Lucy hesitantly nods her head, "Yes. Yes you do Lucy." He answered for her, his gaze hard on her as she squirmed under his stare. "You need to kill Dean first. You need to before he kills you. He's a strong competitor, I can tell, that's why you need him out first. Then, it will be a piece of cake." He smirks as he leans back on his chair. "What do I need to do?"
~
âY/n,â Coriolanus calls out as you turn your head to his direction, a small smile on his face as you beam at him. You run to him, throwing your arms around him as you hug him tightly. Coryo was caught off guard but eventually hugs you back.
âGood luck,â You say, although it was slightly muffled against his shirt. âYou too,â He says back, his hand rubbing your back as you pull back, giving him your pearly white grin that only a few were able to see. Coriolanus felt a pull at his heart for he knew what was going to happen would break you.
Your other classmates arrive as you get settled for the 10th hunger games to start. Your eyes were trained on the screen as you watch Dean kill 2 people. You bite your fingernails as you continue to watch it play out infront of your eyes. Coriolanus offers his hand as you take it, squeezing it as you watch Dean.
A couple hours pass by and everyone sits up when they watch Coryo's tribute, Lucy Gray being corned by a few of the others, Dean included. In the corner of your eye, you watch Coryo come up to his screen and rapidly click.
Your eyes flicker back to the screen as drones of water come flying at the tributes, knocking them out as the room erupts in gasps. "These drones are not very good," Flickerman comments. "Hey! What are you doing?" Vipsania shouts as she stands up.
"You can't attack the tributes Coryo!" You snap at him. "I'm just sending water," He coolly says as you shake your head and scoff. Dean managed to dodge them luckily. You watch as Lucy Gray runs, Dean chasing after her as your leg bounces.
She manages to hide in one of the vent holes as you notice Snow let out a sigh of relief. Dean punches the vent in anger as he eventually leaves her. A few more hours pass by as you fell asleep, the sound of banging wakes you up. Coryo was nowhere to be found.
Your eyes focus on the screen as Dean and Coral stand underneath a vent pipe. Coral's pitchfork was reportingly stabbing at the vents above. Dean follows the noises, his gaze on the vent. "Coral. Coral she's right here," He whispers to her as she continues stabbing at the vent. Coriolanus then runs in, "Lucy Gray, is she okay?" He says out of breath.
"She wont be for long," Festus comments as everyone's eyes are trained on the screen. All of a sudden, Dean touches his nose as he looks confused. You immediately stand up on your feet, "Wait, what's wrong with Dean?" You move closer as he falls on his knee making your heart race.
"Did Coral do something to Dean?" You panic as Dean starts spazzing out on the floor. Coryo glances at you. Lucy Gray did what he told her to do. He had snuck her rat poison to use, if a small amount was to be inhaled, it would be deadly.
You cover your mouth as your eyes widen. Dean was laying on the ground, not moving at all. You flinch at the sound of a buzzer going off, indicating that he was in fact dead. Dean was dead. And you didn't even know how it happened. You storm out but before you could, Coryo grips your arm, "I'm sorry," He says as you furrow your eyebrows at what he meant before snatching your arm from his grip. "Dean is down. Good afternoon Miss Y/l/n," Flickerman calls out.
You storm out with rage. Dean was supposed to win. He was supposed to make it out alive. You even promised him he would come out alive and go back to his family. One moment he was perfectly fine, and then the next, he's on the floor spazzing out and then dead. Your mind drifts back to Coriolanus' words, I'm sorry. What did that even mean? You assumed he was just apologising that your tribute was dead.
~
Lucy Gray had managed to win. You were happy for Coryo of course. But Deanâs recent death still plagued your mind. âY/n,â Coryo breathed out the moment you opened your door to him; he reached out for you, pulling you against his chest.
It caught you by slight surprise before you hugged him back. The pent up emotions finally releasing the moment he rubs your back affectionately. âShhâ He softly shushed you as waterfalls fall down your cheeks. Everything was chasing up to you.
âI-I donât even know what happened to him,â You sob in his embrace as he traces shapes on your arm. You continued to rant to him as he brought you to your living room.
You rested your head against his chest as he listened, sometimes he would bite his tongue at the things you were saying about Dean. "He was just a tribute y/n-" "He was not just a tribute." You snapped, lifting your head up as you stared at his blue irises.
Coriolanus rolls his eyes the minute you turn your head back around. "He's human, just like you and I. He had dreams, he had a family to go back to Coryo, do not just sit there and tell me he was just a tribute. He's more than a tribute," Coriolanus listened to every single word that came out of your mouth.
He did not agree with most of the things you said but for the sake of it, he said nothing. When you spoke about Dean, it grew on Coriolanus that you infact liked him, alot. Perhaps even more than like. And that was why he felt the need to kill him. You were his, only his. And after all, he couldn't have some lowly district boy taking over your body and soul.
#fanfiction#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus x you#coriolanus x lucy gray#the hunger games#the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes#tbosas#tbosas imagine#young coriolanus snow#young president snow#president snow#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus smut
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An arranged marriage with James Potter
Something had happened over the summer that made James Potter the most love-sick fool in all of Hogwarts. Purebloods being purebloods, it wasnât uncommon for children to be paired up early on to secure the bloodline. While this happened mostly between the old-arching Slytherin families, an example being Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, every once in a while, the other houses would participate too.Â
Such was the case with James Potter and Y/n L/n. The L/nâs had spanned generations, stretching back to even the Gauntâs time. But, such as the Gaunt family, the L/n family had run into some bad luck. Stocks didnât go the way they wanted or something of the sort and now they were in ruining trouble.Â
Euphemia Potter was usually one to scoff at arranged marriages, wanting the children to find love for themselves, blood status be damned. However, the L/nâs were good friends of hers and James had written home multiple times about their daughter. From his letters, it seemed as if the two were already dating. It was a perfect coincidence. Euphemia and Fleamont agreed instantly, lifting the weight of a thousand bricks off of the patriarch of the L/n household.Â
However, James and Y/n were not dating. Much to Jamesâ annoyance, the only thing between them was his unrequited infatuation towards Y/n.Â
So thatâs where the pair found themselves at the beginning of seventh year. Y/n L/n trying to fly under the radar and not draw any attention to herself or the new ring on her finger, and James Potter doing everything in his power to show off their relationship and spoil her in front of everyone.Â
It began at the start of the year feast. James had an arm around Y/nâs shoulder the entire time. When a third year nervously asked if the two were dating, staring reverently up at James, the boy grinned and looked to Y/n. âI donât know, love, are we?â
Y/n pushed Jamesâ arm off her shoulder and indelicately said, âno. Take him.â The third year blushed and mumbled their way out of the conversation as James clutched his wounded heart.
During classes, James would loudly correct the professors from Miss. L/n to Mrs. Potter. It earned him wry smiles from McGonagall and Sprout, chuckles from Slughorn and Flitwick, and a cold glare from Y/n. The students all looked a bit confused whenever this happened, but chalked it up to the usual antics of James Potter.Â
In the courtyard or by the Black Lake, James would lay his head on Y/nâs lap, even if she pushed him off or was sitting with her knees up. There were roses on her bed and notes in her bag and it got to the point where Y/n didnât even question how James had snuck into her dorm.Â
If Y/n ever went to Hogsmead, James was sure to follow. No matter what she bought, he would pay for. Even if she got frustrated, he would slip the galleons up onto the counter, grinning at the cashier. He wanted to show her that he could provide for her and give her a nice home. As she would walk from shop to shop, he would point out colours of shops, saying, âoh, that would be a good colour for our bathroom. Look at that little cuckoo clock! Y/n, we have to get it.â
He would follow wherever she went, asking what seemed like meaningless questions. Have you ever had any pets? Do you like the country or city better? Any aspirations for your career? Whatâs a place you always wanted to visit? Y/n thought nothing of it, but to James, her answers were slowly sculpting his future. Would she want a dog or a cat in our home? Where should our house be? I would like the country so our kids could run around more, but we can easily make the city work if she wants. Should I be a stay-at-home dad? Or could we juggle two careers? Where should our honeymoon be?Â
Quidditch games were no better, because after every goal the chaser scored â and he scored a lot â he would look to the stands, find his fiancĂ©e, and blow her a kiss. Before every match, one of his spare jerseys would be laid out on her bed, a small note attached, begging her to wear it. She never did and he always gave her a pout when he realised it. And God forbid she didnât go to the games. Once, she had been studying for an upcoming exam and hadnât been able to make it. James had thrown a fit. Sirius had to drag him away from Madame Hooch before he secured an entire year of detention, but the boy still refused to get in the air. Madame Hooch threatened to start the game and make Gryffindor play a catcher down, but thankfully Remus and Peter had just found Y/n and dragged her to the pitch. The moment James saw her, he beamed and kicked off, broom now in the air. They had ended up winning. James spent the afterparty with his head on Y/nâs lap, arms reaching up to encircle her waist. He continuously reminded her how awful it wouldâve been if she hadnât shown up and only shut up when she began running her fingers through his hair.
And every night, no matter if he went to bed first or she did, James would always go over to Y/n and give her a soft kiss on the forehead and a whispered, âsweet dreams.â No matter where she was, this became a daily occurance in Y/nâs life. At first, she tried to avoid it by sneaking off to the library whenever James began yawning and tossing around the idea of going to bed. But he would find her. She tried the kitchens, hoping he didnât think to look for her there. But he would find her. She tried being in a group with her friends, in animated conversations. But he would weave his way through the group, step in front of her, and still say goodnight. It was like he had this magical map that told him where she was at all times. It was bloody infuriating.Â
Much to Jamesâ dismay, no progress seemed to be made. At least she was staying faithful to her fiancĂ©, the Marauders reassured him as James griped and moaned. He would sling himself onto a common room chair, conveniently in the earshot of his dearest. Y/n would just roll her eyes.Â
The majority of Hogwarts didnât know what to do with them. The girls would swoon when they heard the new thing James Potter had come up with to woo Y/n L/n. The boys would huff and grumble about needing to step up their own game when it came to their girlfriends. James was setting the bar too high. The teachers would sit around, taking time to sip a well-deserved drink, as they complained how if L/n didnât soon see the boy that was right in front of her, helpless to his love, then Potter was going to have a breakdown.
Yet, Y/n continued to push him away. James could be patient. He had been waiting practically seven years â he could wait a little more, but heâd be lying if he said he wasnât hurt whenever she brushed him off. She couldâve said no to the engagement. She couldâve punched or hexed him. It didnât seem like she truly hated him, more like she was embarrassed and tired of him.Â
âI donât get it,â James said finally one night. He laid out on his bed, long limbs stretching over the place as Peter and Sirius played Exploding Snap on the floor.Â
Remus was reading on his own bed. The werewolf sighed, knowing where this was going. âWhat donât you get, Prongs?âÂ
âWhy doesnât Y/n like me?â James murmured, looking at his friends with large, hurt eyes.Â
âMate,â Sirius said. One of the cards exploded, making Peter flinch. âListen. She likes you, yeah? How else are you able to get close to her? I swear, you were practically on top of her a couple days ago.â He scoffed and laid down a card.Â
James groaned loudly and exclaimed, âbut Iâve tried everything! Hell, weâre literally engaged! I canât go through an entire marriage like this. Especially not with the woman I love.â
Peter piped up, smiling sincerely at James. âHey, Iâm sure sheâll realise it soon enough. I think she loves you back. Sheâs just scared.â
âBut Iâm me!â James shouted out. âIâm not scary!â He looked around wildly at his friends. âAm I?â he asked pathetically.
âI think if you have to ask if youâre scary,â Remus pointed out, âthen youâre not scary.â
Sirius grinned. âExcellent point, as always, Moony.â
Remus sighed and gave James a pointed look. âPerhaps, the best thing to do is talk to her. Since she is your future wife, after all.âÂ
âI do talk to her!â James argued. âI ask her about her day and tell her about our pranks. She- she responds. Sheâs very sweet, you know, but she never shows any affection.â
âMaybe youâre pressuring her,â Peter commented. âBy being all lovey-dovey. You could try being her friend first?â
James didnât think he could do that. He already thought of Y/n as his wife. He already thought of her as one of his best friends. But what else could he do to get her to feel the same way?
The next week, James took Peterâs words into consideration. Instead of leaving flowers in her dorm, James asked if he could join her in the library for a study session. Instead of blowing her kisses during Quidditch games, he just waved. Instead of envisioning their future, he focused on the present.Â
It wasnât until three weeks had passed that James noticed the results. Y/n began coming to him with some questions on schoolwork. Y/n waved back at Quidditch games, shooting him a thumbs up in encouragement. Y/n wouldnât fiddle with her engagement ring nervously, as if worried someone would spot it.Â
The girl noticed her changed behaviour too. On a random Thursday, when James came to kiss her goodnight, she paused her conversation and whispered back, âsleep well,â angling her body so he wouldnât have to reach as far to kiss her temple. Soon after, she excused herself from her friends, flustered. Y/n paced around her dorm, twisting the ring back and forth.Â
A knock came at the door. âHey,â James murmured as he pushed open the door. âAre you okay?â
Y/n turned to face him. âYou actually care about me, donât you?â she whispered.Â
James couldnât help but laugh. âOf course,â he replied. âWhy on earth would you think otherwise?â
She shrugged. âIt seemed fake, you know? Like this one big prank to single me out. But then you actually seemed excited and willing to marry me, James. Marriage. This is the rest of our lives and we havenât even kissed!â
James cracked a smirk. He shoved his hands in his pockets. âI can fix that really easily.â
âBut you think youâre in this for the long run?â Y/n asked desperately. âFor- for the fights? The late nights? The chores? And we havenât even talked if we want kids or not!â
âLove,â he interrupted her spiral. âHave you thought about the waking up every morning in my arms? The dancing in the kitchen for no reason? The anniversary dinners where I profess my love over and over again?â He stepped forward, placing his warm hands on her arms soothingly. âAnd if you want, I would love to have mini replicas of us running around, waking us up in the middle of the night because of a night terror. I would love for them to disrupt our dancing in the kitchen by demanding they want to dance too. And I would love for them to groan when they see me being all sappy towards my wife.â
How could any girl say no when James Potter was standing before her, promising her endless devotion? The kiss was slow, Jamesâ lips slowly moving against hers. He revelled in the warmth of her body and how her head tilted to him as he cupped her cheek gently. All short and lovely and sweet, the kisses were exactly how James had dreamed.Â
The couple parted and the boy stared down at her. His finger went up to brush her bottom lip before murmuring, âwill you marry me?â
She didnât hesitate. âYes.â
#james potter x reader#james potter#harry potter#harry potter fanfic#marauders#maraders era#sirius black#remus lupin#peter pettigrew#james fleamont potter#the marauders#the maraunders map#euphemia potter#fleamont potter#james potter fic#james potter x you#hp#hp marauders#hp fanfic
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The Flames We Share
- Summary: You tell your son the truth. He has more than the blood of dragons in his veins.
- Paring: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen
- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's younger sister and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Blood We Choose. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.
- Rating: Mild 13+
- Word count: 5 198
- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff
The dungeons beneath Dragonstone were a cold, damp place, lit only by flickering torches that cast shadows that seemed to dance mockingly on the rough-hewn walls. The stench of rot and mildew clung to the air, seeping into the very stones of the fortress. Gwayne Hightower sat chained to the wall, bruised and dirty from his days of captivity, but his eyes were clear and resolute, fixed forward as he awaited what was surely his fate. His thoughts, however, were elsewhereâfocused only on you, the woman he had risked everything for.
The sound of heavy boots echoed through the stone corridors, and he looked up as the iron door creaked open. Daemon Targaryen stepped inside, a predatorâs smirk twisting his lips. He tossed a crumpled message onto the filthy floor in front of Gwayneâs feet. The black wax seal was unmistakableâbearing the sigil of House Hightower.
âYour father sends his regards,â Daemon drawled, a cruel edge in his voice. âHe offers to trade his traitorous son for some stronghold I care little about. Imagine thatâa worthless fortress in exchange for his even more worthless offspring.â Daemonâs eyes gleamed as he studied Gwayneâs reaction, searching for any sign of weakness.
But Gwayneâs expression remained stony. âYou can say what you wish, Targaryen. My fate was sealed the moment I brought her to you.â His voice was hoarse but steady. âAs long as Y/N is safe, I care not what becomes of me.â
Daemonâs lip curled in disdain. âIs that so?â He took a step closer, as if to loom over Gwayne. âSafe? You think sheâs safe, having fallen from the sky, bleeding and broken? You think I would allow the woman who bore my sonâmy heirâto suffer any harm under my roof?â There was a dark gleam of possessiveness in Daemonâs eyes, as if the very notion of another man daring to care for you was an affront to his pride.
Gwayneâs gaze sharpened at that. âI want to see Vaeron,â he demanded suddenly. There was a tremor in his voice, a desperation that Daemon did not miss. âI want to speak with my son.â
Daemonâs anger flared at the insolence of the request. âYour son?â he hissed, voice low and dangerous. âThat boy is a Targaryenâa dragon, not the product of some dishonorable tryst! Do you think I would allow him to be tainted by the shame of what you nearly brought upon my niece, siring a child on her without even the dignity of wedlock?â
Gwayneâs eyes darkened, yet there was a hint of mocking amusement in them as he stared up at the Rogue Prince. âAnd you believe yourself to be the righteous one? The man who slew his first wife in pursuit of power? Who consorts with whores while claiming the love of dragons? Tell me, Daemon, what makes you any different from me?â
Daemonâs smirk faltered, his face tightening with barely controlled rage. But Gwayne continued, his voice laced with bitterness. âShe was denied to meâY/N, I mean. If your brother had seen sense, had given her to me rather than feeding your ambitions, we could have avoided all this bloodshed. The boy would have been raised in Oldtown, under the guidance of both our Houses, and this war might never have happened.â
âNothing could have prevented this war,â Daemon snarled, eyes flashing. âIt was written in fire and blood long before you or I even took breath. But do not delude yourself into thinking you have anything resembling love, Hightower. What you claim as love is mere possessionâan attempt to bind what you could never truly have.â
Gwayneâs jaw clenched at the words, but he did not respond. The two men stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like a drawn sword. Daemon took a breath, his composure returning as he straightened.
âIâll have the boy brought to you,â Daemon said at last, his tone laced with scorn. âYou may look upon him and see the life you were never destined to have. But do not forgetâhe is mine, and Y/N belongs to me now. She is a Targaryen, and you are nothing more than a failed traitor.â
With that, Daemon turned and strode toward the door. Before he left, he paused, throwing one last taunt over his shoulder. âDo not hope for mercy when your father trades you away like the pawn you are, Gwayne. Your life is worth little, even to those who should care most.â
The door slammed shut, leaving Gwayne alone in the darkness once more. But he did not feel defeated. Even with the chains biting into his wrists, he had no regrets for what he had done, for saving you and ensuring you were delivered safely to Dragonstone. In the end, it was not his fate that matteredâit was yours. Even in the heart of this cold, bitter place, the thought of you kept the warmth alive in his heart.
Because in the quiet shadows, despite all the titles and power Daemon clung to, Gwayne knew one truth that Daemon would never fully graspâhe loved you, wholly and without condition. And in his mind, that was a victory far greater than any throne or dragon could ever grant.
The soft crackle of the hearthfire filled the chamber, mingling with the scent of herbs and ointments from where Maesters had tended to your wounds. You sat by the window, Silverwingâs scales still etched into your memory, the pain a constant reminder of the battle you had narrowly survived. The healing was slow, but the bruises and cuts were nothing compared to the deeper ache in your chest. You werenât sure what stung moreâthe death of your dragon or the desperate, foolish bravery of the man who had risked everything to save you.
A knock at the door broke your thoughts. âCome in,â you called, and the door creaked open to reveal Vaeron. The boyâs silver hair glinted in the evening light, and his blue eyesâso much like his fatherâsâfixed on you with concern.
âMother,â he said quietly, stepping inside. âHow are you feeling today?â
You smiled softly at him, though your heart ached as you looked upon him. âI am mending, sweetling. Stronger with each day.â
Vaeron nodded, yet his expression was troubled. He came closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, the worry in his eyes clear. âI heard⊠I heard Daemon talking about him,â he murmured. âThe man in the dungeonsâthe one who saved you. Is it true he defied Ser Criston Cole and fled with you from Rookâs Rest? They say heâs a Hightower. An enemy.â
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. The boy was no longer the child you had once cradled; he was growing, his curiosity sharp and his mind keen. He deserved the truth.
âYes, itâs true,â you replied, voice gentle. âThe man who saved me is Gwayne Hightower. Heïżœïżœ he betrayed his own kin, risked his life, and rode through the chaos to bring me here, to safety.ïżœïżœïżœ
Vaeronâs brow furrowed in confusion. âBut why would he do that? Daemon says heâs just trying to make amends for his familyâs treachery. That heâs nothing more than a desperate fool.â
You shook your head slowly. âItâs more complicated than that, my dear. Gwayne⊠he did it out of love, out of loyalty to someone who meant the world to him once.â You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. The truth was a blade youâd kept sheathed for too long, and it was time to draw it, no matter how much it might wound.
Vaeron looked at you expectantly, sensing the weight of what you were about to say. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, needing the touch to anchor yourself.
âVaeron⊠the man in the dungeons, Gwayne Hightower⊠he is your father.â
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Vaeronâs eyes widened, the shock raw and unfiltered in his young face. He pulled his hand away, as if trying to distance himself from the revelation. âWhat?â he breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. âMy father? But⊠Daemon⊠I always thoughtâŠâ
You nodded, pain lancing through your heart as you watched him grapple with the truth. âDaemon has raised you as his own, and in many ways, he is your father. But you have another father, by blood, and that is Gwayne Hightower. You were conceived out of a moment we both knew would never be more than a fleeting dream. He wanted to marry me, to build a life, butââ
Vaeron shook his head, backing away as he struggled to process it all. âNo,â he muttered, as if denying the words could somehow make them untrue. âDaemonâs always told me Iâm a Targaryen, that my blood is pure, that I am his son, a prince of the realm. How couldâwhy didnât you tell me? Why now, when heâs chained beneath us like some criminal?â
Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. âI didnât want you to bear the burden of that knowledge before you were ready. You were always meant to be strong, to carry the legacy of the dragons. But Gwayne⊠he isnât just a Hightower, heâs the man who saved my life when no one else dared. Whatever his blood, he does care for you in his own way, even from afar now.â
Vaeronâs lips trembled as he stared at you, his confusion and hurt palpable. âI need⊠I need to think,â he stammered, turning abruptly and nearly stumbling over himself in his haste to leave the room.
âVaeron, waitââ you called after him, but he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the emptiness of the chamber, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
Your chest tightened with regret. You had known this moment would come eventually, but you had hoped it would be under different circumstances. There was so much more you wanted to tell him, so much more to explain. But for now, all you could do was hope that he would find a way to understand, to see beyond the conflict of bloodlines and names.
In that fleeting moment before he vanished, you had seen the storm raging behind his eyesâa storm you knew would not settle easily. And in that storm, you glimpsed the boy he had always been and the man he was becoming, torn between the truths that defined him.
But you could only wait, knowing that the choice between dragons and towers was his to make, even if it broke your heart in the process.
Vaeronâs footsteps echoed through the winding corridors of Dragonstone as he fought to steady his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a heavy drum drowning out the world around him. The truth his mother had just revealed rang in his ears like a cruel jestâGwayne Hightower is your father. The words were a blade lodged deep in his chest, twisting with every thought, every doubt that now swirled within him.
He turned a corner, the air cool against his flushed face, and found himself in the dimly lit dining hall. The large table at its center was set for the evening meal, though the room was mostly empty save for one figure seated at the end, absently twirling a goblet in his hand.
Jacaerys Velaryon looked up, catching sight of Vaeron. His dark curls fell loosely over his forehead, and his brown eyes narrowed in concern as he took in his cousinâs strained expression. âVaeron?â he called out, his voice low but filled with the warmth of kinship. âYou look like youâve seen a ghost. Whatâs wrong?â
Vaeron stiffened, his gaze flickering away as he hesitated at the threshold of the hall. The weight of the revelation clung to him like a shroud, and for a moment, he wondered if it would be easier to bury it, to pretend that nothing had changed. But Jacaerysâ patient eyes, filled with genuine care, drew him in like a tether.
With a resigned sigh, Vaeron walked over and slumped into the chair opposite Jace, the firelight casting shadows on his troubled face. He didnât speak for a moment, merely stared at the table as he tried to gather the words that had lodged like stones in his throat.
Jace leaned forward, the lines of worry deepening on his brow. âVaeron, youâre scaring me. Whatâs happened?â
âIâŠâ Vaeronâs voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing, âI just learned something that changes everything.â He finally looked up, his eyes rimmed with uncertainty. âThe man in the dungeonsâthe Hightower who brought Mother back from Rookâs Rest⊠Heâs my father. My real father.â
Jacaerysâ eyes widened in shock, his goblet nearly slipping from his grasp. âWhat? ButâDaemonâs alwaysââ
âI know,â Vaeron cut in, voice strained. âI thought Daemon was my father, too. I grew up believing I was his son, a true Targaryen. But Mother told me just now that Gwayne Hightower is my sire. Iâm⊠Iâm a bastard.â
The word hung heavy in the air between them, laden with shame and confusion. Vaeron felt his chest tighten again, the sting of doubt gnawing at him. What did that make him now? Was he even truly a part of this family? A dragon in name only, born of a union that should never have been?
Jacaerysâ expression softened as he saw the pain in Vaeronâs eyes. He set down his goblet and leaned closer, trying to find the right words. âListen to me, Vaeron,â he began, voice steady and laced with a touch of empathy. âWeâve both been raised with more lies and expectations than most people could handle. But if anyone understands how it feels to question who you are, itâs me.â
Vaeron blinked, confused. âWhat do you mean?â
Jacaerys gave a rueful smile, leaning back in his chair as he stared into the flames. âIâve heard the whispers, the tauntsâpeople saying Iâm no true Targaryen because of my questionable blood. They mock the fact that I donât have silver hair or violet eyes, that I look more like a commoner than a prince. And sometimes⊠sometimes, I wonder if theyâre right.â
The honesty in Jaceâs voice caught Vaeron off guard, pulling him out of his own turmoil. He had always admired Jacaerysâhis confidence, his sense of duty. He had never imagined that his cousin carried doubts of his own.
âBut youâre still recognized as one of us,â Vaeron murmured, brow furrowed. âYouâre still heir to the Iron Throne, still a dragon. No one would ever dare deny that.â
Jace nodded, but his gaze remained distant. âTrue, but that doesnât erase the whispers. Even with the dragon blood flowing through my veins, Iâve always felt like I had to prove Iâm worthy of the name Targaryen. But youâŠâ He looked back at Vaeron, a small smile tugging at his lips. âYou look like a Targaryen. No one would ever question your bloodâsilver hairâyou were born a dragon, even if your father wasnât one.â
Vaeronâs breath hitched at the kindness in Jaceâs words. But it didnât soothe the ache gnawing at his heart. âDoes it even matter, Jace? If Iâm truly a bastard, what does any of this mean? My whole life, Iâve been told Iâm meant for something great, but now⊠now I donât even know who I really am.â
Jacaerysâ expression grew firm, his voice taking on a rare edge of command. âIt means you choose who you are, Vaeron. Blood alone doesnât decide it. You were raised in this family, loved by your mother and Daemon alike. That is what makes you one of us. Not some Hightower whoâs rotting in a cell.â
Vaeronâs throat tightened at the thought of Gwayne, the man who had defied his own House, who had thrown everything away to save the woman he loved. Did that make him worthy of being called a father? Could that kind of loyalty outweigh his bloodline, or was it too little too late?
âI need time to think,â Vaeron murmured, running a hand through his hair. âItâs just⊠a lot.â
Jacaerys reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on Vaeronâs shoulder. âYouâll figure it out, cousin. Youâre not alone in this, alright? Whatever you decide, youâll always have me and the rest of your family behind you.â
Vaeron nodded numbly, grateful for Jaceâs support but still lost in the sea of confusion and emotions swirling within him. The questions gnawed at him relentlessly, leaving him torn between the man he had always believed himself to be and the truth that now threatened to shatter that identity.
The tension clung to the air in the dining hall like smoke, heavy and suffocating. Vaeron sat in silence after Jacaerys left, lost in the maze of his thoughts, unable to untangle the twisted knots of his emotions. His whole life had been built on one truth: that he was a Targaryen, son of Daemon, a prince destined for greatness. But now that truth had shattered, and he felt like a child cast adrift on a stormy sea, unsure of where to turn.
The sound of footsteps approached, measured and deliberate, and Vaeron looked up to see Daemon entering the hall. His expression was unreadable, though his sharp eyes missed nothing as they swept over Vaeronâs troubled face. For a moment, the prince said nothing, merely studying his sonâhis real son in all but bloodâwith a calculating gaze.
âYouâre brooding,â Daemon finally said, his voice low and tinged with an edge of dry amusement. âA trait you didnât inherit from your mother, Iâd wager.â
Vaeron clenched his fists on the table, unable to meet Daemonâs eyes. âEverything Iâve ever known about myself is a lie,â he muttered, his voice thick with anger and confusion. âHow am I supposed to believe anything now?â
Daemonâs gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. âYou think this changes who you are?â he asked, stepping closer. âYou think some whispered secret about your parentage wipes away the blood that runs through your veins? You are still a Targaryen, still my son in every way that matters.â
Vaeronâs eyes snapped up, a flash of frustration crossing his face. âBut Iâm not,â he insisted, his voice cracking. âIâm not truly your son, not by blood. Iâm just⊠a bastard. A mistake.â
Daemonâs expression darkened, and he took a seat across from Vaeron, his presence commanding and unyielding. âIs that what you truly believe?â he asked, his tone both gentle and sharp. âThat blood alone defines who you are? You were raised in the shadow of dragons, with the legacy of kings and conquerors shaping your every step. That is no lie. Iâve taught you, guided you, prepared you for the world because I chose you as my heir, not because of whose seed sired you.â
Vaeron looked away, struggling with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. âBut⊠why didnât you tell me?â he asked, his voice a whisper now, tinged with the pain of betrayal. âAll this time, you let me believeâŠâ
Daemon sighed, his gaze growing distant as if recalling a memory long buried. âBecause you needed to grow up without that burden,â he said quietly. âWhat good would it have done to burden you with a truth that might have only confused you, made you question everything? You were born a Targaryen in all the ways that matter. Iâve treated you as such, and so has your mother. That will never change, no matter who your true father is.â
Vaeronâs chest tightened at the mention of his mother, and he shook his head. âBut now I know, and I canât just pretend it doesnât matter. That man in the dungeons⊠heâs the reason I exist, and yet heâs a stranger to me. How can I make sense of that?â
Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wood. âGwayne Hightower might be your blood father, but that doesnât mean he has any claim over you,â he said with a hint of disdain in his voice. âHe made a choice back at Rookâs Restâone that I donât entirely understand myself. He risked everything to bring your mother back here. Perhaps he thought it would redeem him somehow, or maybe he truly cared for her in his own way. Either way, heâs asked to speak with you.â
Vaeron stiffened at the words, his heart lurching in his chest. âHe wants to see me?â
Daemon nodded slowly. âHe does. He requested it, though he knows the choice is yours to make. I told him Iâd send you, but the decision is yours. You can go to him, or you can ignore it and leave him to rot where he belongs.â
Vaeronâs mind reeled, torn between the curiosity gnawing at him and the fear of facing the man who had upended his world with his very existence. He shook his head, his voice trembling as he spoke. âI canât. Not today. I donât even know what Iâd say to him⊠what Iâd ask.â
Daemon studied him for a moment before nodding in understanding. âThatâs your right. You donât have to face him until youâre readyâif you ever are.â He reached out, placing a hand on Vaeronâs shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. âBut know this, boy: whoever sired you, you are still my son. You bear the Targaryen name because I have claimed you as my own, because you were raised with fire in your blood. No man, be he Hightower or otherwise, can take that from you.â
Vaeron looked up at him, searching Daemonâs face for some trace of deception, but all he saw was the fierce loyalty and pride that Daemon had always shown him. For all his faults and ruthlessness, Daemon had been the only father Vaeron had ever known. And in that moment, the boy clung to that truth like a lifeline.
âThank you,â Vaeron murmured, his voice small but filled with genuine gratitude. âI just⊠need time. To sort through it all.â
Daemonâs lips curved into a rare, almost affectionate smile, one reserved for the few he held dear. âTake all the time you need,â he said quietly. âBut remember, you are a Targaryen, and no truth will ever change that. Not in the eyes of those who matter.â
With that, Daemon rose from the table, giving Vaeron a final nod before turning to leave the hall. Vaeron watched him go, the conflicting emotions still swirling in his chest, but there was a newfound clarity in his heart. The path ahead was clouded, and the shadow of Gwayne Hightowerâs existence hanged over him like a specter. But for now, he knew where he stoodâwith the family that had shaped him, that had loved him despite the secrets and lies.
But deep down, in the quiet recesses of his mind, he knew that one day he would have to face the man who had saved his mother and who claimed the title of his father. Just⊠not today. Today, he would hold on to the identity heâd always known and trust that, in time, he would find his way through the tangled web of blood and loyalty.
For now, he was still Vaeron Targaryen, son of Daemonâtrueborn or not, dragon or not, he was still a part of the legacy that burned brightly in the heart of House Targaryen. And that was enough to anchor him, at least for tonight.
The corridors beneath Dragonstone were dark and damp, the oppressive chill seeping into Vaeronâs bones as he made his way toward the dungeons. It had been a week since his world had been upended, a week of wrestling with the truth of his parentage. He had tried to push it aside, to focus on the training sessions with his cousins, the books his mother insisted he study, the words of comfort from Daemon. But every night, when the candles burned low and the castle quieted, the thought gnawed at him: if he didnât face the man in the dungeons, he would never truly understand where he came fromâor who he was.
So here he was, descending deeper into the belly of the fortress, the iron doors looming ahead. A guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing him entry. The door creaked open, revealing the shadowed cell where Gwayne Hightower sat slumped against the cold stone wall, chains rattling faintly with his every breath.
Gwayneâs face was bruised and gaunt, the days of imprisonment leaving their mark on him. But his eyes, so strikingly similar to Vaeronâs own, flicked up the moment the boy entered. Surprise and something softerâsomething like hopeâflashed in his gaze.
âVaeron,â he murmured, as if testing the name on his lips. âYou came.â
Vaeron stood just inside the threshold, tension thrumming through his body. He wasnât sure what he had expectedâanger, indifference, desperation? But all he felt was a tangled mix of emotions that refused to settle.
After a long silence, Vaeron finally took a few steps closer, his voice tentative as he asked, âHow could I not? I had to face you⊠or I couldnât live with myself.â
Gwayneâs expression softened, a flicker of pride and sorrow crossing his face. âYouâre braver than most would be in your position,â he said quietly. He shifted slightly, wincing at the pull of his wounds and restraints. âHow⊠how is your mother? Is she recovering?â
Vaeronâs heart tightened at the genuine concern in Gwayneâs voice. Despite everything, despite the shame and anger swirling within him, he could not deny the sincerity of the manâs question. âSheâs getting better,â Vaeron replied, a hint of guardedness still in his tone. âBut her injuries are still bad. The fall from Silverwing wasâŠâ His voice trailed off, unable to find the right words.
Gwayne nodded, his jaw clenched as if in shared pain. âSheâs strong. She always has been. I knew if I could just get her here, sheâd fight her way back.â His voice grew hoarse with emotion, and he averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Vaeron. âThank you for telling me.â
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint drip of water echoing through the dungeons. Vaeron swallowed the lump in his throat and finally spoke the question that had been burning in him since he decided to come here. âDaemon says youâre a traitor,â he said, his voice low but unwavering. âThat you canât be trusted, that youâve betrayed your family and your House. But⊠you saved my mother. You risked your life, your honor, everything.â
Gwayneâs expression didnât change, but something deep and resolute flickered in his eyes. âDaemonâs rightâI am a traitor to my own kin, to my House. I turned my back on everything I was raised to uphold. And Iâd do it again in a heartbeat.â
The simple conviction in his words struck Vaeron like a blow. He could see the truth of it written in every line of Gwayneâs face, in the quiet determination that had driven him to this point. Vaeron wanted to challenge him, to demand answers, but instead, he found himself asking, âWhy?â
Gwayneâs lips curled into a faint, sad smile. âBecause she was worth it. Your mother was worth more than any loyalty to my House, more than any honor I might have clung to. You see, I loved her long before any of this war came to pass. I wanted to marry her, to build a life with her, but your uncle, King Viserys, had other plans. When she was given to Daemon, I knew my place would only ever be on the outside, looking in.â He paused, eyes darkening with the weight of old wounds. âBut that didnât change how I felt. When I saw her falling in battle, when I saw Silverwing plummet⊠I didnât think about anything else. I just acted. Iâd rather be a traitor and live knowing I saved her than be a loyal man and watch her die.â
Vaeronâs chest tightened, torn between resentment and reluctant understanding. âYou say that like it was noble, like it justifies everything. But itâs still treason. You abandoned your family. You betrayed your own.â
Gwayneâs expression grew more serious, his voice a low rumble in the dim light. âYes, and I will face the consequences of that. I know what Iâve done, and Iâve made my peace with it. But you must understand, Vaeronâwhatever Daemon tells you, whatever anyone saysâyou are my son. I know I have no right to claim you, not after all these years, but it doesnât change what you are to me.â
Vaeron felt the words hanging in the air like a challenge, daring him to acknowledge the bond that existed between them, even if he wished it didnât. He looked down, his fists clenched at his sides. âI donât know what I am,â he admitted, his voice strained. âI was raised to believe Iâm a Targaryen, that Iâm Daemonâs son. Now everything feels like a lie. How can I be both?â
Gwayneâs gaze softened, the hardness of his demeanor giving way to something almost tender. âYou are both,â he said quietly. âYou were raised as a Targaryen, with all the fire and pride that comes with it. That is a part of you. But youâre also my blood, whether you like it or not. And you get to decide what that means for you.â
Vaeronâs mind spun with conflicting emotionsâanger, guilt, a flicker of something like pity. He wasnât sure if he could ever see Gwayne as his father, not in the way Daemon had been. But he couldnât deny that the man who sat before him had risked everything for his mother, for the chance to protect her even when all seemed lost. And for that alone, he couldnât simply dismiss him.
After a long silence, Vaeron finally shook his head. âI canât face youânot today. Thereâs too much I donât understand, too much I still need to figure out.â
Gwayne nodded, accepting the decision without protest. âI wonât ask for more than youâre willing to give,â he said softly. âBut know that Iâm here, for as long as they allow me to draw breath. And whatever choice you make, whatever path you chooseâI will always be proud of you.â
The words stung, leaving Vaeron with a raw ache in his chest. He wanted to respond, to say something more, but the weight of everythingâhis own confusion, the war, the fractured loyaltiesâwas too much. He turned abruptly, leaving the cell without another word, his thoughts swirling in a tempest of conflicting emotions.
As he walked away, the echo of Gwayneâs voice lingered in his mind, a reminder that some truths, no matter how painful, couldnât be ignored forever. But for now, he needed time to reconcile the man he had always believed himself to be with the truths he couldnât yet fully accept.
And so, Vaeron returned to the world above, leaving the man who called himself his father to the shadows, knowing that one dayâperhaps too soonâhe would have to confront the reality of who he truly was.
#house of the dragon#daemon targaryen#gwayne hightower#ser gwayne#gwayne x reader#gwayne x you#gwayne x y/n#silverwing#daemon targeryen x reader#daemon x y/n#daemon x you#hotd daemon#daemon x reader#hotd gwayne#hotd x reader#hotd
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blood on your lies; m.s.
pairing:Â marc spector x reader centric, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader
summary:Â after an argument with marc, you go missing. he tears himself apart trying to find you.
warnings:Â a dive into the mind of marc spector, angst, hurt with some comfort (i.e. jake and steven), kidnapping, vague descriptions of violence.
word count:Â 3.0k
notes: kind of a continuation of all the echoes in my mind, but can be read as a standalone. written as part of the @moonknight-events bingo! prompt: "insecure", I promise that not all my entries will be this sad lol
MOON KNIGHT MASTERLISTÂ |Â ALL MASTERLISTS
Youâre not home yet.
Itâs nearly been three hours. Marc paces the apartment like a caged animal, likely wearing the hardwood underneath his feet. Steven and Jake have run their course about how stupid he is, how he shouldnât have said what he said, how he shouldâve run after you the second you stepped out the doorâ
But jokes on them. There can be no harsher critic of Marc than Marc himself.
He checks his phone again in case youâve responded to his many texts and calls, but thereâs nothing. As far as he knows, you havenât even seen any of it.
His temper still lingers under their skin, and he holds it tight with both hands; anger is easy. Itâs easier than admitting that the peaks in his heartrate and the sweat on his brow is from anything other than his own self-flagellation.
Anger is familiar.
This, however? The waiting for you to walk through the door, or to give them any sign of lifeâso much of his sanity rests in the comfort of you being safe. Marc didnât realize how lucky he was to not know what this was like. Now, he doesnât know if he can ever forget it.
Jakeâs voice is clipped. âCheck again.â
Theyâre all on edge, and itâs terrible. Most of the time, at least one of them manages to keep a level head during stressful situationsâusually Marc. Jake is prone to anger, Steven to anxiousness.
âMarc!â Steven yanks him out of his head, and his phone is in his hand without any memory of having taken it out of his pocket. He does a dutiful look through his notificationsânothing.
Three sets of disappointment and concern pile on top of one another and drags them all down so much further.
âDoâŠâ Stevenâs voice is quiet. Unsure. âDo you think something mightâve happened to her?â
There is no dissenting opinion, no devilâs advocate. Marc doesnât try to calm his alters down, and only clenches his jaw.
Youâve never gone quiet on them like this. Theyâve never let you leave the flat at night like this. They always opted to be the one to go take a walk because even in the middle of an argument, they wouldnât risk your safety.
The lingering silence is Stevenâs answer.
When the suit wraps itself around his body, the accompanying burst of power in his veins is suffocating. His wounds begin to numb over, but Marc barely notices. He hasnât spared them a thought since you left.
The cool air does nothing to assuage him. Clouds blot out the sky, leaving nothing but a murky backdrop as he scales up the nearest building for a vantage point. A quick scan over the horizonânothing. Not a hint of your silhouette under the streetlights, and a lump forms in his throat.
âKhonshu!â
A gust of wind signals the godâs arrival, who, even with a birdâs skull for a head, looks remarkably bored as Marc is clinging to any semblance of sanity. He must already know whatâs going on but frustratingly just spreads out his hands, a silent questionâwhat?
Marc grits his teeth. âWhere is she?â
âWho?â
âKhonshu.â The name is a snarl on his lips.
He simply scoffs. âYou have the gall to make demands? As if I need to be involved with your loverâs spat?â
âSheâs not answering her phone.â
A lingering pause.
âShe might be in danger,â Marc snaps, trying to get the god to understand even a fraction of the severity of the situation. They might bloody their hands night after night, staining Londonâs streets each time they go out on patrol, but itâs never enough. There are always more monsters to take their place, and the thought that you might have run into one of themâ
Khonshu cocks his head. âMaybe sheâs just finally had enough of you.â
Marc hates how thatâs a possibility. Still, desperation crawls out of his throat. âCan you find her?â
Khonshu turns to look over the city, the silence stretching out between them. Whatever divinity heâs channeling, Marc isnât privy to; all he can do is stand there like a useless dumbass and wait for some hint of you to show up on the godâs radar. Even if you had had enough and never want to see him againâheâll swallow down that fate in stride as long as he knows that youâre safe.
When Khonshu finally breaks from searching, his head cocks slightly to the side. âInteresting.â
This is hardly the time for theatrics. âDo notââ
âI cannot find her,â the god admits. Not apologetic or ashamed, butâawed. âWhere she is right now, her footsteps through the cityâthere is nothing, Marc Spector. Thereâs not even a trace of her in your own home.â
The blood rushes in his ears. His chest constricts until he can barely breathe at all. Marc barely manages to wrap his head around the information before Jake and Steven come roaring back again, shocked and confused.
âStupid fucking birdââ
âShe was right here!
âLet me out, pendejo, I swearââ
âWhat the bloody hell does he meanââ
âHow?â Is all Marc manages to get out, every one of his senses on overload.
âSomething is hiding her from me; whatever took your lover is very powerful indeed.â
Took. Not a single doubt about it now: something took you. Kidnapped you because Marc couldnât keep it together for ten-fucking-minutes. Jake and Steven can prattle all they want in the backgroundâhis mission is clear.
âWhere do we start?â
-
The flat seems even bleaker when they return, your absence all the more chilling. Steven clamours to take the reins with the obvious assumption that research is the first step they need to take, but thatâs quickly dashed away when Khonshu returns with a name.
âApep.â God of darkness and disorder, Steven supplies from their head. âHeâs been cast away for eons, but there have always been those trying to get him to return.â
âItâs another cult?â
Jake swears under his breath. âFigures.â
Ignoring them, Marc presses on. âWho are we dealing with now?â
âIf it were easy to find them, I wouldâve done it already,â Khonshu bristles. âApep is helping themâhiding them as they work. I will continue to do what I can.â
âFine.â
The god disappears in a whirlwind of loose papers, and Marc switches gears. Steven might have the advantage in research, but tracking? The skills heâs honed as a Marine and as a mercenary wait for him like an old pair of shoes; the others canât help but let him work in peace.
He finds some old tourist map that spans over the city and unfolds it across the dining table. There are only so many places you wouldâve gone, so many routes you couldâve taken. London doesnât become deserted at night and barring any divine intervention, kidnapping someone would cause a sceneâyou would have caused a scene, he thinks, imagining you fighting tooth and nail against your assailants, screaming for someone to helpâ
Marc closes his eyes, clenches his jaw. A wave of pain washes over him, and he languishes in it for a minute, not a moment more.
His eyes reopen, spots dancing across his vision as he analyzes the map again. The feeling has been sealed shut into a box, shoved into a corner of his mind. Steve would throw a fit about his mental state if it were any other time, lecturing him on coping mechanisms and compartmentalization, but thereâs no time for him to feel sorry for himself.
He grits his teeth and refocuses his train of thought. If theyâre up against a cult, then they probably wouldâve sent multiple people to grab you. Wouldâve had to lure you somewhere quiet if it was by force, or they could have convinced you to go with them somehow. Or threatened you. OrâŠ
The more he gets into it, the more he feels himself detaching from the situation, piece-by-piece. The memory of you is like a minefield; itâs a testament to his will that he can recall anything about you without breaking down. What you were wearingâand not the look on your faceâwhen you left. Your favourite parkâand not how your hand fits perfectly into his as you walked down the pathsâthat you might have passed through.
He reduces you to intel, just another folder on his desk. Itâs not unfamiliar to him. He wouldnât have made it this far if he couldnât take an objective approach to his work. But itâs different because itâs you, because the stakes include you, and when he looks up to try to ground himself again, he spots your favourite mug on the coffee table. Half-empty.
-
If Layla were here.
The words bounce around his head as Marc stares up at the ceiling. He didnât mean it. Steven and Jake are both better with words than Marc, but heâs never loved you any lessâheâs never wanted you to be anyone but yourself.
Itâs been almost two days since you left, and itâs only now that heâs allowed himself to be corralled into bed. His grip of the hot seat is ironclad, however, which means that the body isnât getting any sleep tonight. The sun will rise soon, and heâll pick up his work right where he left off.
Quietly, from the back of his head: âMarc?â
âCouldâve taken the victim anywhere,â Marc murmurs, mind still whirring in the dark.
ââVictimâ?â Stevenâs voice shifts to be full of indignance. âHow could you possibly call her that?â
âAy, easy on him,â Jake pipes up. For Jake to immediately to jump to his defence means that Marc must be worse off than he thought, but he canât bring himself to care. âHowâs it going, hombre?â
âNo sightings on any security cameras. Nothing reported to the cops.â Hours of his timeâyour timeâsummarized in a breath. His face remains blank. âIâm going to sweep the remaining areas tomorrow. Find some people who mightâve seen something.â
Heâs been doing nothing but cross possibilities off his list. Itâs barely any progress and his remaining leads are weak, but his resolve is as strong as ever.
âNothing from Khonshu?â
âNo.â Marc has no idea what the god is doing.
They lay in silence for a bit, listening to the maddening tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall. Anger is unsustainable, but Marc wishes that theyâd return to yelling at him again. At least he knows what to do with that.
Instead, all he gets is Stevenâs restrained tone: âSomething has to change, you know.â
âAre you really telling me to go to therapy right now?â
âCanât do much else.â For a moment, Stevenâs bitterness resonates. Thereâs another conversation to be had hereâone about their individual capabilities and protective naturesâbut Marc lets it rest for the night. He knows heâd be driven up the wall if their situation was reversed, if you were in danger and he had to rely on someone else to save you.
He still deflects. âNot the time for this.â
âMaybe not,â Steven concedes, âbut you need help, Marc.â
Distantly, Marc recognizes that heâs always needed help. Even after reconciling with Steven and Jake, even after meeting youâthe wounds are still there, despite how hard heâs tried to ignore them. Heâs stubborn and self-destructive, not stupid.
âWeâre with you, always,â Jake adds. Discomfort crawls under Marcâs skin from the supportive words, and he knows that his alters are well aware of it. Itâs never stopped them, of course.
âWe can talk about this afterâafter we save her.â
A general murmur of consensus. Marc quickly regains his footing, eager to move on from this line of conversation.
âIâll find something. Or Khonshu will.â Steady and reassuredâtrying to convince them and himself. âWeâll get her back.â
Stevenâs voice is small, even in the confines of their head. âBut why would they take her in the first place?â
-
âHe needs an avatar?â The body hasnât slept in days. That void of feeling pulses with anger, desperation, fearâit simmers low in their gut, a torch passed along between them.
âApep will need a vessel once they release him.â
âHere I thought one of his cultists would volunteer.â
Khonshu taps his staff against the ground thoughtfully. âThey knew we would come after them, and weâre not the only ones.â
For the briefest of moments, Marc feels hopeful, like the odds arenât as stacked against them as they thought. It disappears just as fastâKhonshu doesnât deliver hope. The blood drains out of his face as he actually starts to consider the godâs words.
âIf Apep possesses your precious lover, would you really be able to stop her? To take up arms against her?â
Khonshu leans in close then, hollowed eyes burrowing into him.
âWould you let others do the same?â
-
Over the next week, things begin to look up.
Someoneâs girlfriendâs cousin says that they saw someone who looked like you walking down The Mall. Thereâs a fuzzy image of a car with no license plates. Khonshu catches the briefest hint of you on Westminster Bridge and follows you far, far eastâitâs a mere grain of information thatâs slipped through Apepâs power, but itâs enough for Marc.
They find the car abandoned in Dover, near the water. It rules out Franceâdriving through the Eurochannel wouldâve been the fastest route there, after all. Trying to take a public ferry wouldâve been stupid with a captive, which means that they probably chartered or owned a boat.
The remaining pieces fall into place, and he can feel the anticipation from the others build in the background. Marc has led the charge so far with very few breaks to let Steven and Jake breathe a little. Steven misses you so much, he cries whenever he fronts. Jake has gone eerily quiet, and Marc knows whatâs simmering underneath the surface; when the fighting starts, Jake will be called to action. His excitement is brutal.
It's all coming to an end soon. Laying on some dirt in the Norwegian countryside, shrouded in darkness, Marcâs never seen more stars in his life. If heâs rightâand he is rightâtheyâll be bringing you to a nearby compound for the final step of their ritual. He couldnât care less about the how or why. Come the morning, youâll be here. Marc will get them inside. Jake will get to you. And thenâŠ
Marc will probably never be the partner that you deserve, and you never shouldâve been subjected to his life. To sleepless nights and patching up his injuries and comforting him after nightmares that has him thrashing in the sheetsâ
But he canât survive without you. Itâs a simple little fact that gives him the power to move mountains; there are none bigger than the mess of his own head.
Exhaustion creeps up on him, and he canât help but struggle against it. Fighting to keep his eyes open, his thoughts spill into the air. âNeed to take care of her first.â
âTaking care of yourself is taking care of her,â Steven says gently. Have they had this conversation already? Marcâs been so singled in on this mission that everything else has fallen by the wayside. He canât remember the last thing he ate, or what heâs wearing under the suit. The ground is the softest thing heâs ever felt.
If thereâs any comparison to be made between you and Layla, itâs that heâs failed both of you. Maybe he could be different this time. Even if you decide that you want nothing to do with him after all this, he could still get help. Heâll have Steven and Jake. Heâll have himself and his scrappy resolve and the memories of this heart-aching pain, and maybe heâll finally get better.
Marc lets his eyes close; the body needs rest for whatâs to come. You donât deserve any less than their best.
Just a few more hours.
-
Marc watches the fight from their headspace. Jake doesnât miss a single shot and never so much as falters when one of them manages to land a hit. This is the longest break Marcâs gotten from fronting in a while, but he canât bring himself to look away.
Jake loops their arm around the neck of cultist unlucky enough to be nearby, gripping his hair so hard Marc can nearly feel the strands through his fingers, feel it when Jake jerks their arm to the side and twistsâ
-
Your handlers left you alone in another room with nothing but a hard cot to curl into as you waited for them to retrieve you again. Locked inside but unboundâMarc hates how you startle when he breaks through the door.
Eyes wide, your mouth opens and closes multiple times without success. âYouâyou came.â
Marc wishes there werenât so much surprise in your tone. Of course he came for you, it was never a choice for himâfor any of them.
But clearly there was a part of you that thought he wouldnât, wasnât there? That he might just leave you in the clutches of some power-hungry cult becauseâbecause what, youâre not his ex-wife? Because you think he doesnât love you?
The need to rectify that pierces his heart. He pulls you close, knuckles white in your shirt. âI love you.â
You shake in his arms. âMarcââ
âI love you.â
The words donât stop; they fall from his lips like a prayer. Even as you weep, soaking the suit with your tears, he says it. I love you. I love you. I love you. In every variation, in every wayâheâll never let you believe otherwise again. Heâll say it over and over, work tirelessly to become the man you both deserve. For the rest of your lives. For the rest of time.
However long youâll give him.
#moon knight x reader#marc spector x reader#steven grant x reader#jake lockley x reader#moon knight#marc spector#steven grant#jake lockley#moon knight fanfic#my writing#mk bingo 2024
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A Knightâs Prize pt.2
Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader
Summary: you overhear a scheming conversation between Otto and Alicent Hightower, leading you to doubt Ser Gwayneâs true intentions.
Warnings: none i think?? if you find any let me know
A/N: this second part was written based on one of the comments of part one
- Word count: â3.5k
Part 1
The day after your encounter with Ser Gwayne, you find yourself wandering the corridors of the Red Keep. You wore a teal dress, a perfect blend of Velaryon blue and Hightower green, with gold embroidery down the fabric. A simple gold tiara adorned with tiny pearls rests on your head, while a silver pendant shaped like a dragon, its eyes gleaming with emeralds, hangs around your neck. Your heart flutters with a mix of hope and anxiety as you walk, your thoughts consumed by the image of Ser Gwayne. You canât help but wonder if your paths will cross today, if perhaps he might seek you out again, this time not as a competitor but as a suitor.
As you turn a corner, the sound of voices pulls you out of your imagination. You recognize them instantly, calculating tone of Lord Otto Hightower and the softer voice of Queen Alicent. You pause, turning around and hiding behind the column where they could not see you.
From your position, you peeked around the corner and saw them standing near the entrance to the library. You feel your pulse quicken as you lean closer, trying your best to hear their conversation.
"Father," Alicent begins, her voice filled with worry. "This match between Gwayne and the Princess... it troubles me."
Otto watches her calmly, his expression unreadable. "And why should it trouble you, my daughter? The girl is a Princess of the realm, of Velaryon and Targaryen blood, and a potential queen one day. A union between our houses would solidify our influence over the Iron Throne."
"But she is a bastard," Alicent argues quietly. "The rumors about her parentage... they are known throughout the court. If Gwayne marries her, it could stain our house, taint the Hightower name with whispers and scandal."
You feel a chill run down your spine, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your dress. The word 'bastard' feels to you like a knife, a painful reminder of the whispers and glances that have haunted you all your life.
Otto remains calm, his tone firm and decisive. "Alicent, you must understand the greater game we are playing. Whether she is a trueborn daughter of Ser Laenor Velaryon or not, she is still the granddaughter of King Viserys and the heir to the throne after Rhaenyra. To have her as a daughter-in-law would elevate our house beyond any stain that her lineage might bear."
Alicent hesitates, her gaze fixated towards the ground. "But what of Gwayne? Does he know of these ambitions? Has he agreed to be a pawn in your game?â she paused and took a deep breath. âIf he is to marry a bastard and stain our name, he must at least have a say in this.â
Otto smiles, a cold, calculating smile that sends a shiver down your spine. "Gwayne knows his duty, as we all do. His personal feelings are of little to no matter, compared to the power our house could gain. He will do as he is told."
You feel as though you have been betrayed. Could it be true? Is Ser Gwayne merely a pawn in his fatherâs game? Have his charming words and tender touches been nothing more than a farce, a way to secure your hand and, with it, the power that comes with your name?
You take a step back, tip-toeing slow and carefully to avoid being discovered. Your thoughts becoming a storm of confusion and hurt. Is this the true nature of the man who seeks your favor? Does he see you as nothing more than a prize to be won?
Just as youâre about to leave, you hear Alicent speak once more, her voice filled with doubt. "But what if she learns of this? What if she refuses him? The Princess has her motherâs spirit and the blood of the dragon. She will not be easily controlled if she feels betrayed."
Otto simply responds - "Then we must ensure she does not learn of it. The Princess is young, and like any young woman, she is vulnerable to the charms of a skilled and handsome knight. Gwayne will win her over with affection."
You finally decide to retreat, wanting to hear no more words of their scheming. As you walk through the halls of the Red Keep, you canât stop thinking about Gwayne. How could you have been so blind? Could Ser Gwayne be part of this plan, or is he a victim of his fatherâs ambition too?
The sounds of the tournament grow louder as you approach the field, but you no longer feel the same excitement. You watch as Ser Gwayne enters the field, facing the famous Ser Loras Tyrell. Ser Gwayneâs armor gleams in the sunlight, a shining steel plate adorned with the green fabrics of House Hightower. His cloak, bearing the Hightower sigil. A plume of green feathers decorates his helmet, making him stand out against the other knights. He carries his lance with confidence.
Ser Loras, wearing an armour decorated with the golden roses of House Tyrell, sits on his horse, his gaze fixed on Gwayne with a look of superiority. The two knights lower their lances, and at the signal from the herald, they charge.
The first clash is brutal, their lances meeting with a deafening impact, both knights remain mounted. The crowd roars in excitement, eager for more. Again, they charge, and again their lances crash together, breaking into pieces. But neither man yields.
On the third pass, Ser Loras leans slightly into Gwayneâs track, his lance striking against Gwayneâs shield. With the force of the blow, Ser Gwayne is knocked from his horse. He hits the ground hard, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.
You rise from your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean on the galleryâs fence to see what is happening on the field. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchange looks, as they notice your concern. They have not forgotten the disrespects and insults of the Hightowers towards your family, and your growing interest in Ser Gwayne is not something they view favorably.
From behind your seat, Otto Hightower watches with a smirk, his eyes catching the worry on your face. He seems almost pleased by your reaction, his mind already thinking about your betrothal to his son.
As you slowly sit back down, your brother Jacaerys, seated beside you, leans in and whispers, âDo you have any interest in that Hightower cunt?â
You glare at him, your voice low as you reply, âIt is of no interest to you, Jace.â
He frowns but says nothing more, his gaze returning to the field as the match continues.
Ser Gwayne, rises from the ground and calls out to Ser Loras, his voice carrying across the field, âDismount, Ser Loras, and face me with steel if you dare!â
The crowd murmurs in excitement as Ser Loras hesitates for only a moment before dismounting. The two knights draw their swords, the clash of steel ringing across the field.
Ser Loras is fast and agile, but Ser Gwayne fights with a relentless ferocity that soon begins to wear his opponent down. You watch in distress, worrying for Gwayne, your earlier doubts momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment.
Finally, with a powerful strike, Ser Gwayne forces Ser Lorasâs sword from his hand, sending it to the ground. Loras stumbles back and Gwayne presses the tip of his blade against the Tyrell knightâs throat.
âYield,â Ser Gwayne commands, his voice firm.
Ser Loras meets his gaze for a long moment before finally lowering his head in surrender. âI yield,â he says.
As the dayâs events draw to a close, you retreat to the gardens of the Red Keep, seeking solace in the cool evening air.
You reach a secluded corner of the garden, where the scent of blooming roses fills the air, and there, waiting for you, stands Ser Gwayne. His armor has been removed, he smiles as you approach, but the warmth you once felt in his presence is now overshadowed by the coldness in your heart.
"Princess," he says gently, "I've been looking for you. Is something the matter?"
You hesitate, your mind racing with the memory of what you overheard in the library. The scheming of his father and sister, the way they spoke of you as if you were nothing more than a pawn in their game. You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze fully.
"Nothing is the matter, Ser Gwayne," you reply, your voice cold and distant.
His brow furrows, sensing the change in your behaviour. "We are betrothed now," he says, "Should we not start spending more time together? I want us to know each other, to trust each other."
"Trust?" you echo, your tone filled with sarcasm. "Trust is a rare luxury in a place like this, wouldnât you agree?"
He looks taken aback by your sharpness but remains calm. "Princess, I understand your apprehension. But we are to be married. We must find common ground, if not for our sake, then for the sake of our houses."
The mention of your marriageâthe idea of leaving your family, your mother, your brothersâ. You glance away, "Itâs not so simple, Ser Gwayne.â
He steps closer, his voice softer. "Should I come to your chambers before the dinner to accompany you? We could speak more... openly."
You nod, though your enthusiasm is lacking. "Very well, Ser Gwayne. If it pleases you."
You return to your chambers, there, you prepare for the dinner. The thought of marriage, the thought of leaving behind everything youâve ever known to go to Oldtown, fills you with sadness. And then, of course, thereâs the matter of childrenâsomething that makes you sick to your stomach just thinking about it.
As you finish dressing, you hear a light knock on your door. You take a deep breath and open it to find Ser Gwayne waiting for you, dressed in elegant dark green attire.
"You look beautiful, Princess," he says with a small smile, his eyes tracing the lines of your gown as he extends his arm offering you to hold onto it.
"Thank you, Ser Gwayne," you reply, your voice polite but distant as you accept his arm.
As you walk together through the corridors of the Red Keep, he tries to make conversation. "Iâve been thinking about Oldtown," he begins, his voice calm. "Itâs a beautiful city, with a rich history. I think you will grow to love it there, as its Lady."
You nod, but your thoughts are elsewhere. "Perhaps," you say, not wanting to engage in the conversation.
He senses your hesitance and changes the subject. "And what of children?" he asks gently, "I imagine we will have many, strong and healthy. You will be a wonderful mother, I am sure."
The thought of childrenâof bearing his childrenâunnerves you. "We shall see, Ser Gwayne" you reply coolly.
As you enter the grand dining hall, you take your seats beside each other. The hall is filled with the noble houses of the realm, and King Viserys announces your betrothal with a smile. There are cheers and applause.
Ser Gwayne turns to you, "Would you honor me with a dance, Princess?" he asks, his voice soft.
But the last thing you want is to dance with him, not after everything. "Iâm afraid I do not wish to dance," you reply, turning away from him.
Moments later, Ser Loras approaches and asks for the honor of a dance. Despite your earlier refusal, you accept his offer, rising from your seat and allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. You can feel Ser Gwayneâs eyes on you, a mixture of hurt and confusion in his gaze, but you ignore it.
When the dinner finally ends, Ser Gwayne is there to escort you back to your chambers. The walk is silent, tension in the air. As you reach the door, he stops, his hand gently grabbing yours.
"Princess," he begins, his voice low and strained, "why have you been so distant with me? And why did you dance with another when I asked you first?"
You pull your hand away, feeling the anger within you begin to boil. "I am not distant," you say, though the lie is evident in your voice.
He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "We should not start our marriage based on lies, Princess. If something is troubling you, tell me. We are to be husband and wife. We must trust each other."
The pressure of his words, finally breaks you. "You want to know whatâs wrong, Ser Gwayne?" you snap. "I overheard your father and sister speaking in the library. They spoke of using me, of marrying me off to you to gain power, to strengthen their hold on the realm. How can I trust anything you say?"
Ser Gwayneâs eyes widen in shock. "I had no idea," he says, "I swear to you, Princess, I was not aware of any of this. My feelings for youâmy desire to marry youâare my own, not theirs. You must believe me."
You turn away, tears threatening to spill over. "How can I? How can I believe anything when everyone around me is filled with ambition?"
He reaches out, gently turning you back to face him. "Because I will prove it to you," he vows. "I will confront my father and sister. I will not allow them to manipulate us, to use you as a tool for their own gain. I promise you that, Princess."
You stare at him, a storm of emotions going through your mind. Without thinking, you reach up, grabbing his face in your hands. The softness of his skin under your fingers sends a shiver down your spine, leaning in to press your lips against his.
The kiss is desperate, filled with all the confusion youâve been holding back. His lips are warm and firm against yours, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the sensation. His hands come up to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss.
When you finally pull away, your breathing is uneven, your heart pounding in your chest. He looks at you, his hands still resting on your waist.
"We must wait," he says gently, his voice tinged with both desire and restraint. "I do not wish to dishonor you, Princess. We should save this for our wedding night, as it should be." He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.
You nod, unable to say anything, but before you can even try to speak, Ser Gwayne steps back, âGoodnight, my lady," he murmurs, "I will see you tomorrow."
He turns and walks away, leaving you standing at the doors of your chambers, your heart pounding in your chest.
Slowly, you retreat into your chambers, closing the door behind you. You move toward the vanity, removing the silver pendant from your neck and placing it carefully on the table. Your hands are trembling. You slip out of your dress, replacing it with a simple nightgown. As you slide into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, your thoughts race.
You try to push the events of the evening from your mind, but itâs impossible. Ser Gwayneâs words echo through your mind, his touch still lingering on your skin. He seemed sincere.
Your thoughts go to the future, to what it means to be Lady of Oldtown, to be married to a man whose family you cannot fully trust. The idea of leaving your mother and brothers fills you with a deep sadness. Perhaps, despite everything, Ser Gwayne might be different. He could be a good husband, a good father. He could make this marriage something more than just a political arrangement.
Pt 3???
#gwayne hightower x reader#gwayne fanfic#gwayne x you#gwayne hightower fanfic#ser gwayne hightower#gwayne hightower x you#gwayne x reader#gwayne imagine#gwayne hightower#hotd x reader#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd season 2
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Written in the Stars
Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 1
Word Count- 4.3k
Warnings- Swearing, blood, death, panic attacks, mentions of the confederacy (ew)
A/N- This will be a slow-burn series.
The reader has a brother, I know itâs not very X Reader, but itâs to help the storyline.
I brush down the black tie my younger brother is wearing, the satin fabric making me slightly cringe.Â
âAre you sure youâre not going to go? We can go show those stuffy old bitches how to really party.â I let out a small huff at Theoâs question, shaking my head amusingly.Â
âIâd rather not spend my Friday night with a bunch of Mystic Fallsâ elite. Hearing them talk about how theyâre so proud of their southern heritage,â Both my brother and I let out sounds of disgust, âthe Confederates lost get over it.â
Theo stands in front of the hallway mirror and goggles himself. Where I am rather introverted, my younger brother is most likely the most self-confident person I have ever met. He has called himself, âA gift to the human race,â on more than one occasion. So it takes him about a good 9 minutes to gaze at himself in the mirror before we walk out the front door to the car.Â
We drive in silence, or I drive in silence as Theo hypes himself up in the passenger side mirror.Â
After a 10-minute drive that seems to have taken at least twice that time, we finally reach the long driveway of the mayorâs house.Â
âWhy are you even going to this masquerade thing anyways, you hate dances,â I ask him as we wait behind a line of cars.
âTyler is my football captain, and this thing is to honor his father, Iâm here for my fellow man,â Theo presses a fist to his chest and puts on a fake sympathy look.
âSo youâre actually doing it because you want to get on Tylerâs good side so he puts you on Varsity?â
Theoâs sympathetic look drops and is replaced with a shit-eating grin, âYou know me so well.â
As we get to the front of the line of cars, I hum along to the Coldplay song playing on the radio.
âSo what are you going to do while waiting for me?â
I pull my car up to the front of the âhouseâ which is really just a mansion.Â
âI have a feeling you wonât be here very long, or stay out of trouble so Iâm just going to park somewhere and wait for you.â
My brother does a look that looks like he agrees with me about him getting into trouble and nods his head in agreement. I put the car in park and Theo unbuckles his seat and gets out, straightening out his suit as he goes.
âBye nerd, donât wait up!â Theo yells as he climbs the stairs walking past Mystic Fallsâ elite. I let out a sigh and pull away to find a parking spot.Â
â
My fingers graze the pages of my book as I glance at the time, Theo has been here for over an hour now and hasnât shown any signs of leaving. I bring my back up to continue reading when a figure in the distance catches my eye. I lean forward and catch a glimpse of who I believe is Elena Gilbert. Elenaâs a popular girl in my grade, who Iâve probably had two interactions within my short time here in Mystic Falls. I donât know much about her other than that sheâs dating some guy named Stefan, her parents died in a car accident and her brother is in the same grade as Theo. Theo and Elenaâs brother donât hang out either because Theo says heâs a âstoner emo.â Theoâs never been one to keep his thoughts to himself.Â
Elena seems to walk with a slight limp which makes me slightly concerned but nothing to make me go out and try to talk to her. I hate talking to people in general, especially kids my age. Elena has always seemed nice but Iâm not taking the risk.
 Or at least I wasnât until I saw a man in a mask start following behind her. I may hate interacting with people but I would never let another girl get attacked if I had the power to stop it. The next thing I know Iâm hopping out of my car and jogging behind them.Â
âElena behind you!â I yell to her, but I freeze as the man hits her and knocks her to the ground. I let out a yelp as I turned to try to get help but a sharp pain hits my skull and everything goes black.Â
â-
âY/N, can you hear me?â A voice comes from above me and a wave of nausea washes over me. My eyes open and close a dozen times trying to get used to the bright light before I can focus on the person in front of me. Elena Gilbert. Why is Elena Gilbert in my bedroom? I mean sheâs really pretty and all I just thought she had a boyfriend. Iâm not a homewrecker.Â
âOh thank god youâre awake!â Elena whisper-yells to me as she brushes a piece of my hair behind my head and grimaces when she looks at my forehead. She brings her hand back and a wave of fear and disgust washes over me as I see her hand covered in a red liquid. Blood. My blood. I try to bring my hand up but Elena stops me.
âDonât exert yourself we donât want it to bleed more, okay?â She gives me a small smile but something about it makes me feel uneasy. I donât understand why until I turn my gaze away from her and look at our surroundings. Dirt-covered walls, glass-covered floors, and a mildew stench are what take focus. Iâve always been sensitive to smells but with the addition of my raging migraine, I am fighting the urge to keep down the rising bile in my throat.Â
My breathing starts to quicken and I can feel the start of a panic attack starting to make an appearance.Â
âElena, where are we?â I wouldnât be surprised if she didnât understand what I was saying since my words seemed to be jumbling together.Â
Elena glances around us and gives me a solemn look.
âI donât know, I woke up here a little while ago before I was knocked back out by the people that took us. Iâm truly sorry about this Y/N, I would never wish for you to be a part of this.â
I furrow my eyebrows at her last comment as if she were responsible for the reason we were taken.
âItâs not your fault,â I shake my head and start tapping my fingers together one by one. Itâs a thing I do whenever my anxiety gets too strong, almost as a way to ground me.Â
Elenaâs eyebrows mirror mine and she goes to say something but a young man with shaggy hair walks in.
âOh goody, the other ones awake. How are you doing sleeping beauty?âÂ
The man starts to walk over to me with a look in his eyes that makes the bile in my throat inch even closer to the surface. But within another second Elena stands from beside me on what I can see now is a couch and blocks me from the manâs view.
âIâm the one you want, Y/N is innocent, just let her go.âÂ
I want to back Elena up and defend her too but with the migraine and the onslaught of emotions Iâm feeling right now being verbal isnât something I see happening in my current future.Â
âYouâre right Dopalicious, sheâs not, but I canât just let her go, what if she were to go and warn those friends of yours? Canât let that happen now can we?âÂ
Elena goes to stand her ground but within a blink of an eye, Elena is shoved backward and lands on the other side of the couch. I jump backward at the action which gives the man the opportunity to come in front of me. I start trembling as I look up to him I try to push farther back into the couch but Iâm squished into it as far as I can go.Â
âStay away from me,â Finally able to find somewhat of my voice again. This doesnât seem to scare away the man, and honestly, I donât blame him. My voice sounded like it came from a scared 5-year-old.Â
âJust a taste, Iâm starving.â My mouth opens to question what he says but a millisecond later I feel myself being grabbed and a sharp piercing attacks the left side of my neck. Iâm hyperventilating and screaming at the same time somehow as I hear Elenaâs yells from beside us.Â
âDonât touch her!â Elenaâs yell comes from beside us and Iâm thrown away back onto the couch. Iâm disorientated as I look up to see the man before me rubbing his cheek and Elena standing next to him holding her right hand. Sheâd punched him. My vision strays from Elenaâs red knuckles back up to the man, who has something dripping from his mouth. My chest feels like it locks up as I stare at the liquid dripping, everything seems to be going in slow motion for me as I watch the drops start at the man's chapped lips to the drops of blood falling onto the cracked hardwood floors. Wait, blood. He has blood dripping from his mouth. Had Elena punched him that hard? I start to believe that possibility until I feel a wetness drip between my chest.Â
My already shaking hand comes up to my chest as I swipe a finger along the liquid. My vision blurs as the red liquid drips from my fingertip down into the palm of my hand. I canât register Elenaâs voice as she kneels in front of me and presses something to my neck. The blood coating my hand is all I can see and smell.Â
âY/NâŠ.Y/N! Just focus on my voice ok, breathe. I think youâre having a panic attack.â A cool hand is pressed onto the side of my face and I close my eyes at the embrace.Â
âOk thatâs good, Iâm going to stand you up to get a better look at your neck ok?âÂ
I feel like Iâm running on auto-pilot or something else is controlling my body and mind as I stand up and grip Elenaâs upper arms to keep myself steady. Elena returns the pink fabric from my neck and leans down to glance at the wound.
âOk, itâs not as bad as I had originally thought. Just keep this here and itâll help control the bleeding.âÂ
I must still be in shock because Elena has to bring the shirt to my hand, wrap my fingers around it, and finally press my hand into my neck. The shock of pain washes through me and brings me back to reality. My vision canât seem to focus on one thing for too long as my eyes keep darting from the blood on the floor, my blood, to the look on Elenaâs face, to the man standing behind us with a scowl on his ugly face. Blood, Elena, man. Blood, Elena, man. Blood, Elena, man. This sequence continues until another person enters the room, a woman.
âHeâs here.â The woman with a pixie cut says, her voice seemingly scared.
The man next to us shifts his scowl into a look of pure fear.
âThis was a mistake,â He rushes over to the woman and shakes his head.Â
âNo, I told you I would get us out of this. You have to trust me,â She tries to talk him down which only seems to freak him out more.
âNo! He wants me dead Rose,â
The woman points at Elena, âHe wants her more.â I glance to Elena who is standing in front of me slightly as if to hide me from the two strangers or cannibals. Since Iâve calmed down momentarily and Iâve begun to stop the tears that had unbeknownst to me had fallen on my cheeks, Iâve realized that Iâve been kidnapped by cannibals, that being the only reasonable explanation I can come up with.
The two cannibals start arguing about some man but I turn to Elena who looks almost as scared as I feel.Â
âWhatâs going on Elena, whoâs coming?â I whisper to her.
Elena turns her head slightly to me and gives me a frown and a shake of her head.Â
âA man named Elijah, but donât worry ok,â Elena grabs my free hand and holds it in her own, âIâm not going to let them hurt you anymore ok?â
I nod trying to find comfort in her words but the girl in front of me is 17 years old and maybe 120 pounds I donât see how sheâs going to protect us both from two cannibals and whatever mega cannibal these two are terrified of. I donât know if the other guy is a cannibal but using context clues Iâm guessing he is.Â
âWhat are we?â The womanâs voice brings my attention back to them as I see her grab his arms. This seems to calm the man down.Â
âWeâre family. Forever.âÂ
I mightâve found this endearing if it werenât for the fact the man had my blood drying on his upper lip and they were literal cannibals.Â
A loud knock startles all four of us as Elena and I both shoot each other wary glances. Our hands are still intertwined. I donât usually like being touched but given the circumstances I can let this slide.Â
The woman looks over at Elena and me as Elena slightly turns her head, âYouâre scared.â Elena comments. The woman says something else to her friend and then runs up the stairsÂ
â
What seems like forever of waiting and pacing around is broken up by footsteps coming from the top of the banister. I can feel Elena freeze up from beside me as we both look up to see a man in a suit staring down at her. The man has dark hair and eyes and a chiseled face. Why is this cannibal not ugly? Wrong Turn had it all wrong. We all stand there watching Elena and the suited cannibal stare at each other. I can feel Elenaâs shaking hand in my own and try to comfort her by squeezing her hand to let her know Iâm right beside her. That is until the man transports himself from the top of the banister to in front of Elena in the blink of an eye. The movement has me losing my balance and falling back onto the couch.Â
No one seems to notice me as my panic attack starts to build up as I try to understand how this is possible. How could he have been that fast, itâs impossible. Oh god, I'm going to throw up.Â
âAnd who is this?â A deep voice comes from above me and my stomach flips at the sound. Defiantly going to throw up.Â
âSheâs no one. She has nothing to do with this, just please leave her alone.âÂ
Hearing Elenaâs voice makes me raise my head and I regret it instantly because I lock eyes with the suited monster who is now standing above me staring down at me. The manâs face instantly goes slack as his eyes meet mine, a look of recognition seems to pass through his dark eyes as they move fast across my face. The man opens and closes his mouth many times as if he canât quite find the right words to say. The slack expression from before softens into something that makes my stomach flip again. This guy is so going to kill me when I throw up on his expensive ass shoes. His soft, dark pink lips curve up at the corners slightly.
âYouâre real.âÂ
These are the first words to come out of the manâs mouth. Everyone else in the room seems to know just as much as me with what heâs talking about because they all have looks of confusion on their faces. Feels somewhat comforting to be on the same page as everyone else for once.Â
The man doesnât once take his eyes off of me this entire time though, âWhat is your name, Elskan?âÂ
I freeze under his stare and try to avert my eyes, this gives Elena the ability to step in for me.Â
âHer name is Y/N,â I look to the man as he mouths my name slightly to himself as if he wants to know how it sounds on his tongue, âPlease donât hurt her Elijah, she doesnât even know about the supernatural, Iâll go with you willingly.âÂ
Elenaâs words make me freeze up. What does she mean by supernatural? I flinch as the man, Elijah, brings his hand up. This stops him for a moment.Â
âI would never harm you. You have my word on that.â I can only sit there frozen as he cups my face with his hand and uses his thumb to brush a stray tear away that mustâve fallen during one of my many panic attacks. He seems delighted at the moment until the soft expression he has on his face darkens into something that makes that bile rise even farther up. His eyes dart from the top of my head and drag themselves down to my chest and neck. I try to move away but his hand has a soft but firm hold on my face.Â
âWho did this to you?âÂ
My eyebrows furrow at his question, and I mustâve not answered quickly enough because he turns to glare at Elena. Which makes her flinch.
âThe head injury is from the kidnapping and then the bite is from um,â she glances towards my neck and then to Trevor who looks like heâs about to internally combust. She goes silent again at Elijahâs stare and he turns his attention back towards me. The glare was long gone and replaced once again with a softer look.
âI see. Here,â I have to swallow back down the bile as I watch the man rip into his wrist and put it in front of my face expectantly. I sit there in horror and quickly look to Elena who doesnât look as surprised as she defiantly should given that this man just BIT HIMSELF.Â
âItâs true Y/N, itâll heal you.âÂ
I open my mouth to say something which mustâve somehow been an ok to the man as he presses his wrist to my open mouth. Iâm about to push him off, or at least try, but stop at the heavenly liquid that spills into my mouth. Elijah brings his other hand up to brush back my fallen hair.
 âGood girl, Elskan.âÂ
Elijah removes his wrist and I sit there silently staring at my lap as I realize what I had just done. I just drank fucking blood, and I liked it?!??! Oh god, does this make me a cannibal now?
Elijah seems to be fighting an inner battle as he moves his eyes away from mine and onto the man behind us. Elena and I watch before us as Elijah approaches the scared man/cannibal thing. Thing because Iâm not sure what the actual hell is going on here.Â
âIâve waited so long for this day, Elijah. Truly very sorry.âÂ
Trevor says with a bowed head as Elijah circles him. Almost how a predator would circle its prey.Â
âWell, no, your apology is not necessary,â Elijah responds but something in his tone doesnât sit right with me.
âYes, yes it is. You trusted me with Katerina. And I failed you.â
âWell, yes, you are the guilty one,â Elijah glances at him and then up to the woman, âAnd Rose aided you because she was loyal to you. That I honorâŠâ
Elijah comes to stand in front of the man, âWhere was your loyalty?â
âI beg your forgiveness.â
The oxygen in the room seems to be dwindling as everyone watches the interaction.
âSo granted.âÂ
The deep breath I was to let out is replaced by a scream and I can only watch in horror as Elijah throws his hand over to the man who decapitates him. A heart-wrenching wail comes from Rose and I canât seem to take my eyes away from the body-less head that is lying in front of me.Â
âIâm going to-â Vomit spits from my mouth and onto the floor in front of me, the burning from the back of my throat causes tears to build up and block my vision. I feel someone lift my hand and hold it away from my face. For a second I thought it was Elena before Elijahâs voice came from beside me.
âIâm truly sorry, Elskan. I shouldnât have done that in front of you.âÂ
I lift my head to stare at him and find him kneeling right next to me. He reaches into his front pocket grabs a fancy napkin and wipes my mouth with it. Not seeming disgusted just saddened. He wraps his hand in my mind and stands me up.Â
âWe can leave now, we have quite the journey ahead of us,â Elijah leads me over to where Elena is standing and motions for her to follow.
âNo! What about the moonstone?â She questions him.
He stands in front of her with a small scowl, âWhat do you know about the moonstone?â
âI know that you need it. And I know where it is. I can help you get itâ
Elijah nods his head, âTell me where it is.âÂ
âIt doesnât work that way.â
Elijahâs eyebrow twitches in annoyance as he glances back at Rose, âAre you negotiating with me?â
Rose just shakes her head and tells him she doesnât know anything. Elijah then turns back around to stare at Elena for a moment before scowling and reaching up to her necklace, ripping it off.Â
âWhat is this vervain doing around your neck,â He throws the necklace behind him and grabs Elena by the neck, dropping my hand in the process. I go to try to get her away but Elijah shoots me a warning look that has me freezing in place, âTell me where the moonstone is.â
In a monotone voice, Elena replies, âIn the tomb underneath the church ruins.â
âWhat is it doing there?â
âItâs with Kathrine.â
The rest of their interaction is cut short when a glass shatters from somewhere upstairs. Elijah comes over to me and grabs me by my waist bringing me into him almost protectively.Â
âWhat was that?â He asks Rose.
âI donât know.â
âWho else is in this house?ââ To which he gets the same response.Â
Elijah grabs Elena quite harshly with his free hand and guides both of us to the top of the banister. His hand never moved from the top of my hip. Once we make it to the entryway something rushes by us, Elijah pushes Elena off into Roseâs arms but never drops his hold on me.Â
âUp here.â
âDown Here.â
A voice call from the top and bottom of the stairs caught all of our attention. Elijah lifts his hand from my hip and motions for me to go over to Rose.
âDonât let her out of your sight.â He warns her as he moves to the staircase.Â
A moment goes by before something flies through the air and pierces itself through Elijahâs hand. I let out a yelp but Elijah doesnât even seem fazed.Â
My vision is blurred for a moment as I now standing next to Rose with an unfamiliar dark-haired man in front of us. He motions with his finger to be quiet. Ya as if I was going to say anything anyway.Â
âExcuse me,â Elijahâs voice comes from below, âTo whom it may concern. Youâre making a grave mistake if you think that you can beat me. And you canât. You hear that? I repeat, you cannot beat me. So I want the girls on the count of three, or heads will roll.âÂ
The man who has his hands on Roseâs and Iâs mouths moves his head to glance at Elijah downstairs.Â
âDo we understand each other?âÂ
âIâll come with you,â I perk up at Elenaâs voice. Wondering what the actual hell she was doing. But the blue-eyed man in front of me shakes his head at me telling me not to move.Â
âJust please donât hurt my friends. They just wanted to help me out.â
âWhat game are you playing with me? Where is Y/N? I wonât be leaving without her.â Elijahâs skeptical voice questions her. Thereâs a sound a medal, and then a loud boom, before Elijah lets out a yell. The sound for some reason makes my chest feel like it wants to cave in on itself. Rustling and fighting sounds come from below us before the man holding Rose and I leave. Rose runs after him, but I canât seem to get my feet to work so I just sit there on the dusty floor staring at the wall peeling wallpaper in front of me.Â
A few moments pass before I hear Elenaâs voice along with two unfamiliar men, one who Iâm assuming is the blue-eyed guy from before.Â
âWhere is Y/N,â Elena asks.
âAre you talking about that girl that smells like vomit?â A snarky voice questions her. If I hadnât just gotten kidnapped and had one of the worst days of my life, I might take offense but I did just get kidnapped and honestly, I do smell like vomit so heâs not wrong.Â
âI think sheâs over there.âÂ
Footsteps get closer to me as I look up with tears in my eyes at Elena. She gives me a small smile before kneeling and wrapping her arms around me in a hug.Â
âWhat is happening Elena?âÂ
âIâll explain everything if you want me to ok? Letâs just get out of here first ok?â
Elena stands up and reaches down her hand for me to take, and with a deep breath, I do.
#author#athenamikaelson#klaus mikaelson#klaus mikaleson imagine#thecwshows#the originals#klaus x reader#the vampire diares imagine#theoriginalsimagines#thevampirediaries#elijah mikaelson x reader#elijah mikaelson imagine#elijah mikaelson#stefan x elena#stefan salvatore#damon salvatore#the vampire diaries#the originals x reader
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the story ends
âźâ logan x f!reader (set in xmen days of future past)
âźâ summary: the day that logan lost you
âźâ a/n: again, only my second time writing for logan so be gentle pls, i specialise in angst but this isnât my best </3 (also, could be connected to all coming back to me â my first logan fic. no reading order!)
âźâ warnings: probably ooc! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, depictions of dying, itâs set in the original timeline so it is sad, talk of loss and death, one (1) moment of affection, major angst, guilt, sentinels, canon typical violence, & gore (ish, but to be safe), BLOOD, pronoun âsheâ used, unspecified mutant reader, lmk if theres more!
MASTERLIST
â¶â¶â·â¶â·ââ¶â·â¶â·â¶â¶â·â¶â·ââ¶â·â¶â·â¶â¶â·â¶â·ââ¶â·â¶â·â¶
There are so many things you had lived to regret in your life, so many things that you had dwindled on instead of simply moving forwards. And in the end, none of it had ever mattered. No matter what you had or hadnât done, life had led you here â to the very end of the world.
You hadnât fought in wars like Logan had, werenât used to the brutality of it all. Fighting, and battles, all of that you were familiar with. But not this. This was on another level.
The X-Men had been helpless to fight against this, unable to resist such a tidal wave of hatred and murder. The Sentinels had destroyed so many of your kind already, that there were barely any of you left to fight anyway. And those of you who had lived through the initial slaughters had been scattered across the globe, made to search for one another while constantly trying to evade those seeking n you out to kill you.
It was exhausting. All of it. And it wasnât only you who felt that way â those remaining were all tired. Tired of the constant movement, tired of the constant loss, tired of the neverending chase. You could see it on everyoneâs faces â Charles looked as bad as you had ever seen him, struggling to cope with the loss of almost all of his students. And Ororo, you could tell, was fighting to hold herself together. She had lost too many people, too many friends. Magneto was no stranger to loss, especially like this, but it was written all over him, too.
And there was Logan.
Logan who, in all the time you had known him, had never stopped fighting. For all of that to be in vain was clawing at him, tearing him down. There was a new age to him, and you werenât talking about the grey hairs that seeped from his temples. He seemed far too old to still be fighting, to still spend every living moment trying to stay alive, trying to keep those he cared about safe. Everyone had lost so much since the Sentinels appeared.
âHow much longer do you think we can stay here?â You asked Storm, gazing out at the sky ahead of you, glancing back towards the jet that was stood on the makeshift runway. She stayed quiet long enough for you to grow concerned and look her way, and you saw the unease to her stance. âWe need to leave, donât we?â
âItâs not safe.â She replied distantly, looking out towards the cloudy sky. Your brows furrowed instantly, and you turned to look at the clouds once more.
âNowhere is safe, Ororo.â You stated firmly, trying not to let the emotion betray you in your voice. She seemed to come back to herself at your words, and you just about registered her turning to look at you. You hadnât said anything that she didnât already know to be true, but still, the delivery of the fact left her with a stinging feeling in her chest. An aching sort of pain, a longing for a home that none of you could ever return to.
She thought of the mansion, and tried to force her way past the memories of it torn apart, destroyed. It was easy to forget, in times like these, exactly how things had been before. But Storm could practically envision it all in her mind, the bustling halls between classes, the crackle of fire as the adults shared a drink after a rough battle, the constant noise of mutants embracing their powers.
That was meant to be a mutant safe haven, and it was gone. She knew you were right â nowhere was safe for your kind, not anymore.
âI know.â
You let her words settle, and chose to linger and look at the view, even as Storm turned and made her way back to the plane.
Admittedly, the view wasnât much, but it was nice to see the sky without a plane of glass in the way. All of you spent so much time inside the jet now, barely able to land without Sentinels descending upon you. It was somewhat safer in the sky, although there had been some close calls.
The wind whistled in your ears, a welcome breath against your skin, and you easily preferred this to the way it usually whipped against the side of the jet.
You heard the shuffle of feet in your direction before you felt his presence, a warm hand coming to rest on the small of your back. It was soothing, warming you up as you let the cold breeze surround you.
ââS almost time to go,â Logan told you, speaking quietly. His gruff voice still sent shivers down your spine, despite his warm hand on your back. He turned to look down at you after a second, eyes scanning over the entirety of you, analysing. âYou ready?â He asked after another moment, knowing you always tried to take in as much of the fresh air as you could.
âIâll just be a sec.â You responded calmly, breathing in deeply, finding comfort in the way his palm moved with your body. When he didnât move, you turned to look at him, finding him still watching you. Despite everything, you couldnât help but smile at his loving gaze, albeit somewhat weakly. You placed a hand on the side of his face, brows creasing. âEverything okay, Logan?â You asked, concerned, because he seemed off, even though everything in the world was off. It was something more than that.
He nodded as your thumb stroked his cheekbone, trying to provide some amount of comfort in a world where comfort didnât exist.
âIâll wait with you.â
You smiled, trailing your hand down from his face until you reached his own palm, which you gripped tightly.
Slowly, you noticed the sun beginning to shine on the horizon. You knew you needed to be gone before it had risen fully. âDonât worry, Iâm right behind you.â You said reassuringly, tilting your head and squeezing his palm tightly at his uncertain look. âPromise.â You added, and he hesitated for a moment longer, before turning away, squeezing your hand once in return before he let it go fully.
He seemed reluctant to leave your side, even as he walked away. You shook your head, grinning softly, glad for the few good things you had left in your life. Logan was everything to you â he had been for more than a few years.
You took one more glance at the rising sun, before turning away, ready to head after Logan. But then your head tilted, brows furrowing in confusion. There was a buzzing feeling in your hands, your heart speeding up its pace, and you looked around in concern.
That was when you saw it â the Sentinel heading straight for the jet on the right.
Ororo was closest, and she hadnât seen it yet.
âStorm! On your right!â You yelled, desperation leaking into your voice as you watched her spin, finally noticing the murder bot creeping up on her. Even from this distance, you could see the way her eyes went white, lighting up as the wind picked up suddenly, rain slowly starting to leech from the clouds above that were quickly multiplying with the force of Stormâs power.
You couldnât breathe a sigh of relief as she struck it with lightning, summoning winds to throw it over the edge of the cliff side, because you knew it wasnât over â more were coming, if they werenât already here.
Starting towards Logan, you only just registered the way his eyes widened and he moved towards you before it dawned on you.
You hadnât checked your six.
Before you could even turn, you felt it.
When you looked down, you saw the Sentinel spearing you through the stomach, the wound far too big to comprehend.
Blood was tickling the back of your throat, and you couldnât even swallow around it. It was too late, you noticed distantly, as you looked towards where Logan was trying to get to you, seeming as though he was moving in slow motion.
The Sentinel ripped its limb from your body, and your knees buckled, sending you to the ground.
It was a very far away realisation, the fact that you would die here, in mere moments. Instead, your main focus was Logan, watching the anguish and denial plaster his face. You barely heard the other Sentinels rising from the cliff side behind you, but you knew they were there.
And you knew that the others knew it too.
Storm had made her way towards Logan, and you hadnât even noticed how close she was to him before then. She mustâve noticed the Sentinel approaching you at the same time he had. Her face was painted with grief, evident in every crease of her expression, in the very way she moved. She placed her palms against Loganâs chest, and pushed.
âLogan, itâs too late. Please. Itâs too late. We need to go.â Ororo begged, her voice shaking with every word that left her mouth. She couldnât bring herself to look at you, to see the blood that had started trickling from the corners of your mouth, painting your skin. She didnât want to see the life leave your eyes.
âLogan!â Charlesâ voice raised, trying to be heard over Stormâs power. Logan hadnât even heard his wheelchair in the jet, too focused on the way you looked at him, your eyes dimming with every moment he couldnât get to you.
He felt Erik before he had even realised the man had descended the ramp, felt the pull of his powers. The way he forced Loganâs skeleton to bend to his will, to step away from you. From the love of his life. The only thing he had managed to keep hold of in this apocalyptic world.
âNo, no, no, no,â Logan begged, yelling for you, waiting for you to snap out of it, to just get up. âCâmon! Câmon, get up!â He yelled, trying to push against Erikâs power, but finding he couldnât even take another step towards you. He felt Storm push harder on his chest, but he didnât notice, too busy watching the way your head tilted, your eyes glassy, the way your lips lifted at the edges, showing just a flash of bloody teeth. You smiled at him.
âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry.â Storm said, as Erik finally managed to pull Logan some steps back, going up the ramp.
It was the hardest Logan had ever fought against his power, which made lifting the plane simultaneously all the more difficult. But Erik focused his mind, pulling the plane from the ground as Storm finally released Logan to press the button to lift the ramp.
âSheâs gone, Logan.â Charles said sadly, feeling the way your consciousness drifted from his grasp.
Logan just caught the slump of your body to the ground through the swarm of Sentinels as the ramp closed fully. Erik allowed him to fall to his knees when he realised he had stopped fighting, but kept a loose grip on the adamantium in his skeleton out of fear that he might tear apart the plane to get to your body.
A sullen silence took over the jet, everybody resigned to loss by now, but for Logan this was different. He stared at the ramp, unable to get the image of your empty eyes out of his mind. Your body, slumped on the ground, left there to rot.
And all he could think was that if he had only stayed with you, you might still be here. If it werenât for him, you might be alive.
#heartlogan writes#logan howlett angst#logan howlett x f!reader#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett fic#logan howlett one shot#logan howlett imagine#logan x reader#logan x you#wolverine x you#wolverine x fem!reader#wolverine x f!reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine fic#wolverine angst#wolverine one shot#wolverine imagine#hugh jackman wolverine#xmen days of future past fic#xmen angst#xmen one shot#xmen fic#xmen imagine
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do we need to like. talk. about how grrm taking so long to complete asoiaf means the original subversion of daenerys targaryen's character has been basically lost.
because aside from the show massively fucking the ending up, you also have to consider the seismic shift of the perception of fantasy as a whole since asoiaf hit the mainstream and since more intersectional perspectives and deconstructions of white saviorism have risen in prominence.
like it's a good thing that we're collectively critiquing and sideeying dany's storyline for the questionable, orientalist and often outright racist elements, and that the girlboss dany idea is being challenged. but uh guys. take a look at grrm. do you really think he was setting out to write a paul atreides style deconstruction of white saviorism with dany. or is it not more likely that he put those things into his story by mistake and didn't realize those problematic elements were there until decades later-- especially since girlboss feminism didn't fucking exist when he started writing asoiaf. is it not more likely that he missed the points he was trying to make about dany being a foreigner interfering in eastern politics and the white savior vibe her story sometimes puts off is completely accidental.
people do not seem to realize what the climate of fantasy was when grrm was writing asoiaf in the 90s-00s. the moral grays and grimdark elements of modern fantasy were in part popularized by asoiaf. grrm wasn't subverting the idea of dany being a good ruler. dany being a good ruler was the subversion.
daenerys targaryen is a deconstruction and subversion of the almost comically evil sorceress-queen antagonist of a fantasy novel that would never be written today.
think through what dany looks like from the outside:
she's the daughter of the mad incestuous king who terrorized westeros only a generation ago, and she's back to get his throne for herself.
she's going to make her arrival by invading from the Savage East and killing the one true lost heir, the son of the prince everyone loves and wishes were king, who was raised among the people, who's a boy, who practices the faith of the seven and will marry a westerosi lady. and she's going to destroy the shining city that he's going to rule from.
she rides a black and red dragon that spits black and red fire. she has two other dragons with her and used blood magic to hatch them. she killed a house full of warlocks, has prophetic dreams, talks to mysterious sorcerers and witches and is linked with magic.
she comes from a family of incestuous, weird-looking, magic-using, dragon-riding conquerors who are the last survivors of an empire that conquered half the world and decimated and enslaved an entire continent by using dark magic, dragons and horrifying experiments. and her family in particular is infamous for having a tendency to go insane.
she's so beautiful men are throwing themselves at her. she dominated one husband and killed another. her dragon set poor sweet quentyn martell on fire when all he was doing was trying to honor a betrothal agreement. she has sex with both men and women where she's in control of the encounters. she had a sexual relationship with her brother. she 'bewitched' the most powerful warlord in essos with her sexuality, convinced him to kill her brother for her, took over his following, and will come to westeros with control of the most deadly cavalry in the world who are already considered to be 'savages' -- and her association with them has already started rumors that she fucks horses because she's so insatiable.
she's infertile and sacrificed her one pregnancy (gasp, the Firstborn Son!) to hatch her dragons.
kinslayer allegations: her brother, her son, and her (fake) nephew. even her mother, to an extent.
she has very tanned skin, spooky silver hair (that's very short) and purple eyes, a tyroshi accent and wears revealing clothing that would scandalize westerosis.
she's the savior figure for a Foreign Religion that's spreading in westeros and competing with the faith of the seven.
she's either the savior figure for the 'barbarian' nomadic raiders, or the mother of their prophesized savior.
she's leading an army of foreign (brown) slave soldiers, sellswords and 'barbarians.' she's being advised by foreigners. her handmaids aren't Nice Noble Girls-- they're nomadic horsewomen who are stereotyped as unmannered and promiscuous.
and the westerosis in her camp are the ones westeros hates: pirates that just destroyed oldtown, westeros's beloved center of trade, faith and knowledge. specifically euron, who wants to marry her. the dwarf that killed king joffrey and escaped and is now back because he wants to burn down king's landing. an ugly westerosi lord from backwater bear isle who was banished for selling slaves. a westerosi knight who refused to accept the king's wishes for him to retire and ran off to serve the opposition... and probably marwyn, a controversial maester.
she destroyed the essosi economy, has sacked multiple cities, turned the ruling class out of their homes, crucified a bunch of nobles, and will probably burn the volantene tower full of nobles on her way west.
she's a woman, specifically a teenage girl, who has power in her own right, who wants to claim more of it. and who has no more powerful man to answer to.
daenerys is the embodiment of everything westeros hates and fears to such an extent that even if she does everything right, or doesn't do anything at all, westeros will never accept her.
we spent five books following dany off on her own in essos because that plotline's all about giving you context before she arrives: here's the Evil Queen's backstory, so by the time she does what she does, the reader completely understands and empathizes with her, even if they disagree with her actions. and when all our heroes hate her, and she decides to strip them of their power like she did in essos with the slavers, we don't know what to do.
the subversion is: what if our view of this evil antagonist is xenophobic and sexist, and all the things we're scared of her for were taken out of context or twisted to villainize her. what if the foreign culture she's from isn't evil, and what if her slave army is actually freedmen who chose to follow her, and she opposes the legacy of slavery her family sources their power from. what if she's 'mad' because she's understandably angry and upset, and not ~craaazy~. what if the nobles she was killing deserved it, what if the system they depend on was evil and deserved to be destroyed. what if our system that we've been fighting to preserve isn't much better and needs to go too, even if People We Like are in charge of it. what if she's a teenager who doesn't always make the right decisions, especially when much older adults with their own motives are manipulating her.
the subversion is: what if the evil sorceress-queen who's going to invade our wonderful fantasy realm and bring all her big bad scary changes with it is a complex person with good intentions who actually has a completely legitimate reason to burn it all down.
so if dany genuinely does go evil when she gets to westeros... there's no subversion anymore because the trope is played straight. therefore, she won't. but it won't even matter. we'll know that dany isn't a monster, but nobody else will see her that way.
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One Piece preferences - how they tell you that they like you (GN!reader)
Luffy -
â Luffy is not one for shame or embarrassment yet he's always nervous around you
â he always awkwardly rambles when you're near him
â and he even asks if you want the last bite of food before he takes it for himself like usual
â he goes to Usopp first for advice which Sanji and Zoro overhears and tells him to ignore Usopp's terrible advice and listen to them instead
â which then Nami overhears and calls them all idiots and gives Luffy actually good advice
â Luffy finally tells you he likes you but rambles again while talking so you kiss him to shut him up
Nami -
â she doesn't
â you have to make the first move
â even when you do tell her you like her she makes you work for it
â "I'll go out with you when we find the one piece"
â "I'm holding you to that"
â a couple months later when she thinks you've proven yourself she sets two plates of food in front of you guys
â "what's this?"
â "we're on a date"
â "I thought you weren't going to go out with me until we found the one piece?"
â "I changed my mind now start eating before I change it again"
Sanji -
â He is very confident and makes it known he likes you the moment you meet
â He flirts with you the entire time you're eating in the baratie
â "Anything else I can get for you cutie? I've been told I make a mighty fine dessert, that is unless you want me for dessert instead"
â "just the check please sweet talker"
â he brings the check to you with his number written on the bottom
â "just so you know I do accept tips in the form of a date"
Zoro -
â no matter how much Luffy points out to Zoro that he likes you he refuses to acknowledge his feelings for you
â It's not until you get critically hurt in a fight that he finally admits to himself that he likes you
â you've been unconscious for days and he never leaves your side while you're recovering
â you wake up to him sitting at your bedside and you've never seen him look this worried
â "thank God I thought I lost you"
â "you saying you care about me Zoro?"
â "yes Y/N, I care you about you a lot so please don't do that to me again"
Usopp -
â always brings you flowers and little trinkets
â "I saw this in town and thought you'd like it"
â names one of his slingshot moves after you
â all around gentleman trying to woo you
â Zoro "you know he likes you right"
â "of course I know, I just think it's sweet how hard he tries"
â the first time you kiss him on the cheek to thank him for your gift he blushes so hard and nearly faints
â he goes around proudly telling everyone that you kissed him and that he's your boyfriend now
Buggy -
â puts on an entire show for you
â pulling out all of his best jokes and stunts
â making the crowd cheer extra hard
â he does a huge speech throughout the entire performance about how you two could conquer the world together
â and how he needs you by his side to be the best pirate he can be
â for his final trick he uses his powers to send his hand up to you with a bouquet of flowers
â "what do you say Y/N? Want to be my co captain?"
Shanks -
â whenever he's in town he tells you stories of his adventures over drinks at the bar
â and always gives you part of his treasure that his crew found on their recent voyage as gifts
â "You're really giving me this? Do you know how valuable it is?"
â "There's no treasure in this world that I value more than you"
â "well Shanks it sounds like you're trying to tell me that you like me"
â "I would travel the entire ocean for you my dear Y/N and I would love if you joined me on my next adventure"
Mihawk-
â Literally kills a guy for you
â you're complaining about some jerk you ran into at the bar
â he mumbles "he shall pay for disrespecting my Y/N" and excuses himself
â he returns a little bit later with the guys decapitated head in his hand and blood on his shirt
â "you said you had a problem with this guy so I killed him in your honor"
â "Oh thats⊠sweet"
â "I knew you'd be impressed. So, dinner?"
Cabaji -
â always tries to look cool in front of you
â doing tricks on his unicycle
â like riding it through a flaming hoop
â or having you stand on his shoulders while he cycles around the ring
â or putting someone on the spinning wheel and throwing knives at them landing impossibly close to their skin
â "that was cool wasn't it Y/N"
â "sure was Cabaji"
â "So what do you say you and I get drinks together sometime?"
#one piece imagine#monkey d luffy imagine#monkey d luffy x reader#nami imagine#nami x reader#sanji imagine#sanji x reader#roronoa zoro imagine#roronoa zoro x reader#usopp imagine#usopp x reader#buggy imagine#buggy x reader#shanks imagine#shanks x reader#dracule mihawk imagine#dracule mihawk x reader#cabaji imagine#cabaji x reader#x gender neutral reader#preferences
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the tale of a princess and her fair lady
rhaenyra targaryen x velaryon!reader
Summary: The daughter of House Velaryon makes a promise to her princess
CW: None!
A/N- I have not written and published a fanfiction since I was 14... bare with and pray for me.
The chamber was silent as a young girl with silver hair knelt before hundreds of candles beneath the stained-glass windows of the starry sept. Though she had never been a believer in gods and myths before, her love and worry filled her so deeply at present that she was brought to her knees in prayer.
Lady (Y/N) of House Velaryon had been in love with Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen for the better half of a year. Theyâd known each other since childhood and had always been quite close. Being the only two daughters of the great Valyrian houses in the Red Keep, theyâd always felt that no one could understand them as well as each other. Their relationship, which had always toed the line between platonic and romantic, had turned into an unadulterated love affair the day Rhaenyra realized that her disdain for marriage to a man had never truly been about marriage, but more so the man.
Ever since, (Y/N) and Rhaenyra had been living in pure bliss, catching each otherâs eye, walking with linked arms in public, and worshiping each otherâs bodies during those private moments brought on by the cover of night. In recent days, however, the girls have been slightly at odds with each other, as (Y/N)âs parents have posed a potential marriage between Lady (Y/N) and King Viserys to strengthen the realm. Rhaenyra had hardly been able to look at her lover as she could soon become her stepmother, and she didnât want it to be more painful by prolonging their relationship until the moment (Y/N) stood at the altar.
On this day, the 13th of the eighth moon, the princess had taken a most dangerous risk in flying to her familyâs seat of power, Dragonstone, to subdue her wretched uncle Daemon, who had been squatting there for a year and who had just stolen a dragon egg for his unborn bastard child. (Y/N) had gotten wind of these plans and miraculously arrived at the dragonpit just before Rhaenyra took flight. (Y/N) had implored her princess to be safe, telling her that she would not know what to do if anything happened to her. Rhaenyra, overcome by the love and emotion she had been repressing, could not think of anything else to do but cup (Y/N)'s cheeks and pull her into a kiss. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in shock for a moment, but she quickly got over it, placing her hand on Rhaenyraâs cheek and wrapping her free arm around her waist.
How lovely that kiss was, (Y/N) sighed, remembering it. Rhaenyra had left after their lips broke, and (Y/N) had been in the sept worrying ever since. Eyes closed, she murmured promises to the seven that she would never sin again if Rhaenyra was protected.
Upon hearing a familiar voice softly calling her name, (Y/N)âs eyes fluttered open. She quickly turned her head to see none other than Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her princess. The purest love in her life. Her everything.
(Y/N) ran to her lover, immediately cupping her face and kissing her fiercely. Rhaenyra met (Y/N) with the same passion, grabbing her tightly by her waist and pulling her closer.Â
Two dragons burning together under the midnight sky.Â
The kiss communicated everything they had been too afraid to say. âIâm sorry.â âI miss you.â âI need you.â âI love you.â
The two girls finally broke apart for air, giggling shyly in the throes of their young love.Â
Suddenly serious, Rhaenyra looked deeply into (Y/N)âs eyes. A pure shade of violet only found in those with the true blood of Old Valyria, with little flecks of blue- a trait passed down from her seafaring ancestors. She then scanned (Y/N)âs entire body, her shimmering silver hair, braided at the top, loosening into long coils past her backsideâthe curves of her breasts and hips, the softness of her hands, and the way her brown skin shone in the moonlight.
âA true Valyrian goddess, you are,â she said.
(Y/N) looked down shyly at the compliment. Rhaenyra lifted (Y/N)âs chin with her finger and stepped closer, leaning her forehead against hers. A moment of sweetness and intimacy.Â
âKivio naejot sagon rĆ«sÄ«r issa va moriot,â Rhaenyra said quietly. âDĆrÄ« jorrÄelagon mirre tolie hae ao jorrÄelagon issa.â
Swear to be with me always. Never love any other as you love me.
(Y/N) exhaled. âOh, issa dÄrilaros. Nyke kivio, jaehossi uÄpossi arlÈłssÄ«."
Oh, my princess. I swear, by the old gods and the new.
#rhaenyra targaryen#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#velaryon reader#velaryon!reader#black reader#rhaenyra targaryen x black!reader#fire and blood#hotd x reader#i haven't done this in so long someone sedate me
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The Dragon of Runestone
Request: Yes or No
Summary: Prince (Y/N) Targaryen has kept to Runestone with his grandsire in preparation for taking the seat of House Royce but when his uncle passes and his cousin is usurped, he makes the decision to fly to her aid and unite with his family.
Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader
TW/CW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, Targcest/Incest (Half Sister-Half Brother/Cousins/Stepbrothers), mention of Daemon's two dead wives, mention of Luke's death, age gap Jace and Baela are around 18/19 while (Y/N) is in early to mid twenties (don't ask me his exact age I didn't want to do the math), Daemon is a questionable father but what else is new, drinking, Jace is a SIMP, sexual/suggestive content
I hate how intricate Rhaenyra/Alicent/Helaenas hairstyles are in comparison to Rhaena and Baela who get the simplest of styles. I also had more written but it was going into full smut territory đ
~~~
Luke was dead.
Despite the days and weeks that passed, Jace hadn't yet wrapped his head around it. His partner in crime, his shadow, his closest friend, his little brother... dead. Slaughtered mercilessly by their kinslayer of an uncle. His mother had been clear in her instructions when she agreed to send them away, fully and completely adamant that they not engage with anyone. Luke followed his mother's orders diligently and the Greens took him without remorse.Â
The cold that'd washed over him when he received news of it, when he read the letter sent to him by his stepfather and felt the realization settled in... the cold of the North had nothing against it. Nothing against the unsettling iciness that swept through his veins or the way his heart squeezed and dropped to the pits of his stomach. Lord Cregan Stark's attempts at comfort had gone in one ear and out the other during the descent down from the Wall.Â
He prayed it'd been a mistake, that Luke's name had been miswritten, and Daemon had meant another Velaryon. Convincing himself of such a thing allowed him to fly back to Dragonstone, allowed him to dream that the moment he got there, he'd see his brother and Arrax waiting for him; that they'd laugh about the misunderstanding and settle down together to talk about Storm's End and the North while the sun set over the horizon. But all he received when he climbed off Vermax were pitiful, sorrowful looks from the servants and guards of Dragonstone.Â
Luke was dead... and he was partly to blame for his death.Â
It'd seemed like a good idea at the time, for him and his brother to mount their dragons to ensure those who'd bent the knee when his mother had been named heir planned on keeping their oath. It'd seemed simple enough, as well, to fly out to meet and dine with nobles who'd trip over themselves to please two princelings. But Aemond had beaten Luke to Storm's End, and chosen to spill the first blood of war over silly childhood pranks.Â
Jace attempted to distract himself through various means such as training twice as hard and attending his mother's council meetings; all in hopes of swallowing his guilt and grief into the back of his mind. He shed enough tears, sobbed enough into the shoulder of his mother, and told his pains to Baela. It was time to focus on avenging his brother, on claiming back the throne usurped by his uncle and the wicked Hightowers. Distracting himself, as he quickly grew to learn, was easier when his stepbrother lingered around and took his place at the table. Visenya born again, they called him. The Dragon of Runestone.Â
Jace enjoyed watching him during meetings, observing and taking note of how he conducted himself. (Y/N) cut down power-seeking nobles with ease, his violet eyes piercing into those who dared interrupt or speak over Rhaenyra. It was comforting despite the blatant indifference he had for his cousin outside of war meetings and discussions. Rhaenyra needed powerful people on her side, powerful men that others feared enough to remain silent on their opinions and desires.
He only had a few years on Jace; born three years before his mother's sudden passing. Jace heard the rumors that Daemon had been insistent the babe wasn't his until (Y/N) was born with those signature silver locks, forcing him back to Runestone to see his firstborn son and admit Targaryen blood flowed through his veins. Rhea refused to allow him to take (Y/N) far from Runestone but her wishes were ignored when she passed, leaving her inheritance to her only child and her estranged husband to do as he pleased.
From what the twins had told Jace, even as a toddler and young boy he'd fussed when tended to by his father's new wife, Lady Laena. Kicking, crying, biting, and shoving; it felt as if the boy knew she'd been a swift replacement for his mother. He'd been developing from a boy to a tween when his half-sisters were born and even then, he ignored them in favor of being with others on Pentos or flying with his dragon, Bantis.Â
From a young age, Jace had idolized him; the cooler older boy with an air of indifference and mystery. He simply couldn't resist the allure, and neither did Baela.Â
"I think the first time he ever looked at me had been during training," Baela had told him one time, back in Driftmark hours after her mother's funeral. They'd been young children then, and it'd been the first time Jace laid eyes on (Y/N) outside of stories and paintings. He'd been captivated despite the never-fading scowl and snarky attitude. "I picked up a training sword and hit his friend in the leg with it. It was the first time I ever heard him laugh." The glimmer in her eye had been undeniable.Â
Focusing on silly little feelings hardly seemed appropriate during a time of war, but it took Jace's mind off the reality around them. Especially when he could rest his arms along the stone railing of a balcony overlooking where knights trained and watch (Y/N) knock men twice his age down onto the floor. His eyes followed each movement of his arms and legs, gaze lingering on the tight grip he had on his sword and thoughts drifting to wonder what it'd feel like to have them pressed on bare skin.Â
"You can speak with him, you know." Jace flinched, his body instinctively straightening up and heat bursting across his face as he turned to face his betrothed. Baela smiled at him, teasing and friendly, sliding up to take the spot beside him and releasing a thoughtful sigh at the sight of her older half-brother. (Y/N) slammed his foot into the back of his sparring partner's knee, the blade of his sword pressing against the man's neck. He smirked and it sent a shiver down Jace's spine.Â
"I doubt he'd like that," Jace responded, albeit a bit whiny, but he felt comfortable enough around Baela to let go of what was expected of a prince like him. They were to be wed one day, after all. Baela glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a soft laugh escaping her.
It was true, in a way. (Y/N) hardly liked any of his family, apart from those in Runestone. He'd fallen out with Daemon the day his father chose to wed Rhaenyra; an argument so vicious it ended with (Y/N) striking Daemon in the jaw and flying away on Bantis, never to answer any letters from any of them again. King Viserys appeared to have been the only one left he cared enough about to visit, but he'd proven to at least hold some love for them by ensuring Lady Jeyne Arryn kept to her oath without being asked to and flying to Dragonstone to serve on Rhaenyra's council before a letter could be sent to Runestone.Â
"He is kind when he wants to be." Jace looked at her sideways. Baela laughed again, the sweet sound carrying with the wind that tousled her silver curls. "It's true, I swear! I've seen it before. He can be kind. He is just... hard to reach. You cannot blame him for being distant, I suppose. It can be hard to have Daemon as a father."Â
"It must be." Jace thought back on the rumors surrounding Rhea Royce's death. He winced when the sparring partner tapped out, the knight's nose trickling with blood. The squires and available knights around shrank back when (Y/N) turned toward them. "The only times I've heard them speak has been from arguments heard all around Dragonstone. I hear even Caraxes and Bantis cannot stand to be around each other."
"Father does love him and wants him around but... he has little patience and (Y/N) has never tolerated being yelled at," Baela spoke, her hand flying to grasp his arm as she did and feet turning toward the stairs leading down to the training area. Jace felt himself automatically tense when (Y/N)'s sharp violet eyes turned in their direction.Â
Gods, he hated how easily his legs weakened and cheeks flared in (Y/N)'s presence. The others around dipped their heads respectfully, bowing to whom would be their future rulers once the Iron Throne returned to its rightful heir. Jace managed to tear his eyes away from the prince to nod to those around, motioning for them to leave with another nod. They quickly did, practically scrambling away before (Y/N) could pluck one and toss them around.Â
"Brother," Baela greeted, her hand leaving Jace's arm to lace her fingers together before her. (Y/N) gave a hum of acknowledgment, the tip of his sword digging into the mushy ground when he leaned into it. His hair had long gone askew from the constant movement but Jace thought it suited him perfectly. "Perhaps it'd be better if you stopped beating up our knights."
"They're knights." (Y/N) drawled. "They ought to get used to it before facing real battle. If they cannot do well in training, they'll die on the field. The sheep of the Vale are tougher than some of the fools here."Â
"If you feel their performances are inadequate then feel free to train them." Jace felt more than thankful to have Baela at his side, otherwise he would've stuttered through his sentences harder than a babe learning to speak. (Y/N) regarded him with little emotion. "We deserve to have the best of the best protecting us and our claim, after all."
"Whatever you say, Jacaerys." (Y/N) raised his sword and slipped it back into its sheath, unaware of the disappointment coursing through his stepbrother's veins. Baela glanced between them, her fingers tightening around each other and teeth catching her bottom lip. She stepped forward, blocking his path before he could depart.Â
"Why don't we catch up, Brother? It has been much time since we've spoken. You must have many stories to tell of the Vale, do you not?" Baela, ever the quick thinker, said as she looped her arm around (Y/N) and sent a look Jace's way. The brunette nodded along with her words, a prick of hope sparking in his chest.Â
The older prince's eyes slowly slid between the two, a single brow lifting for a moment before he gave a curt nod. "I suppose I have time to spare. It'll be over wine, however. I could use a drink or two."Â
"Over wine." Jace agreed and found himself unable to resist a giddy grin from spreading across his face.Â
The buzz of wine coursing through his veins hardly helped with the heat flowing through his body. Conversation had surprisingly started easily with Baela asking questions about the Vale and Runestone, perhaps the taste of Dornish wine having some to do with (Y/N)'s relaxed, semi-open composure. Jace absentmindedly listened to his betrothed and stepbrother speak, his hand swirling the cup of deep red wine that he assumed to be some sort of Dornish wine. It tasted sweet, addictively so.Â
His eyes flitted around the bedchambers given to (Y/N), mostly lingering on the bed Jace noted to be the perfect size to fit three or more people. His thumb pressed into the designs of the goblet in hand, his mind racing with his vivid imagination.
He'd hardly done anything with Baela apart from holding her hand or embracing her, but he oft' thought of how their life as a married couple would go. He'd never been with any else before, man or woman, unlike many of the men around him. He was a prince, for Gods sake. He was meant to be the very definition of a gentleman... although that certainly never stopped the thoughts from conjuring late at night.Â
His teeth caught his bottom lip and tore a bit of skin off, the heat rushing to his stomach making his grip tighten on the goblet. Baela and (Y/N) looked dazzling in the warm glow of the candlelight and moonlight seeping in through the balcony. Baela's brown skin looked warmer, dewier, so much so that Jace wanted to run his hands over every inch of her. He loved when she released her hair so it tumbled down her shoulders and framed her face with those perfect curls. Her purple eyes glimmered with each flicker of the candles, and her full lips looked utterly enticing.Â
(Y/N) looked similarly, his hair pushed back from running his fingers through it multiple times and his features softened into a look of contentment. He'd rid himself of his overshirt when they entered his room, leaving him in an undershirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Jace's gaze trailed over his arms, strong enough to no doubt lift him from the ground. He slowly moved his gaze upward, studying each detail of his body until he focused on his face. He startled when the two made eye contact and (Y/N)'s lips curled upward into a smirk that reeked of trouble.
"Jacaerys," (Y/N) called, dragging his propped-up feet off the table and planting them firmly on the floor. Jace swallowed thickly, contemplating taking another swing of his wine. Baela delicately sipped on the last of her wine and reached for the pitcher, pouring herself the last of its contents. "Have you ever gone to bed with someone before? Or have you been keeping your hands to yourself 'til marriage?"
Baela grew still, her eyes widening at the swift change in topic from something innocent to speaking of sex. Jace flushed, heat spreading across his face and neck, his ears growing unbelievably hot. She was a lady. Hardly the sort of subject two men would speak of so carelessly. Sex was only spoken of with certain people: parents, septas, maesters, and partners. Sure, he'd heard plenty of filth spew from Aegon's mouth, but it hardly beat hearing it from (Y/N) in front of Baela.
"I-" Jace cut himself off with another swallow, his adams apple bobbing and tongue unable to form words. He pressed his lips together, his free hand curling against his thigh and eyes flickering wildly between Baela and (Y/N). "I-I have not. I... I was taught not to bring ruin onto a lady by... such acts."
"Ah, you sound like a prude." (Y/N) laughed lightly and set his goblet on the table, the smirk hanging onto his lips. "I'm certain your parents would hardly fault you for... indulging with one another. You've thought about it, haven't you, Jacaerys? She's your bride-to-be, after all."Â
Jace's face felt as if a dragon had blown on it. "I-"
"What about you, Brother?" Baela cut in, her composure drastically more calm and collected than Jace's but he noted the way her thighs pressed together beneath the skirt of her dress. (Y/N) tore his amused stare away from Jace and onto his half-sister, his finger running circles over the rim of his goblet. "Have you... been with anyone before?"
"'Course I have." He gave a light scoff and envy flooded Jace's stomach. "Maids, ladies, whores, knights, lordlings. I'm not a child nor saving myself for whichever noble lady ends up my wife. There's little to do in the Vale apart from typical lord things; hunting, riding, and those sorts of things get boring after a while."Â
Maids, ladies, whores, knights, and lordlings.
Women and men.
Jace's gaze darted over to Baela, meeting her wide-eyed stare as the two came to a similar realization, and then, the same idea; a spark ignited in her eyes and a light flickered on in his head. Gods, was he glad they were betrothed. They were so similar in so many ways, he certainly couldn't wait to rule side by side with her. Jace knew coming to an agreement with her would hardly ever be a hassle.Â
"Show us, then," Jace said, the wine dancing in his body only filling him with confidence and boldness. (Y/N)'s head tilted to the side in question, and for a moment it was easy to forget he was the child of a brutal prince. "You have much experience under your belt, do you not? Why not teach us how to properly bed one another?"Â
"I'm certain you know where everything ought to go, Jacaerys."Â
"Obviously," The heat returned to his face. "But... I've never kissed anyone nor touched anyone. You have, however."
Jace received a hum in response and (Y/N)'s head tilted back in thought, seemingly contemplating the idea. Jace felt nerves beginning to bubble up in his stomach, anxious over what the response would be. It'd be one thing to finally have one of his dreams fulfilled, another to have to face him the following days with a sober mind and a dejected heart. Baela met his eyes again, giving him a subtle nod of encouragement. He could still backtrack, still laugh it off-
Fingers grasped the side of his throat, coarse fingertips dipping into the hairs on the nape of his neck and digging into his skin. He only had a brief moment to look back at the older prince before lips pressed against his own, a sharp shiver darting down his spine and body tensing. (Y/N)'s lips felt soft against his own but Jace hardly knew what to do apart from tentatively parting them. He shuddered when (Y/N)'s tongue invaded his mouth, his hand nearly dropping the goblet as he clumsily searched for the table in order to set it down. Once both hands were free, he pressed them against (Y/N)'s shoulders and began meekly mimicking him.Â
When they pulled back, Jace sighed at the string of saliva connecting them before (Y/N) wiped his mouth. He grinned at him, a breathy and amused chuckle leaving him at the dazed sight of Jace.
Be it the wine or simply the giddy feeling constricting his heart, Jace could barely think straight, his thoughts only focusing when (Y/N) patted his thigh, his attention directed onto Baela. She rose from her seat and shuffled around the table, carefully sitting sideways on her half-brother's lap. Jace's breeches felt excruciatingly tight, the feeling only growing as he watched the two lock lips.Â
Baela lifted her hand to cup (Y/N)'s cheek, the other tightly curling around the sleeve of his shirt. (Y/N) kept his palm pressed to her back while his other hand danced downward until it reached the skirt of her black and red dress, his fingers curling and slowly dragging the fabric upwards to reveal her calf and then her lower thigh. Jace squirmed in his seat, battling with urges threatening to take over his mind; a battle he began slowly losing as he watched (Y/N)'s fingers dig into the flesh of her thigh.
Suddenly, (Y/N) stood and took Baela along with him, setting her down on the edge of the table and pulling away to grab his forgotten cup and blindly toss it aside. It clattered with the stone floor, the wine spilling and darkening the shade of gray. Effortlessly, (Y/N)'s fingers undid the knotted laces of the back of Baela's dress, his legs pushing hers apart and causing the skirt to ride up further. Jace watched, eyes bouncing around their bodies until he looked at (Y/N)'s face pleadingly.Â
"Put what you learned to practice, Jacaerys."Â
With those words, Jace shot up from his seat, nearly knocking the chair back from the sheer speed and force. Baela's chest lightly heaved with pants, her half-lidded eyes meeting Jace's when he stood at her side. He leaned in and despite the need blazing in his lower belly, Jace kissed her gently, sweetly, moving slowly and taking his time. Her lips felt soft and plush, and they parted easily. It was clumsy but endearing, and it made his heart swell.Â
"Shit," Jace cursed, reeling back from Baela when his pants loosened and a hand dipping beneath his breeches. (Y/N) chuckled breathily against Baela's neck before latching his lips onto her and searching around until he found a spot that made her breath hitch and hands fly to grab the collar of his shirt. Jace's legs threatened to give out from under him when (Y/N) lightly squeezed him, forcing him to brace himself against the table and drop his forehead down onto Baela's shoulder.Â
"Sensitive, the both of you." (Y/N)'s muffled voice said, and Jace caught the way he dragged his teeth along Baela's neck, enticing a shudder and soft whine out of her before he lightly dug his teeth where her shoulder and neck met. Jace barely had a chance to respond before letting out a strangled groan at the feeling of (Y/N) slowly stroking him, his hips bucking and knees trembling with each slow drag of his hand.Â
Jace whined suddenly when (Y/N) retracted his hand, a sound that made his neck flush in embarrassment and lips form a disappointed scowl directed at the older prince. (Y/N) rolled his eyes at him, fingers hooking along Jace's pants and breeches to swiftly tug them down to his thighs. The cold air from the cool breeze flowing in through the balcony made him shiver, goosebumps rising along his skin. His first instinct was to tug his pants back up and hide himself from their prying eyes but he pushed the urge down.
"Take it off." (Y/N) told him, or rather ordered him, the tone making Jace woozy with the desire to fulfill his every command. He clumsily did as told, nearly stumbling over his jittery legs as he undressed fully despite the cold nipping at his exposed skin. (Y/N) eyed him over and then grinned again, his hand roughly grabbing Jace by the hip and tugging him closer to slam their lips together. When he drew back, he nodded over to the bed and Jace's features brightened, eagerly moving toward the bed.
(Y/N) carefully tugged Baela's dress down her shoulders, dragging the sleeves down past her elbows and freeing her arms. She shivered at the cold first and then wrapped her arm around her chest, her skin feeling as if the sun were glaring directly down on her. (Y/N) snorted softly, his eyes surprisingly soft as he peeled her arm away from her chest, leaving butterflies fluttering around her stomach. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, his hand pulling and tugging at her dress until it fell down her thighs and partly over Jace's scattered clothes.Â
His arm dropped so he could lift her by her thighs, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and head burying into his neck as they moved toward the bed where Jace awaited them. (Y/N) lowered her down on the bed, the covers feeling soft and silky against her skin. Jace's chin hooked over her shoulder, his hand cupping her jaw before lowering to explore her neck and shoulders, trailing down her arm and moving onto her hip.Â
"You're beautiful." He murmured, and any tension in her body disappeared. She smiled and kissed him, already addicted to mushing their lips together no matter how clumsy or messy. Jace pulled back, brushing his lips over her cheek before swooping down to peck her shoulder, his long brown curls tickling her jaw.Â
"I think..." Baela spoke softly, head turning toward the older prince still standing and still clothed. "Someone has far too many layers on."Â
"I do not recall saying I'd bed either of you." (Y/N) spoke, attention shifting downward when Jace pushed the bottom of his shirt out from his pants to expose the skin beneath. Despite his words, he did little to stop the brunette from undoing his belt nor did he protest when Baela tucked her knees underneath herself and rose to unbutton his shirt.Â
"You said you'd teach us," Jace reminded him, his lips pressing against (Y/N)'s happy trail and hands eagerly mimicking what the older prince had done to him moments prior; swiftly undressing him and leaning back to look him over, the sight alone making the brunette's mouth water. "We have to practice on someone, do we not?"
The corner of (Y/N)'s lips twitched upward. "I suppose."
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Scrubber
Your make your debut in a La Roja jersey
Barça Femenà x teen!reader
pt. 7 masterlist
Warnings: mentions of injury / blood
A/N: bebita is back by popular demand!! i wrote this pretty late at night so excuse any grammar mistakes but on the bright side i included lots of vidiÄ references. enjoy! đ
âTime goes by too fast,â you thought, as you stood in the tunnel, sandwiched between Salma and Alexia. Only a couple days ago you were struggling to decide what you wanted for breakfast, and now you were minutes away from playing in a Euro qualifying match against Denmark.
The officials gestured to both teams, beckoning them out of the tunnel and onto the pitch, and Irene led the way.
Your nerves normally subsided when you played for Barcelona, but this was different. This was a place and team you werenât used to, it wasnât Barcelona.
As your team lined up and prepared to sing the national anthem of Spain, you could only think about one thing; how were you supposed to play?
That was another thing that made you miss Barcelona all over again. Back in Barça, you had Lucy, Mapi, Ona, Patri and Pina to encourage your advanced tackles. You werenât very hopeful about the other Spain girls being so supportive.
You were deep in thought as the national anthem rung through the stadium, and the words erupted from your mouth mindlessly. After the song concluded, you followed Alexia off the pitch and shook your jacket off your shoulders.
Over the speakers in the stadium, you barely make out what the commentators were saying. It was something about you, thatâs all you could tell.
ââŠmaking her international debut tonight at just 16 years old. Sheâs been pivotal for FC Barcelona this season, scoring a last minute goal in the Championsââ The rest was lost in the sea of roars coming from the crowd.
There was barely enough time for your coach to give her last word, and before you knew it, you were stood in the back with Irene, awaiting the whistle.
You quickly learned that today, Denmark had chosen to take a more passive approach to attacking. You were naturally aggressive in defence, so taking on this more patient style of offensive play wasnât too much of a challenge.
It was different playing without Mapi. You knew she shouldâve been there, playing in your spot because she deserves to represent her national team and enjoy it. It made you sad that the old management failed her and she couldnât do that.
You missed her. A lot.
â(Y/N), mira la pelota!â Irene yelled, dropping back into the box. Your attention averted to the Danish strikers running towards you, and the midfielder preparing to put a ball through.
Pernille Harder blistered past you as soon as the ball had been kicked. It took you barely a second before you went after her, your legs drilling into the ground with every long stride until you were right beside her going shoulder-to-shoulder for the ball.
Irene was there, you knew that, but you didnât want to get beaten and let Irene clean up your mess.
Pernille was getting closer and closer to the box with every touch she took, and though you knew she was a world class attacker, you would rather die than let anyone advance on goal.
You lurched, your foot making contact with the ball and cutting it out of her path, sending it somewhere to the sidelines. You slid across the ground on your hip, and it was like everything was in slow motion as Pernille stumbled over your outstretched leg and lunged forwards. The ball found its way to the right back, Oihane Hernandez, who was quick to clear it down the line for Athenea.
When there was too much proximity between a player and the goal, the decision to make was extremely straightforward for you; your body gets hit before the back of the net.
A quick look at the âNV15â written on your wrist gave you all the motivation you needed to power through the first half and continue to produce tackles. When you walked off the pitch for halftime and retreated into the locker room, you slumped beside Irene and took a large sip of water.
âDios mĂo (Y/N), fue increĂble defender. ÂĄTenemos suerte de que juegues para nosotras!â Leila said, smiling fondly at you.
You had properly met her a couple days prior, and immediately liked her. She was a defender, just like you, which meant you got to grow your circle of defender friends.
You returned her smile and mumbled a shy âgracĂasâ while Irene gave you a side hug, âEsa es mi nenita.â
Half time flew by. You were lost in a train of empty thought, too eager to get back on the pitch to concentrate on anything else. You practically jumped to your feet when your coach gave the last word and players started filing out of the locker room.
The second half did not start off much like the first one. Denmark ditched the passiveness for a more fierce approach, which showed from the minute they received the ball. Spain was only up by one goal and the 90 minutes was coming to an end.
Snerle ploughed through the midfield with the ball at her feet and sent a sharp through ball towards the flank. The pass was too quick for Leila to intercept, and the right wing charged past her, leaving Leila behind.
There was an obvious pass to make from the wing; a cross into the box for Pernille to touch and score.
Pernille realised this. Thomsen realised this. You realised this as well.
Pernille came sprinting from behind you into the box and the ball flew over the heads of Spanish and Danish players alike, almost about to land right at the captainâs feet.
The decision to make was extremely straightforward for you.
You can fix a broken nose, but if you let someone score a goal, your pride cannot be fixed.
There was Cata on the near post, and you knew there was no chance she could save a shot from such short distance.
You can fix a broken nose, but if you let someone score a goal, your pride cannot be fixed.
It was hard to not be acutely aware of Pernille right behind you, practically breathing down your neck, extremely desperate for a goal that could change the entire game.
You can fix a broken nose, but if you let someone score a goal, your pride cannot be fixed.
The ball was descending to the ground again, right in front of the goal, threatening to change the momentum of the game entirely.
You can fix a broken nose, but if you let someone score a goal, your pride cannot be fixed.
All it couldâve taken was one big step for Pernille to knock it in the back of the net. You threw yourself forwards and plummeted towards the moist grass as your head blocked the ball from meeting anyone in the box. It ricocheted off your head and bounced away as you fully fell onto your chest, and once again you felt Pernille lose her footing after tripping over your leg.
The last thing you felt before you were overwhelmed with pain in your face was a body landing on top of your head, forcing your face to collide with the ground. There was a barely audible crack, and then the searing pain came into effect. Nonetheless, you scrambled to your feet, clutching your face with your hands as you hunted for the ball and cleared it away from your box completely, which became near impossible as the pain became intolerable.
Liquid trickled down your arm, and the source wasnât a mystery. You clamped your eyes shut for a moment and when you finally opened them, Alexia and Irene were in front of you with looks of horror on their faces.
There was a swarm of many other teammates, plus a worried looking Pernille standing beside you with a hand on your shoulder, apologising profusely.
You smiled at her, though it mustâve been a horribly bloody one. âItâs âkay, not your fault,â you mumbled, shaking your head.
âĂrbitro, necesita ayuda de inmediato. ÂĄMĂrala! EstĂĄ sangrando por todas partes, estĂĄ heridaââ Alexia yelled, flailing her hands in the air. The referee was on the sidelines, sending the medical team onto the pitch.
âIâm fine, just mânose..â you said, but nobody looked convinced. You wiggled past the bunch of women and made your own way off the pitch, heading for the bench.
As soon as you sat down, you were about to go to the locker room and claim your Hay Day login when multiple medics ran towards you, inspecting your nose and figuring out what to do.
To you, it was all worth it, because the last few minutes of the game were approaching and your broken nose had prevented a possible equaliser.
âYou can fix a broken nose, but if you let someone score a goal, your pride cannot be fixed,â you told the medics when they asked you what happened, ââŠin the words of Nemanja VidiÄ.â
Spain came away with a win against Denmark, thanks to your little accident-causing header. Alexia almost sprinted over to you after the game to bombard you with a million questions, such as âHow are you?â, âHow long are you out for?â and, âAre you even out? Will you get one of those special masks?â
When you had answered all her questions, you made your way over to the Danish side, where Pernille was standing. You nervously tapped her on the shoulder, and her expression was one of surprise when she spun around and saw you.
âHi, Miss Harder, Iâm (Y/N),â you said.
âI know you, donât worry. Please, call me Pernille,â she responded.
âI was wondering if.. youâd want to, maybe, trade shirts?â you asked shyly, âI made sure my jersey didnât get any blood on it, just for this.â
Your comment incited a laugh from Pernille and then, to your relief, a nod. âIâd love to trade jerseys.â
After you had swapped jerseys and you slipped the Denmark jersey over your head, you smiled at the woman. âThank you so much, Pernille! I really loved playing with you, even the broken nose part. Thank you!â
You returned to Alexia as you were in the process of zipping up your jacket. âYou have a quick press conference to go to, and then we can go back to the hotel,â she informed, and you nodded.
Post-match interviews werenât your favourite. You normally just wanted to go home, have some dinner, and have the deepest sleep of your life. Today was a little different because Alexia was accompanying you.
â(Y/N), what can you tell us about the medical incident that occurred earlier? Is that a lesson for you?â a reporter asked, and you shuffled about in your seat.
âNot necessarily a lesson, because I will break my nose again if I have to, but definitely an experience,âyou responded with a small smile.
âAlexia,â the next reporter spoke, âWhat are your thoughts about the incident?â
She was in the process of taking a sip of water when the question was asked, so her answer didnât come immediately. When she placed the bottle back down onto the table and leaned closer towards the mic, she began to speak.
âQue⊠it is a testament to (Y/N)âs selflessness and dedication to football, no matter if itâs club or country. It shouldnât be looked at as a bad accident, because it wasnât an accident â it was a sacrifice.â
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